Today, though, there was somewhere else he wanted to be.
With someone else he really wanted to be with.
Someone who didn’t care about his past. Or his inability to let bygones be bygones. Or the fact that since Mirna, he’d never allowed himself to have faith in another woman. Until now.
Around Sara, he felt alive again, in all the right ways.
Since he only had one week with her before she flew back to New York and her real life, he planned to make the most of it.
Chapter 14
Sara pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and upper lip, dabbing the sweat droplets forming courtesy of the midmorning sun and humidity. Even with her standing under the shade of the expansive palm trees at the back of the church parking lot, the day’s heat wrapped her in its clammy arms as she waited for Luis.
A few minutes ago she had ducked behind the tree’s prickly trunk when she spotted his younger brother striding her way. A sigh of relief shuddered through her when he zig-zagged around another car, then stopped at a black SUV a few spots down from Luis’s truck.
The last thing she needed was to draw Enrique’s attention.
She leaned against the truck’s mammoth tailgate, hoping Luis would make it back here before she turned into a puddle of perspiration. A dip in the backyard oasis pool sounded more and more like a great idea.
“Hey, sorry it took so long.”
She spun around at the sound of Luis’s deep voice.
Regret creased a line between his brows as he jogged closer, then rounded the truck’s hood to meet her by the front passenger door. He dug a hand into the left front pocket of his dress pants, and Sara heard the click of the vehicle doors unlocking.
“No worries,” she assured him. “I enjoyed exploring the grounds after visiting the Grotto. I haven’t been waiting long.”
“Long enough. The sun’s brutal today. You’ll have to remember to put on extra sunscreen so you don’t burn.”
Luis brushed the back of his fingers gently along her shoulder. Desire swooped through her, a homing pigeon heading straight to her core.
They stared at each other, Sara trying but failing to read the storm of emotions in his dark eyes. This morning, they’d been awkward with each other. Her, embarrassed to find herself sprawled all over him as if he were her body pillow when she woke up. Him, stressed about his family potentially meeting her by accident.
Luis turned to open her door, and Sara stepped up on the running board to climb onto the seat. Rather than close the door, Luis remained standing beside her, filling the tiny space with his broad shoulders. The deep red material of his polo shirt complemented his bronze skin, the short sleeves taut over his muscular biceps. Her dashing he-man with a savior complex that she’d given thanks for during mass.
“You okay?” she asked, swiveling on the leather seat to face him.
“I’m sorry I was a jerk on the way over here,” he said, his gruff voice softened with sincerity.
Touched by his unexpected apology, she placed her hands on his shoulders, seeking a connection with him.
“Well, you were a little more dark and broody than normal,” she teased. A lot more, actually. With his cloud of doom and gloom increasing each mile closer to the church. “I tend to prefer that sexy little half smile you flash when you’re laughing on the inside, but trying to appear all tough guy-ish on the outside.”
A determined glint flashed in his dark eyes. “Sexy, huh?”
She gave him a playful swat and rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
“How about we forget role-playing around others for a little while, and spend some time just you and me,” Luis suggested. “Maybe a bike ride around the island while your parents and the others golf?”
“You don’t have plans with your family?”
For some reason she had assumed he would drop her off at the rental home now that everyone else was at brunch and she’d be on her own this afternoon while he did some regular Navarro Sunday activity.
He shook his head. “I’m all yours.”
Whether he meant it or not, the double entendre had Sara imagining all the delicious things they could do together if he really was “all hers.”
As if he read her wicked thoughts, Luis’s lips spread in a mischievous grin. He edged closer, wedging himself between her knees. His large hands settled on her hips, sending furls of desire spiraling into her belly.
“What do you think?” he asked.
What she couldn’t stop thinking about was how badly she ached to slide to the edge of the leather seat, wrap her legs around his waist, and invite him even closer. But this was a church parking lot, with parishioners trickling out after fellowship time. And she’d already had a close call nearly running into one of his family members.
“So, you’re offering me a personal island bike tour?” she asked, excitement rising to brighten what had been shaping up to be a dull afternoon ahead.
“Yup.”
“Just the two of us?”
Luis nodded.
“No complaints when I stop for a ton of pictures?”
“Nope.”
“Or ask you to play photographer for me?”
“Add me to your list of devoted paparazzi.”
Her heart melted at his silly answer. The idea of spending more time with Luis, alone, without the guise of their fake relationship hanging over them, sounded absolutely perfect.
“Heck yes, I’m in!” she blurted.
Luis leaned into the truck to press a far-too-quick but oh, so delicious kiss on her lips. Before she could react, he backed away to shut the door, then hurry around to his side of the vehicle. In seconds they were pulling out of the parking lot and making a left off the side road onto Truman Avenue.
In the passenger rearview mirror, Sara spotted a black SUV similar to the one Enrique had driven make the turn with them. The SUV followed for a bit, but Luis made a right onto a narrow street and the car continued straight.
Back at the rental home, she headed upstairs to quick-change out of church clothes into her bathing suit along with a running skirt and racerback tank top while Luis hunted down the white binder filled with helpful details and notes the homeowners had prepared. He saved the combination for the bike locks on his phone, then changed his clothes while she grabbed bottles of water from the fridge and added them to the shoulder bag filled with their beach towels and sunscreen.
Out on the back lawn near the storage shed, Luis held out a faded red ball cap. She took it, running her pointer finger over the gray and white KW embroidered on the front.
“What’s this for?” she asked.
“To shield your face from the sun. I wasn’t kidding, it’s brutal.”
She turned the hat over in her hands, the bill curved from what looked like years of use. Inside, she found the initials LN with #21 in black permanent marker.
“Is this your number?” she asked, swiping her thumb over the handwriting.
“Yeah. That’s my old baseball cap from when I played in high school.”
“Aww, and you trust me with it? I’m touched.” She swatted the hat at him, secretly feeling like a high schooler, beguiled by the hunky team captain inviting her to wear his letter jacket.
“It’s a classic, so don’t lose it,” he warned, playfully. “Here, let me adjust it.”
He took the cap, deftly tightened the headband, then looped it over her head. His fingers carefully tugged her ponytail through the opening at the back.
“How’s that feel?”
Perfect.
“Good,” she answered.
“Now I won’t worry about your beautiful face getting fried. I doubt your followers would be happy about that.”
“I could always write a post about the importance of sunscreen, pairing it with an approved product sponsor.”
“Always thinking, aren’t you?” He tapped the tip of her nose and winked, making her swoon like a smitten teen again.
Soon they were pedali
ng down Eaton Street headed toward the main drag where they came to a stop at the red light.
“There’s too much traffic to bike down Duval,” Luis told her, his eyes hidden behind a pair of black Ray-Bans. “Let’s make a left on Whitehead and bike toward the Southernmost Point. Less bobbing and weaving around tourists rubbernecking the sights and not paying attention to where they’re going.”
“Hey, I resemble that tourist remark,” she complained.
He shot her a grin that softened the hard planes of his face with an appealing boyish charm.
A blue sedan crossed in front of them, heading down Duval. The driver honked the car’s horn, and the older couple inside waved at Luis as they passed. His smile faltered, but he returned the greeting.
“Everything okay?” she asked, watching the sedan make its slow crawl down the busy street. It stopped for a group of teens jaywalking, cell phones high in the air recording their antics.
“Uh, sure. That was Señor and Señora Lopez. Friends of my parents.” The light changed, and Luis pushed off with his foot. “Let’s go.”
As they pedaled, he pointed out buildings and interesting sights along the way. Filling in personal stories of him and his siblings and cousins growing up.
She enjoyed hearing about him as a kid. Always the voice of reason in the group, or so his stories told.
On Whitehead, they stopped for Sara to take the requisite tourist photo at Mile Marker 0, the end of US 1. Or, as Luis referred to it, the Overseas Highway.
She snapped a selfie, tapping her cell screen to focus on the green and white mile marker and black and white highway signs, blurring her own image.
“Have you ever thought about starting here and driving all the way up US One until it reaches Maine?” she asked.
Her mind jumped to the travel blogs she could write featuring the different people and interesting local sights. The sponsors who might be interested in the advertising. “Imagine the various changes in landscape and scenery, especially if you made the trip during fall foliage up north.”
“Fall might be nice. Definitely not winter,” Luis answered once they’d hopped back on their bikes. “I’ve never even seen snow, much less driven in it.”
“Really?” Sara swerved around a pair of chickens pecking at the ground near a cracked street curb.
She’d already snapped a picture of a few of the stray chickens known to wander the island when she and Luis stopped to admire the huge kapok tree in front of the courthouse. He’d taken a photograph of her dwarfed by the towering tree with its unique trunk. Farther down the road, she’d marveled at an expansive banyan tree, its aboveground roots like thick gnarled fingers stretching up toward its branches.
“Not much chance of seeing snow when you live here,” Luis said.
“Winter in the city can get pretty bleak,” she admitted. “The snow’s beautiful when it first falls, but with the dirt and grime, eventually the pristine white fluff turns to black mush. Which I af-fectionally call snirt.”
He snorted a laugh and kept pedaling alongside her, his thigh muscles flexing. “Cute, but you’re not really selling city living to me. I’ll take the open water view of a blue horizon and the moped pace of island life any day.”
“Have you ever thought about living anywhere else?”
They reached another intersection and Sara pulled her blue beach cruiser to a stop next to Luis’s. One of the local Conch Tour Trolleys, seats packed with tourists, made the left turn onto Whitehead Street. A teen with her phone pointed out her window waved to them. Sara returned it with a friendly smile.
“No, not really.” He drove a hand through his closely cropped hair. Mouth curved down, he seemed to give her question some consideration.
Not for the first time since he’d changed into a black tank with a pair of gray board shorts and sneakers, Sara found herself admiring the natural ripple of his shoulder, upper back, and arm muscles whenever he moved.
“What about you? Are you a New Yorker for good now?” The light changed and Luis pushed into the intersection, glancing over his shoulder at her.
“I don’t know,” she admitted once she’d caught up to him. “The city vibe is energizing. Though admittedly, it can be tiring at times. If this deal works out with the investors and boutique in Miami, I may relocate.”
Luis gave her a double take, his bike swerving dangerously close to the curb before he corrected it. “For good?”
“For a little while at least. It might help with inspiration for the clothing line.”
He seemed to consider her admission, and she wondered if, like her, he contemplated the potential of them seeing each other again. Miami was only a three hour drive up US 1.
Her family thought it’s where she and Luis had met. Who’s to say they couldn’t meet up in Miami for real?
She’d love to. Would he? Or was he fine using this interlude to fill his time off and he’d wave good-bye at the end without wanting more?
The what-ifs tumbled in her head as they rode past the Ernest Hemingway Home and Museum, one of their stops on the Conch Tour Train yesterday. The two-story cream house with avocado-colored shutters and a walk-around porch on the second level already had a line of people waiting to enter. A high privacy wall kept the house and property mostly hidden from view, but passersby caught a glimpse of the famous writer’s Key West residence through the open gates and ticket booth.
“Since you like the outdoors, I bet you’d love skiing in Vermont or New Hampshire.” She veered closer to Luis as a pair of mopeds zoomed by. “The snow-covered mountains and ski slopes are a different view than the open ocean, but equally majestic.”
“Actually, one of my sister’s personal-training clients lives in Vermont and snowbirds here in the winter.”
“Great skiing there. Does your sister work with her clients year-round or only when they’re local?”
He nodded. “Anamaría trains several online and is trying to grow her business. She’s actually planning to meet a group of them for a triathlon up north this fall. Threatened to drag me along just to get me off the island.”
Eyeing the way his big frame dwarfed the bicycle, Sara couldn’t imagine anyone dragging Luis anywhere. Though she could think of a few places she’d like to try.
Luis slowed as they neared the busy curve at the end of Whitehead Street where the red, yellow, white, and black painted monument marking the famous Southernmost Point of the United States sat. Tourists lined up for pictures. Some stood on the seawall staring across the ocean, straining their eyes to catch a glimpse of Cuba a mere ninety miles away. Others sampled fresh coconut water from a vendor or perused artwork and memorabilia for sale at another pop-up booth.
“Wanna take a picture?” Luis propped his sunglasses on top of his head and squinted at Sara.
“That’s okay.” With the swarm of people, the wait would be long, and she’d had a photo taken with her family yesterday. A rare group picture she would treasure.
“How about lunch?” he asked.
“I’m good, unless you need to stop.”
“You’re not hungry?”
She shook her head.
“There wasn’t much time for breakfast before mass, did you grab a snack back at the house?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, her mood sinking with his line of questioning.
Luis started to say something else, but instead he clamped his mouth shut and slid his Ray-Bans in place to shield his eyes again. The lazy smile that had spread his lips throughout their bike ride wilted like the poinciana flower petals scattered along the road’s hot surface.
“The Southernmost Beach Resort is up ahead.” Luis maneuvered his bike through the crowd, tossing the words over his shoulder as she followed. “It’s a public beach, so we can stop there and cool off. Maybe grab a bite at the resort café.”
Disappointment tightened Sara’s chest. Given one guess, she knew what lay at his desire to stop at a beach with a convenient café.
Once
clear of the crowd, they pedaled off, heading toward the majestic Southernmost House at the end of the block. As she’d done yesterday, Sara marveled at the Victorian bed-and-breakfast with its round turret, intricate two-story balconies, and peach and pastel colors offset by the brick red roofing. Elegant gables added a dollhouse appeal and lush tropical grounds beckoned travelers seeking a respite in paradise. It was also, as Sara had emailed her agent about last night, the perfect spot for a photo shoot featuring the new line of tropical chic clothes she hoped to design with the investors from Miami. If—no, when—her agent finagled the final terms of the contract.
She and Luis pulled to a stop as Duval Street dead-ended with the Southernmost House on the right and a public beach with an open-air restaurant on the left. His expression grim, Luis walked his black beach cruiser to the bike stand, then waited for Sara to park hers alongside it. Working in silence, he looped the u-shaped steel lock through their bikes, securing them together.
Sara eased away from him and the issue she knew he wanted to push—what she had or hadn’t eaten today.
Rather than argue, she strolled to the sidewalk’s edge, where she kicked off her flip-flops to dig her toes in the sand. Turning to admire the open ocean, she remembered her mother’s remark about the calming, Zen-like effects of breathing in the sea air. The meditative aspect of staring out at the vastness as you imagined the world and all its infinite possibilities ahead of you.
Anxious about Luis’s need to take care of something she already had under control, Sara focused on their beautiful surroundings. Hoping to soak up some of the ocean’s calming power.
In the distance, a pair of catamarans floated idly by, white sails filled with humidity-laden wind. Several couples strolled hand in hand along the dock that extended about a hundred yards out. Midway down, two teen girls sat, dangling their feet into the clear green water. Blue beach loungers and white umbrellas dotted the sandy area between the restaurant and the water’s edge.
Island Affair Page 20
