“The other day I acted like an idiot.”
Surprised by his unexpected admission, she drew up short. Her suitcase kept rolling, clipping her sharply on the ankle as it smacked into her.
“Ow!” She bent down to grab the sore spot.
Gravel crunched as Luis moved to kneel at her feet. Blood oozed from an inch-long gash along her ankle. He wiped it with his thumb. Fresh blood oozed out again, dripping down to her heel.
He rose, sweeping her up in his arms.
“Luis!” she gasped. “What are you doing?”
“You need to elevate this and get a bandage on it to stop the bleeding.” He strode to the driver’s side of his truck, where he opened the door and set her on the high seat.
She watched, nonplussed by his overly protective behavior, as he retrieved her suitcase and returned to her.
“I can take care of this after I check in,” she told him. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“I have a first-aid kit in the backseat. Let me—”
“Luis, stop.”
He paused, his hand on the driver’s side passenger door handle. He closed his eyes and the air seemed to whoosh out of him. Now that she was closer, she noticed the pain-filled stress pinching his rugged features.
Like her, it didn’t look like he had spent the last day and a half living it up in Key West.
“What are you doing?” she asked softly.
“I’m trying to apologize to you.” The dejected frown creasing his brows and clouding his dark eyes made her heart ache.
“By bandaging my ankle?”
“Yes. No!” He rubbed a hand along the back of his head, clearly frustrated. At what remained to be seen though.
Sara dug in her purse for a pack of tissues and pulled one out. Luis took the tissue from her and applied pressure to the gash.
His large hand wrapped around her ankle, and she shivered at his touch. He glanced at her from under his lashes. The tenderness in his expression had tears stinging her eyes, but she blinked them away.
A moment of tenderness would not erase what had been said between them on Wednesday. Before she could let him in again, she had to know if anything had changed with him.
“I drove to the rental house at ten, but you were already gone,” Luis said.
“We checked out and had a late breakfast at Camille’s. Anamaría recommended it.”
He nodded, a strange hesitancy replacing his normally confident demeanor. Ducking his head, he checked her gash to find it continued bleeding, so he applied pressure again with his left hand. His right gently stroked the inside of her lower leg as if in comfort.
Desire flared, racing up her leg, tingling in her core.
She longed to drag him closer, feel his strong arms around her, and lose herself in his kiss. It would be good. Oh, so good.
But desire wasn’t enough.
“What are you doing here?” she prodded when he didn’t say anything.
“I remembered you were on the Newark flight. And I figured . . . well, hoped, I guess . . . I might catch you. That maybe you’d stop here. At our spot, before you left.”
“Our spot?”
He straightened, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders. “Yeah. One of many on the island, actually. It’s like you’ve left your mark. Everywhere I look, everywhere I go, I see you.”
“Interesting.” Exhilarating, actually, but she couldn’t let herself get excited. She’d spent the last part of her family’s vacation crying her eyes out because of his inability to be honest with her. Now wariness ruled. “My mark, huh? Kinda makes me sound like a dog peeing my way around Old Town.”
He laughed, the worried shadow blanketing his handsome face shifting a little.
She smiled at him, loving the tiny laugh lines that fanned out from his eyes. The curves that bracketed his mouth. Signs of happiness.
Softly, he tucked her hair behind her ear, caressed her jawline, then reached for her hand, holding it gently between both of his.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said, his expression filled with regret. “You were right: I was scared. It was easier to blame Enrique for everything when I didn’t get to blame the one person who deserved most of it. Mirna. And myself. I felt foolish for not recognizing her duplicity. For mistaking my desire to help her for love. And again, I made Enrique take the brunt of that. But you . . .”
He raised their joined hands to press a kiss to hers. “Your bravery showed me that I could put myself out there. Admit my mistakes to Enrique. Start making amends with him. And most important, admit my feelings for you.”
Luis peered at her intently as he kissed her knuckles again. Love . . . god, she hoped that was love . . . blazed in his dark eyes.
Sara bit her lip, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. Afraid if she blinked, she’d wake up and find this was all a dream.
“I love you, Sara Vance. My life was dull and lonely and stuck in a rut until you walked into it. All sunshine and smiles and strength and vulnerability and everything good. The other day you said you wanted to be with me, for more than a week. I hope my hardheadedness hasn’t scared you away. Because I’m here now. I’m all in. If you can forgive—”
Sara cupped his strong jaw with her palms and kissed him. For a second, Luis didn’t move; then his arms encircled her, tugging her tightly against his chest. She slid to the edge of the seat and wrapped her legs around his waist.
He groaned and deepened their kiss, his mouth insistent and sweet. Heat filled her as their tongues danced, mated. She moaned with pleasure and his mouth moved to trail little nips at her jaw, her neck, the secret spot behind her ear.
“Please tell me this means yes,” he whispered, sucking her sensitive earlobe into his warm mouth.
“You had me at ‘I love you,’” she answered, her soul singing with elation. “And in case it wasn’t clear, I love you, too.”
Luis drew back, his intense gaze meeting hers. His big hands slid from her upper arms to the side of her neck, his thumbs softly caressing her collarbone.
“Total honesty here. I don’t want a pretend seven-day island affair. I want it all, with you.” He ducked down to press a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Only you.”
Sara laid a hand over his heart. “Only you.”
Luis flashed that sexy half smirk that never failed to make her giddy with awareness. Sara grinned back as she gathered his shirt in her fist and pulled him toward her.
He covered her mouth with his, their kiss hot, intense, breathtakingly beautiful. Just like the Key West sunset that colored the skies above this magical island that had brought them together, this week and for always.
Acknowledgments
I’ve always wanted to bring readers along for a visit to Key West, my adolescent home. The idea for the Navarros—a hardworking, faithful familia devoted to each other despite disagreements, dedicated to their jobs, and the island they call home—has been flitting through my imagination, Luis and Anamaría and Enrique’s voices whispering in my ear for several years. But I couldn’t have brought them all to life without the help and support of some incredible people.
First, to the Seller boys . . . well, men now, dear friends since high school . . . Eric, Keith, Mark, and John, my sincerest thanks for sharing your stories and answering my never-ending questions about life as a firefighter in the Keys. And special thanks to the firefighters at Monroe County Stations 7 & 8 who let me hang out for a day, put on some gear and work out, and tag along on a few calls . . . you’re all heroes in my eyes. Any errors here or in the Navarro familia books to follow are all mine.
To the authors who talk me off the ledge when the words don’t feel right and the pressure is on . . . my Fiction from the Heart sisters, my 4 Chicas Chat hermanas, and the ladies of the #Thermostat crew . . . this author life we love isn’t always easy, but it’s worthwhile in large part because of your friendship.
To the small but growing number of #LatinxRom authors . . . our stories, those of our gente, deser
ve to be shared and cherished, so we keep writing and calling for more! ¡Mil gracias por su apoyo y amistad!
To Martin, Esi, and Norma, first-class editors and key members of my Kensington familia . . . my thanks for believing in me.
To Rebecca, my ah-mazing agent, thank you for taking this wild ride with me and for giving such fabulous pep talks.
I am nothing without mi familia . . . Mami, Papi, Jackie and JD, your faith and love are true blessings. And my girls . . . Alexa, Gabby, and Belle, all I do is with the hopes of making you as proud of me as I am of you. You’re my true inspiration!
And finally, to you, readers . . . heartfelt thanks for spending time with my Navarro familia and all the characters that I hold in my heart. I hope you come to love them as much as I do, and that you enjoy visiting my home town.
Abrazos/hugs,
Priscilla
There’s more to come for the Navarro family in the second book in the Keys to Love series, available soon.
Love Priscilla Oliveras?
Keep reading for a sneak peek at
HIS PERFECT PARTNER,
the first book in the
Matched to Perfection series.
And be sure to get the whole series
HIS PERFECT PARTNER
HER PERFECT AFFAIR
THEIR PERFECT MELODY
Available now wherever books are sold.
Chapter 1
The hottest guy to ever hit Oakton, Illinois, lingered outside her dance studio doorway, bringing Yazmine Fernandez to a stutter-step stop.
Seriously, the guy was like manna-from-heaven Latino GQ—from the top of his closely cropped jet-black hair, down his six-foot muscular frame, to the soles of his shiny wing-tip shoes.
Behind her, seven pairs of dancers scrambled to remember the next step in the preschool father-daughter Christmas dance. But Yazmine couldn’t look away.
“Hey, a little help here?” One of the dads waved at her from the back row.
“Sorry.” Yaz listened to the music for several beats, then fell back into step with their “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” routine.
In the studio’s mirror-lined wall she caught the stranger’s flustered scowl. Even frowning, he still made her heart hop-skip in her chest.
Dios mío, she’d obviously neglected her social life for too long. Sure, her dance card had been pretty full with other obligations for nearly eighteen months now, but her lack of partner-dance practice shouldn’t account for the heat prickling her insides. In her line of work, hunky guys were always on the cast list.
Then again, drop an attention-grabbing, well-built man into a room full of suburban soccer dads, and a woman’s thoughts naturally wandered down a road better left untraveled.
Untraveled by her, anyway.
The newcomer’s gaze skimmed across the people in her studio.
Yaz brightened her smile, but he turned away without even noticing her. Disappointed, and strangely self-conscious, she tugged at the bodice of her camisole leotard as she led the group into a jazz square.
The song’s second verse transitioned to the chorus repetition, and Yaz wove through the front line to get a better look at the back row. “Left hand, Mr. Johnson—your other left.”
The dad groaned, his daughter giggling at his exaggerated grimace .
“Don’t worry, you’ll get it.” Yaz peeked over the child’s shoulder to the studio doorway again.
The hunk glared down at his phone, flicking through something on the screen. His mouth thinned as he slid the cell into the pocket of his suit jacket. Yaz’s stomach executed a jittery little sashay.
This guy had to be in the wrong place. No way she’d forget meeting him before at the dance studio.
Yaz dropped her gaze to his left ring finger. Bare.
Not that it should matter to her. She’d learned the hard way it was much better to look than to touch. Especially if a girl didn’t want to get her fingers singed, or her heart flambéed.
Besides, as soon as Papi’s oncologist gave him the all-clear, she’d be on the first direct flight out of Chicago, headed back to New York and Broadway. Nothing would stand in her way this time.
The holiday song drew to a close. Fathers bowed. Daughters curtsied. GQ stepped into her studio.
Anticipation fluttered a million, spastic butterfly wings in her chest. He probably needed directions to another business close by.
Yaz hurried toward him. “Excuse me, do you need some help?”
Or, better yet, a no-strings-attached date for a night out in nearby Chicago?
“Papá!”
Maria Garcia jumped up from her seat on the floor along the back wall, running to fling her arms around the man’s thighs. Everyone else in the class turned at the commotion.
Increíble. Apparently the hunk did belong here. To the usually subdued, adorable five-year-old who’d joined the class in mid-September.
At his daughter’s screech of delight, the worried scowl vanished from the man’s features. Relief and joy surged in. For a moment Yaz bought into his pleasure, savoring the smile that softened his chiseled face with boyish charm.
Then, with the stinging slap of a bitter Chicago wind, Yaz recalled the number of practices Maria’s father had skipped over the past two months—the number of classes when the child had sat alone in the back and the number of times she’d had to partner with Mrs. Buckley, her grandmotherly nanny, because her father had failed to show up as promised. Again.
The attraction searing through Yaz’s body cooled as fast as if she’d dunked herself into an ice bath after a marathon day of rehearsal.
Bendito sea Dios, the prodigal father, more focused on his advertising career than his child, had finally arrived—tardy, of course. Blessed be God, indeed.
“You made it!” Surprise heightened Maria’s high-pitched cry.
“I sure did, chiquita.” Mr. Garcia scooped up his daughter and spun her around, the picture of familial bliss.
Maria grinned with pleasure.
Still, Yaz couldn’t stop remembering the hurt in the little girl’s eyes over the past weeks because of her father’s absences. Legs shaking, she strode to the corner table at the front of the room and jabbed the stop button on her iPod speakers. “Everyone, let’s take a five-minute water break.”
Mr. Garcia and Maria stepped to the side of the room so the other class members could head to the lobby area.
Anger over the weeks of disappointment he’d brought on his daughter pulsed a heavy, deep bass beat in Yaz’s chest. She sucked in what was supposed to be a calming breath and counted to ten. Then twenty.
So much for her brief fantasy of a friendly night out with a hunky stranger. Her first since long before she’d left New York to come home. That definitely wasn’t going to happen. Not with this man.
* * *
“M’ija, I’m sorry I’m late.”
The trite words burned Tomás’s lips with their insignificance. No matter how many times he apologized, he knew he’d never forget the dejection crumpling Maria’s shoulders when he’d finally spotted her sitting in the back of the room. Knowing he’d put the sadness there was like a swift punch to his gut.
He tried so damn hard to be a good father. Still, more and more often it felt like he was falling short.
“It’s okay.” Maria gave him a sad version of her normally sunny smile. “At least you made it for a little while this time.”
This time.
Guilt latched onto him, sinking its claws into his shoulders. Talk about feeling like a loser single parent. Lately, his drive to be the best at work had him short-changing his daughter. Sure, he’d landed a prize client today, but the extended negotiations had made him leave the office late, remorse riding shotgun on his mad dash out of the city.
“Come on, Papá.” Maria linked their fingers together. “I want you to meet Ms. Yazmine. ’Member, I told you about her.”
Ha, it was impossible to forget. All Maria talked about was her new dance inst
ructor. Apparently the lady walked on water.
Maria pointed to a tall, slender woman standing at a corner table up front. The previously crowded room and his anxiety over not being able to find Maria when he’d first arrived had to be the only explanation for his not noticing the beautiful instructor earlier.
Now, there was no missing her.
Ms. Yazmine’s black hair was pulled back in a sleek bun low on her nape. On someone else the style might have looked severe. On her, it accentuated her smooth forehead, high cheekbones, elegant neck, and sun-kissed olive skin. She wore a black, figure-hugging spaghetti-strap leotard with tights, and a short, filmy skirt fluttered over the thighs of her long, toned legs.
Hands clasped, feet set in a dance position he couldn’t name, Ms. Yazmine had him picturing a different kind of position altogether. One not quite appropriate for their current surroundings.
Heat pooled low in his body. Ay, ay, ay, this woman could sell sand in a desert. She was an ad-man’s dream.
Hell, any man’s dream.
A guy could probably get used to having a woman like her dancing around in his life.
Tomás sucked in a surprised breath, wondering where that thought had come from.
“Vente.” Maria paired her command for him to come with a tug of his hand, dragging him across the floor. “Ms. Yazmine, I want you to meet my papá.”
Tomás could have sworn he saw her flinch, but the instructor set her iPod down and slowly turned away from the desk. She gave him a stiff, yet polite, smile.
“My apologies for being late. It’s nice to meet you.” Tomás held out his hand, noting Ms. Yazmine’s hesitation before she placed her cool hand in his.
“I’m glad you could finally join us, Mr. Garcia.” She might appear delicate, but her grip was as firm as her voice. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d make it.”
There was no missing the reproach. Clearly they were starting off on the wrong note.
“Longer than anticipated meetings, shifting schedules. Sometimes they can’t be avoided, no matter how hard I try. But I’m here now, ready to give this a shot.” He swung an arm out to encompass the room, tamping down his irritation at having to explain himself. After all, he was twenty minutes late.
Island Affair Page 31
