Anchored Hearts

by Priscilla Oliveras

  Then her delectable mouth curved in a sweet smile. Pulling her hands from his light grip, she grasped his shoulders and edged deeper into the space between his legs, until their torsos nearly touched and her hips brushed his inner thighs.

  “Then again, smartest doesn’t always equate to the most fun.” A playful spark ignited the gold flecks in her hazel eyes seconds before her eyes drifted closed and she kissed him.

  Desire, swift and hot, scorched through him. He grabbed her waist, pulling her hips flush with his. She came willingly, adjusting her stance to avoid his injured leg. Her tongue swept across his lips, seeking entrance. He opened, savoring the taste of the mint she had popped into her mouth on the drive home. Their tongues tangled and stroked each other. She moaned her pleasure, one hand spearing through his hair along his nape, encouraging him. Their kiss was hot and frenzied and still not enough.

  Suddenly she pulled back, her fingers reaching for the buttons on his shirt, making quick work of them. His elbow bumped his crutches, and they clattered onto the mottled gray and white tile floor.

  Never one to be idle, he grasped the zipper on her windbreaker. The damn thing caught in the white material and he had to raise, then carefully lower it a couple times, revving his anticipation of divesting her of the barrier between her skin and his lips. Her cleavage beckoned, and he bent to kiss her warm skin.

  “Off, now,” she demanded, pushing his unbuttoned shirt over his shoulders. He released her long enough to shrug off his button-down and tug his white T-shirt over his head. He emerged to find her white and purple windbreaker in a puddle on the floor. His shirts soon joined it.

  Her hands explored his pecs, fingers teasing across his collarbones and shoulders, down to his biceps, then back again, leaving a trail of pin-prickly awareness that heightened his desire for her. She ducked down to place a kiss over his heart, the tip of her tongue sneaking out to taste him. Her throaty mmmm had his dick hardening.

  Lust drove him and he reached for her. Hands spanning her hips, he ran his thumbs along the elastic waistband of her black leggings. He traced her obliques, spread his palms across her rib cage. His blood pulsed as she trembled with his caress. Anxious to touch more of her, he slid his hands to cup her ass, drawing her flush against him, letting her feel his reaction to her.

  She gasped, her eyes flashing with wanton desire. Then she bent to nip his neck with her teeth, nibbling her way to his ear where she licked, then blew on the sensitive lobe.

  “You smell delicious,” she murmured, nuzzling his ear with her nose.

  He growled low in his throat, his erection throbbing for her. His fingers kneaded the round curve of her butt, reveling at the feel of her shapely curves in his palms. Still, it wasn’t enough; he needed more of her. Craved more of her.

  She sealed his lips with hers, their kiss fevered. Demanding. Her giving and taking as fiercely as he did. Tongues twisting, teasing. Hands roving over each other, reacquainting themselves with curves and dips and planes. Their motions frantic and hungry, as if she felt his same need to make up for the last twelve years of separation.

  He filled his palms with her lush breasts, rubbing his fingers over her nipples through the purple Lycra bra, the taut pebbles heightening his driving need to taste them.

  She did her own exploring, fingers and mouth and tongue roaming over his torso, her hands skirting around to massage the muscles along his back. Her short nails skimmed down his spine, sweeping around to tease his sensitive nipples. His erection strained in his shorts, begging for her attention.

  “I missed you,” she whispered, burying her face in his neck, her warm breath heating his skin.

  He cradled her in his arms, relief seeping over him and soothing his fear of her rejection. Something he continually experienced with his father. What he thought she had done in the past.

  Only now he knew differently.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” he said, knowing he had already told her so the other day when the words had slipped out unbidden, torn from his soul like a Band-Aid ripped off of an unhealed wound.

  Now he readily admitted them. The rush of gratification that came from voicing a truth he had denied as a matter of pride washed over him like a cleansing wave, and he couldn’t stop himself from repeating the heartfelt confession. “Dios, how I missed you.”

  He felt her smile against his neck, followed by a sweet kiss where his pulse beat rapidly. Another press of her lips on the curve of his jawbone. Another on his chin. A chaste trail to his lips, where she sucked his bottom lip into her warm mouth in a decidedly unchaste move that had lust throbbing in his shorts.

  Growling low in his throat, he devoured her mouth, invading it with his tongue just as she had invaded his heart. Her hands dived into his hair again, massaging his scalp while her lips teased his and her pelvis undulated against him in a motion natural and raw.

  When they finally broke apart, their heavy breaths mingling, they stared at each other. Him dazed by the reality of being here with her again. She was as sexy and sweet and loveable as he’d always pictured in his dreams.

  “Now that we’ve established that we both missed each other, what are we going to do about it?” Her gaze slid to the chaise section of the couch.

  Alejandro straightened, and she wrapped an arm around his waist to help him hop around the piece of furniture. Once he sat down, leaving his left leg dangling off to the side of the cushion and out of the way, she gently pushed on his shoulders, encouraging him to lie back.

  “Wanna play doctor with me?” she suggested, waggling her eyebrows playfully.

  A laugh burst from him at her unexpected but welcome question.

  She paused, fingers on the button of his shorts, actually waiting for him to give her the okay. As if the erection straining for release wasn’t enough of a sign that he was more than okay with her ministrations.

  He brushed her fingers aside and quickly unbuttoned his cargo shorts in answer.

  She helped him elevate his hips to tug down the material; then he extracted his right leg, leaving the shorts to dangle from his other thigh. Her ponytail braid slipped over her shoulder, the ends tickling his stomach when she bent to kiss his knee above the top ring.

  “You okay?” she asked softly, glancing up at him from under her lashes.

  “Never better.”

  He brushed his fingers along the juncture of her neck and shoulder, marveling at her soft skin.

  “We have to be careful,” she told him. Her gaze cut down to his injured leg again before coming back up to meet his.

  “It’s fine. I’m good. Or I will be as soon as you stop worrying and get back to playing doctor. I’m waiting for my house call.” He pressed his wrist to his forehead and grimaced as if in torment. “Hey, Doc, I think I have a fever. You really need to check me out.”

  She laughed at his antics but quickly sobered. “You tell me if something hurts. If you’re uncomfortable or—”

  “Anamaría, I’m good. We’re good.” He caressed her forearm hoping to soothe her fears. Acknowledging, privately, that her concern for his well-being touched him in a place no one else had ever been able to reach.

  “I promise,” he assured her when that tiny worry groove appeared between her brows. “But I can assure you I’ll be a helluva lot better when there’s a little less talk and a lot more action.”

  He winked and she dropped her head back to groan up at the ceiling. “Ay Dios mío, that was so cheesy.”

  But the worry eased from her beautiful face and the tension relaxed from her shoulders when she glanced down at him again.

  “Come here.” He beckoned her with a jerk of his head. Wanting her closer.

  Instead, she surprised him by crossing her arms and deftly peeling off her sports bra. The scrap of material landed on the tile floor as she grinned and straddled him.

  Damn, she was hot.

  He cupped her breasts in his palms, moving them in slow, languid circles. Her eyelids drifted closed as a moan of pl
easure escaped her kiss-swollen lips. She put her hands over his, guiding his fingers to play with her nipples. Showing him what she liked. His erection pulsed with need. She ground against him, bold and confident. Something neither of them had been in their youthful explorations together.

  He marveled at this new side of her. Silently promised to cherish her the way she deserved. A sense of rightness, of finally being whole again, seeped into the dark, lonely recesses of his heart.

  “Ay, Princesa, me vuelves loco,” he murmured, certain if he didn’t get inside her soon, she would indeed drive him crazy.

  He stretched up to lap at the curve of her breast with his tongue, desperate to satisfy his longing to taste her. It wasn’t enough.

  “I don’t know about you, Doc,” he told her as he trailed his tongue from one of her breasts to the other. “But this patient is ready and willing to undergo a full body work up.”

  She laughed, a rich, throaty sound that was sweet music to his lonely soul. “Ay, papito, show me where it hurts, and I’ll kiss it all better.”

  Chapter 16

  Seated next to Luis at the round kitchen table in the nook overlooking their mami and papi’s backyard and canal, Anamaría handed her brother the salad bowl. He dug in, refilling his plate with more of the fresh spinach leaves and mix of raw veggies she insisted her mom add to their regular dinner menu.

  Outside, the early-evening sky held a loose grasp on the day’s orange sherbet and cherry red sunset colors while the night’s dark blue and violets descended. Lights flickered on in their neighbors’ homes up and down the canal. The yellowish glows shone out of windows and off screened-in porches to shimmer on the surface of the deep water.

  Tonight, she and Luis were the only two siblings in attendance because José’s T-ball team had practice, which meant Carlos and Enrique were at the baseball field coaching, while little Ramón tagged along picking up pointers and serving as batboy. Sara had driven up to Miami for meetings about her clothing line and South Beach boutique, while Gina relished a few hours of well-earned solitude at home.

  But come this weekend, the Navarros would all be seated around the larger dining room table, breaking bread, catching up, and granting their matriarch’s wish to have all her children and grandchildren together at least once a week, outside of mass. Anamaría readily admitted their weekly meals were something she and the rest of her familia looked forward to as well.

  “Ay, nena!” her mom exclaimed, scooping up a bite of mashed potatoes with her fork. “I cannot believe how many new peoplers you have since those pictures Alejandro took for you y ese nene. ¿Cuando fue eso, ha? Two, three weeks ago now?”

  Anamaría shared a grin with her brother. “Sí, it was a little over two weeks ago. Pero they’re called ‘followers,’ Mami. Not ‘peoplers.’”

  Lydia waved off the correction like a pesky mosquito, the faint lines crossing her brow deepening with a whatever frown she would have told little José was rude to make. “Gente, people, followers. You know what I mean. Anyway, today I joined Elena for lunch at Miranda’s and she showed me the Instagram app. She’s one of your people—ay, followers, sí? And Sara’s, too. It’s very nice of you to help Elena with her Instagram wall.”

  Instagram feed.

  Anamaría silently made the correction, her exasperated gaze meeting Luis’s. Wise man that he was, her brother shoveled more pork roast in his mouth. His way of telling her not to bother, it was a hopeless endeavor, trying to teach their mami about social media apps. Luis, who preferred his privacy and chose to stay off social media, leaving that domain to his successful fiancée, knew there was a good reason why their mami didn’t own an Instagram or Twitter account.

  Lydia Quintana de Navarro could successfully chair the committee for a St. Mary’s event hundreds would attend. Had done so for years. She’d managed their familia budget and household, raised four fantastic kids—as she was fond of saying—and mentored countless others in the church teen program.

  But when it came to technology, challenged did not even begin to describe their mami. She struggled mightily to find her way around her personal profile on The Facebook, as she referred to it. And even with that single social media account, there were times one or more of the Navarro siblings cringed when they read a comment their mami made on a familia member’s or friend’s post. Nothing like waving the digital chancla at someone in front of their thousands of “friends.”

  No need to increase the number of potential recipients of her well-intentioned, if boundary-pushing, advice by giving her access to a Twitter or Instagram handle, too.

  “Ale’s pictures were amazing. And really, boosting AM Fitness’s reach to better promote the AllFit brand has been a group effort,” Anamaría explained, cutting a piece of the pork roast next to the large helping of salad on her plate. “Brandon, Sara, and AllFit have posted different images from the photo shoot with Alejandro on their social media platforms, tagging me and encouraging their followers to find me. And with Brandon sharing a teaser about the Key West retreat we’re planning together, things have really taken off.”

  She speared the pork with her fork, nonplussed by the bullet train her side hustle had boarded. Astounded by the huge jump in followers, views, and subscribers on her YouTube channel, plus the requests for information about her online personal training programs. Now she was looking into the logistics of creating a monthly subscription service for nutrition and training clients. The passive income potential could really skyrocket, boosting her monthly budget.

  Brandon had mentioned the idea to her during a retreat-planning call, and Alejandro was giving her a few key photography and videography tips to improve her posts.

  She grinned thinking about the photo shoot she and Alejandro had started in her home gym in the storage space beneath her town house. Started but not finished because they had gotten a little distracted. And disheveled.

  His Damn, girl, you look hot, murmured under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear as she’d lain back on the padded bench, had drawn her attention. She’d swiveled her head to where he sat on a black metal barstool, his Canon at the ready. Her tongue made a slow swipe of her lower lip and his camera wobbled. A blazing heat that matched the one burning inside her flared in his espresso-colored eyes as he peered over the top of his Canon, and she had nearly dropped the twenty-pound free weights she held above her chest.

  Her body had instantly responded to the lust he didn’t even try to hide from his face. Her breasts grew heavy, their sensitive tips straining against the tight sports bra material. Need pulsed between her legs, swift and urgent. Her weights had clunked to the padded floor, and he’d set the camera aside, his intense gaze never leaving hers. Together they’d maneuvered him to the bench, his shirt and her exercise bra off before his back hit the black padding, her mouth devouring his.

  So far over the past two weeks they had christened her sofa, the kitchen table, both the master and guest beds, and for old time’s sake, she had laid the back seats flat in her Pilot so they could make out in a car like they had as teens. Given his injury, there’d been a need for dexterity and creative thinking, but they’d been up to the challenge.

  Adding her home gym to their secret list when he’d come home with her after the Zumba class at St. Mary’s earlier today meant she’d never be able to work out down there again without picturing Alejandro’s lean, sculpted body stretched along the weight bench, naked and gloriously ready for hers.

  Dios mío, the man might be a genius behind the camera, but in front of it? His hands, his fingers, his lips . . . they did dangerous, wicked, amazing things to her body.

  “Verdad, nena?” her mom asked, the question unwittingly dispelling Anamaría’s delectable daydreams.

  “Right about what?” she asked. “Sorry, I zoned out thinking about Alejandro. I mean, thinking about something he, um, suggested for my home gym.”

  Her face flamed and she reached for her glass of lemon water.

  Her mom smiled,
that see-Mami-knows-best smirk that usually preceded her “te lo dije.”

  She had no idea what her mom thought she had “told her,” but it certainly wasn’t to engage in this no-strings fling with the man Anamaría had never completely gotten over, all in the guise of finally having closure.

  She would. Have closure, that is. As long as she didn’t let herself get sucked into considering those pesky what-ifs again. There were none. Only an amicable separation after his exhibit in six or so weeks, when they would go their separate ways.

  “You know me,” Luis said. “I only see your posts and stuff when I’m looking over Sara’s shoulder or she sends me a screen shot of something. But she’s been impressed with the way everything’s played out so far for you.”

  He nabbed another slice of Cuban bread from the towel-covered bowl in the center of the table, using it to mop up the juice from his pork roast. Oh, the empty carbs her brothers ate, despite her nagging.

  “She thinks you and Brandon teaming up is golden, for both of you,” Luis said after swallowing a hefty bite of bread. “And you know she wouldn’t say that lightly.”

  “We’re very proud of you, nena.” Her papi nodded from his seat in front of the backyard window. The lights from the Sellers’ house across the canal shone through the wide kitchen window, hovering like fireflies around her papi’s head. “You have worked hard on your business for many years. Growing in smart ways. I think you are ready. It’s good to see you no longer letting anything, or anyone, hold you back.”

  For a man who rarely doled out advice without being asked, this was the second time since she’d arrived about an hour ago that he’d made a comment she swore was riddled with subtext. She studied him, searching for some clue, a hint of what he might be implying. His typically calm, judicious demeanor remained unchanged, which made it even more difficult for her to tell.

  Maybe she was reading into things. Catholic guilt, instilled throughout elementary school at St. Mary’s and from years living under her devout parents’ roof, was alive and thriving inside her. Her extracurricular activities with Alejandro lately fed it.