Island Affair (Keys to Love #1) - Priscilla Oliveras Page 0,36
way.
Sure, he might admire the gentle sway of her hips as she took each step. Or think about running his palm up the soft skin along the calves the peach hem of her dress played with. Stopping her at the second floor landing so he could lean in, breathe deeply of her light citrusy scent, press slow, lazy kisses up the smooth column of her throat.
Sí, he might think about doing all those delicious things with her. But he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.
Sara had made it clear, when this charade was over, she hoped they’d wind up as friends.
No matter that the attraction luring him to her like the age-old siren’s call that lured fishermen to certain ruin the world over felt all too real.
Chapter 8
“I am so sorry about all that.” Sara rounded on Luis as soon as he closed the bedroom door behind them. This was much more complicated than she had anticipated.
Luis did a quick double-take shake of his head. “Uh, I’m not sure what you’re apologizing for. I thought we did okay.”
She waved off his words, turning and crossing the small space to plop on the queen bed with its coral-reef-inspired comforter.
“You were great, thanks. But my family.” Sara heaved a sigh laden with what the hell is going on? doubts. It was like she’d walked into a Twilight Zone episode where some things were the same but others weirdly off in a delayed answered prayers kind of way.
Pressing her fingers to her temples, she massaged at the stress headache threatening. “Everyone’s acting weird. Especially my mom. I mean, Robin’s . . . well, Robin. Always blunt and opinionated. With no qualms about sharing hers. And, annoyingly, she’s usually right. In a crisis, she’s the one you want around. But her bedside manner, sheesh, leaves much to be desired.”
“Well, let’s hope we don’t encounter a crisis. If we do, I’m pretty good in a pinch if I do say so myself. Should I need a wingman’s assistance, I’ll know Robin is the one to rely on,” Luis answered, not sounding even the slightest bit annoyed by Robin’s rudeness. “Jonathan seems like a good guy to depend on, too.”
His big frame dwarfing the already-small room, Luis crossed to the light-stained wood plank extending along the length of the outside wall, where the ceiling angled down. The plank served as a makeshift desk in the center, with two white drawers holding up either end. Dragging out the wicker desk chair, he swiveled it around on one leg to straddle it, then draped his tanned forearms along the backrest.
“Outside of that, you can count on me to help you volley back anything she lobs your way. Though I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t seem inclined to do that yourself. Any particular reason why?”
The keen, sincere interest in his dark brown eyes made it difficult for Sara to dodge his question. Even if admitting the ineptitude she always experienced around her accomplished sister wasn’t high on her favorite things list.
Late afternoon sun shone through the large skylight on the angled ceiling behind Luis, brightening their room. She squinted at him, considering how much to divulge while also distracted by the man himself. His dark closely cropped hair, sharp angular features, and bronze skin were a contrast to the wispy clouds and light blue sky framed behind him. Her real-life Vin Diesel, playing the role of an avenging angel, come to help save the day.
Only, the muscles rippling in his strong arms as he crossed them and the rakish tilt of his mouth gave rise to unangelic ideas involving him and her and the comfy bed she currently occupied.
Something about Luis Navarro compelled her to trust him. And yet she’d been bit by bad decisions with guys in the past. Ric and his self-centered personality. Before him there’d been Chris, the photographer, who it turned out was more interested in her connections. In college there’d been Thomas, the frat boy who’d been her plus-one to countless sorority socials but who couldn’t get away fast enough once her eating disorder had been diagnosed.
Gun-shy about letting someone else get too close. Already on shaky emotional ground thanks to her parents’—really her mother’s—mind-boggling new life philosophy, Sara skirted Luis’s question about her inability to call Robin on her bitchiness. Sidestepping uncomfortable conversations was a maneuver Sara had perfected over the years, until her first therapist had called bullshit.
“Arguing with Robin isn’t worth upsetting my mother.” Sara lifted a shoulder, letting it fall in a practiced