Island Affair (Keys to Love #1) - Priscilla Oliveras Page 0,68
hand trying to dislodge the distracting dress. The plastic hanger clattered against the top of the wardrobe as it swung violently on the metal pole.
Okay, so he was a little amped up. Dipping his big toe into the freaked-out pool he rarely swam in. Basically, doing a piss-poor job of hiding it or dealing with it now that Sara’s family wasn’t around and he didn’t have to pretend.
But co?o! The situation was snowballing out of control, and this Conch who’d never even seen snow was wide-eyed by the avalanche of repercussions that had been tumbling their way all day.
This was why he never shook things up, like Carlos had recommended. It only led to messes and confusion and problems. Case in point, his current situation.
First, there’d been his and Sara’s heart-to-heart this morning, which had him fighting not to slide deeper into the comfortable saver-of-all role. As if he wasn’t in deep enough already with her.
Then, spending the day with Sara and her family, even prickly Robin, who Luis would bet a dive trip’s gas money often snarked from a place of hidden pain similar to Sara’s. Today had chased away a loneliness Luis had refused to acknowledge for years. Until his captain’s edict and his brother’s ass chewing. No, until he’d met Sara.
Not that he was ready to do something monumental to change the situation. Like walk into St. Mary’s with Sara at his side, basically inviting the Cuban Inquisition from his mom. If she rallied his tías to join the interrogation, he didn’t stand a chance.
Yet, what was the alternative?
No way was he dumping Sara at some café on her own, making her miss mass. Talk about an even worse sin in his mami’s eyes. Not that she’d ever find out. But the Catholic guilt would inevitably weigh on him.
San Navarro.
That damn nickname Carlos had given him after the church retreat in high school heckled Luis like an adolescent teen in sex ed class. Eight years of private school at St. Mary’s and a lifetime of rosaries, rituals, and Holy Days of Obligation under his mami’s and abuela’s watchful eyes had him mastering Catholic guilt as well as a monk housed on a high mountaintop monastery.
If Sara regularly attended mass like her mom had implied, no way was she skipping because of him.
Sara pushed off the doorjamb. Her blue nightie flirted with her upper thighs as she strolled toward him, giving rise to un-saint-like cravings that thrummed in his body.
“I thought we settled this yesterday?” She crossed behind him to snatch up the pillow and throw it back on the bed. “But, if anyone has to sleep on the floor, it’ll be me.”
“No way, you will not—”
“Which I don’t plan to do either,” she interrupted, hands fisted on her trim hips. “This is a perfectly good bed that should fit the two of us just fine. Unless you’re a bed hog.”
She arched her brows in challenge.
Luis scratched his head, then dropped his hand to hinge on the back of his neck. He could already feel the ache in his back muscles he’d wake up with if he slept on the hard floor. The idea held little appeal.
If she didn’t have a problem sharing a bed, why should he?
One of her thin straps slid off Sara’s slender shoulder. She pushed it back up with her index finger. He imagined sliding it down again. Trailing kisses along its delectable path.
Dios lo ayude, por favor.
Yeah, he was definitely in need of divine help here. His thoughts were careening dangerously out of control. He hadn’t felt this tied up over a woman since—
Luis stomped the brakes on the memories revving in his head. The ones he avoided, knowing they’d burn rubber on his psyche—worse, his heart—if he unleashed them.
His gaze moved to the queen-sized bed, then back to Sara, her hands still fisted on her waist. Brows still arched, daring him. Her kissable lips now pursed with impatience.
A litany of curses pricked the tip of his tongue. Curses directed at himself.
He’d been acting like a moody, hormone-raging teen from the moment they’d entered the privacy of their room. Not the calm, self-possessed man he prided himself on being, both on and off the job.
Sara deserved better than this from him.
“Fine.” He closed the wardrobe doors. The tinny magnetic click when they latched was a reminder to keep a lock on his lust-driven imagination, as well as old memories and emotions that tended to color his present.