Island Affair (Keys to Love #1) - Priscilla Oliveras Page 0,82
figure, she acknowledged the deep-seated desire that more than just the extra shake of her hips would entice Luis to loosen his guarded reserve and meet her halfway.
Would he accept her conditions and join her in the water? She sure as hell hoped so.
Chapter 15
Damn if this woman didn’t push all his buttons. Even the ones his familia knew were clearly marked “Don’t Touch.”
Luis wanted to be annoyed, like he was when Mami or Carlos or Anamaría pressed him to open up. Forgive. Move on. With Mami, he backed away from an argument. With his siblings, he grumbled at them to back the hell up.
Pero con Sara . . . He shook his head, unable to ignore the truth.
But with Sara something was different. He felt different.
Luis watched her confidently striding into the calm water, her trim body and sleek curves drawing the attention of others sunbathing and relaxing along the shore. Including some dude foolish enough to sport a man bun and a skimpy orange Speedo. The fumes from his fake orange spray tan must have killed a few brain cells if the guy was actually considering his chances of getting lucky with Sara.
No way. No how.
A curly-haired toddler in a pink princess bathing suit and with a round tummy that rivaled his old baseball coach’s beer belly ambled toward the water near Sara. Giggling with glee, arms flapping at her sides to steady her wobbly gait, the cutie looked back over her tiny shoulder at her mother, who gave chase.
Sara grinned, bending at the waist with her arms open wide to keep the child from running in too far. Her throaty laughter caught on the breeze. Lust, dark and rich, pooled low in Luis’s body. Co?o, he’d be hearing that sound in his head, in his dreams, long after she flew out of his life, back to her big dreams in the big city.
Shin-deep in the water, the little girl tripped, yelping with fear as she threatened to go in face first. Surprise widened Sara’s eyes, but she quickly hunkered down to catch the child with a muffled, “I’ve got you.”
With Sara down on one knee, the child’s slippery weight knocked her to the side. She landed on her butt, water splashing around them. The girl’s pudgy arms wrapped around Sara’s neck in a chokehold.
The frazzled mom reached them, greeting Sara with a gasped, “I am so sorry!”
“I running,” the child told the adults in her sweet, high-pitched voice.
“You sure were,” Sara answered.
“Frannie, you cannot go into the water alone!” the mom cried. “You have to wait for Mommy!”
“But Ise wiff my new fwend.” The cutie maintained her death grip on Sara with one hand while she open-palmed dark curls out of her face with the other.
Sara’s grin widened and she waved off the mom’s exasperated apologies.
Luis had no idea if Sara had spent much time around her niece and nephew. Based on the tentative banter she shared with her brother and his quiet wife, and Sara’s admission that she wanted to get to know her siblings better, he’d guess probably not. And yet her ease with the friendly daredevil here on the beach suggested she wasn’t a novice. Or maybe she was simply a natural.
The thought tugged at a dream he hadn’t allowed himself to even consider since Mirna’s death. One he’d be foolish to entertain now.
From the moment Carlos and Gina’s oldest had been born seven years ago, Luis had happily changed José’s dirty diapers and handled feeding time. He had even walked the floor in the middle of the night when the little guy suffered with colic and Carlos was on shift, but Gina needed some sleep. He also babysat so the couple could sneak out for the all-important occasional date night. It’s what familia did for each other.
Like the weekend he and Enrique had tag-teamed baby duty so Carlos and Gina could check into a local Airbnb. She’d refused to go out of town. Worried about being too far away and the baby needing her.
Memories of the longest forty-eight hours of his years as a doting uncle rushed in on Luis.
Rock-paper-scissors battles between him and Enrique over who’d get to choose night feedings over poop diaper changes. Discovering José’s dislike for strained peas and how far the seven-month-old could spit a mouthful of green mush. The number of shirt changes Luis had made thanks to José’s projectile vomit, eventually giving up on wearing a shirt at all to avoid more dirty laundry.