Island Affair (Keys to Love #1) - Priscilla Oliveras Page 0,91

the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Uncrossing her legs, she kept her left knee bent to avoid knocking their food platter and extended her right leg to prop her foot on the pillow. All the while wondering if he understood the subtext of her answer or if his thoughts remained on thrill-seeking vacation adventures.

“My turn,” he said, and she swore she heard a challenge in his words.

Head tilted pensively, he scratched his jaw. The motion had her recalling the feel of his scruff rubbing against her sensitive skin, rough and tantalizing.

Maybe she should stop reading into their situation. Enjoy it for what it was . . . an island fling that her inability to stand up for herself with her family had put into motion. Her therapist would have a field day with this if—no, when—Sara revealed the details. She knew the danger of hiding from the truth.

“Would you rather . . . ?” He paused, and damn if the calculating look in his eyes didn’t have her wondering what he might be up to.

“Would you rather maintain the undercurrent of tension with your sister or have a heart-to-heart while you’re on neutral turf here?”

Bam!

Talk about not wasting time with subtext and just tossing a grenade in the middle of their game!

Annoyed, with herself for tiptoeing and with him for barging right into the morass of her family drama, Sara pushed herself toward the foot of the bed. Away from a discussion she wasn’t particularly interested in having.

“Stop.” Luis grabbed her right ankle, holding her in place. “Don’t run from this. From me.”

The loose grip he held on her leg let her know she was free to go if she really wanted to; he wouldn’t force her to stay. The sincerity and conviction mingling in his expression. The truth hidden in the corner of her soul.

They all intertwined, weaving into a rope that tied her in place like one of those beautiful yachts they’d seen at the dock behind the Custom House yesterday.

She stilled. Her breaths coming shallow and fast. She stood at a crossroads, moving in infinitesimal increments in the right direction. One she wanted to go.

But old doubts peered from the shadows. Armed and ready to trigger unhealthy behaviors she’d fought hard to curb. There’d been a time when she would have weakened, gorged herself on junk food or laced up her running shoes desperate to leave those doubt-fueled fears in the dust.

Not anymore.

And yet, while her therapist regularly stressed the importance of open communication, Sara continued to shy away from her sister’s challenging personality and the inexplicable grudge Robin held against her.

Luis gently caressed her shin and calf. Not pushing, not backing off either. She eyed him warily, contemplating her options. Two could play this game.

“Would you rather stay angry and distant with your brother,” she asked him, “or do your part to try mending your fractured relationship?”

His fingers tightened around her calf for a second. Two. Three.

Then he released her leg and clasped his hands on his lap. His serious, tough-guy expression slid into place, blanketing his rugged features and dulling his dark eyes.

Sara stared back, feigning a confidence level her quivering insides belied. They had danced around their family problems. Pushing each other on different occasions. Never head-to-head like this.

Would he wash his hands of the discussion? Of her? Because she’d gone too far?

If so, then he wasn’t the man she thought . . . hoped . . . he really was.

Outside on the street a car honked. A warning that soon their private interlude would be over and her family would return.

But she and Luis had crossed a line in their previously platonic, ignore-the-simmering-attraction relationship. She wasn’t sure if they could go back to their charade as friends. Honestly, it wasn’t what she wanted.

Luis pressed the butt of his palms against his eye sockets as if they pained him. His muscular chest rose and fell on a heavy sigh. “Co?o, we really suck at this game.”

A sputter-laugh burst from Sara’s mouth, expelling her pent-up anxiety. Charmed by his ability to find humor in their tenuous situation, she plucked a green grape and threw it at him. The piece of fruit hit his washboard stomach, then bounced onto his lap.

“Hey?!” he complained.

An amused, self-deprecating smirk pulled at his lips as Luis plucked her lame ammunition from the bunched material of his navy boxers and stuck it in his mouth. He picked up the food platter, moving it to the nightstand on his side