Dancing in a Hurricane by Laura Breck

and slid it under her bedroom door. As he straightened, he reached to try the handle to see if she was still locking it. ¡Coño! What was he doing? He yanked his hand back. He turned quickly and walked away. If it was unlocked, could he trust himself to stay out?
    For twelve hours, the only thing in his brain had been the mental snapshot of Bree, stretched out on her bed, her legs spread wide, sunshine highlighting her curly, blonde bush and the moisture glistening on her sweet, pink labia. "Shit." He was hard again, for the fiftieth time in half a day. Again, for the fiftieth time, he had to think of something else. "Clean the garbage disposal. Call the exterminator. Replace the pool filter."
    He closed his bedroom door, collapsed in his chair, and turned on the television, flipping to an old war movie. Focus on anything…but Bree.
    He scrubbed his face with his palms. Goddamnit, he was becoming obsessed. Would a quick fling with her be enough? He could just imagine himself following after her, a lost puppy starving for attention.
    She'd tried to pin him down when they were walking. She wanted to know what he looked for in a woman. The crazy thing is, all he could think of were the qualities she embodied. Honesty, caring, integrity, focus, and a dozen more, with new ones popping up every day. When had she become more than just a woman he wanted in his bed?
    ***
    Waking early, Bree did a load of laundry, quietly cleaned the kitchen and common areas, letting Sixto sleep. She showered, dressed, and left the house to run her errands.
    When she got her cell phone number changed, she found a coffee shop with outdoor seating and called her friends in Seattle to catch up and give them her new number.
    After the last call, it took her fifteen minutes to battle back her nervousness and call Tim. Their conversation went unexpectedly smoothly and he invited her to meet for dinner that night at Tony Chan's on Biscayne Bay. With a couple hours to kill, she strolled down Flagler Street and did some shopping.
    Dinner was nice, the food was excellent, and she enjoyed listening to Tim's stories about his students.
    He lived a mile from her house, rented with three roommates. She told him about her home, how she inherited it, and he offered his condolences. He walked her out to her car holding her hand. The night hung warm and muggy, the moon over the ocean set a romantic backdrop as he moved in, held her arms, and pressed his lips to hers.
    He deepened the kiss, put his hand on her back, and touched his tongue to hers. It was a tender first kiss, tentative then relaxed. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, closed her eyes…and thought of Sixto. Damn it!
    She eased out of the kiss, smiled at Tim, and said goodnight, totally pissed at herself for letting Sixto ruin a perfectly good moment. She slid into the Miata.
    He leaned on the door. "Can I call you tomorrow?"
    She touched his hand. "Please do. And thank you for a wonderful dinner."
    "I enjoyed it, too." He lifted her hand and kissed it. "I'll call you."
    ***
    Sixto sat on the couch updating the east warehouse website. Bree was out, her Miata wasn't in the garage. When the sun was close to setting, he'd started to worry. She didn't seem like the incautious type, but anything could happen. She was not in Port Angeles any more. You had to know where you were in Miami. Lots of safe places, and just as many unsafe. At nine, he called her cell number but it was disconnected. Now he added pacing to his worry. A half hour later he heard the garage door open and her car pull in.
    He crossed his arms over his chest, working himself up to give her a lecture, the way his father lectured his sisters. Women out alone at night, etcetera.
    She strolled into the house, shopping bags in one hand, her cell phone at her ear. "He's kind of cute. He has a nice smile." She waved at Sixto and went into her room, closing the door behind her.
    "Huh." Evidently, he wasn't the cute one with the smile. He