Dancing in a Hurricane Read Online Free

grinned. Strumming a flat chord, he said, "You're almost funny. No, I'm in the masters program at the University of Miami."
    "Really?"
    Why was she surprised? "Yes. Psychology. I want to be a social worker when I grow up."
    "I'm impressed." She stifled a yawn.
    He chuckled. "It's hard to believe you're impressed when you're yawning."
    "Sorry." She blinked a couple times. "Social work is a difficult occupation. It's emotionally turbulent." She fought to keep her eyes open.
    Only his mother knew the reason he'd chosen social work. It wasn't something Bree needed to know. "You're exhausted. Get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning."
    "Mmm." After a minute, she yawned again and glanced at him. "Well, it's good to meet you…Sixto." She looked at him for approval.
    " Muy bien . We'll have you speaking Cuban in no time."
    She smiled and stood. "I'd like that, thanks."
    He set his guitar aside and got up. When he held out his hand, she shook it. "Good to meet you, too, Bree." He dropped her hand. Her soft, warm hand, that felt nothing like her sister's. "And I want to apologize again for what happened earlier." He gestured toward her bedroom.
    She looked away. "It was just mistaken identity. Consider it forgotten." Picking up her beer, she walked toward her bedroom, turned, and said, "Good night." She disappeared inside, shutting and locking the door.
    He sank onto the couch. How could a woman have a face and body just like her sister's, but have the exact opposite personality? Bree was funny and easy to talk to. She smiled a lot, didn't take herself so damn seriously. And what was that intense connection that popped up between them? Three times? As if their hearts beat the same rhythm. He'd never felt anything that strong before. Definitely not with Cloe.
    She'd been a high-maintenance roommate. She complained when his friends came to the house, she nagged him about stupid shit, and barged into his bedroom, demanding, not asking, whenever she wanted something.
    Still, they were business partners for years, roommates for months. He shuddered at the image of her violent death. He would have flown to Washington for her funeral. He was raised to respect life and death was a part of it.
    He put his guitar behind the couch, brought his beer bottle into the kitchen, and rinsed it. After checking the doors, he turned out the lights. In his bedroom, he looked out his patio door across the moonlit pool toward her room. Slivers of light showed through her blinds. He looked at the window of Cloe's office. Her bathroom was between the bedroom and the office and if he was lucky, Bree left the office unlocked.
    He couldn't do anything until she was asleep. Then he'd go through Cloe's desk, look through the management company files, and take anything that referenced the business in the east warehouse. Especially anything that showed his name as an employee.
    Sitting in his recliner, his nerves twisted into an anxious energy. He grabbed the remote and turned on the television. Bruce Willis was dying hard—again—but he couldn't concentrate on the action.
    The only way to insure the business kept operating and guarantee the income he desperately needed, was to show her that the management company ran itself. Convince her she didn't need to get involved.
    Bree seemed conservative, definitely not into casual sex, which was the real moneymaker for the business. He had to keep her from finding out exactly what she inherited.
    ***
    Bree tossed around on the hard mattress for an hour before giving up and getting out of bed. Opening the vertical blinds covering her bedroom's patio doors, she sat in the dark on the overstuffed chair and stared out at the pool. Sixto's room was directly across from hers, the next window was his bathroom and around the corner from that was the window of his fitness room. Next to that was Cloe's office. She shivered. Going through her sister's personal papers would not be pleasant.
    Was that why she couldn't sleep? Her