She should have been relieved to have finally cleared the air with Blanca. Instead, Cat tucked the phone in her dress pocket and collapsed in a disgruntled heap on one of the loungers, worry for her sister disrupting her tropical retreat.
Chapter Seventeen
After snagging his shirt off the marble floor in the foyer, Patricio should have gone to his room. Given Catalina some privacy while she spoke with her sister. But the anxiety blanketing her beautiful face as she stepped outside had made him pause.
Then there was the way she had stood by him when he needed . . . bueno, not exactly rescuing—more like backup. Anyway, she’d been pretty fucking awesome. He owed her the same support if this disagreement with her sister deteriorated into something worse.
That’s what kept him piddling around the kitchen. Or, at least, that was the lie he told himself as he washed the dishes from their fruit tray, wiped down the counters, checked the temperature on the small wine fridge, and surreptitiously watched Catalina through the sliding glass doors.
Eyes closed, she tilted her face toward the sun. The angle of her head exposed the length of her elegant neck, the move reminiscent of when she had arched back against the front door, a low moan escaping her lips as he kissed his way down her throat.
Despite the ten minutes or so that had passed, his body still thrummed with pent-up desire. Her sweet taste lingered on his tongue. His hands burned with the longing to cup the weight of her breasts, feel her nipples tighten at his touch. And damn if he wasn’t hard again, his cock pulsing for her.
He adjusted his pants, steadfastly reminding himself that putting the brakes on their foreplay had been the right decision. Even if doing what was right had left him in need of a cold shower.
While he wiped down the counters—again—he sneaked glances at Catalina. His concern grew as the minutes passed and her hand gestures became jerkier, her scowl deepening. She sprang off the lounger, ducked under the canopy draping the wooden frame, and began pacing down the edge of the pool.
Normally he found the view through the panoramic windows lining the entire back wall relaxing. The earth tones used throughout the house blended with the property’s natural vegetation, creating a communal sense of being one with nature. Sunlight typically reflected off the infinity pool and streamed through the glass, brightening the indoors. But the dark clouds warned of an approaching storm, heightening the tension crackling off Catalina.
She pivoted, her pale-pink dress swirling around her ankles as she made another sentry trip down the edge of the pool. The hand pressed to her forehead as if it pained her told him the conversation was not to her liking. This would probably call for some cheering up or distracting when she finished.
Unfortunately, there could be no repeat of what had been the perfect distraction after his father’s departure. It didn’t matter that Patricio craved the sweet taste of her like he craved nieve de garrafa on hot summer days when the hand-churned treat melted on his tongue. Just like she had melted at his touch.
But giving in to temptation could lead to ramifications he refused to bring down on her.
No, he’d have to come up with another way to make her feel better.
Last night, after Mother Nature’s impressionistic artwork, Catalina had mentioned hoping for another museum-worthy sunset tonight. If the weather cooperated, he’d have a couple of hours to whip up a dinner they could share while enjoying the watercolor display.
Moments later, a guttural groan coming from outside drew his attention from his inspection of the freezer’s contents. Head bent, Catalina sat on the end of a lounger. Defeat slumped her shoulders. The wind caught her hair in its fingers, lifting the dark tresses in the air, then releasing them to settle around her in a satiny sheath.
She buried her face in her hands, and he started to go to her, intending to offer comfort. A shoulder to lean on. A shirt she could wet with her tears, and he wouldn’t care, not if it soothed her sorrow.
He was two steps away from one of the glass doors when Cat dropped her hands on her lap and, eyes closed, sat up—spine straight, shoulders stiff. Patricio halted, waiting to take his cue from her. Maybe she didn’t want company, instead preferring to stay by the pool or wander down to the hut on her own. Just because he felt the need to comfort her didn’t necessarily mean Catalina wanted him to.
Eyes still closed, she tipped her face to the sky. The clouds shifted and a pale ray of sunlight broke through to bathe her in a golden glow. Her chest lifted, then lowered on a weary exhalation Patricio couldn’t hear but somehow felt.
And there it was again. This strange connection he shared with her. It didn’t make sense. He couldn’t, shouldn’t, act on it. But neither could he ignore the compulsion to go to her any longer.
One hand on the cream lounger cushion, she pushed herself to stand. The skirt of her sundress, mottled with dark splotches of water from when he had seen her kick the pool’s surface, flared around her as she swung toward the house. Her gaze met his and she froze. Head high. Shoulders erect. Hands fisted at her sides.
Transfixed, he watched her throat move with her swallow. His heart clenched at the play of emotions chasing each other across her beautiful face—frustration, pain, disappointment, and sadness-tinged chagrin. Always a fighter, she gifted him with a wobbly smile. He admired her all the more for her bravery.
Which made it so damn hard to resist the urge to hold his arms out wide, invite her to seek refuge from whatever had stolen the mischievous smile that ensnared him in its net. Instead, he slid one of the massive window doors open on its track and joined her outside.
“Bueno, Round Two in the Battle of Hardheaded Mariachis went to the wrong side,” she said, tapping her dress pocket, where she had tucked her phone.
Her scrunched-nosed displeasure reminded him of a photo of Alberto’s grandson, taken the first time they had tried feeding the baby mashed peas. Somehow the green pureed mess had wound up smeared all over the kid’s pudgy face. Much like the mashup of emotions Catalina was bravely trying to cover with her joke.
“Is Blanca . . . ?” He left the question open-ended, unsure what to ask or do or avoid. If he took Catalina’s side, it meant pointing out her sister’s fault. And if there was one thing he knew about the Capuletas, it was that they always stood up for each other.
“Annoying? Yes. Uncharacteristically stubborn? Uh-huh. The queen of passive-aggressive maneuvers? ¡Amén!” Eyes gazing up at the heavens, Catalina raised her arms high like a parishioner in the front pew at mass, singing her praises with fervor.
Certain that her joking actually hid her pain over whatever had gone down with Blanca, Patricio focused on figuring out how he might be able to help her feel better. Without getting them both into another compromising position.
“And you?” he asked softly. “How are you doing?”
“Ahhh.” The word blew from her on a rush of breath as Catalina lowered her arms, leaving them to hang listlessly at her sides. “I’m . . .” She bit her lower lip, an uncertainty he rarely associated with her stamping her face. “I’m confused.”
“You need to do some thinking on your own? This isn’t a bad spot for pondering the universe. There’s plenty I can busy myself with inside and give you some space out here. Or I could join you. If you’d like.”