Island Affair (Keys to Love #1)(59)

“I’m not most men.”

Her grin widened, the flash of her straight white teeth drawing his attention to her mouth, her kissable lips.

“No, you’re definitely not like most men. And for that, I’m immensely grateful.”

“Yeah?” Despite his better judgment, Luis found himself rolling onto his side to face her. Mimicking her position, he tucked his left arm under his head.

They weren’t touching. In fact, a good six inches separated them. And yet the quiet of a house tucked away for the night, the moonlight bathing them in soft shadows, and their hushed conversation created an air of intimacy that pulled at Luis. It drew him to her like a fishing hook ensnared in his chest, slowly reeling him in.

“Yeah,” she murmured. A lock of her golden tresses slipped across her cheek when she nodded.

Luis reached out to gently comb her hair away, tucking it behind her ear.

Sara’s lids drifted closed and it took all his willpower for him not to lean in, sample her sweet lips. A good-night treat he hungered for.

Reluctantly he pulled his hand away, leaving it in a tight fist in the space between them on the bed.

Eyes downcast, Sara feathered her fingertips over the back of his hand. Once. Twice.

Luis held his breath. Wanting more. Craving all of her. But firm in his conviction that he not make a move unless she made it clear she wanted him to. The moment she did—

The warmth of her soft sigh filled the small space separating them. She set her hand next to his. Her thumb caressed the side of his pinkie finger and damn if it wasn’t both the sweetest and sexiest sensation. Blood pooled low in his body, urging him to throw caution to the high-seas wind. Let her know he was interested in taking this pretend relationship to a very real, very satisfying place.

“So, let me clarify. Thank you, for being such a stand-up guy,” she said softly.

He nearly groaned in frustration. Talk about a splash of ice water on his libido and the un-stand-up-guy impulses he barely held in check.

“I’ll stay in the back pew at mass in the morning,” she continued. “Your family won’t have a clue about me. I promise. There won’t be any problems with them for you when this is all over.”

Because—mood buster—it would eventually be over.

He’d do well to remember that. Along with his vow to never give another woman the power to hurt him by abusing his trust and compassion.

That hadn’t happened with Sara. Yet. He needed to keep it that way.

Without another word, he rolled onto his back and stared at the patch of inky black sky. A faint star winked in the distance, like it was in on some cosmic joke unknown to him.

After a short while Sara’s breathing evened out, and he sensed that she had fallen asleep.

Luis lay awake long into the night thinking about the last time he’d been convinced he could save a woman deeply wounded by her broken family situation by showering her with love and his commitment to building a happy life with her. Only to have it all blow up in his face. Him left reeling at the truth, dealing with the irreversible damage.

If he made the same error with Sara, nothing would pull him out of the deep abyss—screw trying to call it a rut—that mistake would leave him in. Not even if his brother gave him another ass chewing.

He’d simply have to stay on guard. And pray the walls of St. Mary’s didn’t tremble in protest when his lying butt walked through the doors tomorrow morning.





Chapter 13


“?Qué te pasa?”

At his mami’s harsh whisper Luis swiveled his head around to face the front of the church so fast pain seared the left side of his neck.

“Nothing’s wrong; why?”

Seated beside him in the third row, she frowned, her worried mother hen impersonation in perfect form. On the other side of her, wearing a freshly pressed gray guayabera with black slacks, his father shot Luis a questioning frown of his own.

Up on the altar, Father Miguel continued with his homily. Thank goodness for the reprieve. His mother was a stickler for no chitchat during mass. Each of her kids had received the surreptitious swat of her fan or a swift elbow jab in the ribs enough times growing up to know that much.

“?A quién buscas?” his mom rasped.

With Father Miguel still in the midst of explaining the value of the day’s readings, Luis’s mami breaking her silence rule to ask him who he was looking for was so surprising, he nearly answered her truthfully. Seconds before Sara’s name slipped off his tongue, Luis clamped his mouth shut.

He ducked his head in deference to the crucifix and eye-catching stained-glass image of Stella Maris, the church’s namesake, centered high in the altar’s pale blue back wall. With a mental sign of the cross for the half-truth, he whispered back, “I thought I saw someone I knew when I came in.”

His mother’s brow furrow deepened, a sure sign she wasn’t convinced. Keeping his gaze straight ahead, Luis rubbed the pain still warming the side of his neck after his whiplash move moments ago.

Father Miguel wrapped up his teaching with his customary “And the church says . . .”

The congregation answered, “Amen,” as they all stood to recite the Apostles’ Creed. The rustle of feet shifting rippled through the open nave, ricocheting off the vaulted ceiling decorated with pressed-metal panels.