Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Practically.
“Define practically,” I say slowly.
“We’ve gone on a few dates and kissed.” Her lips turn into a frown. “And done other things. I thought we could spend the week of the wedding growing closer. So he’d realize we need to be official.”
“So you’re telling me you have to convince this guy to be with you?” What a douchebag.
“You make it sound terrible,” she grumbles. “He’s a busy man.”
And fucking stupid to make this brilliant, feisty, hot-ass woman chase him. If he’s her father’s best friend, he’s probably old. He doesn’t deserve someone like Sher.
“You’re a good dancer,” I observe, leaning in so I can smell the tequila on her sweet lips. I’m all too happy to change the subject from that worthless asshole.
“I’m good at a lot of things. You just haven’t known me long enough to see them all.”
Cocky, this woman.
I fucking love it.
“What kinds of things?” I purr, brushing my lips against hers. “We’ve already established you’re a great kisser, though I’d be fine with you reminding me just how good you are at it.”
She laughs, the sound going straight to my cock that’s pressed against her tight body. “Just fine with it, huh?”
“Take it or leave it,” I lie.
“You’re such an asshole,” she says with a grin before pressing her lips to mine.
I groan against her mouth, happy as hell to kiss her again. I’m just squeezing her nice ass when the electricity goes out again. She stiffens, her body seeming to deflate along with the music. We break our kiss and she clings to me. A tremble rattles through her.
“Hey,” I murmur, rubbing circles on her back. “It’s just the power. Everything’s fine.”
“Are we going to die?” Her voice is small and fucking terrified.
“No, little bee, we’re not going to die.”
“How can you be so sure?” she demands.
“I can’t be,” I admit. “But I do know we’ve weathered a ton of hurricanes and Hotel Zaragoza is still standing. Rodrigo is just another asshole passing through.” I kiss the top of her head. “I’ll keep you safe.”
She relaxes in my arms and it does something to me. It makes me want to try really damn hard to prove to her that I can save her. That I can do a lot of things. For her. It’s weird as fuck not only being instantly attracted to someone, who is in every sense my opposite, but also wanting to protect her like she’s mine.
She’s not mine.
But she could be.
I’m so startled by that thought, I let her pull away from me. It’s dark, but people are quickly lighting candles, illuminating the restaurant. When I find her among the people, she’s standing in front of the piano. She sits down at it, her body visibly trembling.
“Go, sexy Mexi,” Damian hisses, handing me a candle.
I roll my eyes at him, but make my way over to her. Once I set the candle on top of the piano, I sit beside her.
“My mom loved playing piano,” she reveals, her voice a whisper. “She taught me to play. Made me promise to play after she died.”
“Did you?” My fingers stroke up her spine. The urge to offer her comfort is overwhelming.
“I did.” She presses down on the keys softly. “I miss her.”
The pain in her voice is familiar. I recognize that same pain when I think about my dad stuck in a nursing home, a shell of the strong man he once was. I’m still thinking about his mischievous grin when I start to recognize the beginning of a familiar song.
She plays the intro to “Rocket Man” by Elton John damn near flawlessly. I’m not surprised considering she’s an apparent perfectionist in everything she does. But this…this isn’t mastery of a skill, it’s emotions and feeling bleeding into the music she’s playing. As soon as the others recognize it, they start singing along. But it’s Estefania’s voice that carries above the rest. Damn that girl can sing.
Frowning, Sheridan stops to look at me in shock, as though she’s just realizing not only does she has an audience, but they’re participating as well.
“Don’t stop, Sherrie,” Carson calls out. “You were just getting to the good part.”
She laughs—oh, such a sweet sound—and then bangs down harder on the keys as she launches into the chorus of the song. I sing along with my family and friends—new and old. There’s a hurricane on top of us, and we’re in our little world.
Here.
Right here.
Not up there.
For once, I’m glad to be here at home rather than coasting along the skies. I feel tethered in a strange way.
She plays several more Elton John songs, much to my abuela’s glee. When I can tell she’s done being the center of attention, I bring my mouth to her ear.
“Want to take a walk?”
She laughs. “There’s a hurricane outside.”
“Guess we’ll have to take a walk inside then.”