Sensuality (17 page)

The two men were silent at first, fiercely glaring at each other, until Miguel sneered. “You think you’ve got a shot with Bonni?”

“More than a shot. Bonni’s mine, man. You need to get used to that.”

“Yours? Well, it didn’t look like that tonight.” Miguel smirked as he pulled on his robe.

In that split second, Alex advanced on Miguel so quickly that he didn’t even have time to raise his hands in defense. Alex’s big hands collared the robe around Miguel’s throat and Alex snatched him up close and hissed, “I expect you to respect what Bonni and I have.”

“You don’t have anything,” Miguel said.

“When you were with Bonni, I never touched her. But she comes here as my date and I turn my back for two minutes, Mick, and you’re all over her. What the fuck is that all about? You’re supposed to be
mi compadre, mi hermano
.”

Miguel knew Alex was right but he was too angry to
think straight. He slammed his fists against Alex’s chest, and pushed away from him, then began pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, gesticulating wildly.

“Bonni was the only thing that was ever mine, and you couldn’t wait to get your hands on her! You could have any other woman, but you just
had
to have Bonni. Why do you think that is?!”

“You need to get your shit together, Mick.” Alex laughed cruelly as he shook his head and walked toward the door. “Bonni is mine, and you put your hands on her. You know the only reason you’re still standing here drawing breath now is because I thought you were my friend. Consider
that
your birthday present.”

Without waiting for Miguel’s reply, Alex left the room and walked downstairs, leaving Miguel alone listening to the sounds of celebration and considering life in the coming year without the love of his woman or the companionship of his best friend.

Mamá
wasn’t dying of anything, except embarrassment. She broke her hip. Instead of calling an ambulance, she phoned me.

“Me resbalé cuando estaba fregando, mi hija,”
she explained, apologetic.
I slipped while mopping, little girl.

The emergency medical technician told me that older women could easily break their fragile bones. I stared at him, wondering what old woman he was talking about. Then they wheeled
Mamá
past us on the gurney and, for the first time in years, I didn’t use my memory to filter the truth. She looked so frail, and her beautiful brown face was lined with wrinkles.

She looked even worse in the intensive care unit. Spindly metal IV poles hovered over the head of her bed like praying mantises. Machines beeped quietly as green lines trailed across their screens. Tubes were taped to her arms and under her nose.

“¿Cuando me puedo salir?”
she asked.
When can I get out of here?

It worried me that she’d lapsed into Spanish since having her accident. We rarely spoke it anymore. That was my fault. I wasn’t interested in anything that made me different. When she had called about her accident, I was shocked how long it took me to understand what she said.

“I want to go home, Esme.”

I grasped her hand, careful not to disturb the taped IV tube.
“Sí, Mamá, pero…”
I wasn’t up to it. I was
sin lenguaje,
without language. “Please let them watch you for a few days. After that, I promise you’ll go home.”

“Are your sisters here yet?”
Mamá
snapped.

Her flash of temper was comforting. She sounded more like her usual self.

“They’re driving down from Paso Robles,
Mamá
. They’ll be here tomorrow.”

An orderly came into the room, followed by one of the nurses I’d seen by the metal doors of the ICU. She didn’t tell me to leave, but I got the hint that I was in her way as she bustled around me.

“I’m stepping out,
Mamá,
but I’ll be back.”

There was no privacy in the ICU. As I stood in the wide, white hallway outside the room, I could watch through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall and see everything the nurse did.

In the room next door, a
muy papi
man gently brushed the silver hair of an ancient grandmother. He set aside the brush and stroked his brown fingers across her cheek in a caress.

I heard
Mamá
fuss at the nurse and hid a smile.

The nurse came out of
Mamá
’s room. “She’s doing well. As soon as the doctor approves the move, your mother will go to the regular ward.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I can’t say.” She gave me a curt nod and went back to the nurses’ station.

I followed her. “Can you give me some idea?”

“It’s up to the doctor.” The nurse picked up a chart.

“I’m only asking—”

“And I told you that it’s up to the doctor.”

She moved away before I could say anything else.

Taking deep breaths, I forced my temper down. I turned around and leaned against the counter, my arms crossed.

The man caring for his
abuela
wore a dark-blue wool suit that hugged his broad shoulders. I loved the crisp line of barbered hair above the stiff collar of his white shirt.

He put a dab of lotion on his hands and spread it over her transparent skin with small, soothing circles.

I bet that felt nice.

He took his time, his touch lingering.

I could use a little of that myself.

When he bent over the woman to kiss her forehead, his pants tightened over his muscular butt.

Frowning at my wicked thoughts, I wondered why I couldn’t simply concentrate on
Mamá.

I glimpsed at him again.

A man built like that would look so good walking toward my bed in a tight pair of boxer briefs that hugged his package. He’d look even better with the underwear off.

Dios.

Seven months without a lover was taking its toll. Lately, my blood was in a permanent simmer. It didn’t take much desire to make it boil over.

He leaned over her again.

I sucked air between my clenched teeth.

In a hospital,
I scolded myself.
Really, you’d think you’d have some restraint.

Worried that I might get caught ogling, I hurried to the visitors’ lounge.

A large family filled the room. While the adults paced, the kids fought over the channel on the television. A talk-show host chatted with her guest. The picture flicked to a reporter clutching a microphone, and finally, a cartoon. The kids plopped to the floor, content.

That would be us tomorrow—sisters, nieces, and nephews everywhere. Noise and family, the way it was meant to be. It didn’t feel right to be alone in a hospital.

I took the chair in the far corner. It wasn’t clear if
Mamá
would need in-home care when the hospital released her, and I had no idea what her insurance would cover. I stared down at my hands. Cupped together in my lap, they held no answers.

Several minutes later, the man came into the lounge. The only open seat was next to me. He sank into it with a groan and put his hand over his eyes.

His spiced aftershave was a pleasant change from the astringent odor of the hospital. The scent touched the back of my tongue as I inhaled. His long, lean thigh rested against mine. I could feel the heat of his body through my skirt.

He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. I glanced sideways at him, catching a glimpse of his thick eyelashes. He was praying. As soon as I realized that, I felt guilty for the tingles between my legs. Following his example, I thought of
Mamá
and thanked God that her stay in the ICU would be short.

“Just a precaution,” the nurse assured me. I repeated her words, like prayers, and believed.

My thoughts returned to the man beside me. Where was his family? Quick glances down at his hands spied no ring.

“Twenty more minutes.”

His voice startled me. I glanced up at him. He nodded toward the door. “The nurses will let us back in soon.”

“Oh. Yes.”

The coffee in the pot next to the television looked as thick as syrup, but I needed something to do with my hands, so I poured a cup and brought it back to my seat.

He must have seen me wince. “Bad?”

I scraped my tongue with my teeth to get rid of the burned flavor as I dropped the full cup into the trash can. “There isn’t enough cream and sugar in the entire world to make that motor oil taste like coffee.”

I wasn’t that funny, but lines crinkled around his smoky topaz eyes as he chuckled. The dimple in his cheek was a test of my waning self-control.

He towered over me when he stood. “I’m going down to the cafeteria. Hopefully the coffee is better there. Can I bring you back something?”

How incredibly sweet he was.

“No. I’ll go, too. Maybe I’ll find something I like if I go down.” I didn’t mean it as suggestive as it sounded, and I most certainly didn’t plan to get caught eyeing his bulge. When I glanced up at him, his eyebrow raised a bit.

“Go down. To the cafeteria,” I blurted.
Madre de Dios,
the words that came out of my mouth.

He followed me to the elevator. I tried to walk like a nun.

His name was Luis. He worked in a bank, played soccer in a weekend league, and he showed me pictures of his sons.

“They live with their mother in San Diego. I have them at
Christmas and for a month in the summer. It isn’t enough, but what can I do?”

I agreed that it was sad, but wasn’t sorry to find out he was a free man.

Even though he didn’t have to, he paid for my coffee. We sat on opposite sides of a wobbly table in the cafeteria and talked about
Mamá
and his
abuela,
because the hospital was what we had in common.

Luis’s voice was a nice, rumbly baritone. When he talked of his
abuela,
his eyes were so sad and soft that I reached over the table to touch his hands. His squeezed back and didn’t let go.

“I don’t think she’s ever coming home,” he admitted.

“Are your parents here in LA?”

“
Abuela
raised me. She’s all I have.”

I couldn’t imagine growing up without sisters, brothers, or cousins. How horrible to be alone.

When it was my turn to talk about
Mamá,
his thumbs stroked the back of my hands. I imagined him stroking my hair as it fanned across the pillow on my bed. I bet he took his time with a lover, caressing her until she begged him to move his hands lower. Under my clothes, my skin ached for warm, feathery touches.

Our knees knocked together. Jolts jumped between my thighs. The thought of our legs tangled together in crisp white sheets sent a rush of heat to my belly.

He sighed. “My only regret…Well, not my only one. I wish my marriage had lasted until after my
abuela
passed. Sometimes I think she took the divorce harder than I did.”

“At least you were married.”

My hands escaped his and fluttered like hummingbirds as
I talked. I tried to make them land in my lap, but they took flight again as I imitated
Mamá
. “Esme, you’re not getting any younger. Esme, when are you going to give me grandchildren?” I brushed back a trailing lock of my hair. “
Ai
…It never stops, you know?”

“Oh, yes.” He did understand. We were from the same place, the same people, the same culture. No explanation needed.

“Every time I get a wedding invitation, I grit my teeth.
Mamá
gives me that look.”

Luis laughed. Tension seemed to release from his muscles. The dimple showed again.

After getting nasty looks from the morose visitors in the cafeteria, we leaned across the table, conspiring to confine our wicked chuckles to the small space between our bodies. I looked only into his eyes, even when someone across the cafeteria dropped a tray.

He said his job wasn’t as exciting as mine, but he modestly shared his victories as a goalie for his soccer team. My fantasies of him took a raw turn. I pictured him in the shower, rinsing the mud and sweat of a game from his skin, and had to close my eyes for a moment.

Thick, white soapy lather sliding down his broad back to the curve of his butt, and then him turning to me, smiling but a little shy, showing me a muscled abdomen and below that, his—

Luis touched my arm.

I squeezed my legs together. My engorged sex pulsed. I squeezed my thighs again because it felt so good.

“Did you play in college, too?” I asked.

“Yes. And two seasons of professional before I ruined my
knee. But tell me, how did you get to be a line producer? Do you ever go on location when you’re working on a movie?”

I shrugged. “Sure. It isn’t as fun as it sounds. Just stressful, especially if the production is running behind schedule.”

He took my hand again. His touch sent a good shiver pinging through my nerves. My muscles clenched, aching for his long fingers to work miracles inside my body.

“I bet you handle it well.” He gazed directly into my eyes.

Dios,
what a flirt!
And I was just as bad.

“Well, one time…”

The cleaning crew came in to wax the cafeteria floors. I glanced around. We were the only people sitting at tables. A look at my watch told me that two and a half hours had passed.

“Shit!” I jumped up and knocked the table, sending my empty paper cup rolling under my chair. Luis kneeled down to pick it up for me. I saw his nostrils flare, so I tugged at the hem of my skirt, but that freed another, stronger whiff of my scent. Heat spread across my cheeks. He set the cup on the table. Our eyes met, and a private smile pulled at his lips, but he said nothing.

The ride up to the ICU was agony. I ran my tongue over my lips, which were flushed with blood and hot. Tendrils of hair trailed into my eyes when I bowed my head. I brushed them away only to have the black waves cascade around my face. Inside my bra, my nipples were tight.

A doctor stepped into the elevator on the second floor. He inhaled deeply and smirked. Luis stepped closer to me. The smirk faded.

The hallway outside the ICU was quiet. The television in the visitors’ lounge played to an empty room.

I pressed the flat, silver square that opened the doors to the ward. Nothing happened.

Luis peered in through the small window. “Someone is coming.”

We waited, standing close, until a nurse opened the huge door only enough to poke out her head.

“Visiting hours are over. You can come back tomorrow.”

It was that same nurse. She gave me a hard look. I stepped forward. “Listen—”

“I’m sorry.” She shut the door, not sorry at all.

I shoved at the door but it wouldn’t budge, so I tapped the call button until Luis lifted my hand from it.

“It isn’t your fault, Esme,” he told me. As he walked back toward the elevator, his shoulders slumped.

There was nothing to do but give up for the night. I cursed myself for being so selfish.
Mamá
probably asked the nurse a dozen times where I was. No wonder I had gotten such a nasty glance.

I’ll make up for everything tomorrow. I’ll be a good daughter and think of nothing but her. Tomorrow. There was nothing else I could do until then, I bargained with my conscience, but I didn’t feel absolved.

I stared down the hallway at the white walls and harsh fluorescent light fixtures; he rested his head against the wall. Luis had his hands in his pockets so that his jacket strained to cover his muscular back. My gaze swept slowly over the white collar showing above the dark-blue wool, down to the narrow cut of his waist, and stopped at his belt.

My tongue flicked over my lips as I pictured a dimple on either side of his spine, just above the curve of his butt.

I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling tiles, and beyond that,
God. What had I done to deserve so much temptation? And why did I give into it so easily?

“I could have looked at my watch.” He touched my arm again. “But I wanted to listen to you laugh. I needed a break from death.”