Free Dancing in a Hurricane by Laura Breck Page A

happened."
    "I'd like to hear about the others."
    "Not in this lifetime."
    "That means you did something to deserve it."
    "Oh, yeah. I'm bad at break-ups."
    "Aren't all guys?"
    He looked at her, a sad expression in his eyes.
    He had to be thinking of her broken engagement. Her heart gave a little hiccup. He was so understanding and intuitive. And hot, and sexy, and gorgeous. She backed out of the room, easing the door closed behind her. Crap, it was as if they were living with a time bomb that they threw back and forth between them. She sighed. One day it would go off and she'd either become his lover and settle for "just sex," or she'd have to move out. Or kick him out.
    She stopped walking and stared at the pool. Or…could she buy him out? Did she have enough capital to do that? She should know her options, just in case. Time to find a local lawyer.
    A half hour later, she knocked on his door. "Supper."
    "Be right there."
    She set the table with the same dishes he'd used. Between the candles, she arranged a bright red vase with the exotic, fragrant flowers she'd impulsively bought at the grocery store. She put the platter of grilled salmon on the table and had just stuck the corkscrew in a bottle of wine when he came out of his bedroom. He'd pulled on a black satin muscle shirt, the sporty look was very attractive.
    His steps slowed as he neared the table. His eyes scanned the platters of food as he took his seat. He seemed truly overwhelmed. "Nice. No one's fixed me a meal in my own home before."
    She loved the homey feeling of sitting down to dinner with him. And being his "first" was extremely interesting. What kind of girlfriends did he have? "It's nothing fancy. Just salmon, which is very cheap in Seattle, but very expensive here. I'll have to learn a new fish."
    "It smells good. Thanks for cooking."
    "White wine okay?" She picked up the bottle. He nodded, she poured a glass for him and one for herself.
    His brow furrowed and he glanced around the table.
    "Sixto, what's that face about? You look too serious. Drink some wine."
    "This is strangely like a recurring dream I have." Always the gentleman, he held the big platter of salmon for her. "Something about the flowers is bringing it all back again."
    "Tell me about it." She chose a small fillet.
    "No." He set the platter down and chose a large piece of fish for his own plate.
    "You can't just blurt out that you have a recurring dream and expect me to let it drop." She spooned garlic-mashed potatoes onto her plate and salad into her bowl. In silence, he did the same.
    "If you tell me yours," she whispered, "I'll tell you mine."
    He looked at her evenly. "Mine's embarrassing. Is yours?"
    She grinned. "Oh yes. Very."
    He shrugged.
    "So embarrassing, in fact," she added. "That it might provide a good research paper for your psych class." She sipped her wine, enjoying the bite of the light, fruity chardonnay.
    He looked doubtful. "All right, but it had better be worth an A, or at least a B+." He sighed. "I dream that I'm asking a woman to marry me. I'm sitting here, she's…" He gestured. "Right where you are. But she laughs in my face."
    "Oh, that's so sad." She nibbled on her food for a few minutes. "What does it mean?"
    "Huh?"
    "You're a psych major. What does it mean?"
    "I don't know." He made a dismissive gesture and ate, evidently hoping to get out of answering her question.
    She set down her fork. "Let me try and interpret it."
    "Yeah, sure." He downed his wine and poured more. "This should be good."
    "Okay." She rubbed her hands together and narrowed her eyes. "Freudianly speaking—"
    "No such word."
    "Listen and learn." She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. "You are simply afraid of marrying the wrong woman."
    He choked on his potatoes. "Shit. How did you do that?"
    She smiled, pleased with herself. "Really? Is that what it means?"
    "Yes." He took a drink of wine and cleared his throat a few more times. "That's what three of my professors told