Page 125 of South Beach Bodyguards

For a second she looked like she was going to protest but then she just nodded. “That makes sense. I know you’re right, and honestly, I didn’t think about it before.”

“That’s what I’m here for. I aim to please.”

“You aim to make me uncomfortable.”

“That’s not true. I want you comfortable. Very, very comfortable.”

She leaned on the countertop, which was very retro. It was a faded yellow Formica. About to respond, she suddenly winced. “Ow, I just cut myself on the sink edge.”

“Are you okay? Let me see.” I moved over to her but she was already running her hand under the water.

“I’m fine.” She waved me off.

“Damn, no one has touched this place in fifty years.” It was like Lucille Ball might stroll through the door at any second. I turned the faucet off for her when she removed her hand. There was rust around the rim where the hardware met the countertop. “Everything is a little rickety in this place.”

“I like it. It’s homey.”

That was her theme apparently. Miranda wanted to be home. To make a home. To create a space for herself and eventually a baby. I understood that. I had never felt like my house growing up was a safe place. There was always too much tension for it to be all Leave It To Beaver, Cuban style.

Crazy to think we had both wanted the same damn thing.

She had just picked the wrong Garcia brother.

For this size rental in a safe neighborhood, this was probably the best she could get since she was going back to school. “You’re going to make it something special, I know. Like you.”

She opened her mouth, but then quickly shut it again. “I’m going to try.”

“What do you want me to do? Start unpacking some of these boxes?” There was at least six in the corner of the kitchen. “Or help the movers haul stuff in?”

“If you can help the movers that would cut down my time that I have to pay them.” She gave me a smile. “Thanks. You’re a good man.”

Compliments make me uncomfortable so I waved it off. More to the point, I wasn’t so sure I was a good man at the moment. Everything I was doing was pretty damn self-serving. Mostly, I was a man not above lifting a few boxes to get what I wanted. But I would do it for Miranda anyway.

I would do just about fucking anything for Miranda.

I peeled off my shirt and went to lift boxes in what someone might say was a pursuit of pussy. Hey, I couldn’t argue it. I figured I wasn’t the first man and I wouldn’t be the last to do just that.

Alejandro had stripped his shirt off and was hauling furniture, my mattress, and boxes galore in the afternoon heat like it wasn’t straining him at all. He was joking and laughing with the moving crew and looked like he didn’t mind in the slightest that he was spending the afternoon in manual labor for me, his brother’s ex-girlfriend. Or girlfriend. I never knew how to phrase that when people asked. Ex implied breakup and that wasn’t the truth. But we hadn’t been married so I wasn’t a widow. It was complicated. Like everything.

Like my attraction to Alejandro. He looked amazing without a shirt. Like a male stripper in a Vegas show. Muscular and covered in a sheen of sweat. His shorts kept slipping down and he would pull them up, but not before I caught a glimpse of some rock-hard abs descending.

I stood in the window, watching him, and unwrapping juice glasses. It was taking me forever to stack them in the dishwasher because I kept glancing outside to check out Alejandro. My mother had mentioned repeatedly the glasses had been in storage for months and needed to be washed before using and I felt like if I took the lazy way out and just put them in the cabinet, I wouldn’t be able to drink orange juice without guilt. My mother took no shortcuts when it came to her household. But I scrubbed and rinsed absently as I watched Alejandro come in and out.

Helping me and looking hot.

The question I kept asking myself was why? Why was he here? Why did he want to have sex with me?

The only answer I kept getting was that maybe that ancient crush was still in place. But that seemed so farfetched. He was a ladies’ man. Everyone knew that. I was no troll, but I wasn’t the hottest of the hot, either. I worked out, sure, and spent a ridiculous amount of time and effort sculpting my ass, but a lot of women in Miami had butts to envy. It must be more like I was the forbidden fruit since I had been with Max. Alejandro wanted a bite.

That thought gave me a swift kick of desire. Right downtown. A warm ache took up residence and wouldn’t go away. That kiss popped into my head and I gripped a glass so hard it almost shattered. I decided to screw the glasses and move on to the plates and I scrubbed and I rinsed and I got more and more turned on by the memory of that kiss and the idea that Alejandro could turn some of that charm on to satisfying me. Was he good in bed? Presumably. He certainly had enough experience if the rumors were true.

Chloe had mentioned he had a huge cock. I hadn’t studied it, but I wanted to. I wasn’t sure I knew what constituted a small versus large penis. I just didn’t have knowledge of multiple dicks, which made me grin as I stood at the sink. Girlfriends would show me dick pics but it was just hard to grasp out of context. Maybe it didn’t matter if he had a huge cock or not if he knew how to use it.

What would I do if Alejandro came up behind me, bent me over, and eased down my pants?

Would I feel guilty? Like it was a betrayal? Or would it just feel so damn good I didn’t give a shit.

Without realizing it, I spread my legs a little, visualizing all his rock-solid muscles flexing in his back and arms as he slammed his cock into me, large hands gripping my hips. Yum. I wanted that. I couldn’t deny it.

---