Chapter 5:

Sultry Sundays

Across the room Sanchez was speaking softly in Moyer's ear. Sometimes it was to point out the difference between the parlor versions of the dances and the formal versions. Sometimes it was explaining who the people were and how they were connected.

"Has it been too terrible?" he asked as he refilled his wineglass. Again.

Moyer shook her head. She turned, grinning into his eyes. "What? With the twenty questions and the people looking at me as if I had three heads and your father's announcing to all and sundry that I speak Spanish?"

Sanchez ducked his head, dropping it to the arm draped around her shoulder. Moyer told herself she didn't catch the scent of his shampoo.

"We have a tendency to keep a running commentary when we don't think people will understand us," he admitted.

She arched a brow. "I've been there," she reminded him.

"And I apologized. It's a rude thing to do, even if you don't know what we're saying. And it was way off target."

She nodded curtly. "Just so long as you're a big enough man to admit that you're wrong."

He smirked. "I'm plenty big enough."

She rolled her eyes and watched his aunt's sister rock a small child to sleep at the end of the table. There were some younger girls-maybe six of them ranging in ages from seven to ten or eleven-in one corner dancing the complicated figure eights while holding each other's hands. Boys raced toy cars along the edge of the stage, subdued and quiet even while they burned off the excess energy from sitting through church and the meal without misbehaving. They'd lost the little jackets, the little ties. Moyer cut her eyes at Sanchez. At work he wore white button downs, suits, and ties. At most he lost his coat and rolled up his sleeves. Here he wore a beautifully cut shirt in the deepest royal blue she'd ever seen, the collar open, the look striking and relaxed.

Sanchez caught her looking at him and smiled. "What?" he asked.

She shook her head and turned away. Abruptly she turned back to him. Their eyes met and Sanchez felt a spark that went clear to his gut. Not his loins, although there, too. But to depths he didn't realize he had as well. He was surprised the walls didn't shake with it, that there was no accompanying clap of thunder.

"Dance with me," he said softly, easing back from her so that he could stand and pull out her chair. She slipped toward him like they'd been doing it their entire lives, let her hand rest in his as he walked her to the dance floor and led her through the first steps with the sun shining on the hardwood floor. She settled instantly against him, surrounded by him and surrounding him.

And his mother, watching, sighed as her son sighed. She knew by his father's sharp intake of breath when the older man had seen his son's face - - the totally peacefully closed eyes, the tightly clenched jaw.

"Dear Lord," he breathed in English. It was the look of a man who deeply desired the woman in his arms. Who knew when he'd found the one who belonged there.

Sanchez opened his eyes and tilted his head to look down at Moyer. He knew they'd been silent too long. Was afraid to see discomfort on her face. She only looked up at him and lifted one corner of her mouth, one eyebrow. He shrugged and let the rest of the tension drain away. And for a long time, while the music was deep and low and slow, he simply led her through the dance, simply absorbed her.

"They make a beautiful couple," one of his relatives said. They did make a beautiful couple, him tall and broad-shouldered and deeply tanned, the poster-child for public relations with his clean-shaven intensity. He dwarfed her, a tall, well-built woman. Her short-sleeved turtleneck topped her slim skirt and retro-fifties-style shoes perfectly. The pale blue offset his own shirt as though chosen to do so. Her dark brown hair, pulled up off the long, graceful neck, emphasized how fine was her pale olive skin.

"Beautiful babies, eh?" an older neighbor cracked.

Antonio Sanchez winked at his brother as he caught his eye. Beautiful babies. And all the luck with making them, he silently wished his brother. Getting up he squatted between the older women. "And well-deserved, that some hot chica would make all his dreams come true. Now which of you wants to be whisked away by this fine specimen of manhood?"

"I have to go," Moyer groaned, looking at the clock. She sat up, reaching for his shirt again, wrapping it around her as she bent to find undergarments left abandoned on the floor.

She laughed when she felt his strong arm around her waist, his lips against her hair.

"In good conscience I cannot allow you to leave yet," he told her. His English was heavily accented. Whether it was with sleep or the afternoon spent speaking his first language or an aftereffect of the lovemaking she wasn't sure. It charmed her, though, even as she argued with him.

"It's late," she told him. "We have to go to work-"

His eyes smiled in the dark as he put his fingertips gently to her lips and shook his head. "You're not wandering around the city in the middle of the night," he told her.

"It's closer to morning," she countered, pulling at his arm.

He took the opportunity to tuck her back down across the bed, looming over her. "Exactly. You think I'm going to let you just waltz out of here at-" he looked up, then shook his head in disbelief, "-three o'clock in the morning? It's not safe, not smart. Your car will be fine at the church. You can pick it up in the morning."

"I'm going to need to go home and shower anyway," she told him.

He bent to kiss her, spoke against her lips as he brought his body down to cover hers. She was wearing just his shirt again. It had a powerful effect on him. "You'll feel better for catching a few hours of sleep first. I'll feel better if I can put you in your car myself, know that you're okay, that it'll be daylight outside when you let yourself into your apartment." She shivered as his lips nuzzled hers, then slipped down to taste the hollow beneath her ear. "Do it for me..."

"Well..."

"Unless you want to call in tomorrow. We can catch a plane out of LAX, have drinks in our hands by sunset..."

She laughed and let him make love to her again. The man knew what he was doing. Better enjoy the insanity before the real world intruded and their real lives took over again. Then she fell asleep with her cheek on his skin, her head tucked under his chin, his arms warm and firm around her, their legs tangled beneath the sheets.