Marianna let out a shaky breath and pulled away. Taunting Simon while he tried to shut her out was one thing. But this was different. He was turning her own game on her, and she no longer knew what he wanted from it. Was he seeking his own revenge for the night before? Or was this something else? She needed to figure that out before yet another man yanked the reins of her life away.
“Um, you mentioned lunch,” she said. “Is there a nearby restaurant?”
Simon blinked a couple times, as if assessing her abrupt change of subject. Then he dropped his arms.
“It’s safer if we just make something here.” He hesitated. “If you don’t mind eating Cuban food. I can makeropa vieja.”
Ropa vieja. Those words tossed her into another tide of memories, and she was left struggling to keep her head above water, to avoid dangerous rips that would sweep her out and leave her stranded, alone. But this memory was too strong to avoid. Sometime after that boat trip that changed everything, an afternoon at his house had turned into cooking lessons. A slow, sensual introduction to Cuban dishes in the empty Rodriguez kitchen. Cuban food wasn’t served in the Ruiz household, just like Spanish wasn’t spoken. So she’d needed a little practice. Weeks of sneaking around, cooking and eating and making out all afternoon. Until Simon’s father came home unexpectedly and put an unequivocal end to that idea.
Yeah,ropa vieja. Did he choose that dish on purpose, searching for signs of vulnerability, or was he finding himself in the same murky waters that she was? She knew how to navigate the former kind of manipulations. The latter territory she was less sure about.
“Did you plan another round of cooking lessons for me?” she asked, tilting her head, watching him.
His mouth quirked up into an amused smile. “You want that?”
She shrugged, biting back her smile. “Not sure I have much use for cooking these days.”
“That’s what you rich girls think,” he said, “until you find out what you’re missing. All those tastes...”
Laughter and heat dueled inside her, but laughter won.Thiswas the man she remembered. He was still there, buried under all the years of his new life.
“By all means,” she said, chuckling. “Show me what I’m missing.”
He shook his head slowly, his smile full of mirth.
“Ahh, Marianna,” he said, his voice almost wistful. He turned for the kitchen before she could read what his comment meant.
As it turned out, Simon was stocked with enough ingredients to feedropa viejato an entire wedding reception. She followed him and found that his cupboards were filled with bags of rice, dried beans, canned tomatoes and spices. Simon hunted through the fridge, pulling out meat and peppers, and he opened another cabinet for garlic and onions.
“You cook for the whole neighborhood?” she asked, peering into an open cupboard.
“Nope,” he said from behind her. “But I cook for myself most nights. Pretty much the only way to get decent Cuban food here.”
She closed her eyes for an extra beat to imagine him after work, chopping vegetables. Sexy. Maybe he took off his shirt when he was cooking, like he did all those years ago back in Miami? Marianna smiled.
Simon came up close behind her. “Need some help remembering the ingredients?”
He rested one hand on her hip and lined his body up to hers. His chest skimmed against her back as his other arm reached in front of her. Oh, God, the man smelled good. Slowly, he leaned against her to grab each item off the shelves and set it on the counter, one at a time. Rice. Beans. Cumin. Olive oil. Up and down, up and down in a slow rhythm, his body moving against hers.
Simon palmed the package of rice and rested his other hand on the counter. His body pressed against hers, and his arms caged her in.
“Arroz,”he whispered in her ear.
Rice.
“Arroz,”she repeated, the way she had all those years ago.
A satisfied hum rumbled inside him. When Simon had learned that Alex Ruiz never taught her Spanish, he made it into his own project. Cooking lessons, swimming in her pool, sex—everything turned into Spanish lessons. Living in Miami had given her the basics, but Simon’s words were different, more intimate. Not that she retained much. Too distracted to be a good student. He’d make her repeat words for pronunciation, his eyes focused on her mouth, until they were kissing again.
“Frijoles,”he said, reaching for the beans.
“Frijoles.”
Each of her breaths came quicker than the last. Simon was no longer holding himself back the way he had in the hotel room. Quite the opposite, in fact. And Marianna had no idea what to make of it.
“Are those cooking lessons coming back yet?” His voice was warm with desire. “Is that why you’re so quiet?”
“Maybe.” She laughed. “You’re definitely not ignoring me anymore.”
