Slow Burn. Heather Pozzessere Graham
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anything so badly, even though she wasn’t exactly sure what it was she wanted. Him. More and more of him. Touching her. Making her feel this wonder.
He broke the kiss, still holding her. “Oh, God, Spencer, I can’t…”
She didn’t want to hear it. “David…”
He pushed her away, swimming hard for the edge of the pool, then jumping from the water to the deck. Spencer followed him, feeling a flood of brilliant red embarrassment rush to her face. Well, that was it. She had practically thrown herself at him, and he was walking away.
She leaped from the pool, completely humiliated again—and crushed. She almost turned away to run up the stairs and throw herself on the guest bed to cry herself into oblivion. But she didn’t back away from things. And she was mad enough to have it out then and there.
“What is it, Delgado?” she demanded, keeping her voice as low and scornful as she could, her hands on her hips, her head tossed back. “I don’t come with equipment big enough to rival Terry-Sue’s?”
He’d been walking away, but that stopped him. He turned to her, dripping wet, his hands on his hips, the length of the pool between them. Then he started walking to her. “You know Spencer, I’m trying to remember that you’re younger than I am. That you’re just a naive little rich kid trying to get her own way.”
“How dare you say such a thing to me? I’ve never acted like that!”
“The hell you haven’t! You put your nose in the air every time your back is against a wall.”
“I fight any time my back is against a wall.”
“You’re Sly’s granddaughter!” he lashed up harshly.
“You’re afraid of my grandfather!” she said incredulously.
He took two menacing steps toward her, but she held her ground. “I’m not afraid of anybody, Spencer. I like Sly. I like him a hell of a lot.”
“He’s a good man,” she said coolly. “A kind one. Kind to refugees.”
It was a low blow, but she wasn’t able to stop herself.
And it had an effect on him. She could see his pulse beating furiously in his throat as he took the last few steps toward her. She was almost five foot eight, but David could stare down at her, and he did, so close that he was almost touching her, but not quite.
“What is it, Spencer? What do you want? ¡Que tu quieres?” Then his hands were on her shoulders again, forcing her to back away. “You want something different from the other light-skinned gringa girls, don’t you? You think I’ll give you something hotter? Something better? Fine, let’s go. There’s the floor. Is that what you want?”
“Stop it!” she shouted at him, shaking, longing to shove him but suddenly afraid to. She wasn’t quite sure what she had let loose. She hadn’t known that he was aware that their folks talked about him sometimes, that they hadn’t quite accepted the fact that Miami was becoming an international city. She’d never imagined that he might be sensitive about it, not David Delgado.
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