His gaze hit my face and spread warmth all over my skin. “I may not need to search at all, but I do believe I’ll have to figure out a way to convince her I’m worthy. Now stop stalling and try W.H.L.”
I cringed, but went ahead and took a sip. A licorice flavor hit my taste buds and then a burn came and heated my mouth and throat. I coughed few times. “Goodness gracious. No wonder no one can remember anything the next day. I think after I drink half of this I won’t even remember what happened this month.”
“That might be a good thing.”
“You have no idea.” I giggled and against my better judgment swallowed down some more of the wretched liquid.
“What happened to you this month?” He sat down next to me. In that moment, I got a whiff of his woodsy cologne, something I’d noticed during our dancing.
“I’d rather not talk about it. In fact, let’s only talk about fun things.” I held my glass next to his and did a cheers. “To only talking about things that make us laugh.”
“That’s just what the doctor ordered.”
“Now back to this claim of Cuban men and romance.”
He turned his body on the couch so that his huge frame faced me. “I’m starting to think you don’t believe me.”
“I don’t. I’ve never heard about any human race having more than one heart.”
“It’s a secret among my people.”
I tossed him a skeptical look. “Sure it is.”
“You don’t know anything about my culture, so how can you decide if it’s not true? I think you should just believe everything I’m saying.”
I opened my mouth in mock shock. “I know things about the Cuban culture.”
It was his turn to throw me a skeptical look. “Name one song.”
I twisted my lips to the side and considered it for a minute. “Guantanamera?”
He laughed. “Well, it is one of the best known Cuban songs out there. But fine, I’ll prove my point with that. Do you know what it means?”
“No.” I took another sip. With each swallow, W.H.L. was getting easier and easier to take.
“The song is based on a poem by Jose Marti about his fascination with this beautiful girl. Guantanamera means girl from Guantanamo. It was actually one of the many poems my grandpa made Hex and I memorize.”
“Do you still know it?”
“Of course.”
“Tell me some of it.”
He formed his lips into a smile.
“I am a truthful man
from where the palm tree grows.
And before dying I want
to let out the verses of my soul.”
The tension and stress in my shoulders dissipated into a soothing wave of calm. It could’ve been due to the W.H.L. working its magic on my muscles, the relaxing company of Alvarez, or even the simple passion in the poem, but for once this month I was content with just staying where I was and never leaving.
“My verse is light green
and it is flaming red.
My verse is a wounded stag
who seeks refuge on the mountain.”
Alvarez tucked a stray strand behind my ear. The easy gesture delivered sizzling sparks across my skin.
“I grow a white rose
in July just as in January,
for the honest friend
who gives me his open hand.”
I risked a few more sips before setting my glass on the coffee table in front of me.
“Then in the song, of course,
the singer would sing,
‘girl from Guantanamo,
oh that peasant from Guantanamo.”
I grinned. “Sing it to me, please.”
“If you promise to sing to me.”
I wagged my finger from side to side. “My singing brings howling dogs to the window. Trust me when I say this, you don’t need me singing anything tonight.”
He set his almost full glass on the table.
“You’ve barely had any of it.” I pointed to the glass.
“I’ve found that talking to you has calmed me enough. I don’t need it.”
“Or are you trying to get me drunk so that you can take advantage of me?”
“I don’t need liquor to do the things I want to do to you tonight. What I need is peace around this property and the time to do it.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh really? You just need time and peace? Not for me to be a willing party?”
“You’re willing.”
“I never said that.”
“Your lips did.”
As if he’d touched them again, my mouth remembered the kiss from the dance floor and tingled with a wish that he’d press against them again. “That was a Happy New Year’s kiss, nothing more.”
“Even though today isn’t New Year’s day?”
“Exactly.”
“So that was my last kiss?”
“Yes.” The word came out as a whisper. I hoped it was the truth, even though an ache rose in my chest for him to touch me. There couldn’t be anything between us. For the past six months, I’d been reading self-help books to learn how to be happier in life. Granted, the biggest thing that had been blocking my happiness was my relationship with Michael. In one of them, they discussed many different personality traits. One in particular dealt with how the person was afraid to be alone and always sought happiness and pleasure through the people around them. Women like this always needed a man with them and could only be happy around them.