Us Against the World

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"Justine, what? What's wrong?"

I'm ripped out of my deep sleep—the first I've had in days—from Justine's screaming.

"Did you hear that?" she shrieks. "Something banged against the window."

I sit up and flick on the light. Blinking, I try to focus on the window. All I can see is the glass and the sheets of rain coming down.

"I think something hit the glass. I hope it's not broken." She peels off the covers and marches over to the window.

I scramble to follow her. "Justine, get away from that. I'll look."

She's already at the window, naked, cupping her hands at the sides of her eyes and pressing her face into the glass. "Whoa, it's a palm tree trunk. See?"

I peer outside. Sure enough, there's the trunk floating in the shallow lagoon water below.

"We need to roll down the hurricane shutters now. I don't give a shit whether the hotel wants us to yet or not. Get in bed, and I'll do it."

I watch her walk back to bed, the swerve of her curvy hips putting a smile on my face. As I go to the living room to grab the remote controls for the shutters, I wonder how long I'd been asleep. It felt like hours.

The shutters roll over the windows in the living room with no problem, and I watch as they cover the bedroom window as well. Now we're isolated inside, the sound of the wind and rain muffled.

Back in bed, I shut out the light, throw the duvet over us, and arrange Justine the way she was—tucked into my side, my arms around her, her leg over mine. I kiss her forehead. "Remember that hurricane that hit Miami when we were in school?"

"Mmm. When we lived in that crappy apartment. It wasn't even that big of a storm and wasn't a direct hit, but it sucked."

"Yep. The worst part was after it passed. How we didn't have electricity for a week and that weird guy upstairs had a nonstop acoustic jam session with his guitar."

"Oh, yeah, I remember that. He was the artist who painted portraits of girls. You always thought he was sketchy."

"He was sketchy. I think the girls were underage. Remember a few days after the hurricane, his friend with the bongos came to stay." Justine chortles. "I was so angry because I was sweaty and couldn't sleep, and they started in with their shitty music."

"I'd almost forgotten. That guy wouldn't stop. It was bad enough being without air conditioning and a fridge. But the bongos were like insult to injury."

We're both cracking up.

"It wasn't all bad, though." Her voice is suddenly soft. "So many memories of that week. We'd just started living together, and I felt like I was part of a team. I stood in that Red Cross line for two bags of ice, and you were so happy when I got home. Everyone in the city was freaking out, but we didn't. You even found a Cuban bakery selling guava pastries and bought all of them and gave them out to everyone in our building. I loved you for that. I was so impressed."

"God, we were so young. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. But we did good."

She hums in agreement. "It was us against the hurricane. Us against the world. "

I work my fingers into her long hair and grin in the darkness. "Still is, Justi. Still is."



When I open my eyes, the bedroom's stuffy and dark, the scent of sex on the sheets. My skin's warm, slightly sweaty even, and I wonder why the air conditioner isn't on. Oh. Right. The hurricane. I blink in the darkness.

I don't know what time it is or if the hurricane's passed over us. I can't hear the wind. The shutters are still down, I can tell that much. Closing my eyes, I roll over, thinking I'll find Rafael's arm and use it as a pillow. I scoot across the bed, wondering why he's so far to the edge. I scoot some more, and then I pause. Usually he has a rhythm to his breath while sleeping.

I don't hear it.

Sitting up, I call his name in the dark. No answer.

I move toward what I think is the nightstand and feel around for the lamp switch. When my finger flicks it, nothing happens. I try the other lamp on the other side. Zip.

We've lost power. Duh.

I ease off the bed and gingerly head in the direction of the crack of light under the door. There's not much furniture in the big room so I don't worry I'll trip on something, but there's something dizzying about moving through a pitch-black space.

I fling open the door and am assaulted by light. Rubbing my eyes, I shuffle into the living room, blinded by the strong sun pouring through the window. I'm also naked and am hit with an uncharacteristic feeling of modesty.

"Good morning, babe."

I stand in the middle of the room and let out a sleepy-tired groan. "Too bright. Let me get clothes." I duck back into the bedroom to find my tank top from the night before but spy Rafa's white linen shirt and slip that on instead. The shirt's huge.

It's no less bright when I get back into the living room. "Guess we slept through the storm."

He walks over and wraps me in his arms. "We did. Come. Look outside."

He's in the adorable shorts from yesterday and a T-shirt emblazoned with the name of the resort that stretches deliciously over his broad chest. I follow him to the window and gasp.

"Look at all the water!" Our villa is surrounded by angry navy-blue water, like a natural moat. I turn to Rafael. "Storm surge?"

Rafael nods. "I think this is the worst of it, though. I spoke to the concierge—"

"How? Did you swim over there? The power's out. The lights didn't work in the bedroom, and the air is obviously off."

"I still have cell service."

"How'd you get this open?" I point to the window, where the shutter had been.

"It's on a battery."

I nod as I scan the flooded panorama before me. It appears the ocean surged into our private pool.

"I can't believe we slept through the hurricane. Sucks."

"I know you wanted to get out there and probably report a story." Rafael smirks. He knows me too well, and I laugh. I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not a reporter anymore. I'm a publisher, pregnant, and on vacation. Well, sort of on vacation.

I'm definitely in no shape to work.

"So the hotel said it was a strong Category 1 storm. Nothing the island can't deal with easily. I also checked the Weather Service on my phone. The surge should go out with the tide—most of it, at least. And I have two pieces of good news."

He squeezes my butt, and I turn into him. "Tell me."

"One is on the table."

I crane my neck and see a full continental breakfast, decorated with flower garnishes, laid out on one end of the long wooden table. A small miracle under the circumstances.

"Wow! How did this happen if everything's flooded?" I walk over and pick up a grape and stuff it in my mouth. The croissants look delicious, and I can't wait to tear into them. The food is in ecologically-friendly cardboard packaging, and plates and bowls from the small kitchen are stacked nearby. My stomach grumbles, and I start to heap baked goods and fruit on a plate. I open a stainless steel thermos and take a whiff. Coffee. I'm normally a tea drinker, but this smells delicious.

"Justi, the doctor said you should stick to decaffeinated tea."

Sighing in annoyance because he's right, I grab a little jar of honey for the croissant.

"So when I woke up at six, you were out like a light. I didn't want to wake you. I came and poked my head out the door. The storm had passed, so I opened the shutter. I saw that the hotel had called and left a message about closing the shutters last night. They did that while we were in bed."

"Mmhmm." I'm now sitting at the table, tucking into the croissant while looking into Rafa's dark eyes.

He laughs, and his gaze goes to my chest. "I love to watch you eat while you're half-naked in my shirt."

I look down and see that the shirt's open enough to flash him more than a bit of my boobs. "I can't help it," I yelp. "I'm starving. I'm eating for two here."

"I know. Eat up. Anyway, the hotel said they'd send someone from the restaurant in a canoe with breakfast. About a half-hour ago, a guy paddled up with a giant cooler and brought us all this. Even the flowers. He met me on the steps, and I took everything in and arranged it."

"But what about the power? How are they cooking?"

"They have a generator in the main building so they're still providing the guests with five-star service."

"Impressive." I cram a few more grapes in my mouth. So this is what money buys—catered luxury during a hurricane. "What's the other piece of good news?"

Rafa sits at the head of the table. He doesn't have a plate, and I get up to make him one. I stand at the other end, spooning fruit and granola into a bowl.

"There was storm surge up to the airport. The tides won't go out tonight, which means flights probably won't leave until tomorrow, maybe the next day. I've called the office and said I'm stranded for the next forty-eight hours, which means we don't have to do anything but stay here and relax. I also told the office not to call my cell unless people or buildings are on fire, because there's no power and I have limited cell-charging capability."

I swallow the grapes and squeal. Us, together, with no interruptions. I abandon the food and move to his lap, smothering his cheeks with kisses.

He runs the backs of his fingers down my cheek. "Happy?"

"Happier than I've been in days." I stare at him, seeing a mixture of pain, relief, and fire in his eyes.

"Kiss me," he demands. I do, and within seconds, we're making out at the breakfast table and he's cupping my breast, lightly pinching my nipple.

"Sit on the table." His voice is a growl.

I shoot him a quizzical look, and he reaches around me and pats the table. Easing me off his lap, he pushes his chair back, and I hoist myself up. There's more than enough room for my butt; the food's at the other end. The wood is smooth and cool on my bare skin.

Leaning back a little, I prop myself up with my hands behind me. The shirt rides up, exposing my upper thighs.

He moves his chair close to my legs, and I'm beginning to get the idea. Leaning over to where I was sitting, he grabs the little jar of honey and cracks it open. He taps on my knees with his fingers and looks up at me with a cocked eyebrow.

I bust out laughing.

"What are you doing? Don't you want breakfast first?" I slowly unbutton the shirt while he dips his finger in the honey, then puts it to his mouth and licks. Shivering because I know what he wants, I open the shirt and my legs.

He plants two kisses on my inner thigh, then scoops more honey out of the jar with a devastatingly foxy grin.

"I am having breakfast."

Two hours later, after an oral-sex marathon, feeding each other muffins, and a quick, cold shower together—there's no hot water because there's no electricity—we spoon on the wide, white sofa, staring out the window at the blue sky and the storm surge.

We're naked, and as far as I'm concerned, we'll stay this way all day. Rafa's opened two of the villa's side windows, so there's a cross-breeze coming through, keeping us from getting too sweaty.

"Want to move to the porch?"

"Nope." He puts a hand on my stomach and rubs in a circle. "How do you feel?"

I roll over and give him a peck on the chin. "Extremely satisfied in every way."

He snickers. "I'm glad you enjoyed breakfast. I know I did."

"You haven't lost your oral skills, I'll give you that."

He closes his eyes and grins. "I never told you this. When we first started having sex, I was obsessed with your pussy. I mean, don't get me wrong. I loved you from the second I saw you. I loved you for your mind. Your humor. Your curiosity."

"And my vagina." I crack up.

"And your pussy. For a solid couple of weeks there, I couldn't concentrate on anything else. It's all I thought about in class, at work, over breakfast. It was uncharted territory. A new land I needed to explore."

"No way." I giggle and pinch-tickle him at his waist.

He opens his eyes and looks at me with mock seriousness. "Yes way. I'd never seen one before yours. I couldn't believe that if I did certain things, you'd respond like you did. So I made it my mission to map and chart your pussy."

"You were like the Spanish explorer of my vagina." I'm laughing so hard that tears are leaking from the corners of my eyes.

"Exactly." He pauses and shrugs. "I was twenty-one and horny as hell. And your pussy's so beautiful. Pink. I'd think about licking it all the time. All. The. Time." He groans.

"When did you stop being obsessed with my vagina?"

"Who says I've stopped?" he says in a deadpan while tickling me, which makes me scream with laughter.

We lounge like this for hours, joking and talking and dozing.

"I love this. Being stranded with you. Doing nothing with you. You never do nothing. You're always moving." I press my lips to his chest.

"It might be the best thing that's happened to us since before the wedding."

A pang of guilt goes through me. "What are we going to do now? Are we going to reschedule the wedding?"

He doesn't blink and doesn't answer, and my heart speeds up. "Do you not want to marry me anymore?" I hold my breath. "Are you still mad that I ran away?

"Justine, of course I do. Jesus. I told you. I forgive you for leaving that day. I get why you did, why you were angry. I'm still mad at myself for not telling you."

I exhale. "Okay. Good. I forgive you, too. I do wish you'd told me."

"The question is, do you still want to marry me, given that I'm caught up in all this bullshit with Christina? It makes everything in my life uncertain."

"Why? Yeah, it's a pain in the ass. But why should it stop us from getting married?"

He sweeps my hair behind my shoulders. "I talked to my lawyer this morning. He finally got in touch with me after his trip to Haiti."

I frown. "Oh. And?"

"He wants to talk with both of us when we get back to Miami. And he's arranging a meeting with the FBI. He has that kind of pull. I'm going to explain everything that's happened with Christina to authorities. The lawyer will brief me on what to say and what not to say, so I won't implicate myself or my business in anything they might be investigating in terms of contracts, bonds, affordable housing."

What a relief. I smile. "Good! I'm glad he talked you into that. It's smart."

"I trust his advice. He used to be a U.S. attorney, so he knows the federal system inside and out."

"Perfect! So there shouldn't be any problem setting the wedding date."

Rafa rubs his lips together, which means he's nervous. His foot strokes the top of my foot.

"My lawyer said we shouldn't announce the wedding yet. Not until this situation is resolved."

I narrow my eyes. "Why? He doesn't have the right to dictate what you do with your private life."

"Well, ahh..." Rafael hesitates, and I lift my eyebrows. "He said it's possible that the feds will want me to gather evidence against her and her father."

I nod slowly. I don't know what that means, exactly, but I've covered enough crime stories as a reporter to not like the sound of it.

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