Maria followed him down the stairs, then got out plates while Ritchie started opening the takeout containers.

She looked surprised when she looked into the containers to find a meal of fragrant roasted chicken, beans, rice, plantains, crisp salad, and soft bread. There were little containers of guava barbeque sauce guaranteed to make your mouth water and thick slices of cheesecake for dessert.

"Not what you expected?" Ritchie tossed his jacket over the back of one of the stools in the kitchen and rolled up his sleeves.

"I guess I was expecting something...I don't know, fancier?"

"Sorry to disappoint."

"No, this is...perfect."

"Let's load up our plates and take it out on the patio." Maybe if they ate out back where the lights were dimmer, he could get his mind off the way her breasts filled out the simple little shirt she was wearing, stop thinking about what was under the thin cotton pajama bottoms slung low on her hips.

Maria hesitated by the French doors leading out back. "Don't you want to go...change or something?"

"And let the food get cold?"

"I feel a little underdressed."

"You're fine. Come on."

They took their plates out to the terrace and set them on the table. Maria was perched on the edge of her seat, looking like she was ready to take flight at any moment.

"Could you relax?"

"It's just a little weird. Without Joey here."

Ritchie nodded, then got up, walked into the house, and selected a bottle of wine from the under-the-counter cooler, opened it and grabbed two glasses. Maybe after some dinner and some wine, Maria would lighten up a bit.

By the time he walked back out, she had pulled her chair closer and was sitting at the table, her posture stiff. He grinned and sat down across from her and poured them both some wine.

"I'm not really much of a wine drinker." She picked up the glass and took a small sip, then raised her eyes to him in surprise. "This is really good."

"I'm glad you like it."

"You didn't have to do this," she said, gesturing to the plates of food.

"It's just dinner, Maria."

She took another drink of wine and started in on her meal. She looked younger, more vulnerable, sitting there in the simple cotton shirt and pajama pants. Her face seemed innocent without a trace of make-up, and when a light breeze moved over her, he smelled the faint scent of exotic flowers. No wonder she seemed stressed around him. He really had steamrolled her into moving in here, had completely taken over every decision about her brother's life. And, as he reminded himself, he was the enemy.

"I know it's just dinner," she said. "But when you do thoughtful things like this, it just makes it harder."

"Harder to what?"

She raised her eyes. "Harder to keep hating you."

"You don't have to hate me, Maria."

"Yeah, I do," she said, and her eyes looked sad. "I really do."

"Well, here's an idea. How about a truce."

"A truce?"

"Yeah, a truce." He took a bite of chicken and rice and washed it down with some wine, then picked up the bottle and refilled both their glasses.

"Let's declare a truce for as long as you and Joey are living here. Then when you move back to your apartment, you can pick up right where you left off, hating me."

"You're making fun of me," she said, her eyes flashing with sudden passion.

"I'm not. I'm just being practical. I think we both agree that, for the time being, living here is in Joey's best interests."

He knew it cost her to agree with anything he said, but she nodded. "His grades are up, he's playing sports, no problems at school, and he's making friends – the right kind this time. What do you want, for me to admit you were right all along?"

"Maria, that kid's got a solid foundation, and that's all you. It was the situation you were in. I don't think there's anything more you could have done. I just have more...resources. That's all."

"There you go again, sounding all reasonable."

"I'm a very reasonable man."

"Hmmm. Reasonable is not the first word that comes to mind. Assertive, confident, maybe just a bit arrogant..." Her voice trailed off, and she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Look, it's not that I don't appreciate everything you've done for Joey. I know we'll never be able to repay you."

"Dammit, Maria." He slammed his palms down on the table and stood up, pushing back his chair. She looked startled, and maybe a little frightened. Marvelous. Just marvelous.

He walked over to one of the wide chaises, sat down, kicked off his shoes, and leaned back, then spoke in a level tone without looking at her.

"It's not about repaying me. And you know what? It's not about Tito or about you carrying around years of resentment and anger about something you can't change and I can't change." He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them and turned to look at her. "It's about Joey."

She didn't say anything. He watched as she got up from her chair, and he thought she was going to go back into the house, and retreat to her room again. Instead, she poured the last of the bottle of wine into their glasses then carried them over and stood next to the chaise. He figured it was her move.

"Mind if I sit down?"

"Be my guest." He shifted over and patted the seat next to him. She handed him his glass of wine and then set hers down on the terrace before taking a seat beside him on the chaise. She leaned against the backrest, not looking at him, staring instead up at the stars that had begun to appear in the evening sky.

They sat there awhile, stretched out side by side, not talking, until their wine glasses were empty. He thought about going into the house to get another bottle, but then decided not to interrupt what almost seemed like companionable silence. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft and her words seeming to be carefully chosen.

"Everything changed when Tito went to prison. For my mom to lose her husband so young was bad enough. But she pulled herself together. Joey was so little. He needed her to be strong for him, and she was. But Tito and me...something like that should have brought us closer. When you have a twin, that person is like the other half of you. But he wouldn't talk to me. It was like he turned into someone I didn't even know."

She signed. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I guess it's the wine talking. I just wanted you to understand."

Maria and Tito were twins? Ritchie hadn't realized that. Somehow it made it worse.

"I want you to tell me," Ritchie said. "I do want to understand."

The air was so still, the night so quiet. Maria didn't speak for so long he thought she might have fallen asleep. He watched the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, and he felt an unexpected surge of tenderness. She turned her head toward him then, and her eyes were clear and intense.

"I didn't know what to do with the grief, the sadness, so I lost myself in my art. Tito just lost himself."

He knew it was pointless to tell her not to blame herself. To tell her that her brother had made choices that led him to where he was today. But she couldn't help blaming herself any more than she could stop blaming him. And he had no business lying here beside her wanting to offer comfort she didn't want from him, wanting to pull her into his arms and make love to her, watch her eyes cloud over with pleasure and all the sadness slip away.

She sat up suddenly, setting her empty glass back down on the stone terrace. She turned to face him.

"I said I can't stop hating you, Ritchie, but that's not the worst of it."

He just watched her, waited.

She laughed, and it was a hollow sound with no joy. "Hating you I could deal with. It's wanting you that keeps me awake at night."

It was like the world stopped spinning on its axis. One of those moments when everything stands still. Like the moment when the jury files back in at the end of a long trial and everyone in the courtroom holds their collective breath, waiting for the verdict.

"Tell me what you want, Maria."

"Why don't I just show you," she said, and just like that, she was on top of him, all hot and fast hands, lips fastening onto his, their legs tangling, her body pressing tightly against his. He felt his pulse shoot into overdrive, and he was instantly hard. Her hands were in his hair, her lips locked on his, and before he had a moment to think, his own hands pushed up the flimsy cotton t-shirt, slid up her ribs, and moved none too gently over her breasts, skin to skin. His mind ordered him to slow down, but his body wasn't getting the message. His strokes became more demanding as her nipples instantly responded to his touch, hardening under each rough caress.

She called out his name, arching above him as her hands moved to his shoulders for support. He pulled her tighter, then let his mouth take over, felt a taut nipple against his tongue, and heard her gasp. His hands moved down her body, siding over her hips, and his mind flashed for a second to their first and only date. He remembered the restraint he'd exercised against the temptation to move his hands up under the short skirt she'd worn.

With no hesitation now – and no restraint – he pulled the drawstring on her pants loose and slipped the waistband down over her hips then let his hands wander over her perfectly rounded bottom. She wasn't wearing anything – not even a thong – under those pj pants, and it almost undid him.

She was fumbling with his belt, murmuring, "Now, Ritchie, now," and her words seemed a little slurred. I guess it's the wine talking, she'd said earlier, and the recollection was like a cold splash of water on his face. Would she be all over him if she hadn't had more than half a bottle of wine? He tried to remember how many times her glass had been refilled.

He caught her wrists, pulled her hands away from his belt, and she looked at him, confusion showing on her face.

"Don't you want me?"

"Oh, God, Maria, more than you know."

"Then what's the matter?"

His head was starting to clear. Her shirt was still pushed up, and he could see already reddened marks where his face – not shaved since seven a.m. – had scraped against her delicate skin. He gently lowered her shirt and pulled the loose pants back over her hips.

"What's the matter," he told her, "is that we've had too much wine."

"I'm not drunk!"

"Of course not," he said, swinging his legs over the side of the chaise and scooping her up into his arms.

"What are you doing, Ritchie?"

"I'm putting you to bed."

"Mmmm. Yes, take me to bed."

"Not take you to bed – put you to bed, darling." She leaned against him, and he carried her into the house, shutting the terrace door behind them. God, she weighed almost nothing. No wonder that amount of wine had hit her so hard. He carried her up the stairs and down the hall and laid her down on the soft comforter on her bed. She smiled and reached out her arms to him.

"I'll be right back," he said, and she smiled again.

Ritchie walked over to the closet, pulled a light blanket down from the shelf, unfolded it, and walked back to the bed. Her eyes were closed, her breathing deep and regular. He put the blanket over her and shut off the light, watching her for a moment before he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Either way, she'd hate him in the morning, but what the hell, she hated him already.

It may have taken few glasses of wine to open up a part of her she'd closed off to him, but now her behavior over the past weeks made a lot more sense. Ritchie had wanted her in his bed since the first night he saw her at the soup kitchen. How ironic that when he finally had her exactly where he'd wanted her, he was the one who had to call a halt. Maria wanted him, probably as much as he wanted her. She just wouldn't admit it unless a little too much wine loosened her self-control. The response he'd felt when his hands were on her body didn't lie.

He would never take advantage of her when she was intoxicated, but he had no qualms about using that information to his advantage when she had a clear head. Things were about to get a lot more interesting.

But for now, his best chance of getting any sleep tonight was to go swim a few dozen laps in the pool until he wore himself out. Then he'd try to put that delectable body a few doors down the hallway from his room completely out of his mind.

Author's Note:

Was Ritchie right to stop things? What do you think Maria's reaction will be in the morning?

Music:  Avril Lavigne - Falling Fast