Anamaría sucked in a surprised breath. “Does your mother know? I’m sure she’d love to see the—”
“No. And neither does my father.” He scrubbed a hand over his face in obvious discomfort. “Part of me thinks I should show the photographs. That Mami and Abuela, your parents, those older-generation Conchs who will hopefully come see the exhibition, might feel a connection to their birth home, the Cuba they left behind . . . I think . . . hell, I hope . . .”
With a heavy sigh that puffed out his cheeks, he collapsed back onto the sofa and stared up at the ceiling.
“You hope what?” Anamaría prodded.
He swiveled his head to look at her. In the muted light from the television, the butter yellow leather cushion was a stark contrast to his tanned complexion. His umber eyes brimmed with uncertainty. Something she’d never seen when it came to his photography.
“God, I don’t want to make a mistake,” he said, the admission gruff with unease.
“You can’t make a mistake when it comes to your work, Ale. Every image of yours I’ve ever seen is breathtaking.” She pressed a hand over his heart and leaned closer, willing him to see the sincerity in her eyes. “I’m sure your Cuba photographs are the same. Would you like to share them with me, maybe I can help you decide?”
His throat worked with his swallow, and Anamaría held her breath, wanting him to trust her.
Leaning forward, he snagged his iPad from the low coffee table and pressed the side button to bring the contraption to life. After several swipes and taps of the screen, a folder opened to reveal a list of images. He clicked on one she recognized from a faded picture framed on the cashier counter at the restaurant, the original Miranda’s in Cuba. His photograph showed the building as it was today, run-down and graffittied, but still standing. A tangible reminder of the man who had sacrificed much for his familia to have the blessings they cherished today.
Alejandro continued scrolling through the images on his screen, stopping on particular ones that caught his eye. Much like Lulu enjoyed doing when he allowed her to play with his iPad.
“Wow! I may not be a trained art consultant, but Ale, these are gorgeous. I say, follow your gut; add them to your exhibit if there’s still time. Thank you for sharing them with me. For trusting me.”
“You’re the first,” he admitted, his voice gruff with emotion.
She tore her gaze away from the image of a dilapidated, dried-up fountain in the middle of a park, surrounded by a promenade circle, its intricate tiles weathered and cracked with time and age.
“I am?” she asked, touched by his gift to her.
A chagrined smile curved his lips, giving him a boyish charm. Unable to resist, she stretched up to kiss his cheek.
He hugged her close, his arms tightening deliciously around her. She squeezed him back, her love for him taking hold, making her loath to release him.
“I want these photographs to be a bridge,” he told her, when they broke apart. “Not completely demolish one that’s barely hanging on like the Old Seven Mile Bridge up the Keys.”
Or the one separating him and his father.
“He’s still barely speaking to you?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He sagged deeper into the sofa cushions as if the single-syllable word was too much for him to carry.
“Opening Night, any chance he’ll come?” She pitched her voice low, afraid her question and the dismal answer she anticipated would cause him more grief.
“Doubtful.” The self-deprecating tug at the corners of his mouth, the sadness now shadowing his eyes, made her ache for him.
Leaning her forearms on his chest, she cupped his face with her hands, seeking to comfort him. “Those pictures, your exhibit, they are not a mistake. I’m sure of it. Everyone is going to love all your photographs. And your dad? He’ll come around; you’ll see.”
Skepticism flashed across his face.
She hated seeing him so hurt. Hated that she didn’t know how to help.
“I think you should show Natalia these photographs, Ale.” She grasped the edge of his iPad. “They could be the pièce de résistance to your show.”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, considering. His earlier unease beginning to dissipate. “I really want to add them to the show.”
“Then do it. I am one hundred percent behind you.”
A seductive, naughty smile curved his lips. “Behind me, and under, and on top of me. All my favorite positions when it comes to you.”
She snorted a laugh and shook her head. “Leave it to you to turn a serious conversation into something sexual.”
He ducked his head to nip at her lips with his, trailing his mouth to her ear. His warm breath sent chills chasing across her shoulders as he whispered, “But you love it, don’t you?”
She let her eyes flutter closed, afraid he might see the truth she would have to find a way to deal with later. Yes, she did love him. That’s why she planned to soak up every possible minute with him, committing them all to memory, so she could savor them later when she was alone but kicking ass with AM Fitness.
He nuzzled the shell of her ear with his nose, slowly turning up the heat on her constantly simmering desire.
“I think we’ve talked about work stuff enough already,” he murmured, pulling back to take one of her hands in his. Lifting it slowly, he pressed a kiss in the center of her palm, gently closing her hand as if wanting her to hold tight to his kiss. Treasure it when he was gone. The tender gesture sent a pang of longing straight to her heart.
“I agree. There are far more fun activities we should be enjoying,” she said.
He flashed a sexy smile as his mouth strayed from her palm to her wrist where his tongue licked across her pulse point. White-hot heat shot up her arm, electrifying her nerve endings.
His mouth strayed higher, liquid fire scorching her skin as the tip of his tongue slipped out to taste her forearm. The juncture of her elbow. Her biceps.
Her core pulsed with lust, desperate for his touch, craving his tongue in secret places that throbbed with need. She slid her hand under his shirt, reveling at his sharp intake of breath as her fingers splayed across his abs.
“What do you say?” he murmured against her skin. “Any chance I’ll get to second base before someone from our familias catches us?”
She chuckled, charmed by his humor.
He spanned her rib cage with a palm, his thumb languidly stroking the underside of her breast. Her nipples tightened in response.
“Oh, yes,” she murmured. “The odds are definitely in your favor.”
Arching her back, she splayed a hand on the cushion behind her for support. He took her invitation, cupping her breasts with both hands, and she gave herself to the carnal ministrations her body longed for.
His mouth and tongue joined the fun, concentrating their sensual assault on her cleavage spilling from the scoop neckline of her formfitting tank.
A low thrum of pleasure hummed in her throat. Needing to feel him, she snuck her left hand under his shirt to explore the firm muscles along his back and shoulders. Her fingers at his nape encouraging him with slight pressure.
“You are so fucking sexy,” he groaned.
His teeth grazed her nipple and she gasped, her hips bucking.
“Sí, más,” she rasped, needing more and not ashamed to let him know.