His cell phone vibrated on his lap where he’d dropped it earlier.
“You have got to be kidding me,” she groaned. “Un-freaking-believable.”
Alejandro buried his face in her chest, his strangled laugh shaking his shoulders.
She reached for his phone, wedged between his shorts’ waistband and tented zipper, proof of his matching desire for them to move way past second base.
His brother’s text illuminated the screen, and she squealed with excitement as she read aloud, “‘It’s a boy!’”
“Well, there you go,” Alejandro said, grasping her waist and tugging her onto his lap. “I think this calls for a little adult celebrating. Don’t you?”
Chapter 17
“You’ve been holding out on me.”
Surprised at the accusation, Alejandro halted in the doorway of Bellísima’s office.
He frowned at Natalia, her petite figure in black, slim-fitting slacks and a silky sleeveless orange blouse, dwarfed by the oversized vintage channel-back accent chair with its textured pink velvet upholstery. It was one of several signature pieces Marcelo and Logan had collected and sprinkled throughout the gallery, including this small office at the back of the building.
After walking through the gallery visualizing her plan for the various sections of his display, Natalia and Alejandro had settled in here to continue weeding out the final selections while the two gallery owners ran out to grab lunch for them all.
“I’m not following you,” Alejandro said, in response to her vague declaration.
Feet curled under her, the savvy art consultant didn’t even bother glancing up. At some point since he had stepped out to take a call from Ernesto, Natalia had made herself comfortable. Her straight dark brown hair was now pulled back into a no-nonsense chignon low on her nape. Her stylish, but sensibly low, black pointy-toed heels sat on the floor in front of the vintage chair.
All business, she continued scrolling through whatever held her attention on his iPad. The occasional “hmm” her only communication.
Step-swinging on his crutches, he headed toward the antique mahogany desk, another beautiful piece of furniture that spoke of Marcelo’s and Logan’s refined taste and superior eyes. It went with the vivid oil painting that took up a significant portion of the inside wall the desk faced. Alejandro hadn’t missed the EN scrawled in the bottom right corner, but he would have recognized the dramatic colors and textures, the bold strokes a mix of knife and brush, that stamped the artwork as one of Enrique’s anyway.
One of the few pieces hanging in a location other than one of his familia members’ homes.
“That exquisite piece grabs my attention every time I walk in here, too,” Natalia mused, although she had yet to glance up from his iPad screen.
“He’s so talented. Shame he’s not producing work like that anymore. At least, he hasn’t said anything to me about any new paintings.”
Her chin came up, her expertly shaped brows angling together. “You know him?”
Alejandro blinked, taken aback by the intensity of her abrupt question. Leaning his crutches against the desk, he tucked his hands in the pockets of his navy twill shorts. “Uh, yeah. He’s my—”
Crap, the words girlfriend’s brother nearly slipped out, unchecked. He fisted his hands, pushing away his frustration. No need to put labels on Anamaría and himself.
“He’s my best friend on the island,” Alejandro amended.
“Oh really.” Natalia’s hazel green eyes widened, a smug smirk twisting her red lips. “Interesting. So, you could introduce me to this reluctant, incredibly talented artist that Marcelo and Logan swear cannot be convinced to paint on commission. No matter the offer.”
He noticed she hadn’t asked him a question. Rather, made a suggestion as if she were simply giving Alejandro an opportunity to do something for her. She was wily, this one.
“I would, if I could, but I can’t,” he answered, purposefully leaving her hanging with his infantile response.
If she was interested in E’s artwork, maybe Natalia would be the one to find out why he’d up and left a promising art career in Miami to come home and relegate his talent to painting mementos most tourists took home only to get rid of in a garage sale a few years later. E’s work deserved better than that.
“Why not?” she challenged, unperturbed.
“Because.”
With her head cocked, arms crossed, her pursed lips had no need to move. Alejandro heard her annoyed yeah, right, loud and clear.
“Because he’s a local firefighter out of town for two weeks at the fire college in Ocala. That’s North Central Florida,” he clarified. “But he will be here for the opening. So—”
“So, you will be a wise, considerate friend and introduce him to the woman who can brighten his future.” Natalia’s satisfied grin drew an anticipatory smile of his own.
“We shall see.”
“Yes, we shall.” With that, she went back to perusing whatever had precipitated her accusation when he had first walked in.
Alejandro shuffled through the sheets of paper on the desktop. Perusing the different layout renderings Natalia had sketched before her arrival yesterday. He spread them out over the marbleized green and brown surface to examine each area individually.
“That still doesn’t get you off the hook,” she warned him. “Like I said, you’ve been holding back.”
“Care to elaborate?” he prodded.
“Her.”
His Excuse me? wilted on his tongue when Natalie turned his iPad around to show him what had her so enthralled.
Shit. His stomach dropped as he realized what she had found.
Anamaría’s face stared back at him in black and white. Her silky, nearly waist-length hair loosely fanning over her shoulders. The top three buttons of his white shirt left undone, the loose material teasing him with a peek of her black lace bra and the curve of her delectable cleavage. The gray headboard in her master bedroom filling the background.
Those details paled in comparison when you stared into her expressive hazel eyes. Wondered at the smile tickling the faintly curved edges of her mouth.
Natalia slid her finger across the screen to bring up the next picture.
Anamaría. Same location, same setup.
This time, her head was tipped back in laughter, her hair mussed, cascading down her back in dark, silky waves, wispy strands falling across half her face. Pure joy exuded from her pores, flashed in the sly glance out of the corner of her eyes. Her beauty mark teased him, reminding him of the times he’d kissed it, traced it with his fingertip.
He’d been scrolling through the pictures earlier and neglected to close the file titled “Her” that normally would have required a password to access.
A title that made absolute sense because there would only ever be one her for him.
A title that no one questioned on the off chance they were looking over his shoulder as he searched for a file.
A title he may want to consider changing to “Keep Your Mitts Off.”
Or “Stay the Hell Away.”
Or, even better, “Mine.”
“How come I haven’t seen any of these photographs?” Natalia asked, one brow arched in a confident challenge.