Iona ambled by, and Enrique snagged two glasses of bubbly from the tray Miranda’s longtime waitress held aloft. Pride for Alejandro swept through Anamaría at Iona’s awed praise for his work. The older woman encouraged them to check out the savory appetizers, then headed off to serve other guests.
“Who the hell is she?” Enrique whistled softly. “Coño, Alejandro’s been holding out on me.”
She followed her brother’s intent stare toward the back of the room. “Pick your jaw up off the floor, hermanito. That’s Natalia.”
“The art consultant from Chicago?” Surprised interest widened his eyes at the same time a sly grin curved his lips. “Hell, I woulda stopped by as soon as I got back from my training if I had known she was—”
“Thank goodness you’ve been out of town then,” Anamaría interrupted, her gaze trained on Natalia, now deep in conversation with a portly middle-aged gentleman Anamaría didn’t recognize. Alejandro hugged his brother again and kissed Cece’s cheek, leaving them in the Nature and Wildlife area to join Natalia and the other man.
“Come on. We’re going in.” Enrique placed a hand on the small of Anamaría’s back and downed a hefty swig of his Prosecco. “I need an introduction.”
“She is not a random hookup, E,” Anamaría warned her playboy brother. “Please don’t muddy things for Ale. Like I told you, Natalia has great contacts that could lead to something good for him.”
“Cut me some slack. I just want to meet her. Maybe she’d like a private tour of our intimate little island.” Enrique waggled his eyebrows like the lecherous fool he could be.
Anamaría squinted at him in warning. His wolfish grin widened.
She would have punched him in the arm, but they stepped apart to allow an old man in a cream guayabera and dark brown slacks to pass between them. Stooped low over his cane, he clutched the layout map in his hand, his thumb crooked over the section marked Mi Cuba. Removing a white handkerchief from his shirt pocket, he swiped at his eyes and swayed slightly to his right.
Enrique cupped the older gentleman’s elbow to steady him.
“¿Está bien?” E asked, pitching his voice lower to give the man a measure of privacy now that the gallery had begun filling up.
“Sí, I am fine. Gracias,” the gentleman answered. “Lágrimas de alegría.”
Tears of joy?
Anamaría shared a confused glance with Enrique.
“Be sure to visit Mi Cuba,” the older gentleman recommended. He set a trembling hand over his heart, his wrinkled face softening with nostalgia. “Recuerdos de mi isla. Tan bellos.”
With a dip of his head, he continued toward the front door, repeating his last words, “so beautiful,” and murmuring about the “memories of his island.”
The man’s heartfelt reaction confirmed that Anamaría had been right by encouraging Alejandro to showcase his secret photographs, despite his unease about his father’s reaction.
Excited to share the older man’s praise with Alejandro, Anamaría elbowed her brother, signaling her intent to move on.
“There you are!” Ale cried, waving his hand high above the crowd when he spotted her.
She grinned back, a blush rising in her cheeks as his gaze slowly traveled over her. The extra time blowing out her long hair and creating a natural look with her eye shadow, plus the price of a new cocktail dress, was well worth it when she caught the unbridled desire in his eyes.
He winked, and her stomach flip-flopped as she recalled him peeking up at her from under the bed sheet with that same naughty expression. He spread his palm up and let his gaze quickly dart about the space as if inviting her to look around with him before his gaze came back to rest on her, his face alight with wonder.
You did it! she mouthed, grinning like a fool, giddy with glee that his youthful dream was now a reality. Her heart singing with elation over sharing this momentous occasion with him.
The portly man in the cream business suit who’d been speaking with Natalia had already started edging away by the time Anamaría and Enrique reached them.
“Let me know which offer you want me to book first. As your agent, I say Napa. But it’s your call. Great job here, you two.” He circled a pudgy finger in the air, indicating the showcase. “I’m out. Shoot me a message.”
“I will. Hold on a sec, Robert.” Alejandro clasped the guy’s shoulder while turning to include Anamaría and Enrique in their circle. “Let me introduce you to my . . . uh, to two friends of mine. Anamaría Navarro and her brother, Enrique, one of my old partners in crime growing up.”
As she shook hands with Alejandro’s agent, Anamaría prayed her polite hello smile didn’t mimic her wavering heart at Alejandro’s stumbling introduction.
Had he started to say something else? Call her something else? Or had he simply realized that their relationship, as it stood now, didn’t really have a label suitable in a professional setting?
Friends with benefits? Temporary lovers?
Or what was the latest term she’d heard from a rookie at the station? Situation-ship.
She bit the inside of her lip to stop a denial from slipping out.
None of those options were ideal.
Then again, this countdown to the end wasn’t, either.
With a final farewell and a “pleasure meeting you,” his agent departed. Alejandro swung-stepped closer to her and cupped her elbow. A tiny spark tingled at the innocent touch paired with his not so innocent smile.
“You look incredible.” His appreciative gaze traveled slowly down her body like a lover’s caress, pausing at her dress’s deep V-cut neckline that left her no option but to go braless, down her swirly pleated skirt to her newly painted toenails. Their shade of red one of her favorites mostly because of its plucky name, Tell Me About It Stud.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“And your hair,” he mused, his voice hushed as if he spoke the words aloud without realizing it.
She’d left her hair loose tonight. Something she didn’t do too often, especially in the summer with the high heat and humidity.
But the other evening, lying in her bed, both of them hot and sweaty and sated, he’d mentioned how much he liked it when she wore her hair down. How he loved running his fingers through the silky strands. As he did now.
Gently, he brushed her hair off her shoulder, warmth spreading over her skin at his light touch. The back of his fingers strayed along her collarbone, then followed the thin spaghetti strap that held up her dress. The scrap of material stretched past the side of her neck, his roving fingertips tracing the edge where the material met her skin.
Leaning in, he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek in the casual hello shared by most in their comunidad. But his fingers continued tracing the dress strap to where it crisscrossed with the other one in the center of her back. His splayed hand scorched her bare skin, stoking the fire of desire that constantly simmered inside her when she was with him.
Pulse sparking, she placed a hand on his chest, longing to grab his lapel and pull him in for a tongue-tangling kiss the likes of which might scandalize their mamis. Then again, knowing them, maybe not.
If they were somewhere private, she would be in his arms by now. His mouth plundering hers. Her hands frantically working to undo the buttons on his shirt, anxious to explore the curves of his chest, the muscles rippling along his back. Dipping lower to revel at his body’s reaction to hers.