What Happens In Miami... Page 3

  This angel was a little liar. “I should have asked if someone was waiting for you at home.”

  “No one is waiting for me anywhere.”

  “In that case...” He dropped his keys into the bowl. Then he led her back outside, not to the terrace where they’d had dinner but to the rooftop deck with its bar, lap pool, hot tub, outdoor shower and endless views. He pulled a fresh bottle from the stocked wine cooler beneath the bar, and poured two generous glasses of God-knows-what. They went to stand by the balustrade, facing the night.

  “You have the best views,” she said.

  It was a quiet night. Sandro turned his back to the view and admired her instead. Tousled hair, eyes like topaz, lips wet with wine, he liked this view better.

  “I had my eye on this place for a while,” he said. “Bought it days after I signed a major endorsement deal. The sad truth is that I don’t get to spend more than two weeks at a time here. I’m either in LA or on set. Most of the time my niece crashes here.”

  “I want to pity you,” she said with a smile. “But it’s so damn hard.”

  “Not looking for pity,” he said. “I’m trying to tell you something.”

  She took a sip of wine. “What’s that?”

  He was momentarily distracted by the way the delicate gold chain she wore pooled at her collar. He yearned to lean in and kiss that spot. And for the first time all night he suspected that she might want him to. Before he did anything, Sandro had to make a few things clear.

  “This trip will be shorter than most and I’ll be gone in a few days.”

  She glanced up at him sharply. “Why would I need to know this?”

  “Because I want you to have all the facts.” Sandro wanted her to come out of her shell and play, but only if it felt right. “There’s an upside: nothing you do or say tonight will matter. You can throw caution to the wind.”

  “First of all, everything matters. Second, what do you think I’m doing here?”

  She pressed a palm to her chest as if to attest that her presence on his rooftop deck was proof positive she’d stepped so far out on a ledge she could not take one more step.

  Sandro wasn’t buying it. He pointed to the phone she’d hidden away. “I think you’re hiding the truth in your pocket.”

  She let her head roll back out of sheer weariness. And this time, he could not restrain himself. “May I touch you?”

  She gave him a hard look. He expected her to throw the contents of her wineglass in his face and he braced himself. To his relief, she nodded.

  He leaned in and kissed where the thin gold chain grazed her collar. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she brought the flat of her palm to his cheek, keeping him close.

  “You can talk to me, Angel,” he whispered against her warm skin. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “You’ll judge,” she whispered back.

  She was trembling.

  Sandro buried his nose in the hollow of her neck. “You don’t know me. I don’t judge.”

  “And I’ll never know you,” she said. “Isn’t that the point? In a few days, you’ll be gone.”

  “In a few days, you’ll have forgotten me.”

  “Do people forget the great Alessandro Cardenas?”

  He pulled away from her and leaned against the balustrade. “When he’s not putting on a performance, they do.”

  “Ah!” she exclaimed, as if she’d spotted the North Star or something.

  “What is it?”

  “It just hit me! I can be whomever I want and you can be yourself. Win-win.”

  Clever. He hadn’t thought about it that way. “I like the sound of that.”

  She let out a shaky breath and when she spoke her voice was as fragile as a blade of grass. “My ex-boyfriend followed his bliss halfway around the world. Now he posts about his adventures on YouTube.”

  “You loved him?”

  With so much to unpack, why had that been his first question?

  “I used to.”

  “What’s his bliss?”

  “Marine biology, specifically coral ecology.”

  Sandro couldn’t even diss the guy. The coral reefs were in peril and the jerk was doing something about it.

  “I followed him from Central Florida to Miami so he could wrap up research for his PhD. Then he packed up for Australia for a postdoc residency.”

  “And left you behind.”

  “Something like that.”

  Sandro did not want to know the answer to his next question, yet he had to ask. “Was that message from him just now?”

  She moved away from him, walking backward. “If I were just dodging his messages, there’d be nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  He went after her. “Embarrassed? Now I need to know.”

  “Alright!” She took another sip of wine. “So I mentioned he started a YouTube channel. I get alerts each time he posts a new video.”

  Sandro barked out a laugh. “You little stalker!”

  Her jaw dropped. “That’s not what I’m doing!”

  “That’s exactly what you’re doing.”

  “No!”

  “Yes, my angel,” he said. “You’re cyberstalking your ex.”

  She groaned and pressed the wineglass to her forehead.

  He took the glass from her and used the rim to raise her chin. “Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery.”

  “Oh, shut up!” She swatted him away. “It’s just... He’s exploring caves and sampling lagers... I don’t know. His life seemed so interesting. Maybe I was keeping tabs.”

  “Hey! We’ve all been there.”

  “Really? Who have you stalked recently?”

  Sandro shook his head. “In the interest of privacy, we won’t name names.”

  She stared wide-eyed at him. “Interesting.”

  “Not really.” In recent years, he’d learned to cut his losses. Which was what Angel had to learn.

  She absently slid off her shoes and immediately lost a few inches. He wanted to fall at her feet.

  “Since you’re an expert, what’s the next step?” she said. “Aside from the usual blocking, unfollowing and deleting the app.”

  “All good precautions,” he said. “What are your thoughts on rebound sex?”

  She coughed. The nervous little sound echoed in the night. “I’m neither for nor against it.”

  “That’s the cure,” he teased. “Give it some thought.”

  Sandro walked over to the bar and set their glasses in the sink. She was hung up on her ex. Did he want to get mixed up in that? On the other hand, what did it matter to him? If he followed his own logic, in a few days none of this would matter.

  Everything matters.

  Angel stood with her hands in her pockets. “Are you offering your...services?”

  He went to her and leaned close. This time he kissed the corner of her mouth. “When you put it like that, it sounds as dirty as it should be.”

  She went perfectly still. He breathed in her sweet floral perfume and he had his answer. He wanted to get mixed up in whatever this was.

  “I wouldn’t say no,” she said.

  That was a start. “I need you to say yes.”

  She took one step closer and whispered her answer. “Yes.”

  When Alessandro Cardenas offered sex, even obliquely, you said yes and dealt with the fallout later. That was only common sense. Right?

  In a restroom off the pool deck, Angel was having a moment. She splashed water on her neck to cool down. She could lose her job over this. If word got out that she slept with clients, what other reputable gallery would have her? Her professional reputation would be destroyed before she had a chance to build it up. Angel dabbed her face and neck with a towel as these thoughts assailed her. Then her fingers lingered at the spo
t that he had kissed and, just like that, she was on fire again. There was no way she was backing out.

  It wasn’t like she hadn’t considered rebound sex before he’d offered it. It was item No. 5 of her five-point plan to get over Chris. #5 Get back on the saddle. Only she hadn’t even made it to #2 Reconnect with old friends. So this felt like jumping the gun. Then again, item No. 1 was to follow her bliss, and this oddly fit the bill.

  God, but when he kissed her...the way he said her name...there was no way she could have said no.

  For now, they were going for a swim.

  Angel tied her hair in a topknot and stripped off her clothes. After a quick consultation in the mirror, she let out a resigned sigh. A runner since high school, her body was strong with a fair amount of curves. Right now, though, she might’ve regretted gorging on Chef Myles’s food if it hadn’t been so damn delicious! In a rattan basket, Angel found a collection of swimsuits, all new with tags. Alessandro had explained that his niece was a travel blogger/social media influencer and received tons of free clothes, some she made available for last-minute guests. She picked a one-size-fits-most black bikini with string ties, slipped it on and headed out the door before she lost her nerve.

  He was nowhere to be found. The rooftop deck was deserted. She walked over to the pool’s edge and for a minute she imagined him hanging out with his friends, lazily worshiping the sun while the others laughed and splashed around. The sound of pouring water caught her attention. She followed it to a manmade waterfall tucked away in an alcove. And there he was, naked, leaning forward with a hand pressed to the stone-paved wall as water rushed down the mountainous terrain of his back. She didn’t have to imagine anything anymore.

  She did not dare move.

  He spotted her anyway and stepped out of the water stream. “Found everything you needed?”

  She nodded.

  He reached out and rested a hand on her hip. It was warm and wet and she didn’t realize until too late that he was tugging at the string holding the bikini bottom together.

  “And you thought you’d need this?” One sharp tug and the bit of triangular fabric fell away. He then worked on the strings tied below her shoulder blades and lifted the bikini top over her head. “You won’t need this, either.”

  Her heart thundered in her chest as he guided her into the shower. He held her by the waist under the heavy stream. Water poured down her back and between her breasts. He drew her to him, kissed her then gently eased her back into the stream, letting the rush of water do its job. The pressure beat down on her. He drew her to him once again and smoothed back her hair. Angel had to blink to see clearly. His face was inches from hers. Drops of water clung to his lashes and shone like glass beads. She had no idea what other people thought when they saw him, but she thought he was devastatingly beautiful.

  Inhibitions thoroughly washed away, Angel mingled her fingers with his and guided his hand between her thighs. Water poured down their bodies, but she wanted him to discover the wetness there. His touch made her delirious. She shut her eyes and tipped backward.

  He drew her back and held her tight. “Stay close.”

  Angel whimpered. He pressed a kiss to her ear and, voice gruff, murmured, “What do you need?”

  More of this! All of this! Warm water, cool breeze, moonlight, his touch, all of it! Those words were crammed in her throat. She couldn’t speak.

  He gathered her hair and tugged on it. “Talk to me.”

  “I need you.”

  Oh, girl... What had just come out of her mouth?

  There was no time for regrets. He crushed them all with his kiss.

  Four

  With a hop, skip and a jump, Angel had landed in bed with a notorious Hollywood heartthrob. The chorus of internal voices that had egged her on last night wasted no time shaming her in the morning. She’d obviously lost her mind. Had she risked her job for a one-night stand? She’d let a sweet-talking celebrity turn her head. The man had flown down from California to party all weekend and she’d offered herself up as a favor!

  These thoughts invaded her mind before she even opened her eyes. It was 6:00 a.m. She knew it without having to consult her phone or watch. Angel woke up every morning at six, often to start her day with a quick run or to prep a canvas for later that night. It had been months since she’d done either of those things, yet the habit remained. Alessandro was sleeping beside her, his breath crashing in even waves. Angel listened, her own breath rising and falling, keeping time with his.

  She was wading in dangerous waters. The sounds of his breath, his warmth, his leg thrown over hers, the citrusy scent of his sheets—together they had the force of an emotional riptide strong enough to pull her under. She wanted to cuddle close to him and fall back asleep. Maybe later he’d wake her with demanding kisses.

  She wanted to do it all again.

  For that precise reason, she had to get the hell out.

  Running had always been part of her hastily hashed plan. Putting the plan in motion was tricky. She hadn’t thought it would be this elaborate, a hug and a quick kiss goodbye at 2:00 a.m. at most. But after they’d made love on his bedroom floor, he’d scooped her up and carried her to bed. She’d plunged into a deep sleep.

  Thanks to top-notch blackout drapes, the room was plunged in darkness. Without risking a glance at her bed partner, Angel slipped out from under the sheets. Where had she left her dress? And her shoes? All she had within reach was the large white towel he’d wrapped around her body before they took off running from the rooftop deck to his bedroom for quick access to his stash of condoms. The towel lay crumpled now on the wood floor as a cruel reminder of just how fun last night had been, how much more fun they could have this morning if she could bring herself to stay.

  Stick to the plan.

  Angel grabbed the towel, wrapped it around her body and tiptoed out of the room. She hesitated a while, her hand on the knob, her forehead pressed to the closed door. Privately she thanked him, wished him luck and said goodbye.

  It was better this way, and by “better” she meant “easier” on her.

  Angel turned away from the door and toward more practical matters. Finding her clothes would require no less than a scavenger hunt. She’d changed out of her dress in the rooftop restroom, but had stepped out of her heels well before that. Where had she left them? She gingerly made her way down the hall to the main living area. Which way to the roof? She couldn’t remember. And how would she even get off this damn island? It wasn’t as if she could order an Uber.

  Help arrived in the form of the housekeeper. At this early hour, she was humming to herself while watering a bird of paradise in a massive white planter. She turned from her task. The look she gave Angel loosely translated into, “¡Ay pobrecita!”

  “Good morning,” Angel said, her dignity in shreds.

  “Come,” she replied. “I have everything you need.”

  Her name was Maritza. She’d gone on the scavenger hunt and collected Angel’s things, including the metal case that she’d forgotten all about. It cost north of two hundred dollars and the gallery would have taken it out of her salary.

  Burning with equal parts gratitude and humiliation, Angel changed in a powder room off the foyer. When she emerged, she asked Maritza how she might catch the ferry.

  “I can arrange for a driver to meet you in the lobby. Is that okay?”

  Angel was dangerously close to tears. “That’s great. Thank you so much. For everything.”

  Maritza escorted her to the elevator and left Angel with a pat to her shoulder.

  A golf cart ride to the marina, a race along the dock to catch the ferry already pulling away, a quick leap on board, and Angel had made it out of paradise. She took a seat on a wood banquette and kept her gaze fixed on the Miami skyline. Her fellow passengers were properly dressed and likely returning home from night shifts as nannies and securi
ty guards. Out of respect, Angel resisted breaking into hysterical laughter.

  It had been a night of firsts. First one-night stand...with a celebrity. First time she’d ever ducked out on a man without so much as a kiss goodbye. First orgasm in an outdoor shower, which was a weirdly specific category but nonetheless true. First full night’s sleep since Chris’s departure. First time she’d opened up about Chris to anyone.

  Angel hadn’t confided in anyone about the breakup, mostly because she’d lost touch with most of the friends she’d left behind in Orlando. As for family, that was dicey. Her older sister, Bernadette, was judgmental as hell. Newly married, she had cautioned Angel not to trail after Chris to Miami. He won’t marry you, she’d proclaimed, as if marriage were the ultimate goal in life. When news of their breakup got out, Bernadette had wasted no time sending an “I told you so” text.

  She hadn’t gone into details with Alessandro, but it had felt good to release the pressure valve. Chris Moyer, a native of landlocked Nebraska with a lifelong fascination with the sea. This had led him to Florida to study marine biology. A native Floridian, Angel had always taken the beaches for granted. She and Chris had met in graduate school. He was pursuing a doctorate; she was wrapping up an MFA. Theirs was an opposites attract sort of thing, but they truly could not have been more different. A pragmatic guy with single-minded focus, Chris had never aligned with Angel’s fluid views on life and career. He had short-and long-term goals that extended into the next decade or two. Angel could not see too far into the future and took each day as it came. In the end, though, this attitude hadn’t served her and she was actively working to change.

  On her thirtieth birthday two things happened. Angel could not get a reservation at Diablo and a gallery turned her down for a group exhibition. Chris had patiently waited until the next day to announce that he had accepted a postdoctorate position in Australia and didn’t think it was a good idea for her to come along. “This was fun,” he’d said, dismissing three years of a committed relationship with three one-syllable words.

  This. Was. Fun.