“I found your brother just a tad
forward.”
“Gianni is like that. Throughout our lives,
he’s been the outgoing, charming one, and I’ve always been the more
reticent, introverted sibling.”
Though his narrative piqued her interest,
Erica wanted to remain all business. “Did your brother send you to
pitch hit for him? I suppose he wants me to look at his apartment
and offer my services.”
“Yes and no.” Nico lowered his eyes to a
subdued level. She noted the long, thick lashes, which gave him a
rather sexy quality in a subtle sort of way. Did his brother
possess any such modest qualities? Erica couldn’t remember if
Gianni Sloan had a modest bone in his slick body.
“He could have come to your office,” Nico
continued, “and requested another designer, but he’s so sure you’d
be the one to understand what he has in mind. He thought I might be
able to smooth the waters so to speak.”
Erica’s brows rose. “And you agreed to try
and persuade me on his behalf. I thought you said you and Gianni
aren’t on the best of terms.”
“Yes and no, again.” The twin cleared his
throat. “We agree on some matters, and I decided to help him out
this time because he really believes you would be the best designer
for his space. I think so, too, even though I don’t know much about
you. So, I went online and found an article about you in an
architectural digest. The writer certainly sung your praises.
You’ve also won a couple of design awards.”
“Well, I’m flattered that you went to the
trouble, Nico.” Erica sat straight, impressed with his foresight.
“All right. It can’t hurt to take a look.”
“Great!” He flashed a convivial smile, ripe
with a bit of boyish allure. “Gianni is out of town on business for
a day or so. I’m staying at his place in the meantime. He gave me
carte blanche to give you the same when it came to your ideas and
what it will all cost.”
“Shall we make it this evening then?” No
wonder Erica hadn’t heard any noises last night! She hadn’t spoken
with her sister since yesterday’s lunch to know Maritza’s new love
had left town. Of course, she wondered if perhaps Gianni Sloan had
taken his love fest to Mari’s place since he had become well aware
of his neighbor’s “hearing problem.”
“Fine. Shall we say seven o’clock? Eat a
light supper. I’d like to offer something to compensate for my
brother’s rather forward behavior. I make a mean chorizo appetizer
and love to pair it with a nice crisp blush wine.”
A cook as well! My, my! Erica felt things
looking up already. “All right, then, Mr. Slo— Nico. I’ll see you
at seven.”
Chapter Five
Before she rang the bell, Erica smoothed down
the organdy fabric of her new dress. After her meeting with Nico
Sloan, she found it almost impossible to concentrate on work, so
she had taken the rest of the day off to go on a shopping trip.
Besides, she hadn’t bought herself anything new in ages. The minute
she spotted the butter yellow dress with its floral design, she
knew it would be perfect for an informal spring evening. Of course,
that also meant a trip to the shoe store, and Erica could hardly
pass up a deal on gold sandals.
Now she waited a few seconds after she
pressed the doorbell. Nico Sloan answered promptly and gave his
temporary neighbor a welcoming smile.
“Wow! You look great, Erica!” he commented as
his dark eyes took in her outfit, but more importantly, the woman
in it. He opened the door wider. “Come on in.”
“Thank you for the compliment and the
invitation.” She felt her face blush and her body heat up, even
though he had turned up the air conditioner to a comfortable level.
Nico, too, looked great this evening. Sans sports coat, he appeared
relaxed and comfortable in his light Dockers and polo shirt.
“Please, make yourself at home. Look around
if you like.”
As she entered the apartment, Erica forced
herself to look at the condo with a judicious eye for details. As
both brothers had stated, Gianni hadn’t done much with the place.
The living room contained a modest sofa, and two sling back chairs,
all in dark leather, while a slim, plasma TV hung on the opposite
wall. A packing crate served as a makeshift coffee table.
“Erica,” Nico Sloan called to her from the
kitchen, “please feel free to wander around while I get things
together in here.”
She did just that and took in mental details
as she went. Gianni’s apartment featured a similar layout as her
own with the same sized living area, the recessed kitchen, a dining
alcove, a fairly large bathroom, and two bedrooms. The first and
smaller of the two contained boxes, some open, some still sealed.
Several paintings had been stacked against the wall, and Erica
immediately felt drawn to the first one of a tropical scene done in
tempura with splashes of color. Glancing down, she spotted the
artist’s name in quick brush strokes. Sloan. She hoped the work of
art could be credited to the talents of Nico and not his brother.
Besides, when did Gianni Sloan have time to paint with such a busy
love life? The other two offered the same boldness of design.
Though Erica hadn’t tried her hand at painting in years, she still
appreciated those who had the time and talent to pursue their
muse.
She moved on to the master bedroom. Here the
Latin Lothario owned a king-sized bed, now neatly made with a deep
blue spread and pastel blue cases on the pillows. Twin nightstands
flanked the bed, one with a slim, gold metallic lamp. Sparse but
serviceable. The utilitarian look certainly did not deter the
owner’s frequent guests. Besides, who looked at the decor in the
throes of mad, passionate lovemaking?
“So, what do you think?” Nico’s sudden query
behind her made Erica jump. She leaned up against the door
frame.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, that’s quite all right.” Turning, she
found her host in close proximity, almost too close. She smelled
his fresh, Oriental-inspired scent, and when she dared to meet his
gaze, she found his eyes muted to a soft shimmer.
“Would you like to help me in the kitchen?”
he asked with an almost sensual lilt in his tone. “You look like
you could use a break from observing Gianni’s den of inequity.”
Erica laughed. “Do you know about your
brother’s reputation with the ladies?”
“Unfortunately yes, but let’s curtail that
discussion.” Slipping his arm through hers, Nico brought them back
to the kitchen.
Erica caught the aroma of spicy sausage and
found her host had just fried some chorizo in a skillet. She stood
by the stove and waited for Nico to give her instructions. When he
pulled together several ingredients, he beckoned for her to come
join him at the counter.
“The dip is actually my mother’s recipe, part
chorizo, part salsa, and a little of sour cream mixed with her
secret ingredients. The chips that go with it are actually sesame
pita rounds. A bit different from your normal tortillas.”
Handing Erica the spatula and sour cream
container, he invited her to scoop the contents into a large
ceramic bowl. As she did so, Nico included some sliced shallots and
a cup of
pico de gallo
—or rooster’s beak in English—an
aromatic and coarsely chopped combination of onions, tomatoes and
chili peppers. As she added and blended, Erica became well aware of
his own spicy heat and how the scent of his palatable masculinity
quietly competed with the other kitchen odors. Suddenly, as his
arms came around her waist, he took hold of her hand with the
mixing spoon.
“Now,” he murmured against her hair and
helped her to stir with languid strokes, “we gently mix it all
together and then add the special blend of spices.”
From then on, Erica had no idea what happened
next as her host added a pinch of this and a soupçon of that. She
felt nothing but a wild fire course between her legs and move with
rapid haste up her neck. Finally, when his closeness became too
much to handle, she excused herself and ducked under an arm.
“A little too hot in here,” she professed as
she fanned her face and leaned against the counter, making sure to
shuffle a few feet away from his sweetly cloying presence.
“Besides, too many cooks spoil the dip as they say.”
“No problem!” Laughing, he gave her a quick,
provocative flash of his eyes. “I’ll finish up here. Why don’t you
sit down and pour us the wine?”
Her host had laid out the pita chips on the
coffee table along with a bottle of Chardonnay and two long-stemmed
goblets.
When he joined her on the sofa, Nico brought
the dip in a smaller glass bowl and took up the glass of wine she
had poured for him. Trying not to appear too anxious, Erica dug
into the mix and enjoyed the tangy and sweet combination of
flavors.
“I suppose,” Nico ventured as he sipped his
drink, “that it’s ‘get to know you’ time. At least, I’d like to get
to know you better, Erica.”
She sat back, comfortable now. “I noticed the
paintings in the bedroom. Are they your handiwork?”
He donned a broad smile. “Guilty as charged.
It’s my little hobby.”
“They’re wonderful! Have you sold any of your
work?”
“Here and there. I own a gallery in
Bridgeport, but I don’t feature my own stuff. I guess you can say I
travel in various circles, some artsy, others inclined toward
business and investments.”
“Like your brother.”
“Yes, like him.” Reclining, Nico stretched
his long legs to the side, and then placed an arm across the
backrest of the sofa. “You can say Gianni always had the business
sense, while I kept my head in the clouds.”
Erica joined him in a smile. “Sometimes
that’s a good place to be.”
“Not all the time, especially when the bill
collectors come to call, but I manage to get by. Right now, I’m
scouting around the galleries here. Who knows? I might pick up a
new client or two. Is that how you work sometimes?”
“Well, I don’t go around jumping fences to
break into people’s houses and recommend a complete home makeover
when I’m caught in the act.”
They both laughed at her brief foray into
witticism, and Erica found herself leaning closer towards her host.
She had barely touched her wine. His open, relaxed manner had
attracted her immediately. He seemed to have no hidden agendas, no
need to try and make a move on her. Suddenly, Erica wondered if
Nico slept in his brother’s bed. The other room contained nothing
in the way of a futon or mattress. Or did he sleep on the sofa?
“So, what’s your preliminary verdict? Is my
brother worth saving?”
The jury is still out on that one!
She merely offered a design-inspired
conjecture. “I see quite a few possibilities and color
combinations. Does your brother plan to hang the paintings I found
in the other room?”
Nico gave a quick shrug. “I suppose so.”
“Then I propose we utilize a palette with
those colors in mind, work the rooms to compliment the
artwork.”
Her host grinned. “Hum, I would never think
of that. But then again, I don’t presume to know my brother’s
intentions despite our genetic similarities.”
He could certainly say that again. How did
two almost identical twins possess such varied personalities? Not
that Erica knew much about Gianni, though she knew enough to know a
self-involved, egocentric alpha male when she saw one. Nico Sloan
appeared just the opposite, a kind, perceptive, talented man. His
unassuming charm went a lot further than his brother’s aggressive
appeal.
Suddenly, the artist reached for her glass,
plucked it from her fingers and deposited it on the crate along
with his own. He turned to his guest with an excited look. “I’m in
the mood for jazz music. What do you say? I have a feeling you
enjoy it as well, although, I’m not too familiar with the night
clubs here.” As he spoke, he slipped off his glasses, and Erica
could now see his clear, dark eyes.
“I know the perfect place!” She leaned
forward, his enthusiasm suddenly infectious. “It’s a small but
comfortable club that offers a great jazz quartet.”
“Should we take a cab? I do have a car, but
I’d hate to risk driving under the influence later. My treat, of
course.”
She offered him a bright smile. “You have
yourself a date.”
They spent the next few, wonderful hours at
Club Tropicana, a cubbyhole actually in a shopping strip. Its decor
of bright pink neon flamingos and green neon palm trees kept the
atmosphere from wallowing in total darkness. As the jazz combo
played a wide selection of numbers, Erica toe-tapped along with the
music and nursed her rum and Coke. With quiet frequency, she
glanced over at her companion and noticed Nico seemed to be
enjoying himself as he sipped his imported beer. When the combo
began a swing-era number, he leaned over and asked her to dance. To
her surprise and delight, she accepted eagerly even though Erica
considered herself a rather inept dancer. Yet once the couple hit
the dance floor, Nico guided her with fluid, easy grace.
“You sure you can see all right without your
glasses?” she asked casually. Her “date” had not replaced them when
they left the apartment.
“I only need them for close work,” Nico
revealed. “Of course, I’d like to get a little closer, but I don’t
need glasses to see and feel every inch of you.”
Erica shivered with his unexpected
compliment, ripe with so many implications. Without a reply, she
tried to follow his moves as he danced them around the perimeter of
the floor. The only time she faltered was when he brought her
close, into his arms, cheek to cheek. The air around them seemed to
become hot and steamy, and she found her skin taking on a light
sheen of perspiration. Erica hoped her partner didn’t notice her
clammy hands. His sudden nearness caused her pulse to race and her
head to swim.
She couldn’t remember the last time a man had
caused such extreme but exquisite duress or caused her to feel so
much at ease with him, as if she had known Nico forever and had
chosen to wait until now to open herself to him. Suddenly, Erica
felt a need to go home with the artist in tow.