Miami Spice

by Deborah Merrell

  “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 b
ill 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.

  “Would you like to leave now?” he whispered in her ear, and she nodded mutely. Breaking their embrace, Nico led her back to their table, placed a generous tip there, and then escorted her outside. After calling for a cab on his cell phone, he waited with her, his arm around her waist. The night air felt heavenly, crisp and cool. They had only to wait a few minutes before the yellow cab come into view.

  Erica leaned against his shoulder on the ride home. She still nursed a ping of apprehension when they arrived at her condo door; but when Nico coaxed her into an embrace, those feelings of anxiety suddenly disappeared.

  As she brought her mouth up to his, she gladly relented to his kiss. His lips felt like fine satin and tasted faintly of malt alcohol. When he coaxed further, she opened her own lips to his probing tongue and enjoyed the warmth and sweetness of his mouth. Erica skimmed her hands along his arms, from the soft fabric of his shirt to the bare, taut flesh below. His skin seemed to give off potent electricity, and she reveled in the way the static rippled through her entire body.

  As soon as Nico pressed her close, Erica swayed against his groin and felt his long erection as it strained against the thin fabric of his slacks. But when she went totally limp and molded against him, he broke their embrace and quickly stepped back.

  “I’m...I’m sorry, Erica,” he offered as he held her at arm’s length. His face appeared as flushed and his breathing as ragged as her own. “I shouldn’t be so presumptuous, that you want me...well, that you want me to go any further.”

  Without a word, she extracted her key from her little clutch purse, plied it to the lock, and opened her door. Then, replacing the key, she took his hand and led him inside.

  Without turning on a light, Erica led him through the living room and on to her bedroom. Words seemed unimportant, even superfluous, as they hurried to undress in the darkness. For now, their need to assuage their mutual desires remained the most important goal. They would have time for slow, unhurried words and affections later.

  When she felt Nico take her around the waist, she eagerly allowed him to pull her close. Hands worked simultaneously to touch as much flesh as possible in the short time they allowed themselves this little luxury. His body felt hot to the touch, hers just as flammable and passionate. He massaged her breasts with his expert touch and felt their weight and firmness.

  In turn, Erica’s fingers caressed his turgid cock, traced a ring around the ridge below, and followed the large, throbbing vein running down the shaft. She felt him tense with her strokes and heard his small intake of excited breath, while his tip spewed just enough of his moistness to tell her of his eagerness. Before they began, Nico had produced a condom from his pocket, and now handed it to Erica. Taking it out of its package, she slowly worked the clear latex over his cock, reveling in the length and thickness of his magnificent member.

  As soon as she finished, Nico dipped his fingers between her legs and brought his other hand to the small of her back to press her close. His mouth sought hers for a wild, surging kiss. The twin sensations of his touch—from the slow massage of her clit to the sweet caress of his lips on hers—sent Erica spiraling out of control. She felt her whole body come alive with the sizzle and spark of yearning, wanting, too, to melt into him and weep at the same time, her tears those of miraculous surrender.

  Quickly they found their way to her bed, and she allowed him to ease her along the cotton twill duvet. Nico stretched and covered her body with his own. When he felt her open and wanting, he plunged ahead; and as his cock began to work inside of her, she stretched her legs around his waist. Her hands and mouth kneaded his flesh with uncontrolled fury, while his lips peppered her cheek, her neck, her throat, and delved between her breasts. Once Nico established their rhythm, Erica dug her nails into his shoulders and
moaned with every wonderful motion of give and take. The more he thrust, the more she curved against him until their bodies melded into one continuous, rolling wave.

  When she felt him tense, she increased her friction until she, too, ached for relief. He gave one last thrust, and on the heels of his own shattering release, Erica let herself go with an orgasm intense enough to take her breath away. When they relaxed in a tangle of limbs and slick torsos, Nico nuzzled his nose against the curve of her neck, and she reciprocated with languid strokes along his upper body. He smelled wonderful, of spices and potent maleness, while his flesh felt like smooth satin over the hard muscles of his chest, arms and shoulders.

  Nico lapped at her ear and whispered, “Well, that was nice...for starters.”

  “Exactly.” With a little meow of pleasure, Erica reached up to stroke his cheek. She felt gloriously spent and finally satisfied for the moment.

  Soon he eased away, and she left the bed to fetch bottles of cold water. On her way out, she felt for the wall switch and flipped on the overhead fan. Although when she reached the living room and stubbed her toe on a chair leg, Erica finally groped for a table lamp. Curious how the initial burn of desire propelled them both straight to the bedroom, and now she couldn’t see a thing! Of course, earlier, she’d relied solely on her senses, all of them inflamed beyond control.

  When she returned, she found Nico prone along the mattress, his hands behind his head, his breathing slow, his body still. At first Erica thought he was asleep until she slipped into bed and began to caress his shoulder.

  Nico opened his eyes and smiled. “I hope you’re not having doubts about our impetuous venture into spontaneous combustion, are you?”

  “That’s a new way to put it—” She chuckled appreciatively. “—but, no, I don’t have any regrets.”

  Actually she had. Briefly, Erica wondered why she had acted so wantonly, so recklessly. But just as quickly, she rejected such limited thinking. It had been so long since she held a man close and gladly gave of her touch and kisses. Nico Sloan felt so right that she could only respond in turn to his generous offerings.