Artful Love: A Short Summer Love Story (new adult/contemporary romance)

by Jillian Leeson

  His charming smile wiped out all my feelings of fatigue. “No, I’m fine, really. This is really fascinating. But I don’t mind having a bite somewhere.”

  After the sun had all but disappeared on the horizon, he guided me down the hill into a small seafood restaurant. Soon we were enjoying fresh oysters and pargo frito, the local fish specialty.

  Savoring every bite, I asked, “So, you were born here at the island?”

  “No, I’m from mainland Venezuela. Caracas, born and raised.”

  “Does your family still live there?”

  “I don’t have any more family. My dad died when I was little. He got involved with gangs and drugs, and landed in prison. Not many people get out of there alive.” Roberto used his knife to pry a juicy piece off the fishbone.

  “How about your Mom and your brothers and sisters?”

  “My Mom died a year ago, from cancer. And I have no idea about my brothers. They’re probably into drugs. I don’t even know if they’re still alive. That’s why I moved here. I didn’t want to get involved in all that. Can you imagine, living around killings, kidnappings, gang shootings, every day? Seeing your family, your friends becoming addicts, dealers, murderers?” His knife hit the side of the plate with a clang, turning the other diners’ heads.

  “It’s so different from my life. I have a boring life, with a boring job.” I looked away, avoiding his gaze.

  “You’re not boring to me.” Roberto touched my arm across the table. It sent shivers along my spine.

  I looked down at my expensive Carven dress. “This is not really me. My sister gave me her old clothes. And the cruise. I do have a degree in art, sort of, in design. But I couldn’t find a design job after I graduated, so I worked in a call center. Oh wait, I forgot—I quit. Even better, I am now officially unemployed.” The memory made me produce a bitter smile.

  Roberto leaned forward. “Hey, I don’t care about what you do. I don’t care about your clothes. When I look in your eyes, all I can see is how beautiful they are. How beautiful you are.”

  A glimmer of heat flashed in his eyes, and I felt my face burn. “I bet you say that to all the girls that you pick up after doing their portraits.”

  “You probably won’t believe me, but this is the first time I’ve done this.”

  “No, I don’t believe you. You deliberately put up that impressive painting to lure girls to you.”

  “Well, it worked, didn’t it?” He winked, offering me a crooked, irresistible smile. Then he took a quick glance at his watch.

  “Hey, it’s getting late. You better get back to the ship.”

  “I guess.” For an instant, my chest tightened. What had I expected? That he’d spend the night with me? I pushed that absurd idea from my mind. There was no reason why a hot Latin guy like him would be interested in me. He’d probably have some sexy chick waiting for him at home or at a club.

  I willed myself to look straight ahead when we strolled back to the ship. The moon’s rays infuriated me for enhancing Roberto’s astonishingly good-looking features. Oh, why must he be so damn attractive?

  As we reached the gangway, he turned to face me. “I had a great time today.”

  “So did I. Thanks for showing me around.” I gave him a quick glance, avoiding his mesmerizing eyes.

  “You’re very welcome. I was thinking, are you free tomorrow?”

  My heart made a leap. “I thought you didn’t want to see me any more.”

  “Where did you get that idea?”

  “It’s just that—”

  “That I asked you to go back to the ship?” I nodded.

  “I didn’t want you to think that I was taking advantage of you. But of course I want to see you again. So, what do you say? Pick you up tomorrow?”

  The plea in his deep, dark eyes was irresistible. “I’d love to.”

  A cozy warmth started radiating through my body, and I could not suppress the smile spreading across my face. Roberto returned my smile by gazing at the curve of my lips.

  He rested his palm on my neck and nudged up my chin with his thumb. I felt his other arm slide around my neck, pulling it down for my mouth to meet his. He brushed his lips with mine, slowly testing and tasting, before covering my mouth completely. My heart pounding wildly, I leaned into him and kissed him back deeply.

  Oh, how dark, how male he tasted. And how different from the men I’d ever dated, whose idea of kissing was sticking their tongues down my throat. His deep, long, slow kisses seemed to bring time to a halt. When the kiss finally ended and we said our goodbyes, I felt strangely empty, incomplete, as if I had been robbed of an important part of me that I didn’t even know I possessed.

  The next day, we went to the sparsely populated Macanao peninsula far west of the island, and we spent almost all day in and around the water, swimming, snorkeling, and sunbathing in the azure waters.

  I had thought Roberto was good-looking with his clothes on, but the sight of him when he took his clothes off set my insides on fire. Clad merely in a skimpy pair of swimming briefs that left nothing to the imagination, his sculpted physique embodied a classical Greek study of the male form. I caught myself repeatedly checking out his olive skin covering his taut, well-toned muscles, and imagining how they’d respond at my touch.

  I had found paradise, relishing the fresh sea air, the warm water on my skin, the gentle waves lapping along the shore. And Roberto. Nothing could get my pulse racing faster than his piercing gaze paired with his crooked, dimpled smile. He teased me, flirted with me, held my hand—kissed me. But he was always careful not to let it go too far.

  At the candle-lit dinner that night, the conversation inevitably turned to our favorite topic.

  “So, you also teach art?” I asked, before taking a bite of my second empanada.

  “Yep, to kids and adults. The kids can draw, but don’t always listen and the adults listen, but usually can’t draw. But I enjoy it, and it pays enough to cover the rent and my paint materials.” Roberto produced his lopsided smile, which caused my pulse to skip a little faster.

  “What do you like to paint the most?”

  “I like portraits, but what I love painting most is landscapes and how they change in different weather. Take the view from the fort we visited at Juan Griego, for example. Of course it looks pretty in perfect, sunny weather. But how does it look when the sky is gray and it starts raining? It is different, but no less beautiful. Real beauty is created when there’s a clash between the forces of nature.”

  I was fascinated by him, by the passion with which he spoke. It was then that I decided I didn’t want to take any more chances. I had to try before he sent me away again.

  “You know, I’d love to see your paintings.”

  My heart stopped beating when he didn’t respond right away. But then he said, “Really? Let’s go, I’ll show them to you.”

  Half an hour later, I found myself in a quiet neighborhood full of warehouses. In a small lane, Roberto took out a key and opened the graffiti-covered roller door of a gray, nondescript building. The lights flickered on, and revealed a space crammed with stacks of boxes of all sizes.

  He held my hand, and took the lead in navigating between the boxes to the back, where he directed me to a narrow set of stairs.

  When we reached the top, I looked into a spacious loft area. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Hundreds of paintings were scattered everywhere: some on easels, some on the ground.

  I was amazed by what I saw. Portraits of people that told me their heartbreaking stories. Landscapes, so vivid I felt like I was there. It was hard to believe that these masterpieces were hidden away in this loft, on a small island in the Caribbean Sea. They could just as easily have graced the walls of any leading art gallery.

  I was so engrossed in the paintings that I almost didn’t hear Roberto call out, “Jessica! Want a drink?”

  “Yeah, just pour me anything,” I said absentmindedly while admiring a series of large paintings depicting the various stages of a
raging storm.

  Roberto came back with two tumblers containing an amber liquid.

  “Salud!” We clinked glasses.

  When I took a sip, the strong alcoholic liquid burned in my throat and made me cough.

  “It’s Venezuelan rum, the best rum in the world,” said Roberto. He put his arm around me and led me to a big wooden table in the middle of the room, clearing away brushes and other art tools with his other arm, and helped me sit down.

  “So this is where you live.” I looked around the room. Apart from the paintings and the table, the loft was bare, containing only a small kitchen, a closet, and a double bed against the far wall.

  “I know it’s not much, but I needed a big space and this is all I could afford. I got it cheap, but I have to keep an eye on the stuff downstairs.”

  “I like it. And I love your paintings. They’re just incredible.” I turned to admire the paintings again.

  “Not as incredible as you.”

  I spun back and looked straight into Roberto’s dark burning eyes. My pulse started to beat wildly. Warm tingles crept all over my body.

  I quickly looked down at my glass, a strand of hair falling onto my face. “So—so… tell me more about those paintings, of the storm?” I hesitantly looked up from under my hair. To my relief, Roberto had broken his gaze.

  “I saw that storm develop from the beginning. And that’s how I got inspired. It was a cloudless day, with only a light breeze. Then a few clouds came in, the wind started blowing, making small waves, and the sky was growing darker.”

  He gestured with his hands to accentuate his words. “The wind was strong now, the clouds charcoal and dangerous. The waves rose higher and higher, raindrops started falling, leaves and branches flying around. The wind became stronger and stronger until the storm was at its peak. There was a torrent of rain, it became a hurricane. The wind was blowing me over, the rain hurt my skin, the wind was howling in my ears. The battle of the elements—that’s what I paint. To me, that’s beauty.”

  He gazed at me again, eyes darkened. Now I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He had drawn me in; I wanted to be with him in the storm. I wanted him.

  “Do you want me to show you how to put real emotion into a painting?”

  I nodded. He stood up and walked to an empty canvas, gesturing to me to come closer. He handed me a paintbrush and a palette with red, white and black paint on it. “Paint a tornado.”

  Hesitantly, I dipped the brush into the thick black paint and painted a dot right at the bottom of the canvas, carefully expanding it in an upward spiral. I heard Roberto move behind me, closer and closer until I felt his body heat caressing my back. My heart was thundering in my ears, and I failed to prevent my hand from shaking.

  “Use all the colors.” His big, strong hand wrapped around mine and directed the brush towards the palette, dipping it into all three paints. Then he started moving the brush on the canvas, first slowly, but soon accelerating in a circular motion.

  My arm was moving along, but all I could feel was his hard chest muscles pressing against my back. The canvas before me became a blur as his warm breath in my neck sent goosebumps all over my body. I leaned back, inching closer to him. Instantly, the paintbrush stopped moving. His lips brushed against my neck, barely touching. It made my pulse jump.

  I lifted my hand to his head and threaded my fingers in his hair. In response, he pressed his lips to my sensitive skin, leaving a trail of soft kisses down my neck.

  His left hand encircled my hip, stroking my waist with his thumb. My eyes closed, I heard the paintbrush falling to the floor and his ragged breath in my ear. His arms now encircled me, both hands around my waist. His kisses became longer, deeper, more insistent. I clutched his hair, a hot desire stirring inside me.

  Suddenly, I felt the floor taken from under me. Roberto had scooped me up into his strong arms as if I was weightless. My heart was pounding madly. Pressed against his hard chest, I looked up at his chiseled face, which exuded calm and focus.

  He strode towards the bed. I expected him to deposit me onto the bed and cover me with his body. All I could think of was his body crushing mine against the mattress. But instead, he set me down gently and lay next to me, twisting to face me. His eyes blazed with yearning.

  “Te deseo.”

  A strand of hair fell forward onto my face again. His fingers tucked it back in place, lingering there before circling around the nape of my neck. Then the tender touch of his lips, all around my face—my eyebrows, my nose, my chin. That merest brush lit up a fire deep inside me.

  When his mouth finally found mine, it stroked my lips; it fondled, nuzzled, teased. His soft caresses made me feel dizzy, and made me hungry for more. I pressed my lips harder against him, and he didn’t hesitate to respond. Our lips interlocked, with kisses long, hot and deep.

  The fire inside me was growing. I slid my hand beneath his t-shirt and traced the hard curves of his muscles. With my other hand, I tugged on the fabric. He momentarily broke away from our kiss, hastily pulling the shirt over his head.

  My mouth went dry. His heavily muscled chest was a magnificent sight to behold. And it was mine, all mine. Pulling him towards me, I pressed my lips to his open mouth; harder now, more insistent.

  His hand closed on my left breast, and through the light cotton material of my dress, drew his thumb across my nipple. My nipples firmed instantly under his touch, leaving me to gasp.

  His other hand found the zip at the back and yanked it down. Shrugging out of my dress, I felt his lips brush the top of my breasts. Before I knew it, he freed me from my lace bra. In response, I closed in on his jeans, my fingers fumbling with the button.

  “Let me.” He swiftly undid button and zip, and guided my hands to the top of his jeans, signaling to tug them down. His own hands skimmed my sides before curving around my hips to slide off my panties.

  Overcome with desire, I tried to crush my body against his, but he held me at a distance by grasping my shoulders.

  “Let me look at you.” He dropped his gaze to my breasts. I looked down and I understood—my hardened nipples were jutting out in shameless invitation.

  “C’mon, you’re killing me here.” I was shocked by the huskiness in my voice.

  He flashed me a sexy smile. “What do you want me to do?”

  “This.” I pulled his hand down and guided it to my left breast. When his fingers tightened on the soft flesh, I moaned with pleasure.

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  He lowered his other hand and covered both my breasts with his palms. Then he drew his fingers together to pinch and roll my stiffened nipples, and I let out an intense moan. Flames of desire licked my insides, and I strained my body against him.

  My world was spinning out of control. I felt the urgent press of his male hardness against my inner thighs, and lowered my hand to wrap my fingers around him. Oh, he was huge! I was about to guide him into me when he locked my hand and whispered, “Condom.”

  In one smooth movement, he took a condom from the nightstand drawer, tore the wrapper off and sheathed himself. A moment later, his breath was hot against my nipple, teasing it into a tight peak. His tongue circled the areole before he closed his mouth around my nipple, hardening it to unbearable tightness. I cried out, wrapping my arms around his head to cradle him to me.

  “I want you inside me. Now.”

  With his knee, he urged my legs wider. I happily obliged, the wetness between my legs craving to be filled. His dark eyes hungry with desire, he slowly entered me. I relished the feeling of fullness while I stretched to accommodate him. He slid deeper and deeper until I felt I would explode.

  Then he pulled back, and a sense of emptiness overcame me. I thrust my hips forward, and he slid in home again, making love to me with long, slow, deep strokes. Sensations of pleasure rippled through my body across sensitive nerve endings that all led to the tight bud hidden between my folds.

  He caught my hands and
pulled them over my head, gripping me tightly while he plunged into me faster and faster. I moaned with pleasure until I felt my internal muscles tighten, and a few long seconds later, pulsate around him in a mind-blowing orgasm that carried him over the edge with me.

  Afterward, I cradled him in my arms, relishing every inch of him.

  “That was amazing.” I traced my finger over his sculpted chest muscles.

  Nuzzling my neck, Roberto whispered, “You’re amazing.”

  “No, you are. You have an incredible talent. You’re wasting it by living here. If you were in New York, you’d be famous.”

  “You know that’s impossible. There’s no way I could get into the US. No, this is what my life has to be.” His eyes darkened with pain.

  I threaded my hand into his thick black hair. “I heard it’s hard to get into the US, but surely it must be possible for someone like you, someone who is so talented. It’s just not fair.”

  “Life is not fair, Jessica. Except sometimes, it brings you an unexpected masterpiece, even if it’s for a short time. One that you treasure for the rest of your life.” He bent down to kiss the hollow at the base of my throat, causing my breath to catch in my lungs. “You are so beautiful, Jess. I’ve never met anyone like you in my life.” He raised his head to press his lips to mine, and gazed deep into my eyes.

  “I love you,” he whispered. His dark eyes widened as if he hadn’t expected to say this.

  Before I knew it, I responded, “I love you, too.”

  Even though I had never said these words to a man before, I felt their truth in every fiber of my body. I had spoken from my heart. A heart that yearned for only one man: that gorgeous man who’d just declared his love for me.

  Roberto swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked. “Jess, I don’t have anything to offer you. Only my heart, and my dreams. What future could we possibly have together?” He dropped his gaze down, slumping his shoulders, and rubbed the back of his neck.

  A pang of sadness shot through me. He was right—we didn’t have a future together. Yet I couldn’t imagine living my life without him. I had never felt so fulfilled, so whole before. It was the first time a man had ever been able to reach inside and touch my soul.