Hotter Than The Caribbean (Building Love Book 2)

by Stacy Hoff

  “Excuse me,” the woman called out, walking quickly to catch up to Mel.

  Mel felt her forehead wrinkle. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes. You’re from Merritt Designs, correct? Denny Merritt?”

  “Close enough, I’m Mel Merritt,” she answered, extending her hand.

  “I’m Francine Nash from Nash & Co.”

  “Nice to meet you, Francine. I’m staying in one of the suites you designed. You did a lovely job.”

  The woman eyed her up and down, giving her a cool appraisal. “Yes. Now that we know each other, and you’re aware of the wonderful work my firm does, let me get straight to the point. I want you to concede the lobby work to me. I heard your firm is still trying to work out its ideas. I can get this job done on time. If you care about the best interest of the client, you’ll tell Mr. Serrano that Nash & Co. is the best design firm for his hotel’s lobby.”

  Mel blew out a hard breath while trying to quell the sea of acid now churning in her stomach. Don’t fight her. Fighting will make me late. And if she complains to Luis, things will become even more strained. Mel pasted on a smile and stepped forward. “If you’ll excuse me . . .” Mel tried to walk away when the woman sidestepped in front of her.

  “We need to talk about this,” the woman insisted.

  “No, we don’t. My firm answers to the owner and the architect. To the degree you and I need to interact with one another, I’ll be happy to discuss whatever problems need to be resolved. The issue as to who will be designing the ground floor is already settled. I look forward to seeing you around, Ms. Nash.”

  Mel broke into a fast trot to get to the street. She felt flush from anger. This was no time to become distracted. A bellman-in-training hailed her a taxi and she sped off on her journey to Old San Juan.

  The twenty-minute cab ride gave her a chance to purge the meeting from her mind. Fortunately, her next meeting had the potential for a much better outcome. Or much worse. A sharp sting of pain shot through her lower lip when she bit down.

  A drop of sweat that had nothing to do with the late afternoon sun dripped off her forehead and down onto her black sleeveless shirt. The blouse, paired with black and white polka dot capris pants, had been chosen at the last minute. Her red eyeglasses provided the outfit’s only shot of color. The look was professional while retaining an artsy edge. Gone was the tight hair bun. Her dirty-blond tendrils, curly from the heat, hung loose about her neck. With the weather this humid, a bun would have had its advantages. One hand swiped away a bead of sweat. The other hand clutched the portfolio tighter.

  The scene outside the cab’s windows changed, the roads narrowed. Many streets were made of dark iridescent cobblestone. The buildings became brightly painted. Their stucco crumbled from old age. The whole scene could have been torn from pages of a history book featuring colonial life hundreds of years ago.

  When they came upon the address she’d given the taxi driver, her hands broke out in a sweat. With shaky legs she got out. Trying to calm her jitters, she stepped out onto the narrow street and peered at the lettering painted on a large window, “El Morro Art Gallery, Ltd.” Good Lord, this is it. How ironic the gallery is named after the famous fort. I may need to defend myself, too. She swallowed hard. Will I be shot down? Trembling hands opened the ancient building’s large, heavy doors. The oversized portfolio in her hands made pushing them open much harder.

  A dark-skinned man, sitting at a modern glass desk with a computer monitor, glanced up at her and smiled. He wore a white oxford shirt with navy slacks. His curly hair cropped short. The man appeared to be in his forties. “¿En qué puedo servirle?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish,” Mel answered. Her cheeks heated up in what she prayed wasn’t too strong of a blush.

  “Do not worry. Everyone in this gallery speaks fluent English.”

  Mel’s gaze darted around. She didn’t see anyone else in the wood-floored gallery. The space opened to a hallway. It was probable the other people were in the back. “Thank you. I’m Mel Merritt. I have an appointment with Miguel Simone.”

  The man’s smile broadened. “I’m Miguel. It’s nice to meet you in person, Mel.”

  “Likewise.” She let out a small smile despite the butterflies in her stomach. “Your gallery is beautiful.”

  “I can show you around after I see your portfolio. I should tell you I am the manager, not the owner. Whether the gallery will feature your work will ultimately be up to him.”

  “Yes, I understand.” Her heart sank a little. She hadn’t known there was to be a second screening process. She had been so elated when the gallery contacted her she hadn’t thought to ask what exactly would happen after they met. In fact, it had been strange that a gallery outside New York City would want to bother with her, let alone one far away. It had been an amazing coincidence she was scheduled to visit Puerto Rico anyway. Maybe this was fate. Or rather, would be fate, if they liked her art pieces as much in person as they had over the Internet.

  “When I saw your pieces online I was very intrigued,” Miguel commented pleasantly.

  “I’m happy to hear you say that. I was excited when you contacted me. How did you find out about my work? I’ve had a few small-scale showings. I didn’t think they got too much attention. Especially outside of New York’s arts community.”

  “I have my ways,” Miguel said with a warm smile. “Come, let us look at your work upstairs in my office. Then I can tell you a few things about the gallery.”

  Mel followed Miguel down the hallway and then up a narrow staircase, her kitten heels clicking against the hardwood floors. They passed magnificent clay sculptures, modern paintings, and several pieces of collage. The exhibit comprised bold, oversized, and well-executed works, a stunning collection. The quality was intimidating, as was the lack of watercolors. Her skin prickled in apprehension.

  When they were settled upstairs in a brightly lit space she placed her portfolio on a countertop and unzipped it. “I brought my watercolors because you were interested in them. Plus a few canvas boards to show you some of my oils.”

  Miguel went through her work reviewing each piece slowly. The watercolors were first. The paper was the best quality, a thick, heavy-set hot-press. The paintings varied from detailed studies of flowers to landscapes. Each watercolor was embossed with pen-and-ink lines running over them. The black ink created its own pattern if one looked carefully at it. Sometimes the ink patterns would be purely design. Other times they would be of people, to create a scene within a scene.

  The oils, which Miguel viewed next, were exclusively of people. They were done in an impressionistic style, painted faster and looser than her watercolors. Bolder, artistic strokes for a different medium.

  Her parents thought the artistic diversity made her unfocused. An artist who couldn’t figure out their own trademark style. The inconsistency would leave her unbrandable.

  “Think of Renoir. Picasso. M.C. Escher. Keith Haring,” her parents chided. “All of those artists were successful because they mastered a style which was highly recognizable. People want to own artwork where someone will immediately take note, and remark about the artist known for it. Your technique is all over the place. Stick to interior design, which is a financially secure line of work. Denny can drive the creative. You’ll drive the execution.”

  There was no way of knowing whether Miguel’s opinion was more positive than her parents. His expression and body language were completely neutral. Mel’s stomach screamed for an antacid.

  “These are good,” he finally remarked. “I will show these to the gallery owner. Leave me a phone number where you can be reached.”

  Mel hurried to dive into her purse for a pen. Moments later she was outside the gallery. Had she, in less than half-an-hour, accomplished one of the biggest goals of her life?

  ~ ~ ~<
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  Luis peered out the window of the coffee shop located directly across the street from the art gallery Mel entered thirty minutes ago. The narrow street enabled him to clearly see inside. Not that it helped. Mel had been in sight for only a brief time before she followed some man down a corridor. Then they both disappeared.

  Following her had been easy enough. After getting the mysterious text, he had asked the hotel’s lobby staff whether Mel had left the premises. A trainee advised him where her taxi had gone. Then all Luis needed to do was simply go to that address. He had to admit, her destination was a surprise. An art gallery? There was certainly more to this story. Unless she was meeting a date there, it wasn’t a place he expected.

  He told himself the reason he was tailing her had nothing to do with the “almost” night they had together. That he was merely protecting the outcome of his building project. Heck, his whole future. If following her kept his goals on track, it was worth it.

  Still, the urge to turn around, go home, and leave her to her privacy had been strong enough for him to get up from his table at the café. Then his smart phone pinged again. The new message he received was as unpalatable as the one before. Only this time there was an identifiable sender, Raul’s lawyer. The headache that rushed in was tidal-wave worthy. Let Raul and his asshole abogado make their demands. They can threaten all they want. The blowhards aren’t going to be able to do anything about it.

  Luis sunk back in his chair and peered out the window once again. Watching Mel made good business sense. Caution was the way of the wise. People could be treacherous. The impact powerful, and difficult to recover from. It was little wonder his headache was gathering enough strength to earn Category 1 storm classification.

  The wait was short. The dirty-blonde beauty walked out of the art gallery with a happy bounce to her step. Did that have anything to do with the black case she had left inside?

  Before he realized it, he was standing. He tossed some money on the mosaic table and took off, following her from a safe distance.

  Within a half-block of her, his phone rang. Luis abruptly walked into a tourist shop filled with tee shirts and trinkets. He silenced his phone and left to find her again. Unfortunately it was too late.

  “Maybe it serves me right,” he mused. His battle with his brother was making him paranoid. Not an attractive quality. The anonymous message was most likely a lie. It was hard to trust anyone.

  Deciding a mental break was what he needed, he meandered through the little town he knew well, following the streets to the sea. The closer he got to the water, the stronger the warm breeze blew. The wind touched him as lightly as a gentle kiss.

  The thought of embracing Mel made his chest constrict for the briefest moment. He picked up his pace. Seeing the water would clear his head and calm him down. Ever since Mel arrived, he needed to do both.

  Chapter 12

  Mel was too giddy after her successful gallery appointment to return to the hotel. It felt a little like playing hooky. A sense of freedom, mixed with happiness and disobedience, all rolled into one. It may not be nice to do things behind her family’s back, but the opportunity had been way too tempting to ignore. The feeling of being wanted for the artist she was made her almost dizzy.

  Being a professional artist was a lifelong dream. Painting expressed who she was, and how she saw life. Creativity was her only limitation in the art world. Not her parents.

  The energized sensation in her legs and feet made her want to walk miles. This excess energy had to be worked off. Otherwise, she would not be able to sit down and concentrate on the hotel’s design plans. Street signs pointed to Castillo San Felipe del Morro. Who knew when she would get a chance to sightsee again? Given the crush of impending work there was no time like the present to visit the historic fort. Making her way past the colorful ancient buildings and twisting roads seemed more like an adventure than a mere walk. She marveled at the cobblestones reflecting different shades of deep blue and green, as if made of mother-of-pearl. Observing the old bricks up close was fascinating. The shimmer of color made the street itself tremble in anticipation of a glorious future. Storefronts echoed the upbeat mood with flowers as colorful and bright as the buildings. The smell of fresh Caribbean air and rich Spanish food filled her nostrils while she walked.

  Almost six o’clock in the evening, she approached the great grass lawn leading up to El Morro. The lawn was graced with children playing Frisbee and tossing balls. Tourists strolled about, either admiring the exterior of the giant fort or simply sitting down on the grass to enjoy the early evening air.

  Mel joined the group of tourists gawking at the old structure. The fort was a step out of time. A mishmash of stone and rough-hewn concrete. The jumble of raw materials joined together to create one impressive edifice. She had no doubt that in its heyday the fort had caused many attackers to flee in defeat. The Spaniards who had built the structure in the fifteen hundreds certainly knew how to send a message to any country who wanted to claim Puerto Rico for themselves.

  The National Parks Department’s sign let her know the fort’s visiting hours would end soon. She paid the minimal admission fee and entered the main plaza, a barren concrete courtyard flanked by archways painted yellow and white. The courtyard had the remnants of a structure that appeared to be an old fountain, or perhaps a well. Through one archway, streaks of turquoise from the Caribbean Sea could be seen.

  There were many different doors and corridors to walk through. Each option beckoned with a mini-world to explore. She felt like Alice in Wonderland. Choosing a path, she headed off in the direction of the archway leading to the sea. Despite the late hour, sunlight poured down and sparkled over the rippling water. A breeze blew stronger than before. The wind kissed her skin and coursed over her body, cooling her off. She closed her eyes and breathed in the salty air as a sunbeam danced and played on her face.

  An announcement that the park would be closing in fifteen minutes came over the loud speakers. She muttered a soft curse and hurriedly took off to see as many nooks and crannies as she could. Minutes later, she had seen the ancient chapel and main artillery ramp. She even managed her way up to the sentry to see San Juan Bay spread out before her like a giant azure jewel.

  Finally, closing time was broadcast over the loudspeakers. Disheartened to have the exploration end, yet grateful for the chance to visit this historic gem, she made her way back down to the main gate along with the rest of the straggling tourists.

  A man standing on the great lawn caught her eye. Her feet stopped in the grass mid-stride. Her heart thumped away in her chest. I can’t believe my bad luck. Of all the places to run into him, why here? At least he hadn’t seen her with her art portfolio an hour ago. Although seeing him here was hardly better. Now he would think she was a goof-off. Great. My relationship with him hadn’t been strained enough.

  “What are you doing here?” she croaked when Luis approached her.

  “I can ask you the same thing.”

  She decided to ignore his clipped tone. No need to alienate a client. Not unless she wanted to alienate her family, too. “Okay, I’ll go first. I wanted to spend a little time exploring El Morro. Since you’re here, I guess you wanted to say hi to the old fort, too.”

  For a moment, it looked like a smile was going to break through his dark expression, until his mouth twisted into a frown instead. “Are you in Puerto Rico to work, or sightsee?”

  “What does that mean? I’m not allowed a few moments off-duty? Not even to see a famous landmark?” Upon hearing the terse sound of her voice, she forced herself to relax. Upsetting him would not help her. No matter what happened with her artistic career, blowing this job would mean her family never forgiving her. Especially since Denny said their firm needed the money now more than ever.

  Mel cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m sorry. You have every right to be c
oncerned about the progress of your important project. I met with your architect today and we worked out some more concepts. Then I created revised plans, which he and I will tweak some more. Tomorrow morning we are meeting again to discuss the plans. Hopefully he’ll approve the changes I made.”

  His forehead wrinkled into a ‘V’. “I thought you already had finished the plans.”

  “I did. I mean, when I saw the floor space in person I wanted to alter the concept a bit to really show it off. Of course, I can stick to what we already have.”

  “No. Let’s see how your meeting with Alonso turns out.” His expression lightened a bit. “I’m glad to know you are forging ahead. It’s good to hear you want this project to be a success.”

  The effect of Luis’s sudden smile was powerful enough to feel in her chest. Had her heart skipped a beat?

  “You were right to be off-duty,” he said. “Did you want to see more of the island? I can show you around.” He stopped talking for a moment. “If you’d like to, of course. If not, perhaps I can take you back to the hotel? I don’t want you to have to bother getting a cab.”

  A swirl of emotions gathered around her. When Luis was relaxed and interested in her, sure she wanted to spend time with him. In fact, when he shot her his sexy smile, she could think of several things she’d also like to do with him. Too bad getting involved would be even dumber the second time around. His ability to turn hot and cold was more extreme than any faucet. Worse, she’d most likely be exposed to his icy attitude again. And then still be forced to work with him.

  ~ ~ ~

  Luis could see her hesitating. If she bit her lip any harder, it’d be in danger of being severed. She’s as cautious as I am.