“This is just the tip of the iceberg,” Erica acknowledged as she tacked lime green panels of tulle from the ceiling. “If you want, go look at the bedroom. I consider it my masterpiece.”
At that moment, Sacha returned to the living room with a table lamp, although not an ordinary lamp by any means. Besides the fringed, mauve shade, the light fixture featured a naked lady for a base, her torso and features painted in brash colors. Proud of his find at a curio shop, he held it up for her opinion. “Cariña, where should we put this?”
Erica thought for a moment as her gaze traveled to the brass gong coffee table. “I think right over here. I mean it’s such a showcase piece, and Mr. Sloan will be proud to show it off to his guests.”
“Ay, Chihuahua,” Rosie mumbled as she ventured through the hanging bead curtain in pinks and oranges and headed for the bedroom.
Here, Erica made sure the master boudoir resembled a harem. Numerous chiffon panels with huge tassels hung about the room, while the eyes naturally traveled to the round bed in the middle of the room with its scarlet satin spread and heart-shaped throw pillows. The largest bolster, in the middle, sported a quaint needle-stitched phrase that asked, “My Boobs or Yours?”
Of course, she remained proud of her ceiling mirror and the glittering disco ball descending from the center. Besides the red-flocked wallpaper and little clusters of ceramic cherubim, the walls sported suggestive but artistic photos and lithographs in ornate gilt frames. Now, the playboy could truly use the line, “come up and see my etchings, darling.” These etchings, of course, featured nude women or couples in various stages of carnal bliss.
As Sacha helped her down from the ladder, Erica tried to make sure she hadn’t left out even the smallest of details.
“How about those shag rugs?” she queried. “We have them in the bedroom?”
“All three in vivid chartreuse,” he replied with glee.
Good ol’ Sacha! He had come through with flying colors, literally. Between his knowledge of quirky, out-of-the-way shops and his artsy friends, he had been able to come up with most of the decor. In addition, he had created a free-form sculpture out of multi-colored rubber dildos, and named his masterpiece “Penis de Milo.” Now, Erica suggested they do a walk-through to make sure everything was in place for the owner’s return tomorrow.
Rosina joined the decorators in the master bedroom and shook her head again when she set her sights on the granite fountain near the bathroom door. A cherubic boy with his hands on his little peter actually peed into the base when the water and recessed pink floodlights were turned on with a switch. Sacha had discovered the piece at a South Beach garage sale and had intended it for his apartment originally. Once he took off running with Erica’s ideas, he knew the fountainhead would make a perfect addition to the “boudoir of sinful pleasures.”
“Well, my dear, we’ve done good,” he commented with a flutter of his hands. “I really should call the design digest people and have them come over and take pictures.”
“Pictures!” Erica proclaimed. “That’s exactly what we need! Nobody will believe us otherwise. Sacha, querido, run up to my place and fetch my digital camera from the closet.”
He gave her an exaggerated bow. “Your wish, mi amore, is my command!”
“I don’t know,” Rosie chortled. “I either like it or I hate it, and I think Señor Sloan will feel the same. He won’t know what to say.”
Laughing along, Erica placed her arm around the older woman’s shoulder as they walked back to the living room. “He doesn’t have to say a thing. The place speaks for itself, a true reflection of its owner. Sacha is going to introduce Señor Parrandero to his new environs tomorrow. Of course, I plan to be as far away as possible.”
A knock at the front door brought Erica and Rosie’s heads to turn in that direction. A woman with a short up-sweep of red hair stood in the threshold with a digital camera and notebook. Her eyes widened when she noticed Sacha’s art piece on the rococo side table in the foyer.
“Hello, there,” the woman ventured. “Is this Mr. Giancarlo Sloan’s place?”
Erica rushed forward, aware she looked a fright in a bandanna and overalls. “Um, yes, this is.”
Taking a few steps inside, the woman parted the bead curtain. “I’m Molly Driscoll from Miami Spaces magazine. Mr. Sloan called us and suggested we might like to do a story about his apartment makeover. He said his designer, Erica Rael, should be recognized for her creativity.”
Did the room suddenly start spinning or was it merely her head? Taking a large gulp, Erica accepted the woman’s extended hand in greeting and asked Molly Driscoll to come and take a seat on the red divan.
“I’m afraid you caught me in the middle of a little joke,” she tried to explain after she introduced herself as the “creator” of Mr. Sloan’s design project.
“Oh?” Walking around the living area, Molly took in the details of Erica’s “little joke.” Setting her notebook on the brass table, she took up her camera and smiled. “I think this is wonderful! Who would have thought to do a space in carnal kitsch? If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a few photos.”
“Actually, most of it was my idea,” Sacha exclaimed as he returned through the beaded curtain. “I persuaded Erica to try something different. This is not something she would normally think about, because as a designer, she’s far more creative and versatile and wouldn’t bat an eye about designing a whole office building. In fact she has single-handedly decorated the Domingo Building.”
Erica knew what her friend and colleague had in mind. By taking the onus off of her and claiming the project, Sacha hoped to deflect most of the fallout from his co-worker. Yet, a disaster remained a disaster no matter who claimed responsibility.
The reporter immediately gravitated to Sacha. “Oh, well then perhaps you can share your thoughts about this amazing project.”
His gaze, brimming with excitement, traveled to Erica. “Okay, with you, darling? I’ve never been interviewed before.”
Sighing, she leaned against a large Greek statue of a naked warrior and felt the tip of the penis poke her in the back. She gave him a wide smile. “Go for it, darling.”
Sliding a slender arm around the reporter’s shoulder, Sacha led her back to the foyer. “Now, I’m particularly fond of one of my own creations and what I lovingly call ‘Penis de Milo.’“
Chapter Fourteen
Strolling down to the beach from La Masón del Mar, Erica savored the cool trade winds and the crisp, pungent scent of the ocean. At least this time her ritual appeared less strenuous and certainly less elaborate than her truth ceremony with the fish eyes, even though she had found out the truth without the use of magical spells. Screwing her metal bucket in the sand, she added the scarf and blush-pink teddy “Nico” had given her and then the little packet of whatever Madrina Paola put together for her. Next, she squirted a few lines of lighter fluid on top, lit a match, threw it in, and watched the quick flames rise and consume it all.
Erica had only to wait now until the mix burned down to ashes before she continued with the next stage of her love exorcism. Taking a seat, she drew up her knees, ringed them with her arms, and wiggled her bare toes in the sand. As before, she stared up to the night sky and made a wish when a rare shooting star raced across the sky.
Please, oh please, save me from these horrible, horrible feelings I have for that despicable, contemptible con artist!
Just the thought of Gianni/Nico caused her abdomen to tighten with those giddy butterflies, but at the same time made her flesh crawl. How could she possibly harbor such conflicting emotions for the guy? One minute, Erica loathed and despised the self-proclaimed Lothario, and the next, she daydreamed about the times she melted into his arms with total abandon. The touch of those lips, the feel of those muscles, and the way he used that cock of his with such expertise threw her into a tailspin every time.
A quick gust of sea air made her shiver. By now, Gianni Sloan should have toured his newly
designed apartment, and Erica had only to await the call from Sacha to receive the details.
Despite Molly Driscoll’s love of such funky foreplay decor, the reporter decided not to do a piece after all, especially after Craig had called the editor of Miami Spaces and had the article shelved indefinitely. Instead, he suggested the magazine try a story on Erica and Sacha’s latest design for the city planner’s office suite. Erica expected Molly Driscoll back next week to see her “real work,” a job she could be proud to see splashed across the pages of a premier design digest. Dear, sweet Sacha and her boss! She owed them both big time.
Erica had already blocked both numbers Gianni used, the one as the investment broker and the other as the pseudo artist. Artist! Giancarlo Sloan had no right to take in vain the name of his brother, a true artist! Too bad she couldn’t work up the same emotions for Adrian Sloan as she had for his sibling. Oh well! It was probably better to stay away from that family once and for all.
When her phone finally trilled, Erica jumped and fumbled in her denim shorts pocket for her cell. Thankfully, her colleague’s name appeared, and she eagerly answered his summons.
“How did it go?” she asked in nearly a whisper.
“Oooh, baby cakes!” Sacha cooed. “Your lover boy chomped at the bit when he saw his new digs. Both his gorgeous eyes and those pouty lips stayed open in amazement the whole time we took the tour!”
Erica tried to keep her anxiety under wraps. “And?”
“Ooh, he hated it as you can imagine. Although, I did let him know you strongly felt your decor fit his lifestyle to a tee.”
“He didn’t threaten to sue or anything like that?”
“Actually, he never said more than a few words. He did ask where you were, but I held tight and kept mum on your whereabouts, love. He could have slipped bamboo shoots under my nails, but I wouldn’t talk! Of course, I might have found his torture quite arousing and erotic.”
Erica breathed easier. “Calm down, darling! He’s not worth the effort, believe me! But thanks, Sacha, for all your help. I owe you a drink at the Screaming Parrot.”
“Darling, as soon as you reappear. By the way, when are you coming back?”
“Maybe in a few days. I want the fervor to die down first. Of course, if Mr. Sloan goes to Craig, I’m going to have to deal with my client’s displeasure one way or the other. Our boss will only cover my nalgas so far.”
“And you have such a cute nalga, too,” Sacha quipped. “Well, darling Rica, good luck.”
“I’ll call you before I leave just to make sure it’s safe to come back, even if I have to wave the white flag and beg for my job.” Erica meant it as a joke but now she wasn’t so sure. If Gianni Sloan came gunning for her, she might as well start looking for another job. The thought of opening her own design firm crossed her mind from time to time. She already had the name, Elegante Interiors. Erica could probably persuade Sacha to join her as a co-partner. And even though Craig might see it as flaunting her disloyalty in his face, she knew there would be enough new kids on the block just waiting to take her place and flex their creative muscles.
Giving her friend a quick goodbye smack of her lips, she disconnected and went back to the task at hand. By now, the fire had done its job and all that remained were the blackened ashes of her duplicitous lover’s efforts to win her over. Erica took up the waste basket and ventured once more to the sea. Again, she paced off twelve steps before she dug her toes along the sandy bottom.
“I hereby cast you out of my heart!” she announced to Calypso Bay, the wind and the waves. “Out you go, Giancarlo Sloan, and out you will remain, never to darken my life again! From here on in, I am free of any and all of the love I once allowed to consume me!”
Reaching for a little handful of ashes, Erica cast them across the water in one direction, and then continued to do the same with the others, north, east, south, west. I am free of any love I once had! She made sure to recite the incantation three more times before allowing the metal can to drift away.
Erica made it back to the shore with a little shiver, both from the cold and the finality of her act. According to the Madrina, the spell would take about a day to act, and therefore she had been instructed to keep her mind “pure” and not retreat to those bittersweet memories of her ex-lover. She thought for sure she could do just that, and do so with ease. Yet, Erica found herself drifting back to those lovely, lazy days when she and “Nico” had been here, entwined together on the hammock beneath the palmetto trees, molded together in the big gauzy bed, and meshed together in the garden hot tub… Stop! ¡Alto! Now she had to wipe her mental slate clean before such snatches of bliss not only resurfaced but rekindled her feelings for the man she thought she knew…and loved.
A dark form made its way toward the beach, and from his height and build, Erica assumed it had to be co-owner of La Masón, David Hughes, a tall, muscular man and husband to Patsy Cargill.
“Hello there, Dave!” She waved as she started back to the house. “Out for an evening stroll?” When he didn’t answer right away, she paused.
“Hola, Eriqueta,” he said at last and continued to come forward.
Erica held her breath with apprehension, and then tensed when she finally recognized Giancarlo Sloan. How in hell had he found her?
As if he read her thoughts, Gianni continued. “I had a gut feeling you wouldn’t stick around after finishing your wonderful redecorating job. I thought of where you might go, and I played a hunch that you might come back here. You see, I couldn’t let you go without thanking you properly for your efforts.”
“Oh, please! You don’t have to thank me for anything!” Uncertain of his intentions, she started to back track, although she couldn’t tell if he appeared indignant or even angry. “I suppose now you want to lodge a complaint about my lack of professional integrity and for the complete mess I made of your apartment.”
“Who says I want to complain?” Chuckling, Gianni paused with legs apart. A partial moon illuminated the beach just enough so that Erica made out his features and the fact he wore a light cotton shirt, the lapels open wide to expose his strong, hard chest and the silver chain around his neck. Beneath the shirt tails, he sported khaki pants and leather sandals.
To her amazement, his smile actually seemed coated in bemusement. “You know in the end, I had to admit that you got my lifestyle and my tastes down just right. Where did you find that quaint fountain?”
“A...a curio shop of sorts,” she said, flustered. Damn him!
Without the spell in full play, Erica would have to fend him off with all her wits and courage. Fight it, girl, fight it! When she first recognized her adversary, she felt a mass gathering of those damned emotional butterflies as they prepared to take flight. Now, the feelings she so desperately wanted to banish forever only grew deeper and stronger as she continued to look into those dusky and provocative eyes of his.
Warily, they stood within inches of each other until Gianni easily scooped her up in his arms before Erica could turn tail and run.
“Hey! What are you doing?” she yelled and flared her legs.
“Taking you some place where we can be alone.” Hoisting her over his shoulder, he also tightened his grip so that she couldn’t break away. He began to walk towards the B&B. “We need to talk, my dear.”
“It’s...too...late!” she choked. “I have nothing to say to you anymore! You’re a despicable, conniving jerk!”
“Oh, you’re being too modest with your praises. Why not add revolting, disgusting and evil to the mix? I deserve your full repertoire.” Despite the powder-fine sand, Gianni carried her with an easy gait.
Erica gave up hitting him on the back. “Look, I’ll redo your apartment, and it won’t cost you a cent,” she pleaded, trying desperately to negotiate. Once the maniac had her alone, she knew she would disintegrate to mere putty in his hands. “You sent that reporter over from Miami Spaces. She loved your new look, but to keep me and Prestige from looking ridiculous, Craig man
aged to squash the article.”
“Good for him,” he reasoned. “I would hate to have such a masterpiece as my ‘Bower of Booty Call’ splashed all over Miami. I don’t know if I could handle all the women who would come knocking at my door just to get me in that water bed. Of course, what you did to my apartment is a moot point right now. We have much more important things to discuss.”
“Oh, sure,” Erica tempered. “My main question concerns your impersonation of a nonexistent twin brother! And by the way, I met your real brother, Adrian, in Bridgeport.”
“I know. I got a call from him shortly before your associate showed me your handiwork, although, I did have a feeling something was up with you.” He gave her a quick slap on the behind, and when Erica screamed, Gianni simply laughed. “You know, Miss Rael, you’re too enterprising and creative for your own good. It gets you into trouble every time, although a good kind of trouble as I see it.”
Hah! His definition of “good trouble” hardly qualified for recognition in her book. For starters, his required a prone position. Gianni finally set her down when they came to his Jaguar, but he still kept a firm grip on her arm as he opened the door for her.
“We’re going for a little ride,” he announced, “and then to a quiet place so we won’t be disturbed.”
“I’ll scream!” she threatened. Again, trying to pull away from his grasp only increased his hold. “I’ll scream my lungs out, and David Hughes will call the police!”
“Go right ahead, my darling. I’ve already spoken to the owners, and they agreed to ignore any of your cries for help. Now, get in.” With a firm hand on her head, Gianni guided her into the passenger seat, and cinched the seat belt around her waist.
To her horror, he produced a length of nylon cord and proceeded to tie and knot her hands in front of her. “Remember, querida, even if you try to bail out, I have the master control on my side to keep the doors and windows locked.”
Miami Spice Page 12
