Obviously, Suzy didn’t agree. Lobster juice was dribbling down her chin, and she moaned openly. Nathan watched, his eyes registering amusement. Suzy’s oversized breasts strained the confines of a racy little top, but after a quick glance, his eyes slid away.
He seemed more interested in Tara. Once she looked up from her plate and caught him studying her, his gaze slowly perusing her. He noticed her watching and politely looked away, but rising from the table at the end of the evening, she saw his eyes go swiftly over her. Then he leaned close to Louie and she distinctly heard him say, “Nice work, Lou. She’s beautiful.”
Tara certainly felt beautiful in her new dress. She noticed quite a few men eyeing her, some of the women too. Louie seemed to relish having her on his arm, showing her off as they walked through the restaurant. They came out into the parking lot where the breeze was gusting, palm fronds rattling. The first hint of an approaching front had caused the thermometer to drop, and Tara shivered from the cool air on her exposed back. On the horizon a big moon was rising over Miami. “It’s completely full tonight,” she said.
Dismissed earlier, Sam was long gone. A line of cabs was waiting, Victor signaling while Nathan handed a parking stub to the attendant. Tara assumed she would be departing in the cab, but Louie said no, they were going with Nathan. “Are we going to the marina?” she asked, aware that his boat was in slip.
“No,” said Louie. “We’re going there,” pointing at an oval tower just to the east of them. It was one of the newer towers, beautiful, if you liked high-rises. Tara knew it was called The Venezia Tower.
Tara was okay with high-rises, especially expensive ones in South Beach. She saw how gorgeous the building looked in the moonlight, glossy blue-glass gleaming. She looked questioningly at Louie; he explained that he had built the tower, selling all of the units except four. Three units were leased, with Nathan being one of his tenants. The fourth was vacant and available for guests.
He said this with a meaningful smile, watching Nathan pull around in a black Chevy Tahoe. Tara said, “You built it?”
“Yes, in partnership with another developer.”
“Wow. Why don’t you live there?”
“It’s tempting, isn’t it? Wait until you see the view from up there. Unfortunately, we’re not in the penthouse. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”
“Are you kidding me?” She stared at him in disbelief, and then looked at Nathan’s Tahoe. “Couldn’t we just walk?” She had expected to walk to the marina too.
“We could, but not tonight.”
They got into Nathan’s SUV—it was brand new and spotless. He drove them out of the inlet, made a couple of turns, and pulled to a gated lot where he swiped a security card for access. Nathan turned, driving into a well-lit parking garage. From the numbers on the walls Tara assumed the spots were reserved, but rather than parking in his assigned space, Nathan drew alongside a glass door, letting off Louie and Tara.
Louie escorted Tara into the lobby. It was four stories tall, with squares of stone flooring and rows of arched-windows overlooking a terrace, the arch distinctly Moorish, with several stone-scalloped foot-bridges criss-crossing a narrow lagoon inlaid with blue and gold flecked tile. A middle-aged doorman greeted Louie by name, asked after his health. He smiled pleasantly at Tara.
After a brief tour of the lobby, Louie led her onto the terrace to show her the resort style pool and spa, again with the Venetian theme, Vegas-like in design and drama. Beyond the pool deck the Venezia’s grounds were meticulously maintained and planted with tropical flora, with a wide path leading toward the tennis courts. A few people were scattered about, taking the night air.
Tara loved it on sight, but the wind was whipping her hair and her dress was billowing. Louie guided her inside, pointing out the state-of-the-art fitness center and a chic coffee bar before heading toward the sleek bank of elevators where Nathan waited with his briefcase and carry-on.
They stepped onto the elevator and shot to the twenty-second floor in about five seconds flat. Four units were on the floor, two on the south side of the building, one double-door on the right and one on the left, next door neighbors. Nathan went right, Louie nudging Tara to the left. He unlocked the door and she walked into a mirrored foyer with a black marble floor. A hallway led to the bedrooms; on her immediate right was a kitchen with high-end appliances and granite counters. A curving island had a half dozen leather-bottomed bar stools. Forward was the living room, its floor to ceiling windows and sliding doors easily the focal point, although the room held two burnished leather sofas and glass-topped coffee tables, with a fifty inch television pinned to the wall like a piece of art. A corner niche held a wet-bar, stocked with Louie’s Famous Grouse and Mexican brandy, and several bottles of whiskey and vodka.
The chandelier in the foyer was lit, as were the recessed lights above the island. A dining room was to the right, where another sliding door accessed the terrace. The condo was temperate, if not a little cool. Tara noticed the bags from her shopping spree piled in the corner. Louie said, “I had Sam bring them in while we were at dinner. I haven’t been here in awhile. I wanted him to adjust the air, make sure the bar was stocked.”
The bar looked pretty well stocked to Tara, although she noticed a brand new bottle of Grey Goose, thus far her drink of choice. She was impressed that Louie had remembered. She watched him walk to the bar, take down two cut-crystal glasses. She made a beeline for the veranda, checking out the view, which was even better than she had anticipated. But she turned away from the splendid vista and spun back into the room.
Louie mixed her a Grey Goose and mineral water, carrying the drink to where she was standing. Her head was spinning as she tried to absorb it all, easily twenty-five hundred square feet, two bedrooms, two full and two half baths, a den, and sweeping terrace. Handing the drink to her, Louie said, “Do you like it?”
“What’s not to like? Are you kidding? I love it.” Contemplating his enormous wealth, she looked at him with renewed awe. She was a bit confused. “Don’t you live here?”
“It’s an investment. For friends, associates—”
“Girlfriends?”
He smiled. “Rarely.”
She sipped her drink. “You must have lots of girls—”
He laughed. “Not as many as you might think. Unlike Victor, I prefer quality to quantity.” He set his glass on the sofa table and removed his jacket, tossing it over the arm of the couch. His fingers went to the knot on his tie, loosening it. He was looking steadily at her, not bothering to disguise the flame in his eyes. He said, “The thing that surprises me the most is how good it is between us, and we haven’t even made love yet.”
Tara said, “I feel the same way.”
He held her face between his hands, thumbs caressing her jaw, and kissed her. “Baby, you had me walking around with a hard-on all day. Christ, what are you doing to me? You make me feel like a kid.”
Tara did not answer. She was locked into his gaze, staring into the dark depths of his eyes. She licked her lips, tasting vodka and scotch whiskey, still feeling the tingle from his kiss. Louie put his arm around her waist, his hand nudging her forward. “Come on, baby,” he said. “Let me show you the bedroom.”
Chapter Nineteen
Louie had left the sliding door open three inches, and the sea breeze lifted the filmy sheers, puffing them into the room. As the rising sun turned the eastern sky pink, the bedroom flooded with a rosy light, and Tara gradually came awake.
She was aware of her lover sleeping beside her, their limbs entwined beneath the blankets. The warm, male scent of his skin filled her nostrils, competed with the lush tropical air wafting in through the sliding door. For a minute, hovering on the edge of consciousness, she wondered if she was dreaming. Then she opened her eyes and looked at the man in bed with her. He lay on his back, one arm flung over her pillow, his chest
rising and falling with his deep, even breathing.
In many ways he was still a mystery to her, a man of two faces. She thought of the cruelty he had exhibited with Franco and contrasted it with the charismatic mogul who had wined and dined her and brought her to this beautiful bed where he made love to her with a tenderness that touched her to the core. Never in her life had she experienced such an intense connection with anyone, made all the more perfect by the physical expression of love. Tara stared at him now, too awed by what had passed between them to formulate an explanation for what she felt in her heart.
He shifted as she slipped from the bed. The pink dawn exposed the massive bed with its upholstered headboard, and revealed the intricate detailing of the embroidered silk wallpaper. The red silk-velvet comforter was bunched on her side of the bed, Louie stirring beneath creamy cotton sheets. He’d told her the condo was used by corporate guests, but this bedroom was designed for romance.
Tara showered in a bathroom that offered a choice of a steam shower or jet tub, the shower built of glass and stone. She found a terry robe hanging in the cavernous closet and, belting it about her waist, she stepped onto the terrace. She was surprised at how big it was, hadn’t grasped the dimensions last night. The view was to die for: the marina with its fleet of yachts, the shipping lanes studded with tankers and cruisers, aquamarine waters spreading as far as the eye could see, green clumps of land—Fisher and Star Islands, and the cityscape with its towering skyscrapers.
A tropical heat had replaced last night’s cool front. Puffy clouds were banked on the horizon, a light breeze lifting the hem of Tara’s robe. Scattered about the terrace were brightly-cushioned lounge chairs and a wrought-iron bistro table. The overhang covered half the terrace—one could sit in the shade or take the sun. Tara chose the sun, stepping toward the railing and turning her face skyward, the luxurious warmth seeping into her skin, all of it redolent with flowers and sea-air.
Twenty-two stories down landscapers were tending the grounds. She had a spectacular view, could see people jogging in South Pointe Park. Closer to home, Nathan was on his terrace doing one-handed push-ups, pushing up, clapping, and switching arms, quick repetitions; Nathan’s body was hard and compact with muscle, a fluidity and tireless energy in his movements.
She watched him without any sense of disloyalty to Louie, admiring his physique with an impartial eye. Eventually, he stopped and came to his feet. He wore gym shorts and a sweat-stained T-shirt, the shirt molded to his washboard belly. He noticed Tara and lifted a casual hand in greeting.
She was still on the terrace when Victor arrived with five men and at least a dozen bags of groceries. She skedaddled into the bedroom, heard Louie in the bathroom running water, the sound carrying to her as she dressed. He had the door open—she could see him moving around with shaving cream on his face, cell-phone pressed to his ear. She heard him say. “Kiss the baby for me.” Then, “I love you too, Princess.”
Tara felt an irrational jealousy at the special place Stella held in her father’s heart. Then she grew annoyed with herself for eavesdropping. She was putting on her lip gloss when Louie emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped about his waist. He was smooth-shaven and rubbing his jaw, damp hair curling on his forehead. He said, “Victor’s here?”
She nodded, and he snaked his arms about her, pulling her against him even though his towel was damp. He smelled of soap and aftershave and mouthwash. Planting a tingly kiss on her lips, his dark eyes locked onto hers. “It’s pretty damn good with us, huh, baby. Jesus. It doesn’t happen like this too often.”
It had never happened like this. He patted her affectionately on the rear. “Get out of here and let me get dressed. Tell Victor I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Victor was cooking for an army. He had Italian sausage with sautéed peppers, fried potatoes, batches of fluffy eggs, and an assortment of rolls and sweetbreads. Cartons of juice were lined on the counter, a percolator bubbling. Tara had never eaten prosciutto. Victor had the thinly shaved Italian ham wrapped about chunks of cantaloupe, the saltiness of the meat and cool sweetness of the melon creating a palate teaser. She ate the fruit and a spoonful of eggs, recalled her meals of the last two evenings and realized weight gain could become an issue with this crowd.
She was introduced to Louie’s friends. A couple of men looked distinctly Italian; another guy had red hair and freckles, a veritable leprechaun. A friendly banter prevailed between them, and they were all very respectful of Tara. She didn’t bother to remember their names. She gathered some of them were visiting from New Orleans and planned to go deep-sea fishing in the Keys.
Louie’s appearance altered the chemistry amongst them. Tara’s heart fluttered as he walked in, casually attired in navy trousers and a gray sport shirt. She didn’t understand the dynamics of the group and was impressed by the respect his mere presence engendered. He was so smart, she thought, so handsome, a leader even amongst his friends. After a round of perfunctory greetings Louie slipped an arm about her waist, guiding her onto the terrace. To Tara’s surprise Nathan was still on his balcony, doing squats now. Spotting him, Louie said, “Nathan was in the Israeli army for ten years. He likes to keep up the regimen.”
“He’s very fit.”
“I’m going to ask him to keep an eye out for you. I’m a little concerned about this Manny character.”
Louie had made life perfect; she’d almost forgotten Manny. Now, she reluctantly turned back her sleeve, exposing the purple bruises he’d left on her. Louie looked, his mouth set tight. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t let him get near you again.”
The very thought made her shudder. She said, “I’m so glad Victor was there to save me. I’m scared to think of what might have happened if he hadn’t shown up when he did.”
Her savior chose that moment to come out the door, balancing two plates heaped with food. He set the plates on the bistro table, along with napkins and silverware. He gestured at Louie, and they moved to the table, Victor drawing back a chair for her. Sighting the amount of food on her plate, Tara started to protest and he said, “Doll, don’t insult me.”
Victor had mixed red peppers in with his eggs, and Louie started on these, eating with good appetite. Victor went inside, returning momentarily with two mugs of coffee. Nibbling on a piece of toasted Italian bread, Tara glanced at her watch. She was already an hour late for work. Idly, she wondered how Nathan planned to keep an eye on her when she worked in South Beach and lived in Fort Lauderdale. Louie’s next statement resolved this. “I’d rather you didn’t go back to your apartment, Tara. I’d like for you to stay here.”
She blinked. “You mean live with you?”
“Not exactly.” He set his fork down, and then wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I won’t be living here. But I’d feel better if you moved in. The building is secure, plus it’s close to the Walker. I think it would be a good idea if you stayed here indefinitely. Will you do this for me?”
Tara thought of her apartment with the tiny bathroom smaller than the shower she had stepped into this morning. “Well,” she said, with a nervous little laugh, “it’s not exactly a hardship.”
After last night she thought she would be willing to do just about anything for him. She stared at him, unblinking. The intensity in his eyes was compelling, and she looked down at her hands, glancing back when he said. “I’m going to talk to my security people at the Walker and instruct them to be extra vigilant about seeing you to your car. Nathan’s going to drive you to work today.” At her look of surprise, he said. “I asked him to do this for me.”
“Won’t you be here, Louie?”
“I’m sorry, baby, I have to go out of town. I’ll be back this weekend. We’ll go to dinner on Sunday.”
Disappointed, she could only nod. Inside, one of Louie’s friends told a joke. Tara heard Victor laughing along with the rest of them. She saw Nathan go into
his condo and said, “I have to go to work.”
Louie leaned over and fingered the lapel on her jacket. “Do me a favor, baby, and ditch this uniform. You have such a beautiful body: I want you wearing beautiful clothes.”
“Beautiful clothes are expensive. Besides, Franco was adamant about the uniform.”
“What Franco wants no longer matters,” he said abruptly, making her wonder if he wasn’t a little bit jealous. “I’m going to leave you some money. I want you to buy yourself some pretty things.”
“Louie, you bought me enough last night.”
“Baby, we’re just getting started.”
Chapter Twenty
Returning to The Venezia that night, Tara discovered Louie had left a stack of hundred-dollar bills on the night table. For her. To buy herself “pretty things”. She tossed the money into the air and watched it flutter down onto the bed. She gathered the cash and counted it like a miser—a hundred and fifty bills. Okay, fifteen thousand dollars.
She walked through the condo like a prospective buyer, noticing the details: crown moldings, beautiful hardwood flooring, faux marble pillars separating the living room from the dining room where ten tapestried chairs surrounded a heavy rectangular table. She checked the refrigerator, observing that Victor had made provisions for a family of six, and made a sandwich. She set it down after a couple of bites and walked onto the terrace, gazing at the splendid vista.
She pulled out her phone and called her mother. She tried to explain the fairy tale that was her life, but Brenda Evans was skeptical. She said, “It sounds too good to be true. And the money—I don’t know, Tara. You must have given him the wrong impression. He may think you are some kind of high-class call girl.”
Stella di Mare (Louie Morelli) Page 11
