Hotter Than The Caribbean (Building Love Book 2)

by Stacy Hoff

  God only knew just how dumb and awkward she looked. “Okay. I’m psyching myself up for bravery.”

  “Go ahead. Be bold.”

  Yeah, right. Her mouth twisted into a frown. “Please be patient with me. I could introduce you to a lot of New York deli food you wouldn’t begin to know how to identify. How you would you react?”

  “How do I react? Quite well, actually. I’ve never met a pastrami I didn’t like.”

  Mel searched her mind for the oddest deli food she could think of. “Pastrami is amateur hour. I’m talking prime time. Ever had hot tongue on rye?”

  Luis arched an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on her. “Are you asking me whether I enjoy hot tongue?”

  Mel’s cheeks burned. Worse, the fire was spreading southward, directly toward her panty line. Damn it. How do I get myself into these situations? The best thing she could do was to re-focus the conversation on the food. She grabbed a flat, fried slice of yellow something and popped it into her mouth.

  A hot, crispy, mushy, and starchy, sensation filled her mouth. The taste of it, rich and sweet. It was reminiscent of an overripe banana. She mulled the mixture around in her mouth for a moment before deciding she liked it. She reached for another one and happily bit in.

  “See? Being bold has its rewards.” Luis’s eyes crinkled deeper in amusement. “I’m glad you like it. Bueno.” He reached a hand out to the platter, inadvertently brushing his fingers against hers.

  Horrifyingly, a tingling sensation sprang forth. The zing traveled all the way from her hand to her spine.

  His gaze met hers, his eyes narrowed.

  Oh my God, did he feel that, too? “Pardon me,” she muttered.

  “It must be the static electricity in the air. No need to apologize.”

  No sound came out of Mel’s open mouth. She was always ready to apologize for something. It came with the territory of being the family’s black sheep. The price paid for remaining part of the herd. “Um, no. I guess not.”

  “You guess? I hope you have more decisiveness than that if you’re going to design my lobby.” Though his words sounded harsh, the light expression he wore on his face showed he was teasing.

  Still, the mere thought of the lobby work made the anvil hovering over her head crash down once again. Judging from Luis’s expression, however, he was very much at ease. In fact, he looked positively blissful as he popped more tostones into his mouth.

  “What happened to the previous hospitality design firm you hired?” Mel asked. “They didn’t demonstrate enough confidence for you to feel comfortable?”

  He put down the fried plantain he was holding. “No. They walked off the job. They had barely gotten started.” His voice was clipped.

  “What? Why?”

  His light expression was gone. The dark clouds of earlier drifted back. “I have no idea. I didn’t hire them, my father did. I already contacted my lawyers. I prefer to let my paid pit bulls deal with them. My family can’t afford to be distracted by people who have no compunction to fulfill their promises.”

  Lawyers? Ack! This man likes to sue. No pressure at all. Hurriedly, she reached for her drink and took a sip, glad to be momentarily distracted by the cool, fruity taste. “I’m sorry that happened to your family. Maybe the firm leaving was a good omen. Now you have my family’s firm instead. The design work will come out better than what my predecessors would have done.”

  His smile came back. Warmth spread through her, as tangible as sunlight on skin.

  “See? Now you are self-assured. I admire folks who are not afraid of a challenge. People who are emotionally strong triumph over those who are weak. You know the expression, only the strong survive.”

  “I do. I certainly hope you’re right.” Lord, do I hope so.

  He laughed. “I am never wrong. Not when I’m paying the bills anyway.” He picked up his drink and gestured she should do the same. “Salud. To my always being right,” he said, the lightheartedness in his voice matching his facial expression.

  Mel copied him by holding her daiquiri glass up in the air. “To my proving you’re right!” After their glasses clinked they took a sip. Things were progressing so nicely she felt brave enough to gamble on a question. “Should I meet your father? And the rest of the owners?”

  His forehead twitched. “This resort is exclusively my father’s. I’m only helping him out which is… unusual. My first time, actually. Up until now I’ve concentrated on my own projects.” He paused. “I want to have his project finished very soon. For both my sake and his.”

  “I hear you. Your family wants the work completed quickly. Trust me, my family wants the same thing.”

  He held his glass in the air again. “Here’s to all of us getting what we want.” He took another sip. “How’s your drink?”

  “Excellent. I guess you were right about that, too.” She felt herself grinning, her smile wide enough to show her teeth.

  The waiter re-appeared as silently as a ghost. He cleared away the empty platter, promised to return quickly, and left.

  “Would you like to try my drink?” Luis asked her. “Bacardi is made here on the island. It’s another local specialty.” He extended his hand to hold out the glass to her.

  She felt her eyes widen. Drinking from his glass seemed way too personal. Shouldn’t only family members—or lovers—share a glass? “It’s okay, I’m still working on finishing this daiquiri and I don’t want to drink too much. It’ll make my mind fuzzy, and we are here to talk about business.”

  “Of course,” Luis agreed. Yet his voice seemed much cooler.

  Chapter 7

  Luis’s face scrunched into a frown. What the hell was happening to him? He had set up a private dinner to cram all his business into one uninterrupted timeslot and now he was pissed off because she wanted to focus on business. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him. He had somehow embarked on the U.S.S. Irony? And disembarked onto unchartered territory? No one had been able to steer him off-course in the past. What made this woman special?

  He looked up to see her staring at him. Her full, inviting lips turned down at the corners. She was undoubtedly trying to figure him out.

  For that matter, he was trying to figure out himself, too. First the frostiness, then the glimmer of warmth, even talking about his father, and then his crazy invitation for her to try his drink. From the same glass. What was he thinking? Any woman would be scared off. He didn’t even know if she liked him. His too-intimate offer was completely out of line. The comment about enjoying hot tongue probably didn’t help.

  Worse than surprising her, his comment had surprised the hell out of him. His question had sprung out of his mouth faster than the speed of thought. He vowed that the next time he blurted out something stupid, he’d buy himself a shoe to shove into his mouth.

  “Is everything okay?” Her pretty face was scrunched up from worry.

  “Yes, of course.” No, it isn’t.

  Since he was the cause of her concern, it was up to him to make her feel relaxed and comfortable. Maybe his motives were more than merely altruistic. A pleasant expression on her face would benefit him, too. Like, seeing her large blue eyes. They were the colors of the changeable Caribbean Sea. Bright blue when calm. Dark indigo when upset. Now they were almost navy. It was a shame her overly large glasses were a bit of a barrier. “Your eyes are like a mood ring,” he marveled. Oh hell. I do need to buy that shoe.

  “My eyes are like rings? What are you talking about?”

  He sucked in a breath, hoping the inhalation wasn’t audible. “Mood rings. They change color when you wear them to show your mood. Each mood is assigned a different color. If the ring is blue, you’re feeling calm. If it’s pink, you’re in love. And violet if you’re feeling . . .” He tugged at his shirt collar, which was suddenly way too tight. “. . . w
ell, frisky . . .” His words trailed off. Why on earth can’t I shut up?

  Her head cocked to one side. He couldn’t tell if she was amused or thought he was a nut job. “Interesting.” She glanced at his naked hands. “For someone not into jewelry, you know an awful lot about mood rings.”

  How did I get myself into this situation? How much Bacardi was in my glass? “My mom used to wear them. She was a sixties throwback. She thought wearing mood rings was a lot of fun.”

  “Was?”

  “She used to, anyway. My mother now suffers from severe dementia. Has for several years.” A brief flashback invaded his mind. His mother, a tall, black-haired beauty, wearing tie-dyed clothing and beach sandals whenever she could. Whenever she wasn’t working at his father’s office, that is. But even when she’d dressed for work, she always wore her little daisy earrings and a silver-trimmed mood ring.

  Mel wiped off her hands from the tostones grease and placed a hand on his, bringing him back to the here and now. Mel’s touch seemed completely sincere. The last time a woman had touched him with such heartfelt warmth, without any sexual connotation, was with the very person they were speaking about now. “Thanks. I miss her as she was.”

  She must have felt him stiffen because she pulled her hand away. “Is your father okay? Since he handed this project over to you, I’m hoping he’s not having health issues too?”

  “He’s ill, although his problem is physical, not mental. He asked me to help out for a while so he can undergo some treatments on the mainland. He seems to accept his condition. Cautiously optimistic is the best way I can describe his outlook.”

  “How are you coping with his problems?”

  “I only recently found out. I’m still trying to grasp the situation,” he explained. “My relationship with my father has always been tricky. I do have a brother. A half-brother, actually. Raul. Unfortunately, that relationship is difficult, too. We rarely see each other.” Specifically, when our father forces us together. Luis felt his eyebrows draw together, as if they were purse strings pulled tightly by an invisible thread.

  “A half-brother? Who re-married? Your mother or your father?”

  “Neither.”

  “Neither? Then how do you have a half-brother?”

  He could see the light dawn on her face. “Ohhhh. Never mind.”

  He nodded. “Let’s just say I was unplanned. And my father’s wife wasn’t too happy about it. Make that, still isn’t happy about it.” Why in God’s name was he bringing all of this up? What was wrong with him?

  Her expression was kind and sincere. “At least your father acknowledges you,” she said softly. “And your half-brother does, too. Maybe Raul can help you cope with your father’s illness. Give both of you a chance to lean on each other while he goes through this.”

  She seemed sweet. Good hearted. Wanting everything and everyone to come together for the better. A lovely sentiment on her part. Albeit a pipedream. “Maybe. I try to keep my optimism in check. It’s a complicated family dynamic.”

  “I understand. I’m glad to have my parents and sister in my life, but we have our trials, too.” The minute her words were spoken, she visibly stiffened.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  ~ ~ ~

  Mel’s desire to open up to Luis warred with her desire to be cautious. Not even under the influence of the warm Caribbean breeze should she throw caution to the wind.

  “I’m not going to judge you,” he said in a soft voice. “After your kind words, it would be ungentlemanly of me to do so.”

  It was the unexpected gentleness of his tone that made her reconsider. If a person’s voice was indicative of how they felt, he was asking about her private life due to sincere interest.

  She answered slowly, like a baby learning to walk on wobbly legs. Testing out her strength uncertainly. “The rest of my family is more . . . integrated with each other than they are with me. They’re the total sum. I’m a minor part of their equation.”

  “To stick with your math terminology, you’re the odd man out?”

  Her lips tightened into an upturned curl. “I guess you can say that’s the outcome. We may have four people in our family, but I’m still odd.” Another burst of heat rushed up to her cheeks. “I should shut up now. If I don’t, you’re going to think my design work will be odd, too.”

  “I would never call beautiful design work odd.”

  Her hand touched her heart. “Thank you for saying that.”

  “You’re welcome, although I’m surprised. You creative types are supposed to think out of the box. Since your whole family consists of designers, I’d think you’d fit right in.”

  “Let’s call it creative differences.” The difference being they think my artistic ambition is ridiculous, and leaves them in the lurch. She felt her throat tighten. “No matter. The lobby’s interior will be well executed, completed on time, and on budget.”

  “I didn’t realize we were still talking about business.”

  Swallowing did nothing to loosen the choking feeling. “Okay, we won’t talk about business anymore. It’s hard to . . .”

  “Open up?” he offered.

  She nodded. “Especially with someone I’ve just met. Who happens to be a client.”

  “I understand. For me, opening up is difficult no matter what the circumstances. But especially when the person I’m talking to is a business associate. One on whom I’m relying heavily. And is being paid by my father as well.”

  “I understand. Believe me, I don’t take your wariness personally. It’s hard to trust someone. Doubly so if you barely know them. No one wants to get burnt. Including us, I guess.” She gulped and forced a small smile. “Let’s talk about easier things. You didn’t finish telling me about your ability to decipher my mood.” She put her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. “What am I feeling now?”

  Her upbeat words were soft and melodious to his ears. “You’re happy. I must be acting like less of a tyrant.”

  Her smile broadened. “Well, I can tell your mood, too. You’re feeling proud for having successfully dismounted from your high horse,” she teased.

  He laughed. “I love being successful.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Luis looked at the woman who was working for him. This time though, as more than merely one of his contractors. She was beguiling. And when she teased him, she was absolutely captivating. Nobody else had the guts to try to get under his skin. Poke the beast, and then stand back to watch his reaction. Outside of Raul, and his father, anyway.

  Wasn’t Mel scared of him? If so, she was the only person alive who wasn’t. More amazing was the amount he had opened up to her. Both in quality and quantity. Dios mío. “I’m having a lovely time with you,” he said. The outburst of candor gave him a physical jolt. Forget the shoe. I need to shove an entire footwear factory into my mouth.

  The waiter interrupted before she could respond. “Your entrees are here.” The server put two plates down with flourish before taking his leave.

  Luis breathed in deeply, enjoying the heavenly scent. “I love this dish. Carne Guisada. Ever had it before?” He suppressed a smile when Mel shook her head no. “Have you never eaten in a Puerto Rican restaurant? Does New York City have only delicatessens?”

  “I’m sure New York has a lot of Puerto Rican restaurants. You can take me to one next time you’re in the City.” As soon as the words left her mouth her face flushed with color. The streak of pink made her cheeks even more attractive.

  “It’ll be quite some time before I get a chance to go anywhere again,” he said. “Not until the resort is completely up and running. But there’s no need to wait for me to travel. We’re both here now and I’m sure this dish will be terrific. It’s a beef entrée. I can order us
another dish, too, if you’re not a fan.”

  “I’m happy to try it. When in Rome . . . “

  “Right. When in Rome, or Puerto Rico.”

  They shared a smile before he watched her take a forkful of the beef. She closed her eyes in apparent ecstasy.

  Observing her sexual expression was the very worst thing he could have done. His goal of staying on-task sabotaged. His new goal was to get that expression back on her face. This time, for a different reason than food.

  The next thing he wanted her to savor was him.

  Chapter 8

  The meal was a little too terrific, Mel thought. So good in fact, it was making her hear things. A food-induced hallucination. How much rum is in this banana daiquiri anyway? “I think this delicious gourmet meal is putting me in a food coma. What did you say?”

  “Watching you eat this meal is having a . . . let’s just say it’s having an effect on me.”

  She felt her eyes go round. She stared at him until the waiter made another ill-timed appearance.

  “Shall I serve the flan de mango now?” their server inquired.

  Luis quirked an eyebrow at her. “Do we want to stay? Or head back to my place?”

  Once again, she felt a strong wave of heat flush all the way up to her cheeks. Could she do it? Be gutsy? Be honest with him? More than she’d ever been with anyone else? Even her family? Her voice felt too dry to force out words. She breathed in deeply to mentally brace herself. “Maybe it is time to head back to your place,” she answered softly.

  Luis’s gaze went hot. “We’re leaving now,” he said to the startled waiter. Luis tossed a large wad of bills onto the table, grabbed her hand, and led her out the door. The feel of his hand was cooler than the fiery look in his eyes.