My mouth curves. “I could hardly see you at that restaurant.”
“And you said that you can see me now. But it’s literally dark as hell.”
“The full moon...” I lift my hands as if capturing her in a frame.
“I can’t believe I let you whisk me to Mexico on a first date—is this a date?”
“Aye, here we go again. This is the best date of your life. Just appreciate me, Essence.” I run my hard cock against the curve of her ass while clasping the railing and boxing her in. I press a kiss along her throat, saying, “We will see the coast of San Diego from here in the morning. But no, this isn’t a date. Dates are as pretentious as the lounge we left—”
“Oh, the lounge with the top-shelf trashy tequila?” Her ass slaps back against me.
“Sí.” I thrust, growing as hard as titanium in my jeans. “The lousy tequila we left at that ostentatious restaurant.”
“Whatever, I should’ve sent you home earlier.”
“Now, you’re at my home for as long as I please. So? This is the first night of the rest of your life.”
Essence moves around, glimpsing at the multiple levels and decks below us.
While I grind into her, she takes in the view of a deck with a hammock and another roof deck with a lap pool.
“This is where I could paint,” She gestures to the easel on a lower sundeck that’s the perfect angle for mornings. “I mean... if I were a painter.”
I slam my erection against her. “You are an artist.”
At Essence’s silence, I growl, “Preciosa, fight for what you love...”
My cellphone vibrates. Shit. Not now!
“Hold that thought.”
“I’ll hold it hostage, even when you return,” Essence retorts.
I pull out my phone, quickly explaining to her, “Only you, Alexis, and the cabrón calling have this number. The meeting I had scheduled this afternoon slipped my mind. Otherwise, I wouldn’t answer.”
As we walk along the clay-plastered passage into one of the living rooms, I mutter for Essence to look around, then I answer the phone.
The muscles attached to my jaw draw tight as the person on the other end introduces herself as Benedict’s secretary. The man himself owns billions in real estate. He even offered to take this place off my hands once. But I’d rather keep adding to my villa, which touches the ocean and the jungle and avoids the public. This is my dream home. Essence glances around in fascination as if she could live here too.
I tune into the conversation as the woman says, “Good evening, Mr. Silva. It appears you’ve missed the meeting scheduled with Bened—”
“Benedict doesn’t respect my rules. He gave you my number.”
“I assure you Benedict would’ve called you himself, but—”
“No excuses.”
“I’d like to reschedule your meeting, or if you’re interested in a virtual—”
“Benedict’s fully aware that I don’t discuss money over the phone.” I knew I wouldn't be available when he penciled me in for a call. I’d have another excuse my daughter could complain about. But being in Essence’s presence was better than any reason. “Tell Benedict he knows where to find me.”
When I press the off button, Essence has ceased her musings.
I mutter, “You’re nosey.”
Essence shrugs. “Someone’s riding you like Poppy had at my event.”
“Speaking of Ms. Richmond, we’ve got paintings to complete. I won’t begrudge you any of my painting rooms, bedrooms, tables, anywhere really, that you’d like to screw and paint.”
“Manny!”
I start toward the wet bar. “I’m simply implying you’re my guest. No area is off-limits.”
“So, the call?”
“The CEO of Baroque House, which is upscale...”
“Woah! It’s a home décor store. I have literally one piece in my bedroom I could afford from the store.” She spins slowly. “Hell, your entire house could be on an upscale commercial—everything looks unique.”
“Thank you, but no. My things are priceless. The store is trash. You spend $500 on a single tea candle. Everything is mass-produced.”
“That’s a sacrilege to you.” Essence’s fingertips brush over my own. I could mention her painting, but she’s still curious, and unlike her, I have no walls.
I share, “The CEO, Benedict, is updating the brand. They want a few of my pieces.”
“That’s amazing—”
“In mass production,” I retort, searching my collection of alcohol for my hand-harvested tequila.
“People want a piece of you, Manny. Baroque is only a few stores across both coasts; you’ll stay relatively exclusive and make bank! You don’t look interested...”
I lift two shot glasses and spin them between my fingers. “Not really. Benedict and I go way back. But he’s forgotten something. Increasing the profit margin doesn’t appeal to me. I can’t see my paintings reproduced through a printer.” I stop speaking, disgusted. “Anyway, shots or tequila sunrise?”
Her gaze flickers to the glasses. “You’re drinking it straight.”
“Well, yeah.”
Next, Essence’s nose scrunches, and she adorably runs her fingertip over the label. “So, this might be the only sunrise you get with me. I could ask to leave anytime soon.”