Nacho Figueras Presents by Jessica Whitman

while looking at your mother’s enormous painting of a hair dryer.”
    Antonia tapped him on the arm playfully. “I saw that woman. A tall and very pretty redhead.”
    He shrugged. “She smelled like cigarette smoke and overripe strawberries. It was not a good combination.”
    She smiled and scooted closer to him. He pressed his face to the top of her head and inhaled. “Not like you,” he said gruffly. “You smell rica .”
    She turned her face up toward his. “Yeah?” she said. “What does rica mean, exactly?”
    He bent to smell her again and closed his eyes. “Delicious. You smell like heat and spice and”—his voice grew hoarse as he opened his eyes and looked directly at her—“sex, mi corazón . You smell so good, it’s all I can do not to tear your clothes off and bury my face between your legs right here in the back of this car.”
    Her breath caught, and suddenly her whole body was aflame.
    He kissed her then. There was nothing skilled or nuanced about this kiss. It was just blunt, searching need. He kissed her like he was claiming her as his own. And she responded instantly, tangling her tongue against his, twining her arms around him and pressing as close as she could, melting against him, desperately trying to quiet all the feelings that were still churning inside her.
    She ran her hand up his tensed thigh, feeling the bulge under his jeans. She felt his breath catch as she touched him, heard him stifle a groan of pleasure against her mouth. She broke their kiss and moved her lips to his throat, dragging her cheek along the delicious scratch of his stubble, licking and kissing, wiggling herself onto his lap.
    “Ahem.” The taxi driver loudly cleared his throat. “We’re here, my friends.”
    Noni softly laughed and slid off Enzo’s lap. “Sorry,” she murmured to the driver as Enzo ran his credit card through the machine and added a very large tip.
    The driver shrugged. “Eh, I’ve seen worse. At least you kept your clothes on.”
    *  *  *
    The hotel room at the St. Regis was just as Enzo remembered, elegant and sexy and luxurious. The room was done in cream and gold with soft lilac accents. The bed was vast, with pristine white linens, a mountain of fluffy down pillows, and a tufted headboard made of lavender silk. A cream-colored love seat and two plush armchairs clustered around a fat lilac ottoman. The opulent drapes hid a rooftop view and filtered the late afternoon light to a dusky, golden glow. There were shapely white vases of purple roses scattered about the room, reflected in the enormous baroque gold-framed mirrors that served as the only ornamentation on the walls. The bathroom was equipped with a deep marble soaking tub that easily fit two.
    Despite her scars and tattoo and tough attitude, Noni fit right into this room, thought Enzo. She was wearing wide-legged linen pants and a black silk tank top that showed off her defined arms and shoulders, but even if she had been dressed in her usual faded jeans and tattered T-shirt, her radiant beauty would have still matched the elegance of this room. She was, without a doubt, the most naturally stunning woman Enzo had ever seen.
    She looked like her mother in a way, he mused. They both had the same creamy coloring and striking Nordic bone structure, but whereas Benny’s big blue eyes made her seem like a generic, pretty Californian blonde, Antonia’s sloe-eyed gaze was filled with sparks and fever and lent an enigmatic depth to her nearly perfect face.
    He could search those eyes forever and still not know everything there was to know about this woman.
    They had been inseparable this last week in Florida. He had spent every day with her at the barn, every night at her cottage. He couldn’t seem to tear himself from her side. And with every passing moment, he’d begun to tentatively believe that she was right. That none of the things that had held him back from her over the years really mattered after all. That this time maybe