Artful Love: A Short Summer Love Story (new adult/contemporary romance) (2 page)

Instant Portraits

Only Bs 20

“Oh, of course, I didn’t realize. Yes, I’d like you to do my portrait. But you have to promise me that you’ll do a realistic portrait, not a touristy one that makes me look better than I really am.”

He flashed me a sensual smile. “I could not draw you any better, even if I wanted to. To me, you look
perfecta
.” With a wink, he gestured for me to sit down. A blush started creeping up my face and filled my cheeks with warmth. I swallowed and looked away, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
 

I sat down on the stool he had offered, trying to keep completely still. The warm sun caressing my face, I felt totally comfortable, relaxed—something I hadn’t felt for a long time. But however much I tried, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the artist’s intent face behind the canvas. With his straight nose, luscious lips, and smooth olive skin, he could easily be a model for the fashion pages of
GQ
magazine.
 

And his body! I was sure it couldn’t possibly belong to an artist, and a talented one at that. My eyes took a life of their own as they traveled down to his strong neck, down to his powerful, broad shoulders, down to his hard chest. I imagined running my fingers over his taut arm muscles. How smooth would his tanned skin feel.
 

Suddenly I had an insane desire to fling myself into his strong arms and feel him wrapped around me. My head would rest against his muscled chest. I’d throw my arms around his body and explore the hollow channel on his back. And when I was done, I’d go down even further, discovering what lay beneath…

“Sorry I’m late. It took a bit longer than I expected.”

A familiar voice interrupted my thoughts. Captain Adams was marching towards me. His smile changed into a frown when he noticed the artist drawing my portrait.
 

“Jessica, what are you doing? You’re not letting one of those con artists sell you a quick portrait, are you?”

“Hey!” The artist started to stand up from his stool, but I quickly put a hand on his shoulder and said, “He’s not a con artist. He’s a real artist, a very talented one. I happen to have a degree in art, and I can tell you, this man is the real deal.”

Clearly taken aback, the captain peered at the drawing.
 

“Looks like this is going to take a long time. I thought we were going sightseeing.”

“This is part of my sightseeing. I enjoy looking at the people on the wharf. Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll see you at the ship later.”

Clenching his jaw, the captain nodded. He turned and strode off towards the town.
 

The artist turned to me. “Thanks for that. My name is Roberto Ramirez.”

“And I am Jessica Miller. Very nice to meet you.”

“
Encantado
.” Roberto stood up to take my hand. Instead of shaking it, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it softly. A surge of electricity shot from where his lips had touched my skin, causing flutters throughout my body. My heart started racing, my head felt dizzy.

He held my hand for a few long seconds before he let go and looked me in the eyes. “Since the captain has gone, could I be your guide for today, and show you around Isla de Margarita?”

“That’s very kind of you. But don’t you need to work on your portraits here?”

“It’s been very quiet lately. This hasn’t been the greatest spot for me. So it will be good for me to show you around town while I look for a better spot.”

“In that case, Roberto, I’d love to see the island with you.”
 

I wasn’t sure what got into me. Normally, I wasn’t one to be so reckless and set off with a virtual stranger. Especially not a dangerously good-looking one like Roberto. But there was something in his eyes, something that had mesmerized me. I knew I had to go with him—I had to take the risk.

I saw more of Isla de Margarita with Roberto that day than the captain could have shown me in a month. We admired Francisco Narvaez’s sculptures in the museum, enjoyed panoramic views of the island from the fort in Pampatar, strolled along the palm-lined Playa Guacuco, and took a boat tour through the mangroves of the Laguna de la Restinga.
 

It was relaxing and at the same time exciting to wander around the tropical island alongside the dark, handsome stranger. Roberto was a highly entertaining tour guide, and captivated me with his interesting tales of the local attractions. We talked for hours and hours, and the further the day went on, I couldn’t stop smiling. Even though we had spent the whole day walking, I felt like I was floating on air.
 

At dusk we reached an ancient Spanish fort on a hill, from where we had a breathtaking view of the sunset. Leaning on one of the cannons pointing at the bay, Roberto explained, “This fort was originally built to defend the island against pirates. But about two centuries ago, a bloody battle was fought here against the Spanish, who occupied the island. Hundreds of people died.”

He turned to look at me, with concern in his eyes. “Hey, you look tired. Shall we go and have something to eat?”
 

His charming smile wiped out all my feelings of fatigue. “No, I’m fine, really. This is really fascinating. But I don’t mind having a bite somewhere.”

After the sun had all but disappeared on the horizon, he guided me down the hill into a small seafood restaurant. Soon we were enjoying fresh oysters and
pargo frito
, the local fish specialty.
 

Savoring every bite, I asked, “So, you were born here at the island?”

“No, I’m from mainland Venezuela. Caracas, born and raised.”

“Does your family still live there?”
 

“I don’t have any more family. My dad died when I was little. He got involved with gangs and drugs, and landed in prison. Not many people get out of there alive.” Roberto used his knife to pry a juicy piece off the fishbone.
 

“How about your Mom and your brothers and sisters?”

“My Mom died a year ago, from cancer. And I have no idea about my brothers. They’re probably into drugs. I don’t even know if they’re still alive. That’s why I moved here. I didn’t want to get involved in all that. Can you imagine, living around killings, kidnappings, gang shootings, every day? Seeing your family, your friends becoming addicts, dealers, murderers?” His knife hit the side of the plate with a clang, turning the other diners’ heads.
 

“It’s so different from my life. I have a boring life, with a boring job.” I looked away, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re not boring to me.” Roberto touched my arm across the table. It sent shivers along my spine.
 

I looked down at my expensive Carven dress. “This is not really me. My sister gave me her old clothes. And the cruise. I do have a degree in art, sort of, in design. But I couldn’t find a design job after I graduated, so I worked in a call center. Oh wait, I forgot—I quit. Even better, I am now officially unemployed.” The memory made me produce a bitter smile.
 

Roberto leaned forward. “Hey, I don’t care about what you do. I don’t care about your clothes. When I look in your eyes, all I can see is how beautiful they are. How beautiful
you
are.”

A glimmer of heat flashed in his eyes, and I felt my face burn. “I bet you say that to all the girls that you pick up after doing their portraits.”

“You probably won’t believe me, but this is the first time I’ve done this.”

“No, I don’t believe you. You deliberately put up that impressive painting to lure girls to you.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” He winked, offering me a crooked, irresistible smile. Then he took a quick glance at his watch.
 

“Hey, it’s getting late. You better get back to the ship.”

“I guess.” For an instant, my chest tightened. What had I expected? That he’d spend the night with me? I pushed that absurd idea from my mind. There was no reason why a hot Latin guy like him would be interested in me. He’d probably have some sexy chick waiting for him at home or at a club.
 

I willed myself to look straight ahead when we strolled back to the ship. The moon’s rays infuriated me for enhancing Roberto’s astonishingly good-looking features. Oh, why must he be so damn attractive?

As we reached the gangway, he turned to face me. “I had a great time today.”

“So did I. Thanks for showing me around.” I gave him a quick glance, avoiding his mesmerizing eyes.

“You’re very welcome. I was thinking, are you free tomorrow?”

My heart made a leap. “I thought you didn’t want to see me any more.”

“Where did you get that idea?”

“It’s just that—”
 

“That I asked you to go back to the ship?” I nodded.
 

“I didn’t want you to think that I was taking advantage of you. But of course I want to see you again. So, what do you say? Pick you up tomorrow?”
 

The plea in his deep, dark eyes was irresistible. “I’d love to.”
 

A cozy warmth started radiating through my body, and I could not suppress the smile spreading across my face. Roberto returned my smile by gazing at the curve of my lips.
 

He rested his palm on my neck and nudged up my chin with his thumb. I felt his other arm slide around my neck, pulling it down for my mouth to meet his. He brushed his lips with mine, slowly testing and tasting, before covering my mouth completely. My heart pounding wildly, I leaned into him and kissed him back deeply.
 

Oh, how dark, how male he tasted. And how different from the men I’d ever dated, whose idea of kissing was sticking their tongues down my throat. His deep, long, slow kisses seemed to bring time to a halt. When the kiss finally ended and we said our goodbyes, I felt strangely empty, incomplete, as if I had been robbed of an important part of me that I didn’t even know I possessed.
 

The next day, we went to the sparsely populated Macanao peninsula far west of the island, and we spent almost all day in and around the water, swimming, snorkeling, and sunbathing in the azure waters.
 

I had thought Roberto was good-looking with his clothes on, but the sight of him when he took his clothes off set my insides on fire. Clad merely in a skimpy pair of swimming briefs that left nothing to the imagination, his sculpted physique embodied a classical Greek study of the male form. I caught myself repeatedly checking out his olive skin covering his taut, well-toned muscles, and imagining how they’d respond at my touch.
 

I had found paradise, relishing the fresh sea air, the warm water on my skin, the gentle waves lapping along the shore. And Roberto. Nothing could get my pulse racing faster than his piercing gaze paired with his crooked, dimpled smile. He teased me, flirted with me, held my hand—kissed me. But he was always careful not to let it go too far.
 

At the candle-lit dinner that night, the conversation inevitably turned to our favorite topic.

“So, you also teach art?” I asked, before taking a bite of my second
empanada
.
 

“Yep, to kids and adults. The kids can draw, but don’t always listen and the adults listen, but usually can’t draw. But I enjoy it, and it pays enough to cover the rent and my paint materials.” Roberto produced his lopsided smile, which caused my pulse to skip a little faster.
 

“What do you like to paint the most?”

“I like portraits, but what I love painting most is landscapes and how they change in different weather. Take the view from the fort we visited at Juan Griego, for example. Of course it looks pretty in perfect, sunny weather. But how does it look when the sky is gray and it starts raining? It is different, but no less beautiful. Real beauty is created when there’s a clash between the forces of nature.”

I was fascinated by him, by the passion with which he spoke. It was then that I decided I didn’t want to take any more chances. I had to try before he sent me away again.
 

“You know, I’d love to see your paintings.”
 

My heart stopped beating when he didn’t respond right away. But then he said, “Really? Let’s go, I’ll show them to you.”

Half an hour later, I found myself in a quiet neighborhood full of warehouses. In a small lane, Roberto took out a key and opened the graffiti-covered roller door of a gray, nondescript building. The lights flickered on, and revealed a space crammed with stacks of boxes of all sizes.
 

He held my hand, and took the lead in navigating between the boxes to the back, where he directed me to a narrow set of stairs.
 

When we reached the top, I looked into a spacious loft area. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Hundreds of paintings were scattered everywhere: some on easels, some on the ground.
 

I was amazed by what I saw. Portraits of people that told me their heartbreaking stories. Landscapes, so vivid I felt like I was there. It was hard to believe that these masterpieces were hidden away in this loft, on a small island in the Caribbean Sea. They could just as easily have graced the walls of any leading art gallery.
 

I was so engrossed in the paintings that I almost didn’t hear Roberto call out, “Jessica! Want a drink?”

“Yeah, just pour me anything,” I said absentmindedly while admiring a series of large paintings depicting the various stages of a raging storm.

Roberto came back with two tumblers containing an amber liquid.
 

“
Salud
!” We clinked glasses.

When I took a sip, the strong alcoholic liquid burned in my throat and made me cough.

“It’s Venezuelan rum, the best rum in the world,” said Roberto. He put his arm around me and led me to a big wooden table in the middle of the room, clearing away brushes and other art tools with his other arm, and helped me sit down.
 

“So this is where you live.” I looked around the room. Apart from the paintings and the table, the loft was bare, containing only a small kitchen, a closet, and a double bed against the far wall.