Wild for You (6 page)

She got up and perched on the edge of her bed, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands on her lap. "Well? I'm waiting for an explanation. Who are you
really
and why are you here?"

He dragged a hand across his neck and stared at her with strained patience. "I'm here because we've received several complaints from other women being harassed like you. Yours isn't the only case of this kind being investigated in this building."

"You could have admitted you were a detective from the beginning."

"You need me to investigate this case," he said in a tone that brooked no arguments.

"I never asked you to," she retorted. "I'd like you to leave."

"No. I feel like hell." Clay leaned back on his arms and scowled at her. "Where did you get the stun gun? Do you realize my gun could have gone off when you zapped me?" he demanded, his blazing eyes so severe she worried for her safety.

She didn't know who she feared more, him or the stalker, now that she'd seen Clay's dangerous side. He had looked lethal holding his drawn gun, as if it were a natural extension of his hand.

"Well? Where did you get it?" he pressed.

She glared at him and tried not to notice the corded muscles running the length of his arms from his biceps to his wrists. "Guess," she said, returning her wayward gaze to rest on his face.

"Your big brother?"

Marisol widened her eyes melodramatically. "Wow, you really are a good detective."

Clay gave her a hard stare. "I'm the best there is."

She raised her brows and gave him a challenging look. "So why didn't you come straight out and tell me who you were?"

"I'm working undercover. I needed you to trust me first to gain your confidence," he said evenly.

That didn't make sense to her, but she had nothing to lose by hearing him out. "I guess that's the first honest answer you've given me all day."

She looked down and realized she was wearing a Miami Dolphins football jersey, which barely covered her tiny bikini panties, and white cotton socks. She glanced at Clay, and their eyes locked, his black with desire, hers bright with surprised arousal. Her breath caught in her throat when Clay's smoldering gaze showed he'd taken in every inch of her skimpy attire.

"Turn around," she ordered.

The grooves beside his firm mouth deepened into dimples. "It's too late for formality now."

"Not for me it isn't. Turn around so I can put my robe on," she insisted.

He obliged with a slight turn of his head while she ran to her closet and grabbed the closest robe, a short, purple silk kimono.

"You can turn around now," she said primly, pulling the edges together and tightening the sash.

Clay let out a short bark of laughter.

"What?" she said when she saw the wry amusement on his face.

"Somehow that robe doesn't match the football jersey and cotton socks." Clay shook his head. "This is going to be one helluva case."

Marisol cocked an eyebrow at him. "And just what does that mean?"

Clay regarded her with a bemused expression. "You're full of surprises."

"Likewise,
Detective
. How do you feel?"

"Better. My strength is back." He stood and reached for his gun, strapping it to his ankle before taking Marisol's hand and pulling her from the bed. "Let's go to the living room for a little chat."

Marisol's stomach fluttered when Clay's big hand curled around her smaller one in a lithe grip as he led her to the couch. She released his hand and scooted away, keeping a distance from his powerful body.

"You've probably already guessed that I thought you were the stalker," she said, feeling a bit sheepish.

"Something like that," he replied in a dry tone.

"Well, what did you expect? It's your fault," she grumbled, pointing her finger at him. "While I was in bed, I started to have second thoughts about letting you spend the night. Then when the power went out, I imagined a scene from
Psycho."
She smiled inwardly at the disgruntled look on Clay's face. "If you'd been honest with me from the beginning, I wouldn't have used the stun gun on you and—"

"Forget it," he cut in. "I'm glad you have some form of self-defense, but keep in mind it can be turned on you. You still need my help. You've gotten too many threatening messages today."

Marisol stared at him with challenge in her eyes. "Explain how you happen to be renting a condo in this exclusive complex if you're not the security manager. I'm not the only one who told a few white lies, Detective."

"The police department arranged it." Clay leaned forward on the couch and met her gaze with an earnest look. "I'll spend the rest of the night here guarding you. Tomorrow, I'll investigate where the dog collar and satin handcuffs were purchased and who sent them to you."

"What if the power goes out again? Do you think there might be a connection to whoever is following me?"

"Could be. But from the looks of it, the whole building was out of power, not just your apartment."

"Let's hope it doesn't happen again."

"Don't worry, I have excellent night vision."

"Is there anything you don't do well?" she asked flippantly.

"Yes. I seem to have a hard time convincing a little girl to follow my advice," he replied with a bemused shake of his head.

She saw red at his macho comment and wanted to clobber him. "Don't
ever
call me a little girl," she warned hotly. "I might be small in size, but I'm twenty-nine and a grown woman."

Clay raised his brows at her vehemence. "Calm down. I didn't mean to offend you. I won't call you little again, but you've got to start listening to me."

Marisol got up from the couch and walked away. "I'm going back to bed. I didn't sleep well last night and I'm exhausted. Tomorrow I'm waking up at six to go to the gym before I open the salon."

"I'll go with you to the gym," he said to her retreating back. "You can make sure to let your friends know you're involved with me now."

Marisol whirled around to stare at him. "Involved with you? Aren't you overstepping your role as bodyguard?"

"The sooner the word spreads that you have a boyfriend, the safer it will be for you until I stop the stalker. Like it or not, you're stuck with me, sunshine." Clay's implacable gaze challenged Marisol to object.

She heaved a frustrated sigh and started to walk away again "Okay... for now," she said over her shoulder.

"Hold it, not so fast," he said.

"Now what?" she asked, turning to face him.

"There's another problem we have to work on."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Somehow I dread asking what that is."

"You're too trusting," he stated bluntly. "You should have checked me out further before letting me spend the night here."

"Geez, what do you want from me? " she asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "First you bend over backwards to convince me I can trust you and now you're disapproving that I did?"

Clay met her sarcasm with a no-nonsense glint in his eyes. "I'm telling you to be more cautious and don't take anything at face value. Everyone is a suspect until I rule him out."

"Don't expect me to change my lifestyle just for your investigation," she warned. "I cherish my freedom and won't let anyone curtail it."

"We'll talk about it tomorrow," he replied.

Even though he did it to protect her, Clay's commanding attitude was hard to swallow, but Marisol was sleepy and arguing with him held little appeal. She decided the only way to deal with him was to disarm him, so she got up on her tiptoes and kissed his lean cheek. "Thanks for wanting to protect me. You're sweet." From his sharp look, it was obvious he wasn't used to being called sweet.

Clay cleared his throat. "I'm just doing my job."

Marisol smiled at his gruff tone and said, "You do it well."

Clay got up and followed her into the bedroom. "Wait a minute. I need to check things out."

She waited as he examined the sliding-glass door. He nodded in approval when he found it was securely bolted with a plank of plywood wedged in the tracks to prevent it from being moved.

"Are you satisfied I take the necessary precautions?" Marisol asked.

"Yeah. Good night." Clay strode to the living room and reclined on his makeshift bed, his rangy build taking up the whole couch.

"Night."

Marisol regarded him for a moment, and then closed the door and locked it. She took off her robe and climbed into bed, replaying in her mind the kiss she'd placed on his cheek. She could still feel the soft stubble of his jaw on her lips and smell his male scent. She shivered as tiny sparks of excitement electrify her body.

Detective Clay Blackthorne was the most formidable male she'd ever met. She had dated many men since moving to Miami, but nobody like Clay. He was Alpha male tough, yet protective and gentle in his manner toward her. His personality was so intense, so compelling, she found herself wanting to make him lighten up for a glimpse of those killer dimples. Just hearing him call her sunshine in his deep, smoky voice made her knees wobble.

Why wasn't he married? Was he commitment-phobic like her brother? That wasn't a fair assumption, she told herself, realizing she knew nothing of his personal life. Clay could be divorced, or maybe he had a girlfriend he hadn't mentioned. She'd done most of the talking tonight about her childhood, her relationship with Marcos, and her split from her ex, but Clay hadn't contributed anything about himself.

She'd get some answers tomorrow, she decided as she switched off the lamp and flopped over onto her stomach, snuggling her face on her goose-down pillow.

The moment she closed her eyes, Clay appeared and his dark, strong features robbed her of any desire to sleep. She'd rather spend the rest of the night fantasizing about her hot new bodyguard than dozing off.

* * *

By six-fifteen the next morning, Marisol was dressed and ready for her workout. After brushing her teeth, she glanced in the mirror and groaned. Without makeup, she looked about fifteen years old. She fluffed out her layers, and then quickly applied black mascara on her light brown lashes and put on coral blush and lip gloss.

When she walked out of her bedroom, she caught a glimpse of Clay on her lanai. Barefoot, and dressed only in black jeans, he exuded fluid strength in every well-honed muscle of his taut body. Marisol stared at him, transfixed by the play of corded muscles in his broad back as he went through several Tai Chi exercises. He was pure masculine grace. Lean, bronzed and skilled, his lithe physique was stunning to behold.

Rooted to the spot, she watched from afar as Clay turned to the right, pivoted on his right heel and moved his left hand down in front of his stomach, palm upward. He shifted his body to the left and turned at the waist, simultaneously moving his left hand diagonally across his torso to his left shoulder. At that moment he looked up and caught Marisol watching him.

For several seconds she stared, enthralled by everything about him. Clay reached for his black polo shirt and pulled it over his head, disappointing Marisol that she'd only caught a glimpse of his beautifully sculpted chest and washboard abs. She should have moved faster to get a better look close up.

"That was awesome. You didn't have to stop because of me," she said when he joined her in the living room.

"I didn't. It was the last exercise I do after my meditation." He glanced at her gym attire. "Give me ten minutes to run to my apartment and change into gym clothes so we can leave."

"What about breakfast?"

"I'll grab some orange juice at home."

* * *

Clay breathed a sigh of relief when he reached his apartment.
Close call.
If Marisol had seen him up close she would have noticed the winding serpent etched on his left shoulder and made the connection between him and Marcos. They had identical tattoos, resulting from a night of too much booze and two playful girls. Fifteen years earlier, the girls had taken Clay and Marcos, two drunken college students, to a tattoo parlor and cajoled them into getting the serpent tattoos. Clay had since settled down from his wild days, and so had Marcos, but the serpent was there to remind him of his youth.

Once he changed into gym clothes and packed a change of clothes for work, Clay returned to Marisol's apartment.

"Are you going to shower and change at the gym?" Clay asked.

Marisol wondered where this was leading. "I wasn't planning to. Normally I come home first."

"Pack what you need so we can leave for your salon together."

"You sure are bossy in the morning." Marisol narrowed her eyes at him. "You can't possibly be planning to play nanny to me at the salon."

Clay groaned. "Do I look like Mary Poppins to you?"

Marisol grinned at the image. "So you're only going to escort me to work?"

"That's right. Let's go."

Clay's gaze automatically gravitated to Marisol's sultry stride as she walked ahead of him in the gym's parking lot wearing snug leggings showcased her cute ass too well.

He clenched his jaw to stop the immediate rush of hot desire pooling in his loins. "Marisol, I've been meaning to talk to you about your walk."

She turned to him with a puzzled lift of her brows. "Why?"

"It's too provocative."

Her narrowed eyes demanded an explanation. "What are you talking about, Blackthorne?"

"This," Clay said, mimicking her walk. Hips swaying, he walked in a swish-swish rhythm as he tossed his head and lifted his chin, imitating her walk.

Marisol burst out laughing. "You missed your calling, Detective. With those lean hips and long legs, you should be on the catwalk in Milan doing runway modeling."

Clay frowned. "This isn't a joke. Your walk draws the type of attention you can't afford right now."

Marisol scoffed. "I've never heard that complaint from anyone else."

"Trust me, it's true."

"Too bad you feel that way, because my walk is natural, not something I work at and can change on a whim." Marisol's amber eyes flashed defiantly. "I didn't move away from my bossy brother to have another guy dictate to me. I'm insulted that you think I walk like this to attract attention."