Wild for You Page 3

  "Where do you live?" she asked.

  "In this building, actually."

  He lived in her building? Why hadn't she noticed him before?

  "My apartment is one of the perks of the job. I live on the ninth floor and the view is amazing," he said, gesturing toward the balcony overlooking a pristine lake surrounded by massive banyan trees and royal palms.

  "I love living here. My brother and I own this apartment and another one in the building."

  "You must be close. Do you see him often?"

  "No, Marcos lives in Naples now."

  Clay gave her a quizzical look. "So which brother lives in Miami?"

  "I only have one brother." Marisol's face heated with embarrassment when he cocked a thick eyebrow and waited for an explanation. "Oops, I told you a little white lie when I said I had a brother who lived here."

  "You seem to have a penchant for telling little white lies, sunshine," he said, his cool black eyes assessing her.

  "I usually tell the truth. No really, I do," she insisted when she saw his doubtful expression. "I only tell white lies when I absolutely have to. Don't look at me that way, Blackthorne. I knew next to nothing about you. A girl can't be too careful," she said, serving them another slice of pizza.

  "Damn right," he said forcefully. "But now that you know I'm not the bad guy, you can start telling the truth."

  She made a wry face. "Eh, now you sound like Marcos and I don't mean it as a compliment."

  "Thanks."

  "Don't get me wrong," she said, smiling at his gruff tone as she refilled their wineglasses. "I love my brother, but he still bosses me around even though I'm twenty-nine. When I was studying at the University of Miami, he was doing his residency there. Abuelita Coqui told him to keep an eye on me and he took his job too seriously."

  "Must have been a dream job for him," Clay said with a snort.

  Marisol chuckled. "He used to grumble about my constant partying at night, but he had no idea I was really going to beauty school. I kept it a secret."

  He gave her a curious look. "Why?"

  "He wouldn't have approved of me opening a salon in Miami and living here all alone. After I got my BA in business and a beautician's license on the side, I had already inherited part of my grandfather's trust fund, so I started my business."

  "Just like that? You make it sound easy."

  "It wasn't. First I went back to Buenos Aires and got an apprenticeship at a top beauty salon working on models and telenovela actors. That's where I met Gabe."

  "Who's Gabe?" He put his wine glass on the table and regarded her with expectant eyes.

  "My ex-fiancé who is an actor. When Marcos found out we were engaged, he had Gabe investigated. Abuelita was in on everything, I'm sure of it. Even my mom got in on the act." In more ways than one, she thought with distaste. "Anyway, I didn't believe the negative report my brother showed me, so I kept dating Gabe until I realized Marcos was right about him."

  "Good thing you didn't marry him," Clay said, digging into the salad with a shake of his head.

  "Amen to that. I found out he was a real snake. But when I joined Marcos to live in Naples, I realized I had to move. Even though he's a busy obstetrician, his need to watch over me is a real pain in my patootie."

  Clay responded with a short laugh. "That bad?"

  "Yeah, that bad." She rolled her eyes. "I love my brother, but Marcos thinks all guys are players like he is."

  "If I had a little sister as cute as you, I'd probably be worse than your brother," he said and looked like he meant it.

  "You're not gaining any points by admitting it," she said, discouraging his chauvinism. "Argentine men can be possessive of the women in their lives, especially their sisters. I wish he would find a woman to monopolize his attention and give me a break."

  The phone rang, interrupting their conversation. Marisol answered and listened for a few moments, then slammed down the receiver and dashed to the door.

  Clay was beside her in a flash. "What is it?"

  She opened the door and pointed to a small, wrapped parcel lying on the floor. "Look."

  Clay bolted down the hall toward the elevator, scanned both sides of the hallway and then returned looking annoyed.

  "Whoever dropped this off is long gone. Next time let me check the door first," he said curtly. He carried the package to the table with Marisol in tow. "I'll call and alert Alan to check for an intruder. In the meantime, open the package."

  Marisol stood beside Clay as he made the call and when he hung up, she said, "I don't want to."

  Clay handed her the package. "Aren't you curious about what's inside?"

  She gingerly held it as if there was a bomb inside. "I guess... but if I open it now, it'll ruin our evening."

  "Then I'll do it," he said decisively, reaching for the package.

  "No, let me." Marisol held on to it, not wanting to appear like a scared ninny. "I'm not going to wimp out now," she said with more guts than she felt as she tore open the package and looked inside, gasping when she parted the black tissue paper and found red satin-covered handcuffs and a dog collar inside.

  She gulped and looked into Clay's keen eyes with despair. "Now's he's getting kinky." An eerie sensation crawled over her skin when she saw the card nestled inside the box.

  "Let me read it," Clay said, reaching for the card. "You look too spooked."

  Marisol squared her shoulders and put some starch in her spine. "No, I will," she said bravely, but her blood ran cold as she read the menacing message out loud:

  I'm going to strip you naked and put the cuffs and doggy collar on you. You. Are. MINE.

  Marisol dropped the note as if it were in flames.

  Chapter 2

  "Where are the other notes?" Clay asked.

  "I don't have them." Marisol walked to the table and sat stiffly, trying to get a grip. She took a large sip of wine to steady her ragged nerves. "I threw them out."

  "I wish you hadn't," he said, joining her at the table. "Did they have kinky messages or sexual overtones like this one?"

  "No. That's what baffles me. It's almost as if he has a split personality."

  "What do you mean?" Clay's brows snapped together over suspicious black eyes as he waited for her explanation.

  "At first he was acting friendly and flirty, but now his messages are getting nastier and he seems obsessed with owning me. He's convinced he's going to marry me. Isn't that odd?"

  "I've heard odder things," he said grimly, not taking his eyes from her.

  "He doesn't sound the same each time he calls either. Sometimes he just grunts and makes animal sounds or breathes heavily." Marisol shuddered and hugged herself. "Today was the first time I ever got anything besides flowers."

  "Could it be an ex-boyfriend?"

  "I doubt it. Even though I was the one to break it off, Gabe wouldn't hide behind notes and gifts. He might be arrogant, but he's not creepy."

  "Have you had other boyfriends since?"

  Marisol considered Clay's direct questions and wondered if he was interested in knowing for the case or for his personal gain. There was no denying the chemistry between them. She tilted her head and peeked at him from the corner of her eyes. "Do I have to answer that? I mean, must you know everything about my love life?"

  Clay's mouth tightened. "Don't play coy. I'm trying to help you solve this."

  "I know you are." Marisol shrugged—so much for his personal interest. "After Gabe, I haven't been interested in anybody beyond casual dating. Satisfied now?"

  Damn right he was. Clay hoped his poker face hid the immense satisfaction he felt. Marisol affected him like a ray of sunshine, vital, warm, and invigorating and he liked knowing she wasn't interested in anyone.

  "Have you told your brother about this?"

  She gave him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding me? If I told Marcos that the police had dismissed my complaints, he'd be here now. He's been hounding me to hire a private eye ever since I mentioned the anony
mous messages."

  Clay drummed his fingers on the table and gave her a pointed look. "You should listen to good common sense."

  Marisol's chin jutted out belligerently. "I don't want him interfering in my life. I'm perfectly capable of handling things on my own," she snapped. She looked away, took a deep breath, and softened her tone when she said, "Maybe whoever's taunting me will get bored and find another way to get his kicks."

  "I doubt it. Sometimes a stalker becomes so obsessed with his victim, he'll do anything to be with her." Clay's jaw clamped down as he repeated, "Anything."

  "I'm not going to let him turn me into a scaredy cat or he'll use it to his advantage." Marisol's fiery amber eyes boldly met his as she straightened her shoulders. "Do you know anyone I can hire to investigate this?"

  "You're looking at him," he stated unequivocally.

  "You?" she asked, surprised.

  Entranced, Marisol watched the corners of Clay's mouth lift into one of his rare, dimpled smiles. He didn't smile often, but when he did, boy it hit her like a double whammy.

  "Yes, me," he affirmed, his expression confident. "I studied criminal law."

  "Cute dimples. Too bad you don't smile more often," she observed lightly.

  Clay's lips flattened into an implacable line. "Don't change the subject."

  "You and Marcos should meet. You have a few negative traits in common, like bossiness."

  Her phone rang, startling Marisol and she turned to Clay with frightened, questioning eyes. "Should I answer?"

  "Let the answering machine take it," he said.

  Marisol swallowed hard as they listened to the muffled, guttural message:

  "Did you like my presents? I'm getting hard just thinking of you squirming and begging."

  Marisol clasped her shaking fingers on the table until her knuckles turned white.

  Eyeing her hands, Clay refilled her wine glass. "Here, have some to calm your nerves," he said, dialing Alan again. When he finished questioning him, he hung up and turned to Marisol. "Alan hasn't admitted any visitors who weren't invited into the building since his shift started. And he didn't notice anyone strange leaving the building since I called him earlier. Your stalker might live in this building. Did you ever consider that?"

  "Yes. The thought has crossed my mind," she admitted, quaking at the thought.

  Clay's big hand covered her tightly clasped ones as he said soothingly, "I'm going to stay and protect you tonight."

  Marisol gawked at him. "Do you honestly think I'd let you spend the night here?"

  Clay patted her cold hands before removing his warm touch. "You'd be wise to accept."

  "You're crazy. You know that?" she said, not wanting to admit she sure could use a bodyguard.

  "Sunshine, you're crazy if you think I'm leaving you at the mercy of some pervert tonight. Lock your bedroom door and I'll sleep on the sofa."

  She wished she could agree, but this was one time she wouldn't be rash about things. "I wouldn't consider letting a stranger sleep in my living room unless it was a matter of life and death."

  "It could be a matter of life and death. You don't want to know how many stalkers hunt their victims down. Some end up murdered," he said grimly.

  Murdered? A chill ran up her spine, making her wish he hadn't said that. "I still don't know enough about you," she said, looking away so he wouldn't see how his strong, solid presence was unraveling her objections.

  Clay noticed Marisol looked like she wanted to accept, but she didn't trust him enough. They'd just met and she was probably hesitating because of the undeniable pull going on between them. He decided to take another tactic to ease her mind and get her to agree more readily.

  "I'm not a stranger. I'm only interested in your safety. You don't have to worry about me trying to seduce you. I prefer tall brunettes with long hair," he said, feeling like a callous ass when he said it.

  That seemed to knock the air out of her sails. Marisol glowered at him. "Frankly, I don't care what you prefer or if you even find me attractive." She turned and she stiffly carried the dishes to the kitchen sink.

  "Hey, don't get upset. I didn't say you're unattractive, just not my type," he said, regretting every word. Marisol was so damn appealing, he had to look away or she'd realize he was lying. "Let me protect you tonight. It's my job and you need a bodyguard."

  She gave him a scornful look. "Bodyguard? You don't even have a weapon," she said, putting the left-over pizza in a zip-lock bag.

  Clay's lips lifted into a humorless smile. "Trust me, I don't need one."

  Marisol's fiery eyes squinted with suspicion. "Maybe I should be afraid of you!"

  Clay scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Tomorrow you should get a double bolt locks installed on your doors."

  Her pretty face took on a mulish look and Clay remembered Marcos telling him his kid sister had a stubborn streak. "You don't have to worry about my safety. I'll tough it out tonight until I get the double bolt locks installed. And another thing," Marisol said, lifting her chin haughtily. "I've never cared for older, dark men myself. I prefer the blond surfer type."

  "You're foolish not to take me up on my offer," Clay said, helping her clear the rest of the table, toting the dishes to the sink, while she carried the wine glasses.

  "Maybe, especially since I'll be extra safe now that I know your preferences," she retorted.

  He chucked her underneath her thrust-out chin. "Hey, now. If I'd known you'd take my comment so personally, I wouldn't have said it."

  Marisol moved away from his touch. "Forget it. I guess I'm not used to your blunt style."

  "Aren't you going to make coffee?" he asked, trying to stall long enough to convince her.

  "Sorry, not tonight. You should leave now," she said, wiping the table in short jerky motions. When the phone rang, she dropped the cloth and stared at Clay, wide-eyed.

  "Don't answer," Clay said and they listened as the caller's message kicked in:

  "Bitch. I know you're not alone. Get rid of him. NOW."

  The blood drained from Marisol's face as she hit the disconnect button and blurted out, "I've changed my mind. You can stay and protect me tonight."

  "Good girl," Clay said, glad he'd won that battle. "Why don't you have caller ID?"

  She gave him a look that said, "duh, what do you take me for, a fool?" as she put her fists on her hips. "I do have caller ID, but somehow he blocks it." Without elaborating, she went to her bedroom and returned with a set of sheets and two pillows and handed them to Clay.

  "Good night. If I don't go to bed, I'll be worthless tomorrow." Nose in the air, Marisol picked up her discarded high-heeled sandals and retreated into her bedroom, firmly shutting and locking the door behind her.

  Clay shook his head as he watched her strut away, her cute ass beckoning a second look. Alone in the living room, he threw the sheets and pillow on the sofa and sprawled on them. He lay back with his arms folded behind his neck and stared at the ceiling. It was only ten o'clock and he was restless.

  Clay heard Marisol in the next room as she got ready for bed. The shower turned on for ten minutes, followed by the whirring sound of a hair dryer. Then silence. He wondered how she looked scrubbed clean of makeup and what she was wearing—a silk nightie or a T-shirt and panties?

  A vision of her small pink tongue darting out to lick a spot of tomato sauce from her lower lip invaded his peace. He'd like to kiss her lush mouth until it was rosy and puffy and he got a good taste of her.

  He punched the pillow. Damn it, he was getting hard just thinking about her. Marisol was too distracting and too desirable, a risky combination since she was also Marcos' kid sister and off-limits.

  Clay hadn't been able to reach Marcos earlier and now it would be impossible to call him. Tomorrow would be soon enough to report his progress. He heard the sound of a TV playing behind Marisol's closed door and glanced at the TV set in front of him, but decided against turning it on. It was too early for the local news and he hated inane realit
y shows. He noticed a few fashion magazines and The Miami Herald in a large straw basket, but decided to forego reading.

  He'd had a long day and it felt great simply to lay back and relax. He tried to fight the drowsiness overcoming him, but he eventually dozed off.

  * * *

  Clay awoke with a start and checked his watch. Ten-twenty-nine, and Marisol's television was still on. Feeling thirsty, he headed to the refrigerator and remembered how Marisol had abruptly ended dinner after he'd insisted on staying the night. He had wanted a cup of coffee, but she had cleared the table in a snit after what he'd said about preferring tall brunettes. Truth was Marisol's short, tousled locks suited her sassy personality perfectly and the way it tapered at the back of her neck left her delicate nape temptingly bare. Smiling to himself, he poured himself a glass of iced tea and then went over and knocked on Marisol's door.

  "Hey, are you awake?"

  "What do you want," she called back sweetly.

  "Do you have any books or magazines I can read, other than the ones in the basket?"

  "You'll find more magazines inside the ottoman beside the sofa."

  "Thanks," he said, returning to the couch and lifting the ottoman's lid. Underneath the beauty and hairstyle magazines, he found an assortment of business magazines. Just as he reached for the Business Week, the lights went out and darkness engulfed the room.

  Clay adjusted his eyes to the sudden darkness. Ears cocked, he listened intently. No sound came from Marisol's room. Concentrating on the shapes in the living room, he crept to the sliding-glass doors leading to a small balcony and peered outside. The whole building appeared to be blacked out.

  Clay went back to Marisol's door and said, "Hey, you okay in there?"

  There was silence on the other side of the door. Maybe she was in the bathroom. He waited a minute and then knocked harder. When she didn't answer, he tried the handle, only to remember she had locked the door hours earlier.

  "Marisol, open the door," he said, knocking on it.

  He waited a few seconds and when she didn't answer, he banged on the door. "Marisol, answer me, damn it!"