Wild for You

by Sophia Knightly

  "You're a tyrant even when you're cooking," she quipped.

  "Two cooks are faster than one. You must be hungry like me, so get to work," Clay ordered in a mock stern tone as he took hold of her waist and turned her toward the counter.

  She was hungry all right—for him. Marisol grabbed a kitchen towel and placed it around his waist, tucking the edges into the waistband of his low slung jeans. She fought the urge to wrap her arms around taut waist and lean her cheek against his back. Instead, she had to content herself with breathing deeply of his delicious male scent and that alone delighted her senses.

  Clay turned and kissed the top of her head. "Thanks," he said as his keen gaze locked with hers briefly.

  A jolt of pleasure tickled her spine as she stood beside him. "You're welcome," she replied huskily, disappointed when he returned to cooking. "I'll make some brown rice to go with it."

  She poured water, rice, and salt into her rice cooker, and tried to concentrate on slicing the mushrooms and other vegetables, but Clay's strong, brown hands commanded her attention as they peeled the shrimp. They'd felt firm and supple over her dress as he'd stroked her during his hot and hungry kiss—what would they feel like on her bare skin? A lusty shiver of anticipation made heat rise to her face.

  "What are you looking at?" he asked, interrupting her hot fantasy.

  "Your hands. When did you learn Tai Chi?" she asked, striving for a nonchalant tone.

  "Shortly after I turned ten."

  "It's an unusual martial art form for a little kid to be interested in," she said, remembering how gracefully he'd performed the exercises.

  "After Dad died, my mom remarried and we moved to a small town in North Florida. Mom enrolled me in Tai Chi because even though I was a skinny runt, I usually ended up in a fist fight when provoked. Unfortunately, that was often."

  "Why?" she asked, puzzled. From what she'd observed about Clay, he was controlled and disciplined—almost too much.

  "A group of kids used to make fun of my baby brother because he's mentally handicapped. It would really burn me up, so I used my fists a lot. My mom hoped the martial arts would teach me better discipline and self-control."

  "Did it?"

  His eyes turned brittle. "You bet. I won't tolerate anyone treating my brother, Jimmy, with anything less than respect. He's my one soft spot." A flash of raw pain briefly shadowed his face before his eyes turned tough and devoid of emotion.

  Marisol would have liked to ask more, but Clay's shuttered expression stopped her cold. There was no sense in asking questions about Jimmy when Clay looked like he already regretted divulging his one weakness.

  "The shrimp are ready now. Stand aside." Clay dumped the shrimp into the sizzling peanut oil and seasoned them while he stir-fried. When they turned pink, he emptied them into a bowl and stir-fried the vegetables. He tasted a snow pea and looked satisfied. "Perfect." Returning the shrimp to the frying pan, he added dry sherry and a delectable aroma rose from the pan. "Here have a taste." Clay speared a juicy shrimp and blew on it before he fed it to her. "Careful, it's hot."

  She moaned in appreciation. "Mmm, delicious." Like you. "Can't wait to eat."

  Marisol set the table and together they polished off Clay's meal. Satiated and delighted by his cooking skills, she patted her lips with a napkin. "That was the best shrimp I've ever eaten. Where did you learn to cook like that?"

  "From a Japanese girl I dated a long time ago. I used to love watching her prepare terrific meals for me."

  He sounded like he was used to having women cater to him. Why had he mentioned the Japanese girl? Was he still pining for her?

  "Want some mint chocolate-chip ice cream for dessert?"

  "Sure and a cup of coffee, if you don't mind too much."

  "Why would I mind?" she asked, perplexed.

  "The last time we ate together you did."

  "Oh that. I didn't appreciate your comment about only being attracted to tall brunettes with long hair," she said, making a face.

  His face softened. "I only said it so you would think I wasn't attracted to you and then you'd feel safe."

  "Is that really why?" Marisol asked, not taking her eyes from his.

  He leaned forward and lazily stroked the tiny cleft in her chin with his thumb. "I think you're adorable."

  Clay's molten eyes darkened with passion and her body flooded with desire. "You do?" she asked breathlessly.

  "Absolutely," he murmured. He pulled her on his lap and stroked the sensitive skin at her nape as he deposited kisses on her neck, leaving tiny goose bumps in their trail. He held her face and kissed her deeply and Marisol snuggled against him, acutely aware of her round bottom and soft thighs resting on his steely thighs.

  "Do you still want dessert?" she whispered, trying to catch her breath between kisses.

  "Dessert can wait."

  "Why did you end the kiss in the hall?" she blurted out, getting up and moving from his reach.

  Clay followed her into the kitchen. "You shatter my self-control. I had to get up or we would have ended up having sex right there on the floor."

  Marisol's face heated at the image he described and she was sure her cheeks were flushed tomato red. She lowered her eyes from the heat in his searing gaze.

  Clay's lean fingers gently cupped her jaw and tipped her face up. "We're treading on dangerous ground."

  "Because the stalker threatened your life, too?"

  Clay let out a caustic snort of laughter and pulled her in his arms. "No, of course not. You're the only one I'm concerned about." He rested his chin on the top of her head and said, "I won't let anyone harm you, Marisol. I'll protect you with my life if necessary."

  "Thank you," she said, deeply touched by the enormity of his words. The phone rang causing her to pull away from the warmth of his strong arms.

  "Let me get it," Clay said, answering the phone. Seconds later, he handed it to Marisol. "He says he's your brother."

  Frustrated by the interruption, she held the receiver to her ear. "Hey, Marcos. Why are you calling?"

  "Who answered the phone?" Marcos asked, nosy as usual.

  "My new bodyguard," she said, waiting for his explosive reaction.

  "Bodyguard! What happened?"

  "I reported the weirdo to the police and there's a detective already working on the case. You can stop worrying about me and get on with your life."

  "Has anything else happened? If you're keeping something from me, I'll never trust you again."

  "Don't be an idiot! When I contacted the police, I found out that other women in this building were having the same problem. A detective was already assigned to it undercover." It didn't matter that she'd changed the details, Marcos would never know.

  "Really? What's his name?"

  "It's nobody you know," she replied quickly.

  "Okay," Marcos said with resignation. "I'm glad you're well-protected. Take care of yourself and think before you act."

  "I always do," she said, ignoring his cynical snort. "You can get back to your patients now. They need your orders more than I do."

  "Keep me posted."

  "I will. Bye." Marisol hung up and turned to Clay. "I knew he'd check up on me. Maybe now he'll relax and back off."

  "Why did you downplay the danger?"

  "Because if Marcos even suspects things have gotten worse, he'll come here in a heartbeat and try to take over."

  The phone call seemed to trigger a change in Clay's mood again, Marisol noticed as he retreated to the living room. "Why don't you relax on the couch while I change?"

  Shortly afterward, Marisol returned to the living room wearing an orange tank top, tucked into a pair of fitted khaki cargo shorts. She sat next to Clay, who was examining the note she'd received that evening with the flowers.

  "Where do we go from here?" she asked.

  "I'll take this note in and have the police lab assess it along with the other ones. I need the list of your mail clients to cross-reference it with the list of me
mbers I got from the gym."

  Marisol reached for her purse on the coffee table. She retrieved the list and handed it to Clay. "Here."

  "Have you fired anyone this year who might have been coming on to you?" he asked, studying the list.

  "No. There was only one stylist I had to let go because he was unreliable. Anyway, it couldn't be him because he's gay."

  "What's his name?"

  "Nicholas Ferrer."

  "Did you call a locksmith today?"

  Marisol grimaced and snapped her fingers. "Oops, I forgot. It was such a hectic day, the only thing that kept me going was thinking about the dinner you promised to cook for me."

  "I'll have double bolt locks installed on your front door and extra locks on your balcony sliding glass doors. I'm spending the night on your sofa until those locks are installed."

  "That's fine with me." She was glad Clay wasn't going anywhere. "I'll feel safer if you're here tonight." She kicked off her sandals and curled her legs under her on the sofa.

  Clay picked up the remote control from the coffee table and flicked on the TV. "Let's watch the news."

  When he noticed Marisol begin to nod off, Clay stretched out on the sofa and tucked her into his side and stroked her silky, tousled hair. Lying beside him, Marisol felt tiny, almost fragile, and Clay felt an overwhelming need to keep her safe from harm.

  She was his to protect.

  He shut off the TV and settled more comfortably with Marisol's delectable body snuggled against him. Looking down at her soft hand on his chest, he closed his eyes and smiled ruefully. Marisol was very tempting, but Marcos' phone call had reminded him that he was relying on Clay to protect his sister, not seduce her. He didn't want to ruin his friendship with Marcos by taking advantage of his sister.

  Clay needed to remain aloof, but everything about Marisol invaded his senses—her satiny skin invited stroking, her impish grin made him want to kiss her senseless and her fragrant scent made him want to peel her clothes off and make love to her. He dozed off in spite of the havoc she played on his self-control.

  * * *

  Marisol was the first to stir. Her mouth felt parched and her lids heavy as she strove to crawl through the honeycombs of indolent sleep. She attempted to stretch only to find she was solidly pressed against something hard. Looking down, she saw a large, brown hand splayed over her hip. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten into that position, but intense pleasure coursed through her when she realized it was Clay who held her. Glancing up, she caught him watching her with heavy-lidded eyes.

  Marisol rubbed her eyes. Was she awake or still dreaming? If this is a dream, please let it continue. Clay's warm touch convinced her that she wasn't dreaming. She had fallen asleep in his arms after only knowing him two days. When she checked to see if her clothes were intact, she felt Clay's chest rumble. She pushed back from him to see his face clearly and saw he was chuckling.

  "What's so funny?" she asked.

  "You." He nudged the top of her head with his chin. "You look like a kitten with its fur rubbed the wrong way."

  "And you look like a jungle cat ready to pounce," she countered. "What time is it?"

  Clay glanced at his watch. "Five o'clock."

  "No wonder I'm still sleepy," she said, yawning. She stood up and stretched. "I'm going to bed. Do you want a pillow and some sheets?"

  "No. I'm going out to the lanai to meditate."

  She made a face to show what she thought of his plans. "At five in the morning?"

  "I've slept enough. I feel refreshed now." Clay rubbed Marisol's shoulders. "You go on to bed. I'll wake you up at six."

  "Thanks." Marisol slipped off her sandals and lay down on top of her comforter, instantly falling asleep.

  She was lying on her side with her face resting on her hand, when Clay entered her room and patted her shoulder. "Wake up, sunshine. It's six o'clock."

  "Already?" She rolled over and dug her face in the pillow.

  He tickled her foot and she kicked at him. "Wake up. I've never seen anyone sleep so deeply." He tapped her bottom. "Hey, let's have some breakfast, sleepyhead."

  "Hey—" she started to protest, but the words died in her mouth when she turned over and saw how appetizing Clay looked, his thick black hair slightly disheveled and still damp from his shower. He was freshly shaven and had changed into faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt. Captivated, she watched his hard mouth quirk up at the corners and the sexy grooves beside it deepen. He was giving her a rare smile that reached his midnight eyes. She'd take that and double doses of kisses for breakfast, she thought, grinning back at him.

  She couldn't exactly wrap her arms around his neck and pull him in, so she bounded out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. "I'll be out in a few minutes to fix us some breakfast."

  She showered, shampooed her hair and dried off quickly before putting on black skinny jeans and a salmon-pink blouse that nipped in at the waist. Her wet hair wrapped in a towel, she padded to the kitchen on bare feet and found Clay sitting at her kitchen counter watching CNN news on her portable TV.

  She liked seeing him in her kitchen. Just thinking about how she'd dozed off last night snuggled against him made her weak in the knees. Gazing at him now, she gave silent thanks for having such a hot bodyguard and deposited a kiss on his jaw.

  "Good morning, hot stuff," she teased. "Mmm, you smell great. Like you've been walking in a green forest after the rain."

  "How poetic, sunshine. You smell pretty good yourself. Like a fresh-squeezed lemon," he said.

  "It's my special brand of shampoo. It's all—"

  "I know, I know," he interrupted. "It's all-natural."

  "Scoff all you want, but your hair looked amazing after the conditioner I put in."

  "Don't remind me of that mess, it'll ruin my appetite."

  "What do you want for breakfast? Avocado and eggs?"

  "Come here, smart aleck," he said, grabbing her hand.

  "Breakfast first." She danced away from his grip. "Does cafe con leche with scrambled eggs and toast sound good?"

  "Perfect."

  "I'll get the paper first." She opened the front door and picked up the newspaper and a card fell out of the plastic bag. She read the note out loud as she returned to the table.

  WHORE, stop shacking up with that bastard. When we're married, I'll enjoy punishing you for it.

  "Oh, God," she groaned. "Another note and it's awful."

  Clay's jaw clenched, but his tone was measured when he spoke after a pensive pause. "I have a temporary solution we can use while I root him out. I'll tell you about it after breakfast."

  Marisol was curious to hear more, but she got busy brewing espresso and steaming skim milk for the cafe con leche. She halved several cold oranges and used her juicer to produce a frothy pitcher of orange juice and then made scrambled eggs and buttered toast with apricot jam. When she placed everything in front of Clay, she realized breakfast had somewhat calmed her.

  "Great orange juice," Clay said, downing the contents of his glass before digging into the eggs.

  Marisol waited until he finished his last bite of toast before saying, "It doesn't seem like this guy's going to give up easily."

  "He's not," Clay said bluntly.

  "I hate having to constantly watch over my shoulder."

  "Right now you have no other choice."

  Marisol grimaced. "I had been managing well on my own—until now." Things were way different a month ago when she was carefree and trusted most people. "Who knows? Maybe he's just a lot of hot air and gets his kicks from tormenting girls anonymously. I can't let some guy turn me into a frightened ninny," she said, with more bravado than she felt.

  Clay pinned her with a hard look. "Don't underestimate him. I can't begin to tell you the despicable things stalkers have done to innocent women. Rape, even murder. Stay one step ahead and street smart, and I'll take care of protecting you."

  "Clay, I appreciate it, but we can't be together 24/7!"

  "Pre
tty damn close," he muttered.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I've decided on a plan where I can watch you around the clock and keep you safe until I find the stalker."

  "What is it?" Marisol's coffee cup stopped in midair as she waited to hear Clay's answer.

  "It's the best course of action, but before I give you details, I want your promise that you'll go along with it."

  "How can I possibly promise until I know what you're planning?" Marisol asked, wanting to clobber him for being obtuse. Just because he was a detective didn't mean she should blindly go along with whatever plan he'd concocted.

  Clay regarded her with that no-nonsense look she recognized too well. "Here it is in a nutshell: This guy is obsessed with marrying you, so we'll beat him to it. We're getting married today."

  Marisol's coffee cup slipped from her hand and clattered to the table, splashing coffee everywhere. She clutched a handful of napkins and wiped the spilled coffee from the counter, knocking over Clay's mug and sloshing hot coffee onto his lap.

  "Hey!" he yelled, pushing back from the counter.

  "Oh, I'm sorry!" she cried, blotting the tops of his thighs. Groaning, Clay seized her hand before she reached further up.

  "Leave it. It'll dry," he uttered in a strangled voice.

  She eyed his crotch for damage. "Did I burn you?"

  "No, it wasn't that hot. Relax, sunshine, I'm okay."

  "I can't relax! Especially after your little joke about getting married."

  "It was no joke. I meant it."

  The corners of Clay's mouth lifted into a half smile and Marisol's attention shifted to his eyes. They were dead serious. She slumped forward, feeling as if the air had been knocked out of her lungs. Drawing a deep breath, she asked, "Do you always propose to the women you protect?"

  "You're the first," he replied. "I have to jump the gun on this guy. He's determined to marry you. If we're married before he can get to you, it will either discourage him when he finds out I'm a detective, or it will make him come forward and I'll be right there waiting for him."

  She wrung her hands. "Why can't we just live together? I'll tell everyone you're my boyfriend and my bodyguard."