Marisol thoughts turned to Clay who was so different from Gabe. Clay was exactly as his name implied, as solid as the earth. He was compelling and straightforward, and had innate integrity. She just wished he'd shed that tight control that covered him like a black mantle. Well, he had shed a bit of it, She smiled to herself, recalling how passionately he'd kissed her last night.
Clay's thoughtfulness in providing the penthouse suite and filling it with flowers and champagne had been so endearing. It worried her that she was falling head over heels for a man as skittish as an untamed stallion. Why couldn't he trust her and let his guard down?
Without TV or any entertainment, Marisol dozed off and woke up at five. She showered and changed into the same outfit she'd worn the previous night to the hotel.
Clay took a shower after her and when he was ready, she said, "I'm a little overdressed for Mack's. Let's stop at my apartment so I can change clothes."
"Okay. But hurry up. I'm hungry."
"Me, too," she said, silently adding, For you.
At her apartment, Marisol quickly changed into a pair of snug black capris, topped by a white French-cut T-shirt.
"Ready?" Clay asked.
"Almost," she said, sliding her feet into strappy high-heeled mules. She changed purses and ran her fingers through her short, tousled layers. "Hold on. I forgot to put on lip gloss."
Clay's dusky eyes leisurely appraised her with a look that melted her bones to warm wax. "Leave it. Your bare mouth is such a turn-on," he said, running his thumb across her bottom lip. He tasted her lips, first taking her full lower lip in his mouth and then following with her curved upper lip. He kissed the sides of her mouth, and then recaptured her lips. "You taste good without lipstick," he murmured between kisses.
She moaned when he released her and kissed the tip of her nose.
"We better get going," he said hoarsely, tearing his gaze away from her round breasts beneath the snug T-shirt as he straightened away from her. "We'll never leave if we get started. There's a purpose for going to Mack's tonight. If you're being followed, the stalker will see us together," he said, suddenly all business.
"Oh, all right," she agreed with a pout.
He grinned as he watched her curvy bottom sashay ahead of him in those tight little capris.
* * *
Mack's was packed as usual. They stood at the outdoor straw-covered bar where Marisol sipped a mojito and Clay drank a draft beer. Several people approached them and greeted her as she introduced them to her new husband. When their table was soon ready, a tanned waitress in a floral sarong seated them next to the ocean.
"I recommend the mahi-mahi," Marisol said, studying the menu. "They grill it right and serve it with fresh mango-lime chutney on the side."
Clay closed the menu. "Sounds good."
"I think I'll have the grilled salmon in the ginger and cilantro glaze. That way we can share." She looked around her. "This is the only restaurant I know dogs can wander in without being thrown out." Marisol followed Clay's surprised look to a frisky golden retriever that was getting off a docked sailboat with its owner.
When the golden reached their table, Clay said, "It looks like he's a regular here." He reached over to pet the dog. "One of these days I'll buy a house with a backyard large enough for two dogs."
"And a swimming pool?"
"Yeah, with a deck and a built-in barbecue big enough to grill thick, juicy steaks."
"Sounds perfect," Marisol said, smiling at his inviting description. Maybe there was hope after all...
When they finished dinner and were waiting for key lime pie and coffee, Clay got a text message from Jimmy to call him.
"It's too loud here, I'll be right back," he said, heading toward the inside of the restaurant.
Marisol was caught up in watching Clay as he talked to Jimmy. She didn't notice the big guy dressed all in black and wearing a ski mask until he was at his side and grabbed her. She screamed and struggled frenetically when he slung her over his shoulder and ran toward the dock.
Marisol screamed, "Clay! Help!" She kicked and pummeled the kidnapper's back, but he continued until he reached a waiting speedboat and jumped in. He dumped Marisol on the floor and maneuvered the boat from the dock.
Chapter 7
"Shit!" Clay roared, the minute he heard Marisol's scream for help. "I need to call you back, Jimmy. Don't worry," he said, dropping his voice to sound calmer so he wouldn't scare him.
Clay shoved the phone in his pants pocket and took off on a dead run toward the dock. His heart hammered savagely against his chest as he bolted toward Marisol, his only thought to rescue her.
Fierce rage scorched his gut when he saw the kidnapper's speedboat race into the black, moonless night. Clay jumped into the closest boat and tried to start it. When that didn't work, he leaped into a newer, Cigarette Warrior speedboat. He punched the electronic controls and the engine started. Pure adrenaline jolted through his body when he pushed up the throttle and floored the engine.
Clay's damp shirt stretched across his back, plastered against his straining muscles, and his pistol dug in his shin. Police work was precarious and unpredictable, but he had always handled it impassively. This was different—Marisol's safety was at stake, not his, and his concern for her had nothing to do with his promise to Marcos.
Clay felt like tearing the kidnapper apart with his bare hands when he remembered how roughly he'd thrown Marisol over his shoulder. Swearing under his breath, he breathed deeply and consciously reined in his fury before calling the precinct for a back-up. Excessive anger would only weaken his concentration and hamper his coordination.
Hot on their trail, Clay turned on the boat lights as his warrior instincts screamed for revenge.
* * *
The shrouded man pulled his mask off as he slowed and stopped the boat out at sea and far from other boats. He lifted Marisol from the floor and slid his hands all over her body. "Does it hurt anywhere?" Gabe asked with an insolent grin.
"Get your hands off me, you idiot!" Marisol cried, slapping at his hands.
"I was just checking for damage."
"Touch me again and I'll kick your nuts."
"Language, Marisol," Gabe chided, his teeth flashing white in the darkness.
"Shut up!" She backed away from him on the small boat. "Why did you kidnap me?"
"To rescue you from your boring date."
"Clay is my husband and he's not boring," she spat out.
"So, it's true? I can't believe you married that guy on the rebound."
"You jackass! I married Clay because I love him—more than I ever loved you. How did you know I'd be here? Did you follow me?"
Gabe laughed scornfully. "I didn't have to follow you. I went to Villabella this afternoon and overheard Trini telling the receptionist that you were having dinner at Mack's tonight."
"Trini has a big mouth," Marisol muttered, glaring at him.
"I like your mouth," he said.
Marisol pointed to her open mouth and made a gagging sound.
"Why so aggressive, corazon? Give me a kiss."
"I'd rather kiss rotting garbage. Why have you been torturing me with your sick, twisted pranks?"
He stared at her, dumbfounded. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't act innocent. I saw you leaving Villaggio last night."
"So I like Italian food. Shoot me," he said, chuckling as he mussed the top of her hair.
"Knock it off!" she said, her ire boiling over. "Explain why you were at the same restaurant last night."
Gabe shrugged. "I already told you, I like Italian food. I don't need to follow you for that."
"So you're the stalker," she surmised, her hands tightening into fists. "Why have you been terrorizing me with perverted games?"
"What stalker? What perverted games?" he asked, his expression a mixture of affront and bewilderment.
Watching his dramatic reaction, Marisol reminded herself that Gabe was a good actor. "Are you telling me
that you haven't been sending me flowers and weird gifts?"
"That would be impossible—I only arrived in Miami last week. I've been shooting a film in Cancun for the past two months."
She didn't believe him. "If you're not the stalker, then why did you kidnap me?"
"For kicks. What happened to your sense of adventure? You used to love that sort of thing," he said. "Your new husband must be a real drag."
"You're a drag, now take me back," she snapped, fed up.
"Not yet." Gabe's voice turned persuasive. "I still love you, Marisol." He gestured to the still black water surrounding them and said, "Here we can talk in private."
"You're insane."
"Not insane, mi amor, I'm in love. With you," Gabe said, sounding mortally wounded. The man was capable of summoning up excessive emotion with mercurial speed. She remembered he'd always been the king of hyperbole.
"Since when? Since you heard I run a thriving business? Don't you have enough money?" she challenged with a sarcastic snort. He was a leech and a spendthrift. No matter how much money Gabe made, he spent it as soon as he got it. "Take me back to the restaurant now!" she yelled over the sudden noise of another engine.
"Not until you listen to me," Gabe shouted back. "Admit you still love me." He looked over his shoulder at the noise and bright lights suddenly behind them. "It looks like your husband wants to play hero," Gabe said scornfully as he started the engine and accelerated.
"Clay is a police detective and he's armed. Stop or he'll shoot you. I'm not kidding."
Gabe's mouth fell open. "Why didn't you tell me that before? I don't want any trouble with the police," he said, reluctantly slowing the engine to a stop.
Clay swerved sharply to the right to avoid ramming headfirst into Gabe's boat. He slowed the engine and returned to Gabe's boat. With his pistol pointing directly at Gabe, he shouted, "Freeze, police!"
Gabe threw his hands up in surrender. "Hey man, don't shoot. It was just a prank. Tell him, Marisol."
"Arrest him, Clay!" Marisol said mercilessly. "That man is my ex, Gabe."
Holding the Beretta at eye level with Gabe, Clay reached over and helped Marisol board his boat. His eyes swept over her as he checked for injuries. "Did he hurt you?"
Marisol shook her head. "I'm not hurt, I'm furious at him."
"Can you man the steering wheel?" Clay asked.
She looked at the controls. "Sure." She'd maneuvered Marcos' speedboat many times in Naples. It was no biggie.
"Good." Clay motioned with his gun toward Gabe. "Get in," he bellowed. "Keep your hands up."
Gabe scrambled aboard with his hands above his head. "Don't make any sudden moves or you'll be sorry," Clay warned.
At first, Gabe belligerently followed Clay's instructions. He showed his usual bravado by turning to Marisol with a slick smile. "Marisol, please. Tell him I'm not the stalker." When she ignored him, Gabe changed his tune and pleaded, "Don't let him arrest me." He put his hands together in supplication. "Por favor, I wasn't going to hurt you!"
"Shut up," Clay snarled, pointing his gun at him.
"But what about my boat?" Gabe asked. "We can't leave it here."
"The police will get it later. Now shut up!" Clay thundered.
Marisol brought them back to shore, exhilarated that she'd been able to show Clay she was fearless, too.
A backup unit of policemen was waiting on the restaurant dock where a cluster of restaurant patrons surrounded a police car. They gawked as Clay arrested Gabe, read him his rights, and handcuffed him. Gabe rode in the back of the patrol car while Marisol and Clay followed in Clay's car.
"I can't believe Gabe kidnapped me," Marisol said, looking at Clay's strong profile and the grim set of his jaw.
"What did he say to you," Clay asked in disgust.
"Nothing of importance, just a bunch of drivel about still being in love with me. When I confronted him about the sick games he's been playing, he denied everything. He claimed he wasn't the stalker."
"Do you believe him?" Clay asked, glancing at her.
"I'm not sure. He seemed to know nothing about the flowers and gifts. But then, he is a convincing liar." She twisted her hands in her lap. "Gabe said he couldn't have been the one harassing me since he got back from Cancun last week after filming a movie for two months."
"I can easily check that out. Did he hurt you?"
"No. But he's convinced that we should get back together, even though he knows I'm married."
Clay snorted.
"I can't believe his nerve. He's probably thrilled he'll get free publicity from all this. I don't know what to make of him anymore."
By the time they arrived at the police station, Gabe was arguing with the police officers, demanding to call his lawyer and threatening to sue Clay. When he was warned that he'd be charged with resisting arrest, Gabe shut up momentarily. After the necessary paperwork, he was booked on attempted kidnapping charges and suspicion of aggravated stalking. He shouted out his innocence and complained loudly about being held without bail when he was taken to a waiting cell.
* * *
Marisol was still shaken over the evening's disastrous events when they returned to Clay's apartment late that night.
"I'm glad this evening is over." She flung her shoulder bag on the couch and kicked off her high-heeled mules.
Clay sat next to her and placed his arm around her shoulders, tucking her in beside him. "Now that we've identified him, it makes the investigation a lot easier if he is the stalker."
"What if he isn't?" she asked anxiously.
Clay's mouth was set in severe lines. "Then I'll track down whoever it is and put an end to this once and for all."
"I hope so. That jerk ruined our lovely dinner." Sighing deeply, Marisol leaned her head against Clay's arm and studied the stark living room. There were two black leather couches, a glass coffee table with two matching end tables, and a metal floor lamp.
"How long have you lived here?" she asked, tilting her head up to peer at him.
"Not too long. Why?"
"Where are your personal belongings? You know, paintings, knickknacks."
Clay chuckled mirthlessly. "I don't own any knick-knacks. The rest of my things are still sitting in boxes. I haven't had a chance to get organized and unpacked. I've this summer working long hours and studying for the Bar exam."
"I guess my problems haven't helped either," she said with a rueful smile.
"It's my job," he said matter-of-factly.
"Still, I'd like to help. I can unpack for you if you like."
"No," he said curtly, and then softened it by adding, "Thanks for the offer, but I have some things to clear out first and I'm the only one who can do it."
Clay propped his legs on the coffee table and put Marisol's bare feet on his lap. With skilled hands, he massaged the arches and moved on to her brightly painted toes. "Cute toes. Your feet are so soft," he said, wonder in his tone.
"You're spoiling me." Marisol gave a happy sigh. "The greatest treat in the world is a good massage."
"Oh, yeah? Then we'll do this right." Clay stood and led Marisol from the sofa to his bedroom, where he folded down the comforter. "Wait for me here." He went into the bathroom and returned with a towel and a small bottle of oil. "Take off your clothes," he said, handing her the towel, "and wrap yourself in this."
Marisol's heart fluttered riotously at his bold suggestion and she suddenly felt shy. "I'd rather keep my clothes on, if you don't mind."
"I do mind." The corners of Clay's mouth slid upward into a slow, sexy smile. "A good massage can only be done on bare skin. You can drape the towel over your hips."
"That's comforting," she said, as a warm flush spread from the tip of her head to the tips of her toes. Nevertheless, she took the towel and went to his walk-in closet.
Marisol stood still and inhaled deeply of the sexy masculine scent of leather and cedar. She undressed to her panties and hung her clothes next to Clay's, shivering deliciously as she
envisioned the massage to come. She longed to feel Clay's strong hands soothing and gentling her body.
Clad only in bikini panties, Marisol wrapped the towel around her torso, making sure it covered the essentials. She approached the bed and stood beside Clay, her legs almost buckling with tingles of anticipation.
"Lie on your belly," he said, his raspy voice stirring her senses.
Making sure the towel covered her hips, Marisol stretched facedown on his bed and leaned her cheek on her folded arms.
"Leave your hands at your sides so your back can be fully relaxed," he coaxed, his face so close, his warm breath tickled her nape.
Marisol's heart skipped a beat when she heard Clay uncap the oil and pour some into his palms. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched his dark hands rub together. She moaned when his warm hands made contact with her sensitized skin. Normally, a massage relaxed her to a state of blissful limpness. Not tonight. Every nerve in her body was alive with giddy anticipation.
"Relax." Clay's deep voice sent ripples of pleasure through her. She tried to remain still as he massaged her nape and shoulders in slow, rotating circles, his thumbs pressing and releasing her flesh rhythmically before sweeping down her arms with firm strokes.
Marisol's breath caught in her throat when Clay loosened the towel and lowered it to her waist, but she didn't object when he touched her bare back. Placing his calloused, oiled hands on either side of her spine, he massaged deeply, with long, sweeping movements, his fingertips grazing the sides of her breasts.
She felt his touch at the small of her back as his thumbs brushed under the edge of the towel covering her buttocks. Just when she thought she'd go insane wondering how far down his hands would venture, he switched his attention to her feet. Applying more oil to his hands, he massaged her feet skillfully, giving each toe individual attention before moving up to her calves with smooth, firm movements. Turning his attention to her upper thighs, he applied a bit more pressure, causing her to squirm.
"Was that too hard?" he asked, his warm breath at her ear, sending wild vibrations skittering through her. Her flesh heated and tiny goose bumps formed where his hands had been.
Wild for You Page 11
