"No, it's perfect," she barely managed, biting the sheets to prevent from moaning with pleasure.
When Clay placed his strong arm around Marisol's waist and lifted her to dislodge the towel, any objection died in her throat. Her skin tingled and throbbed making her wonder if the rest of her body was flushed as pink as her face felt. Breathlessly, she awaited the return of his touch when he poured more oil in his cupped hand.
"That smells good," she said, her voice strangled with yearning. "What is it?"
"Grapeseed oil."
"Really?" She turned her head to look at him.
Clay's hand pressed on the back of her upper thigh, sending a pulsating jolt to the juncture of her thighs. "Shh," he said in a low, hypnotic voice, "be quiet and let the tension flow from your body."
He stroked her back maddeningly from her shoulders, down her indented spine, to right above the edge of her sheer black panties. Her sensitized skin throbbed with excitement as Clay massaged her upper thighs, squeezing and releasing her firm flesh. "Such soft skin," he murmured huskily.
"Oooh, Blackthorne," she said on a shuddering sigh when Clay slipped his warm, rough-textured hands under her sheer panties and kneaded her bottom. Marisol dug her fingers in the mattress as Clay took his time massaging her buttocks.
When he helped her turn over, his hot, hungry gaze held her in thrall. She quivered as he caressed her breasts, loving the vivid contrast of his lean brown fingers on her pale skin as they stroked her nipples into tight points.
His eyes glowed black fire. "I was so frantic tonight when Gabe kidnapped you. The hell with why we shouldn't do this. If I can't have you, I'll go mad."
"Me, too," she said fervently.
Clay's eyes were molten black pools of erotic invitation and his voice vibrated with passion when he rasped, "I'm going to make love to you—all night."
She softly hissed, "Yesss," through her teeth, not taking her eyes from his hypnotic gaze as he kissed her breasts and took her nipples in his mouth—his tongue like rough velvet rubbing against the aching tips.
Marisol wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, whispering, "I want you, too. Now. Please."
Clay opened the nightstand drawer and took out a condom. He turned off the light and stripped out of his clothes, making short work of slipping on the condom before joining her in bed.
His warm hands slid her panties down her hips and tossed them aside. "God, you're beautiful," he said reverently, kneeling between her thighs as he rained kisses on her shuddering belly and dipped his hot tongue in her navel before moving lower. Her loins throbbed with tingling spasms when his warm breath fanned her ultra-sensitive flesh. She nearly leaped off the bed at the riotously pleasurable sensations skittering through her when his thumb began to intimately stroke her damp arousal.
Marisol gasped as sweet insanity overtook her. She thrust her fingers in his thick hair and writhed beneath him as he pleasured her. Her head thrashed from side to side while her body silently implored release. In sweet agony, she dug her nails into his muscled shoulders, excruciatingly aware of the empty ache only he could fill.
"Come inside me," she urged feverishly, nearly out of her mind with the need to mate with him.
Clay's large body moved over hers and his hands cupped her buttocks, lifting her hips as he eased inside. He paused and allowed her to adjust to his size. Marisol arched upward, her breasts sensitive to the point of pleasure-pain beneath his smooth, corded chest as he began to rhythmically move inside of her and suddenly it was too much pleasure to bear.
He groaned aloud when she bucked beneath him and her nails dug into his flexed buttocks urging him to take her deeper, faster. Clay lifted her higher and thrust until she went wild, whimpering and gripping his taut hips as her body convulsed in a shattering orgasm. He kissed her open mouth deeply and continued to move inside her until he reached his climax, the veins in his neck bulging as he threw his head back with a primal shout of release.
Afterward, Clay hugged her close to his heart and rested his chin on the top of her head. "Was I too rough, baby?" he asked, his deep voice tempered with tenderness.
Fused to his magnificent body, Marisol had never in her life experienced such bliss. "No, I wanted you that badly, too," she assured him, blinking back tears.
"You're mine," he proclaimed fiercely, possessively. "Even after I arrest the stalker. You're mine."
"Yes," she agreed, joyful tears brimming. She had desperately wanted—needed—to hear Clay say those affirming words.
He rolled to his side and spooned her as he kissed her sensitive nape. She felt his body ripple with a slight shudder. "To think I almost lost you," he rasped, his voice raw with emotion. "I need you, baby."
"I need you, too, darling," Marisol said, her heart soaring. From their first meeting, when he had stoically endured her teasing, to the moment she had witnessed his devoted love for Jimmy, she had been falling hopelessly in love with him. She was anxious to find out why he didn't consider himself marriage material, as he'd once warned her. But for now, she'd force those worries away and revel in a fantasy come true. Marisol enjoyed the sturdy warmth of his body as she fell asleep in his arms.
Shaken to the core by the evening's events, Clay lay awake for a long time afterward. That was the closest he'd ever come to saying "I love you" to any woman after Jillian. It was the best he could do. A tight fist closed around his heart telling him that Marisol had to be his or he'd never have a moment's peace.
It was too late to worry about Marcos and the consequences. He only hoped his valued friend would understand how he felt about Marisol.
Burdened by a heavy heart, Clay couldn't sleep as he pondered his dilemma. He'd never be able to give Marisol what she'd be sure to want—a real marriage and children. After his divorce from Jillian, he had made a solemn vow that he'd never remarry again, and he meant to keep it. Somehow, he'd have to find a way to keep Marisol in his life without those things.
* * *
When she woke up the following morning, Marisol found herself alone in Clay's bed. She wandered out to the living room and watched him, dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, doing Tai Chi in the sunlight on his balcony. No wonder he seemed to have mastered the technique for calming down and remaining centered most of the time. He moved as if in a trance, bending and twisting, his lithe, muscular body undulating with slow, graceful movements that resembled an exotic dance.
She never tired of admiring his strong masculine beauty. Awestruck, she watched his movements change from controlled gracefulness to quicksilver fighting techniques. With a series of sharp, explosive kicks and strikes, he snaked across the balcony in rapid-fire movements that created a jarring contrast to the smooth fluidity of Tai Chi. Marisol wished she could see his bare torso as his muscles bunched and stretched alternately.
She suddenly realized that he'd already seen her twice in the nude, but she'd never seen his unclothed body in the light. When they had made love, he'd switched off the light. Now she wondered if he might have done it on purpose, perhaps to hide a scar from his police work. Not wanting to interrupt his ritual, Marisol tiptoed back to the bathroom and showered and changed.
From the bedroom, she could smell the rich aroma of percolating Cuban coffee. When she joined Clay in the kitchen, he was sitting at the counter drinking a cup of cafe con leche with The Miami Herald strewn across the counter as he read with interest.
"Good morning." Marisol kissed his unshaven jaw. "Mind if I join you?" She knew he was a private person, and she felt a bit awkward sharing his space so casually. It had been different when they were sharing her apartment and they hadn't made love yet.
"Morning, sunshine. Help yourself to coffee." When he glanced up from reading the paper, the stubble on his lean face combined with his heated gaze made him criminally handsome. "How do you feel?" he asked, pulling her in for a kiss.
"I feel amazing, thank you," she said, savoring the sultry combination of Clay's taste mingled with sweet, str
ong coffee.
When he ended the kiss, their eyes locked for a charged moment and Marisol's heart leaped, remembering last night. Her blood heated as she recalled the lusty promise he'd made and kept of making love to her all night. After their first fevered mating, he'd taken his time pleasuring her, telling her he wanted to learn her body and know what made her purr—as if being with him wasn't enough! His skilled mouth and hands had repeatedly brought her to unbridled pleasure and they'd only stopped because he worried she'd be sore the next morning.
In the early hours of the morning, she'd lain in his arms listening to the steady beat of his heart as he told her about his childhood and she shared hers with him.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and refilled his mug. "I need to go home," she said, tearing her gaze from his. "I have to check in with my employees, get my charger, and change into fresh clothes." Marisol reached for a ripe peach to fill her empty stomach. "Have you had breakfast already?"
Clay sighed. "Yeah and I've checked in with the precinct for an update on Gabe."
"How is he?" she inquired, not really anxious to know.
Clay grunted. "He settled down when he realized he couldn't be released yet, even with a lawyer. I ordered an FBI fingerprint search to find out if he's ever been arrested."
Marisol held her breath. "Has he?"
"We'll know by tomorrow morning when I check his fingerprints against the latents I picked up in your apartment."
"Latents?" Marisol repeated quizzically.
"The fingerprints I dusted and transferred onto a special card."
Marisol bit into the peach and used her napkin to dab at the sweet juice trickling down her chin. "I think I'll go to my apartment now."
"Hold on." Clay raised his hand and detained her from leaving. "Let's go together. After you pack what you need, we'll move it here."
"I need to go to the market too, so I can buy stuff for dinner."
"There's no need to. We're invited for to Isabel and Linc's tonight."
"Who are they?"
"Some close friends of mine who own a fruit tree nursery in the Redlands."
Marisol's heart did a little leap of joy, flattered that Clay wanted his friends to meet her. This was the first invitation they would accept as a couple, but she told herself not to make too big a deal out of it. "What time are we going there?" she asked, trying to contain her beaming grin.
"We'll leave by six-fifteen. It takes about forty-five minutes to get there. I haven't seen Linc and Isabel for months. Tonight we're celebrating that they're expecting another baby."
"How many children do they have?"
"Two. There's Suzie, Isabel's daughter from her first marriage, who is eight and T.J, who's two."
"Someday I hope to have three children," she said, smiling at him.
"Three? I wouldn't even want one kid at my age."
"What do you mean? You're not too old to have a child," she scoffed.
"Jimmy is all the family I need. Believe me. I have no desire to be a daddy at my age." He made a face of mock horror. "Linc is a brave man. It's a good thing we used protection last night because we don't want an unwanted pregnancy."
Marisol's hopeful heart sank at his blunt comment. She searched his face, hoping for some sign that he hadn't really meant it and for a brief moment she saw a flicker of regret in his dark eyes and then it was gone.
Chapter 8
That afternoon, Marisol tried not to think of what Clay had said, but it kept tormenting her. "It's a good thing we used protection last night because we don't want an unwanted pregnancy."
Whenever she relived their conversation, she felt desolate. Last night he had been feverishly passionate and tenderly possessive during the most exquisite lovemaking she had ever experienced. He had told her that she belonged to him and she wanted to believe him. But there was one big obstacle—she wanted to get married and have children—and now she was afraid to say so because it would alienate him.
As she worked on her laptop in the dining room, she could hear Clay talking to Jimmy on the phone in his bedroom. When he returned, she asked, "How's Jimmy?"
"He's okay. I explained about last night without worrying him too much and then I told him I couldn't take him out today." Clay sprawled on a seat beside her with a weary smile. "Don't look so sad, he knows I'll make it up to him later."
"Oh good, I wouldn't want him to feel left out." Marisol paused and slanted a curious look at Clay. "Do you think Jimmy might ever fall in love?"
Clay frowned. "Where did that come from? Jimmy doesn't need those types of complications."
She tsked. "Oh, listen to you. We all need a little romance."
"Maybe, but I didn't miss having it after I split from my ex-wife."
"What was she like?" Marisol asked, pleased that he had finally brought up the subject of his ex.
"I'd rather not talk about her," he said, pushing away from the table.
"Don't go," she said, taking his hand so he wouldn't leave.
Clay's jaw was set in forbidding lines.
"What's her name? Is she beautiful?" she asked, eager for details. Clay's face became shuttered as he regarded her in stubborn silence.
Marisol flinched at his caustic look. "Never mind. You don't have to answer that, just tell me what happened." If Clay didn't open up to her, how would she ever understand where he was coming from? "Please," she added as his narrowed eyes regarded her suspiciously.
After a tense pause, Clay let out a ragged breath. "Jillian is a journalistic photographer. Her only goal in life is professional success, no matter how many colleagues she tramples on. She didn't show her true personality until after we were married. She is ruthless."
"When did you divorce her?"
"Let's change the subject."
"Come on, it's only fair. I told you about Gabe."
"That's different." Clay's eyes were bleak and his level tone was meant to dissuade her, but Marisol was far from finished.
"I'm not buying that, Blackthorne," she said, letting go of his hand.
"We'll talk about it later," he said tightly, "subject closed."
If he wanted her to back off, she would—for now—and then try to get some answers at the next opportunity.
Marisol occupied her time by arranging Clay's closet to make room for her clothes. During the hours he spent reading, she changed the bed linens and threw in a load of his wash. Clay had so much on his mind between work and protecting her that she didn't mind doing those things for him. A part of her enjoyed it, making her feel truly married and intimate with Clay.
An hour before it was time to leave, Marisol walked into the dining room and saw Clay sitting at the table, engrossed in a book. She stole up behind him and nuzzled the thick, coarse hair at the back of his neck. "I'm going to freshen up now before we leave," she said, depositing a soft kiss on his nape.
"Okay," he said, not looking up from his book.
So much for romance. Clay was so absorbed in what he was reading that he hadn't even noticed her caress. His hand snaked out, slid under the back hem of her shorts and gently squeezed her flesh, eliciting a surprised squeal from her. He retrieved his hand and slid it under her crop top, up her spine until he reached her nape and tickled the soft hairs there. "If you hurry, we might have time for a little massage."
Clay's massage was something not to be missed. She walked away from him on wobbly legs and took an invigorating shower. Concerns over the reasons for his divorce from Jillian plagued her blissful state and she wondered why he was so turned off to marriage and babies. She didn't believe he thought he was too old to have a baby. He'd also said, "I plan to keep my vow never to remarry." Jillian must have done something really awful for Clay not to want to talk about it.
After her shower, Marisol changed into a turquoise sundress and high-heeled sandals. Clay walked into the bathroom while she was styling her hair.
"You shouldn't wear high heels," he murmured, his voice husky.
Maris
ol whirled around. "I didn't hear you walk in," she said, amazed at how silently he could move for a man his size. "Why shouldn't I wear high heels?" she asked, catching the gleam in his eyes.
"You look too sexy in them. Damn, you smell good enough to eat," he said, kissing her neck.
"You'll have to wait for dessert till we get back," she said with a playful grin.
"Tease," he growled, nipping her earlobe. "You're addictive."
Marisol shivered as his gentle bite nearly buckled her knees and made her toes curl. "Better stop or we'll...we'll be late," she faltered, breathing rapidly as she turned and wrapped her hands around his neck.
He flashed a lazy grin of pure masculine promise as he slid the straps of her dress down and bared her breasts, gathering them in his warm hands. Her nipples tightened as he blew softly on the tips and then took them in his mouth. "When we return, I plan to savor all of you," he said, kissing her breasts again and then covering her up.
He sauntered out of the bathroom, his stiff swagger showing he was already hard with lust.
Marisol gripped the edge of the counter as waves of hot desire inundated her body. She would have let him savor everything right there if he'd insisted. The fact that they'd have to wait until the evening only heightened her arousal.
* * *
The long drive to Isabel and Linc's home provided the perfect opportunity for Marisol to broach the subject of Clay's divorce. "Clay," she began sweetly, "finish telling me about your divorce."
He groaned. "Not again. Why are you so interested?"
"I don't mean to be nosy, but it will help me understand better where you're coming from," she said, hoping to encourage him to open up.
"In the short time I've known you, you haven't been able to take 'no' for an answer," he said, clearly exasperated. "Now why is that?"
"I'm a terrible pest, that's why. Satisfied, Detective?" she sassed.
Marisol squelched the urge to grin when she heard him swear under his breath. He was right though; she never gave up easily. If she wanted to know something she would persist until she got answers.
Wild for You Page 12
