Wild for You (16 page)

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.

"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, strong 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.