Wild for You (10 page)

Hours later, when Laila was released from the hospital, Marisol insisted on driving her home. Thank God, she was only bruised and scraped, but frightened by the accident.

In the car, Laila's face was pale and drawn as she asked, "Can you take me to my mom's house?"

Marisol gently squeezed Laila's hand. "Of course."

Laila swallowed. "They couldn't get in touch with her because she can't take personal calls at the factory she works. She lives in Hialeah. I hope it's not too far."

"No problem. Hey, are you okay?" Marisol asked, putting a gentle hand on Laila's arm.

"I guess, but I'm still a little shaky." Her lower lip quivered as her eyes filled with tears. "Somebody else could get killed if that driver hits again. The thought of it terrifies me."

"I'm sorry you had that bad experience." It terrified Marisol, too, but she kept it to herself. Laila was decent and hardworking. In the short time she'd worked at the salon, she'd had worked long hours and had been eager to please. "You've been through a lot. Did you see the person's face who hit you?"

"I only caught a glimpse of his face. All I remember is being hit by a van and then waking up in an ambulance."

Marisol's feelers went up. "A van? Did you notice the make or color?"

"It was silver, but I don't know what make or year it was."

"Silver?" Marisol cringed inwardly and tried to collect her agitated nerves. The van that nearly hit today had been silver. "Trini said there were no witnesses to the accident. Not even the lady who found you could give the police any details."

"Who would do something like that?" Laila cried.

Marisol's heart ached for her. "I've never understood hit-and-run accidents. It's cowardly to bolt after injuring someone."

Laila winced as she nodded in agreement. In a weary voice, she gave Marisol directions to her mom's house and then leaned her head back and closed her eyes for the rest of the ride.

Twenty minutes late, Marisol pulled into the driveway and got out to help her.

"Thanks for the ride home," Laila said gratefully. "You don't have to help me out of the car. I'll be at work tomorrow."

"Okay, but if you don't feel well, call me early in the morning and I'll make other arrangements so you can rest."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Take care now." Marisol waited until Laila entered the house before driving away.

A sense of impending doom filled Marisol as she pulled into her building's parking lot. Preoccupied with Laila's accident, she leaned against the elevator wall and waited for her floor. She had called Clay earlier at the precinct and explained that she was at the hospital waiting for the results of Laila's tests. He didn't sound very happy when he finally agreed not to go to the hospital and meet her at her apartment instead.

* * *

As he drove to Marisol's apartment, Clay was burdened by the news of Laila's hit-and-run accident. His gut told him it had been no accident. Laila resembled Marisol from a distance, even though up close they looked different. Yet the similarities were strong enough for someone to mistake them, especially someone intent on harming Marisol. So far, the stalker had covered his tracks, but Clay planned to catch him and when he did, he'd make damn sure Marisol was never put in danger again.

When he arrived, Marisol flung open the door and threw herself in his arms. "Thank God you're here!"

He stroked her tousled hair and murmured gently, "Hey, baby, you okay?"

"I wish," she said mournfully. She pulled away and led him to the answering machine. "Listen to this."

Clay heard the familiar sound of the stalker's muffled voice:

"Get rid of the cop. Laila's accident was meant for you. Next time, you won't be so lucky."

Clay slammed his hand against the counter top as burning wrath singed through his veins. He hit the replay button and listened to the message again.

"Please don't play it anymore. I can't stand to hear it!" Marisol cried, nervously pacing. "Poor Laila. The stalker's attack was meant for me. I was nearly hit by a van today, too!"

Clay froze and stared at her. "Why didn't you tell me? Especially when you called from the hospital?" he demanded.

"I was too focused on Laila and worried sick about her. I was going to tell you about my near accident tonight."

Clay reached out and stopped her pacing. His hands closed over her shoulders, firmly anchoring her before him as he pinned her with a hard look. "Do you realize how serious this is? You could've gotten killed! I'm through waiting for your answer, Marisol. We need to get married now."

Marisol kept silent, her mouth a tightly closed rosebud.

Clay roughly dragged his fingers through his hair. "Why don't you want to?" he asked, frustrated by her silent refusal. "I already told you it'll be in name only. Do we have a deal?" He held his hand out for a shake.

The gold flecks in Marisol's gleaming amber eyes bored into him like tiny darts. "If I marry you, the annulment follows as soon as the stalker is caught."

"Agreed." Clay gave a wry snort of laughter. "By then you'll be happy to be rid of me. I'm definitely not marriage material. I plan to keep my vow never to remarry."

"I don't know if I should be insulted or relieved, by that," she mumbled, looking away. "I'm doing it because I trust you and I feel safe with you."

"Bout time." With a satisfied grunt, Clay sprawled on the living room couch as if the decision had been made. "We'll do it tomorrow."

Marisol gulped. "So soon?"

"Not soon enough," Clay said grimly.

She sighed. "Okay, then I'll have Trini open for me. She has an extra set of keys."

He gently squeezed her hand, enjoying how soft it felt in his callused palm. "Good. I have to go to my place and pick up some clothes. I'll be back soon."

Clay left Marisol's apartment and called Marcos to bring him up to date.

"I didn't ask you to marry her, Gator," Marcos quipped when Clay told him about the marriage idea. "Just protect her."

"Yeah, I know it sounds a little weird, but the stalker is obsessed about marrying her. He'll surface when he finds out she's married and that's when I'll move in," Clay said.

"I'm sure you know what you're doing. Just keep her safe."

"I will. Your little sister needs a fulltime bodyguard."

"I agree
.
But how did you get
her
to agree—especially to marry you?" Marcos asked, sounding mystified.

"I promised her as soon as the stalker was caught, we'd get an annulment—and I meant it. You know how I feel about marriage."

"Yes, you've told me enough times." Marcos chuckled. "Marisol is so independent, I'm surprised she's going along with a marriage of convenience. How did you convince her?"

Clay didn't want to elaborate about Marisol's near accident. "After a strong dose of reality, she listened to common sense," was all he said. "Her situation is complicated. I read her the riot act about the danger she was in and she listened."

"Glad it worked for you. I've been trying to get her to listen all her life, but it hasn't worked. She does what she pleases."

Clay snorted. "I'm not her big brother."

"True. Remember, don't tell her you're working for me."

"I won't—for her sake. And yours," Clay said.

"Thanks, man."

"No problem. I'll keep you updated."

"Do that. I'm counting on you to protect Marisol. Don't let her get hurt—in any way," Marcos said meaningfully.

Chapter 5

The following morning, Marisol didn't bounce out of bed filled with energy as was her usual style. Instead, her limbs felt wooden as she dressed in a knee-length, sleeveless ivory linen dress and high-heeled muted gold sandals.
I'm getting married today,
she thought gloomily
.
The prospect should have made her giddy, given the groom was so hot, but instead she felt uneasy and sad. It was one thing to have Clay sleeping in the living room as her bodyguard, but as her husband? He might be a make-believe groom, but the marriage certificate would be real and so would the ceremony. She flinched as she relived his words last night.

I'm definitely not marriage material. I plan to keep my vow never to remarry.

Facing the mirror, she glided a wand of apricot gold lip gloss on her pursed lips.
Better not fall too hard for him,
she warned herself and made a face in the mirror
.

Clay knocked on her bedroom door, startling her from her musings. Her mouth fell open when she saw him in a crisp white dress shirt with a gray and black silk tie and tailored black slacks that. She raised her brows and gave a low, wolf whistle. "You clean up real good, Blackthorne."

"Thanks." Clay's dark-eyed gaze swept the length of her, slowly and deliberately, and then settled on her eyes, making her lose her train of thought. She stared back at him, feeling out of breath, warm, and fidgety when he came forward. Soon he'd be her husband and what would stop them from consummating the hot lust that flared between them?

"You look beautiful." He tilted her chin up and kissed her mouth.

"Thank you," she said, faltering on the words as she tried to suck air into her lungs.

Clay tugged at the tie he didn't seem comfortable wearing. "Let's go, sunshine."

* * *

Everything happened too fast for Marisol. In less than an hour they bought their marriage certificate and for under a hundred dollars they were married in the same office. What a staggering difference from a real ceremony, especially if she had been married in Argentina, where her wedding would have been a grand celebration. She looked down at her hand. Clay had used his mother's diamond ring for the ceremony—on loan.

Marisol told herself that she was being a dope, and that it really didn't matter. When everything was resolved, they would be annulling the marriage anyway. But it didn't help. The truth, plain and simple, was that she had yearned for a sumptuous wedding celebration someday, not some depressing little ceremony performed by a bored clerk.

Marisol glanced out of the car window and watched the fat raindrops plop against the glass pane. It had even rained today. She remembered hearing somewhere that rain on your wedding day meant good luck, but that superstition didn't lift her spirits. Her eyes filled with tears as she mournfully sighed out loud.

Clay turned to glance at her. "What's wrong?"

Feeling like an idiot, Marisol dashed away the self-pitying tears sliding down her cheeks. "Nothing," she replied with false brightness, keeping her face turned away from him.

At the next intersection, Clay turned off US1 and drove into a strip mall. He pulled into the nearest parking space and shut off the engine. Gently turning Marisol's face toward him, he cupped her chin and his thumb stroked the cleft. "Hey, what are the tears for?"

"Don't mind me, I'm just a sentimental dope," she mumbled, embarrassed.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, wiping a tear that slid down her cheek with his hand.

"I know it wasn't a real wedding and it's only temporary, but I always dreamed of something different," she said, her voice catching. "Something special."

"What did you dream of? Tell me," he coaxed, his strong hand gentle on her cheek.

Marisol tried to smile through her tears, but her lower lip wouldn't cooperate and it wobbled. "I imagined a church wedding filled with all of my family and friends. The man I adored would be standing beside me at the altar, promising to love me forever. And then," she stopped and shook her head, wiping her tears with her fingertips. "Never mind, there's no use talking about it."

"Go on. Finish what you were going to say," he urged. "And then what?"

"Then there would be a wonderful party with all the trimmings—champagne, music, and flowers—lots of flowers." She peered at him through her wet lashes. "I'm sure that sounds pretty lame to you, the confirmed bachelor."

"It doesn't sound lame at all," Clay said quietly.

He felt an acute pang of tenderness as he looked into her misty eyes. He was so used to seeing Marisol confront things with optimism that her tears were his undoing. Her words had touched something locked deep inside of him, feelings that he kept guarded and never let surface. He wanted her to have everything she had dreamed of, but he knew he could never be that man at the altar, promising to love her forever.

"Someday your wedding will be just like that. But for now, we need to keep you safe," he said, resolutely closing his heart to tender feelings for her.

Clay tore his gaze away from Marisol and started the ignition, joining the traffic seconds later. A sharp shard of regret twisted in his gut as he shook off the longing to love and be loved in return by Marisol. He didn't want to feel that vulnerable ever again. Marisol would want children along with marriage, and Clay had long since written both things off.

The brutal betrayal of his ex-wife, Jillian, who had aborted their child without his knowledge, was enough to last a lifetime. Jillian's reasons had been so heinous, he refused to dwell on them. After their loveless marriage, Clay's trust in amorous love, or any woman's promises afterward, had been destroyed.