Wild for You (12 page)

Marisol bent forward and fluffed her hair. When she straightened up, her cheeks felt flushed but it wasn't an aftereffect of being bent over. Her blood warmed at the prospect of spending the night with Clay in a hotel. It was past ten and she was eager to leave as she grabbed her overnight bag and joined Clay in the living room.

"I'm ready," she announced, blushing when he gave her a slow, sexy smile that held carnal promises.

They checked into the hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Clay Blackthorne, with only two small overnight bags at eleven o'clock in the evening. When they arrived at the top floor, Clay held her hand and led her to the penthouse suite.

Stunned, she turned to him. "The penthouse?" Was he out of his mind? Either he was a millionaire or he'd just robbed a bank because one night in the Delano Hotel penthouse had to cost at least a thousand dollars.

Clay's white teeth flashed brilliantly against his bronze, chiseled face. "After the past two nights, I decided you deserved a night of peaceful sleep."

He unlocked the door and together they entered a stunning room that had a walk-in wet bar, custom Philippe Starck-designed furniture, a sitting and dining area, flowing white curtains and spectacular views from the private, spacious balcony.

It was the most breathtaking suite Marisol had ever seen. "Look at all these flowers!" she exclaimed happily, leaning over to inhale the heady fragrance of pink long-stemmed roses. "They're gorgeous!"

"Come," Clay said, leading her to the all white bedroom where next to the king size bed on a small table, a chilled bottle of champagne rested in a crystal ice bucket. Beside it, a silver tray bore plump strawberries and a small bowl of
dulce de leche,
her favorite Argentinean sweet.

Marisol dazedly reclined sideways on the edge of the bed and rested her head on her hand. "Join me," she said, patting the space beside her.

It all felt like a dream, one she didn't want to wake up from. She was with Clay in a penthouse suite that had all the makings of a romantic evening.

She scooted over when he sat on the edge of the bed facing her. "I thought our marriage was for appearances only. Not that I'm complaining about all this, but that is what I agreed to this morning," she said, watching him for a reaction.

"You think I brought you here to seduce you?" he asked mildly.

"Maybe."

"That wasn't my intention. I did it because you were so sad after our wedding ceremony, I wanted to erase the tackiness of it."

"Aw, thanks. Underneath that tough chest beats a heart of gold," she said, deeply touched by his thoughtfulness.

"Don't overdo it," he said dryly.

"So where are
you
planning to sleep?" she asked with a coy smile.

Clay mouth held a hint of sardonic humor. "I'm your husband now, I'll sleep beside you. Unless you object."

"Well..."
Object? All she wanted was for him to make love to her,
she thought, shivering with delicious anticipation. "Things might get out of hand..." she murmured, lazily tracing her finger over the top of his big hand.

Marisol's pulse quickened at the image of Clay's naked body beside her in the bed.
Who said anything about being naked
, she asked herself with wicked glee.
She could only hope.
Even if he remained fully clothed and on top of the sheets, he'd be too hot to resist.

"They might," he conceded. He took hold of her hand and turning it palm upwards, kissing the center before letting it go.

Pleasurable sensations coursed through Marisol, making her intimate parts throb and tingle at the feel of his warm, velvety lips on her sensitive palm.

"Maybe I should take the sofa," he added, watching her steadily.

Marisol sat up, invitation brimming in her eyes. "That would hardly be fair. After the two nights you've spent on my couch, you deserve a good night's sleep."

"Believe me, it was a luxury compared to some of the grungy places I've slept while working undercover narc. I'm used to roughing it."

Marisol didn't know how to respond to that. Growing up with more luxuries than she needed, she had never had to rough it. Compared to her cushy life, Clay's world seemed dangerous and bleak.

She walked around the room and took in the details. "This place must have cost a fortune."

"It's only one night, sunshine."

Only one night,
she repeated silently. A lot could happen in one night—at least she hoped so.

"I'm going to freshen up a bit."

Marisol carried her overnight bag into the lavish, white Italian marble bathroom and filled the big soaking tub with hot water and the freesia-scented bath oil the hotel provided. She stripped out of her clothes and stepped into the fragrant steamy bath. Exhausted, she leaned her head back, closed her eyes and within minutes dozed off.

* * *

Marisol froze when she felt the big hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and focused on Clay's face. "What are you doing here? Close your eyes!" she commanded.

"Hell, I have never seen such a sound sleeper," he grumbled, exasperated. "Didn't you hear me? I knocked on the door several times."

"Go away," she said, crossing both arms over her exposed breasts and drawing her knees up to hide her feminine parts from his line of vision.

Clay left and sprawled on the bed in frustration. He had only gone in to check on her because he'd thought something might be wrong. Marisol had been in the bathroom for nearly an hour, and after repeatedly knocking, she hadn't answered.

He tried to block out the vision of her creamy skin and the round, pink-tipped breasts cresting in the water. As he waited for her to emerge from the bathroom, he paced the room, his sex painfully hard with arousal as he imagined her naked body entwined with his.

Moments later, Marisol emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a white hotel robe.

"What's wrong? You look like a wasp stung your tail," he said, thinking she looked sexy in the oversized robe.

"I didn't expect to find you staring at me while I was stark naked in the tub. And don't talk about my tail. Good thing you didn't get a look at that, too," she added with an impish grin.

"I was not staring at you. If you didn't sleep like a dead person, I wouldn't have had to open the door in the first place," he said, defending his honor.

Marisol's eyes twinkled. "You're forgiven."

"I didn't say I was sorry."

"But you should have. I forgive you anyway." She perched beside him on the bed. "Is this for me?" she asked, reaching for a filled champagne flute.

"Yes."

"Thank you for spoiling me rotten with this beautiful room," she said, raising the glass in a toast.

"My pleasure," he said, his voice throaty as he clinked his glass with hers.

Marisol spread a bit of the creamy
dulce de leche
on a strawberry and popped it in her mouth. "This is sheer heaven. How did you arrange to have my favorite dessert here?"

He shrugged. "It wasn't too hard."

She finished her champagne and refilled their flutes. Lifting hers up high, she said, "Here's to you, Clay Blackthorne. You're more than a bodyguard. You're a treasure."

Clay gazed at her above the rim of the glass as he toasted, "And here's to you, Marisol. You fill every room with sunshine."

Marisol clinked her glass against Clay's and kissed his cheek. "Thank you." She closed her eyes and sipped the remaining champagne. Nibbling on a third strawberry, she asked softly, "Did you also arrange for the flowers?"

Clay gave a short laugh. "I guess I overdid the flowers."

"Not at all. They're exquisite. Thank you," she said, sighing happily. She refilled her glass of champagne. "Mmm, this is delicious. I've never felt so pampered."

Clay's hand detained Marisol's before the champagne flute reached her lips. "Better go easy on the champagne."

"Spoilsport," she protested, pushing his hand away. "We can't let this good bubbly go to waste." Marisol fanned herself. "Do you feel warm?"

"No," Clay lied, loosening his shirt around the collar. Truth to tell, he was hot all over just watching Marisol's moist, rosy mouth savor the ripe fruit. "Here, have another strawberry."

"I couldn't." Marisol patted her stomach and continued to sip the champagne. "I've had three already."

Marisol's seductive smile and her tawny skin looked golden against the white robe. Clay's gaze was drawn to her luminous amber eyes and her flushed mouth, devoid of lipstick and softened by champagne. He leaned forward for a taste of sweet strawberries, champagne, and Marisol's plush mouth. Her soft lips parted generously to allow the intimate stroking of his tongue on hers.

He leaned back against the headboard and pulled her up beside him, resting his hand on her bare thigh as his other stroked the velvety nape of her neck. Drawing her soft earlobe into his mouth, he sucked gently, smiling at her sharp intake of breath. He kissed her deeply, loving the way she moaned into his mouth and languidly rubbed her breasts against his chest.

"I'm wild for you
,
" he rasped, inclining his head to kiss the top of her breasts.

"I'm wild for you, too," she whispered back. Clay's teeth lightly nipped her nipple over the robe's fabric and her back arched as she gave a shuddering moan. "I'm in the most wonderful dream and I never want to wake up," she murmured happily.

Clay's hands slid under the robe and gently squeezed her buttocks, enjoying her supple curves. His hands slid lower and clasped her thighs as his fingertips grazed the moistness at their juncture. With near savage urgency, he wanted her naked beneath him, to bury his hard erection deep inside her

Marisol's languorous eyes peered at him from beneath the veil of her long, curly lashes. "Make love to me," she said, her words a bit slurred.

Clay froze when he saw that her normally bright eyes were hazy. He wanted to make love to Marisol until she was limp and satiated, but she'd had three glasses of champagne in a row—too much for such a petite girl to handle at once.

Seeing she was vulnerable, he reined in his lust. "I can't, baby
,
" he said reluctantly, removing his hands from her supple curves. Clay's brow beaded with sweat as he closed her robe before he gave into the temptation to part her sweet thighs and take her with slow, deep thrusts.

Marisol kissed his rigidly clamped jaw. "Why not?" she asked, gazing at him with wounded eyes. "Don't you want me?"

"More than you'll ever know." His throat felt clogged with despair as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "But you've had too much champagne. If we continue, you'll regret it tomorrow and I'll hate myself for taking advantage of you," he said, calling on every ounce of discipline to hold back when she stroked his cheek with a feather light touch.

"You don't have to be so noble. It's not the champagne that's affecting me—it's
you
." Marisol placed her hands on either side of his face and kissed his cheeks, and then his eyes. "Make love to me, Clay," she urged.

Swearing under his breath, Clay rose from the bed and walked away, trying to tamp down the thick swell of desire. "Not tonight," he replied tersely, his back turned to her. He was damn hard and damn close to giving in to her request. Silence surrounded him while he reigned in his lust and when he finally turned to face her, Marisol was asleep.

Clay approached her, this time glad that she was such a heavy sleeper. He removed her robe and drank in the sight of her in a sheer white camisole and matching satin panties. His finger traced her red, swollen lips as his gaze slid over her round breasts down her taut belly to her slightly parted, creamy thighs. A sharp surge of lust nearly made him wake her up. Snatching his hand back, he drew the sheets over her and stalked to his side of the bed.

He stripped down to his briefs and remembered to keep his T-shirt on so she wouldn't see his tattoo. Climbing into bed, he lay beside her and smoothed back a silky strand of hair from her face. He caressed her slender throat and traced its delicate shape. It was agony not to strip her and caress her breasts or mold her round bottom with his hands. He wanted to see her nipples and feel them pebble under his tongue...

Abruptly, he jerked his hand back. He was out of control, damn it! Clay rose from the bed and paced furiously, refusing to glance at Marisol as she slept. He strode to the bathroom and took a long, cold shower and when he returned, Marisol was asleep on her stomach, oblivious to his torment.

Heaving a regretful sigh, Clay's thoughts turned to Marcos and how indebted he felt toward him for saving Jimmy's life. Years ago when Jimmy was having an asthmatic crisis, Clay had rushed him to the emergency room of Jackson Memorial Hospital where Marcos was a resident physician. Marcos had put Jimmy on a respirator immediately and he changed his medication. Later, he made changes in Jimmy's diet and encouraged him to take up swimming to strengthen his lungs. Now Jimmy participated in the Special Olympics, thanks to Marcos.

Clay lay awake for a long time watching Marisol sleep. He had come to cherish everything about her, especially the way she interacted so lovingly with Jimmy. Her affection had been genuine, not patronizing, and Clay was touched at the normal way she interacted with Jimmy. He remembered her smiling at his little brother during dinner and telling him how happy she was that he was Clay's brother. At that moment, he had wanted to share the rest of his life with her.

She would make a wonderful mother someday.

His heart clenched into a painful knot in his chest at the reality of their situation. It rankled to admit that Marisol would have to marry someone else to have children. His gut twisted, reminding him that he would never have kids of his own. Jimmy was his only family now that his mother had passed away.

Clay squeezed his eyes shut to block the bitter memory of Jillian shouting at him, "It's not fair of you to blame me. You can't expect any woman to have your child with the genetic risk you carry!"

Sadly, he'd come to believe her callous prophesy.