Wild for You (4 page)

He followed her and said, "Need any help?"

She smiled as she reached for her iPod. "Nope, but thanks for offering. You can keep me company while I make the salad." Marisol connected the iPod to the speaker and pressed play. "Shakira always gives me a boost of energy."

Marisol sang and grooved to the music while she prepared a mixed baby greens salad with cherry tomatoes, fennel and kalamata olives and drizzled it with honey Dijon balsamic vinaigrette.

"Looks good. Do you like to cook?"

"Sometimes, if I get inspired. I learned from the best, my Abuelita Coqui."

"Who's that?"

"My grandma in Buenos Aires. She's my dad's mom." Marisol sighed wistfully. "I miss her most around the holidays. She makes the best
empanadas
at Christmastime."

"What kind?" he asked, surprising her that he wanted to know about the empanadas.

"Flaky oven pastries filled with savory meat and raisins and olives." Marisol tossed the salad and tasted a baby green lettuce leaf, thinking the dressing came out just right. "Last year I couldn't go home for Christmas because I'd just opened my business." The melancholy memory tugged at her heart. "I wish she could visit here more often, but even though she's eighty-three years young, the long plane ride over is tough on her. We usually Skype on Sundays, but it's not the same as being able to pop in and visit her."

"Do your parents live in Argentina, too?"

"No, but we're not close anyway. My mom left us when I was little. She ran off with my dad's best friend."

He regarded her with a pensive look. "That must have been rough on you."

Marisol shrugged. "I was little. Papi remarried a woman who didn't want kids either, like my loving mom didn't." She made a wry face to cover up how much it hurt her to admit. She'd been lucky to have a loving grandmother raise her. "My brother witnessed most of their fights and would have been shipped off to boarding school if Abuelita hadn't intervened and taken us in." She noticed he was staring at her as if trying to figure her out. "I know it sounds like I had a tragic childhood, but it wasn't like that."

"I didn't think so." The corners of Clay's firm mouth twitched. "You're too cheerful for someone who had."

"That's my natural disposition. Anyway, I was too young to notice all the bad stuff going on. Papi lives in Spain now with his new trophy wife and I'm embarrassed to tell you that my dear Mama's taste in men has turned cougarish," she said with a pained expression.

Marisol refrained from revealing that after she'd broken up with her ex-fiancé, her indiscreet mom had chased after him. It was way too much information. She later learned they'd had a brief fling, too. That's when she stopped communicating with her toxic mom and life improved. "Now that I've aired my family's dirty laundry, tell me about yours."

Clay looked about to say something when the doorbell rang.

"Ha, saved by the bell," Marisol said, as she put the salad bowl in the center of the table. Clay answered the door and shoved a few extra dollars into the pizza delivery man's hand. He returned with the large carton and set it on the end of the table.

Marisol peeked inside. "Looks delish. I'm famished, let's eat."

She served Clay a slice and helped herself to another. As she chewed, she noticed him watching her lips beneath hooded lids and when his midnight eyes met hers, a warm flush spread through her making her breath quicken. She looked away from his seductive eyes and busied herself filling their salad bowls.

"Where do you live?" she asked.

"In this building, actually."

He lived in her building? Why hadn't she noticed him before?

"My apartment is one of the perks of the job. I live on the ninth floor and the view is amazing," he said, gesturing toward the balcony overlooking a pristine lake surrounded by massive banyan trees and royal palms.

"I love living here. My brother and I own this apartment and another one in the building."

"You must be close. Do you see him often?"

"No, Marcos lives in Naples now."

Clay gave her a quizzical look. "So which brother lives in Miami?"

"I only have one brother." Marisol's face heated with embarrassment when he cocked a thick eyebrow and waited for an explanation. "Oops, I told you a little white lie when I said I had a brother who lived here."

"You seem to have a penchant for telling little white lies, sunshine," he said, his cool black eyes assessing her.

"I usually tell the truth. No really, I do," she insisted when she saw his doubtful expression. "I only tell white lies when I absolutely have to. Don't look at me that way, Blackthorne. I knew next to nothing about you. A girl can't be too careful," she said, serving them another slice of pizza.

"Damn right," he said forcefully. "But now that you know I'm not the bad guy, you can start telling the truth."

She made a wry face. "Eh, now you sound like Marcos and I don't mean it as a compliment."

"Thanks."

"Don't get me wrong," she said, smiling at his gruff tone as she refilled their wineglasses. "I love my brother, but he still bosses me around even though I'm twenty-nine. When I was studying at the University of Miami, he was doing his residency there. Abuelita Coqui told him to keep an eye on me and he took his job too seriously."

"Must have been a dream job for him," Clay said with a snort.

Marisol chuckled. "He used to grumble about my constant partying at night, but he had no idea I was really going to beauty school. I kept it a secret."

He gave her a curious look. "Why?"

"He wouldn't have approved of me opening a salon in Miami and living here all alone. After I got my BA in business and a beautician's license on the side, I had already inherited part of my grandfather's trust fund, so I started my business."

"Just like that? You make it sound easy."

"It wasn't. First I went back to Buenos Aires and got an apprenticeship at a top beauty salon working on models and
telenovela
actors. That's where I met Gabe."

"Who's Gabe?" He put his wine glass on the table and regarded her with expectant eyes.

"My ex-fiancé who is an actor. When Marcos found out we were engaged, he had Gabe investigated. Abuelita was in on everything, I'm sure of it. Even my mom got in on the act."
In more ways than one
, she thought with distaste. "Anyway, I didn't believe the negative report my brother showed me, so I kept dating Gabe until I realized Marcos was right about him."

"Good thing you didn't marry him," Clay said, digging into the salad with a shake of his head.

"Amen to that. I found out he was a real snake. But when I joined Marcos to live in Naples, I realized I had to move. Even though he's a busy obstetrician, his need to watch over me is a real pain in my patootie."

Clay responded with a short laugh. "That bad?"

"Yeah, that bad." She rolled her eyes. "I love my brother, but Marcos thinks all guys are players like he is."

"If I had a little sister as cute as you, I'd probably be worse than your brother," he said and looked like he meant it.

"You're not gaining any points by admitting it," she said, discouraging his chauvinism. "Argentine men can be possessive of the women in their lives, especially their sisters. I wish he would find a woman to monopolize his attention and give me a break."

The phone rang, interrupting their conversation. Marisol answered and listened for a few moments, then slammed down the receiver and dashed to the door.

Clay was beside her in a flash. "What is it?"

She opened the door and pointed to a small, wrapped parcel lying on the floor. "Look."

Clay bolted down the hall toward the elevator, scanned both sides of the hallway and then returned looking annoyed.

"Whoever dropped this off is long gone. Next time let me check the door first," he said curtly. He carried the package to the table with Marisol in tow. "I'll call and alert Alan to check for an intruder. In the meantime, open the package."

Marisol stood beside Clay as he made the call and when he hung up, she said, "I don't want to."

Clay handed her the package. "Aren't you curious about what's inside?"

She gingerly held it as if there was a bomb inside. "I guess... but if I open it now, it'll ruin our evening."

"Then I'll do it," he said decisively, reaching for the package.

"No, let me." Marisol held on to it, not wanting to appear like a scared ninny. "I'm not going to wimp out now," she said with more guts than she felt as she tore open the package and looked inside, gasping when she parted the black tissue paper and found red satin-covered handcuffs and a dog collar inside.

She gulped and looked into Clay's keen eyes with despair. "Now's he's getting kinky." An eerie sensation crawled over her skin when she saw the card nestled inside the box.

"Let me read it," Clay said, reaching for the card. "You look too spooked."

Marisol squared her shoulders and put some starch in her spine. "No, I will," she said bravely, but her blood ran cold as she read the menacing message out loud:

I'm going to strip you naked and put the cuffs and doggy collar on you. You. Are. MINE.

Marisol dropped the note as if it were in flames.

Chapter 2

"Where are the other notes?" Clay asked.

"I don't have them." Marisol walked to the table and sat stiffly, trying to get a grip. She took a large sip of wine to steady her ragged nerves. "I threw them out."

"I wish you hadn't," he said, joining her at the table. "Did they have kinky messages or sexual overtones like this one?"

"No. That's what baffles me. It's almost as if he has a split personality."

"What do you mean?" Clay's brows snapped together over suspicious black eyes as he waited for her explanation.

"At first he was acting friendly and flirty, but now his messages are getting nastier and he seems obsessed with owning me. He's convinced he's going to marry me. Isn't that odd?"

"I've heard odder things," he said grimly, not taking his eyes from her.

"He doesn't sound the same each time he calls either. Sometimes he just grunts and makes animal sounds or breathes heavily." Marisol shuddered and hugged herself. "Today was the first time I ever got anything besides flowers."

"Could it be an ex-boyfriend?"

"I doubt it. Even though I was the one to break it off, Gabe wouldn't hide behind notes and gifts. He might be arrogant, but he's not creepy."

"Have you had other boyfriends since?"

Marisol considered Clay's direct questions and wondered if he was interested in knowing for the case or for his personal gain. There was no denying the chemistry between them. She tilted her head and peeked at him from the corner of her eyes. "Do I have to answer that? I mean, must you know
everything
about my love life?"

Clay's mouth tightened. "Don't play coy. I'm trying to help you solve this."

"I know you are." Marisol shrugged—so much for his personal interest. "After Gabe, I haven't been interested in anybody beyond casual dating. Satisfied now?"

Damn right he was
. Clay hoped his poker face hid the immense satisfaction he felt. Marisol affected him like a ray of sunshine, vital, warm, and invigorating and he liked knowing she wasn't interested in anyone.

"Have you told your brother about this?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding me? If I told Marcos that the police had dismissed my complaints, he'd be here now. He's been hounding me to hire a private eye ever since I mentioned the anonymous messages."

Clay drummed his fingers on the table and gave her a pointed look. "You should listen to good common sense."

Marisol's chin jutted out belligerently. "I don't want him interfering in my life. I'm perfectly capable of handling things on my own," she snapped. She looked away, took a deep breath, and softened her tone when she said, "Maybe whoever's taunting me will get bored and find another way to get his kicks."

"I doubt it. Sometimes a stalker becomes so obsessed with his victim, he'll do anything to be with her." Clay's jaw clamped down as he repeated, "Anything."

"I'm not going to let him turn me into a scaredy cat or he'll use it to his advantage." Marisol's fiery amber eyes boldly met his as she straightened her shoulders. "Do you know anyone I can hire to investigate this?"

"You're looking at him," he stated unequivocally.

"You?" she asked, surprised.

Entranced, Marisol watched the corners of Clay's mouth lift into one of his rare, dimpled smiles. He didn't smile often, but when he did, boy it hit her like a double whammy.

"Yes, me," he affirmed, his expression confident. "I studied criminal law."

"Cute dimples. Too bad you don't smile more often," she observed lightly.

Clay's lips flattened into an implacable line. "Don't change the subject."

"You and Marcos should meet. You have a few negative traits in common, like bossiness."

Her phone rang, startling Marisol and she turned to Clay with frightened, questioning eyes. "Should I answer?"