Wild for You (9 page)

"That's fine with me." She was glad Clay wasn't going anywhere. "I'll feel safer if you're here tonight." She kicked off her sandals and curled her legs under her on the sofa.

Clay picked up the remote control from the coffee table and flicked on the TV. "Let's watch the news."

When he noticed Marisol begin to nod off, Clay stretched out on the sofa and tucked her into his side and stroked her silky, tousled hair. Lying beside him, Marisol felt tiny, almost fragile, and Clay felt an overwhelming need to keep her safe from harm.

She was his to protect.

He shut off the TV and settled more comfortably with Marisol's delectable body snuggled against him. Looking down at her soft hand on his chest, he closed his eyes and smiled ruefully. Marisol was very tempting, but Marcos' phone call had reminded him that he was relying on Clay to protect his sister, not seduce her. He didn't want to ruin his friendship with Marcos by taking advantage of his sister.

Clay needed to remain aloof, but everything about Marisol invaded his senses—her satiny skin invited stroking, her impish grin made him want to kiss her senseless and her fragrant scent made him want to peel her clothes off and make love to her. He dozed off in spite of the havoc she played on his self-control.

* * *

Marisol was the first to stir. Her mouth felt parched and her lids heavy as she strove to crawl through the honeycombs of indolent sleep. She attempted to stretch only to find she was solidly pressed against something hard. Looking down, she saw a large, brown hand splayed over her hip. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten into that position, but intense pleasure coursed through her when she realized it was Clay who held her. Glancing up, she caught him watching her with heavy-lidded eyes.

Marisol rubbed her eyes. Was she awake or still dreaming?
If this is a dream, please let it continue
. Clay's warm touch convinced her that she wasn't dreaming. She had fallen asleep in his arms after only knowing him two days. When she checked to see if her clothes were intact, she felt Clay's chest rumble. She pushed back from him to see his face clearly and saw he was chuckling.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"You." He nudged the top of her head with his chin. "You look like a kitten with its fur rubbed the wrong way."

"And you look like a jungle cat ready to pounce," she countered. "What time is it?"

Clay glanced at his watch. "Five o'clock."

"No wonder I'm still sleepy," she said, yawning. She stood up and stretched. "I'm going to bed. Do you want a pillow and some sheets?"

"No. I'm going out to the lanai to meditate."

She made a face to show what she thought of his plans. "At five in the morning?"

"I've slept enough. I feel refreshed now." Clay rubbed Marisol's shoulders. "You go on to bed. I'll wake you up at six."

"Thanks." Marisol slipped off her sandals and lay down on top of her comforter, instantly falling asleep.

She was lying on her side with her face resting on her hand, when Clay entered her room and patted her shoulder. "Wake up, sunshine. It's six o'clock."

"Already?" She rolled over and dug her face in the pillow.

He tickled her foot and she kicked at him. "Wake up. I've never seen anyone sleep so deeply." He tapped her bottom. "Hey, let's have some breakfast, sleepyhead."

"Hey—" she started to protest, but the words died in her mouth when she turned over and saw how appetizing Clay looked, his thick black hair slightly disheveled and still damp from his shower. He was freshly shaven and had changed into faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt. Captivated, she watched his hard mouth quirk up at the corners and the sexy grooves beside it deepen. He was giving her a rare smile that reached his midnight eyes. She'd take that and double doses of kisses for breakfast, she thought, grinning back at him.

She couldn't exactly wrap her arms around his neck and pull him in, so she bounded out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. "I'll be out in a few minutes to fix us some breakfast."

She showered, shampooed her hair and dried off quickly before putting on black skinny jeans and a salmon-pink blouse that nipped in at the waist. Her wet hair wrapped in a towel, she padded to the kitchen on bare feet and found Clay sitting at her kitchen counter watching CNN news on her portable TV.

She liked seeing him in her kitchen. Just thinking about how she'd dozed off last night snuggled against him made her weak in the knees. Gazing at him now, she gave silent thanks for having such a hot bodyguard and deposited a kiss on his jaw.

"Good morning, hot stuff," she teased. "Mmm, you smell great. Like you've been walking in a green forest after the rain."

"How poetic, sunshine. You smell pretty good yourself. Like a fresh-squeezed lemon," he said.

"It's my special brand of shampoo. It's all—"

"I know, I know," he interrupted. "It's all-natural."

"Scoff all you want, but your hair looked amazing after the conditioner I put in."

"Don't remind me of that mess, it'll ruin my appetite."

"What do you want for breakfast? Avocado and eggs?"

"Come here, smart aleck," he said, grabbing her hand.

"Breakfast first." She danced away from his grip. "Does
cafe con leche
with scrambled eggs and toast sound good?"

"Perfect."

"I'll get the paper first." She opened the front door and picked up the newspaper and a card fell out of the plastic bag. She read the note out loud as she returned to the table.

WHORE, stop shacking up with that bastard. When we're married, I'll enjoy punishing you for it.

"Oh, God," she groaned. "Another note and it's awful."

Clay's jaw clenched, but his tone was measured when he spoke after a pensive pause. "I have a temporary solution we can use while I root him out. I'll tell you about it after breakfast."

Marisol was curious to hear more, but she got busy brewing espresso and steaming skim milk for the
cafe con leche.
She halved several cold oranges and used her juicer to produce a frothy pitcher of orange juice and then made scrambled eggs and buttered toast with apricot jam. When she placed everything in front of Clay, she realized breakfast had somewhat calmed her.

"Great orange juice," Clay said, downing the contents of his glass before digging into the eggs.

Marisol waited until he finished his last bite of toast before saying, "It doesn't seem like this guy's going to give up easily."

"He's not," Clay said bluntly.

"I hate having to constantly watch over my shoulder."

"Right now you have no other choice."

Marisol grimaced. "I had been managing well on my own—until now." Things were way different a month ago when she was carefree and trusted most people. "Who knows? Maybe he's just a lot of hot air and gets his kicks from tormenting girls anonymously. I can't let some guy turn me into a frightened ninny," she said, with more bravado than she felt.

Clay pinned her with a hard look. "Don't underestimate him. I can't begin to tell you the despicable things stalkers have done to innocent women. Rape, even murder. Stay one step ahead and street smart, and I'll take care of protecting you."

"Clay, I appreciate it, but we can't be together 24/7!"

"Pretty damn close," he muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"I've decided on a plan where I can watch you around the clock and keep you safe until I find the stalker."

"What is it?" Marisol's coffee cup stopped in midair as she waited to hear Clay's answer.

"It's the best course of action, but before I give you details, I want your promise that you'll go along with it."

"How can I possibly promise until I know what you're planning?" Marisol asked, wanting to clobber him for being obtuse. Just because he was a detective didn't mean she should blindly go along with whatever plan he'd concocted.

Clay regarded her with that no-nonsense look she recognized too well. "Here it is in a nutshell: This guy is obsessed with marrying you, so we'll beat him to it. We're getting married today."

Marisol's coffee cup slipped from her hand and clattered to the table, splashing coffee everywhere. She clutched a handful of napkins and wiped the spilled coffee from the counter, knocking over Clay's mug and sloshing hot coffee onto his lap.

"Hey!" he yelled, pushing back from the counter.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she cried, blotting the tops of his thighs. Groaning, Clay seized her hand before she reached further up.

"Leave it. It'll dry," he uttered in a strangled voice.

She eyed his crotch for damage. "Did I burn you?"

"No, it wasn't that hot. Relax, sunshine, I'm okay."

"I can't relax! Especially after your little joke about getting married."

"It was no joke. I meant it."

The corners of Clay's mouth lifted into a half smile and Marisol's attention shifted to his eyes. They were dead serious. She slumped forward, feeling as if the air had been knocked out of her lungs. Drawing a deep breath, she asked, "Do you always propose to the women you protect?"

"You're the first," he replied. "I have to jump the gun on this guy. He's determined to marry you. If we're married before he can get to you, it will either discourage him when he finds out I'm a detective, or it will make him come forward and I'll be right there waiting for him."

She wrung her hands. "Why can't we just live together? I'll tell everyone you're my boyfriend and my bodyguard."

"Being married is a helluva lot more permanent than shacking up with someone," he said matter-of-factly.

Marisol felt hollow inside. She never dreamed she'd have to make such a difficult choice. At twenty-nine, she often daydreamed about marriage and having babies, but never a marriage of convenience!

"Why not pretend we're married?" she said lamely.

"That would never work. The stalker is so obsessed with you he'll look for evidence to believe we got hitched."

She cocked her head to the side and studied him. "Why would you be willing to give up your freedom for me?"

"It's only temporary. I don't like to see an unprotected woman being terrorized, particularly someone as naïve as you."

"I am
not
naïve," Marisol said, hurt that he would think so. "And I'm not going to marry you."

She looked away so he wouldn't see how his plan had affected her. Earlier, Clay had promised to guard her with his life. No man had ever said anything so generous to her, nor so noble. Even though he had lied to her initially about his job, she understood why and she respected him. He had a strong character and a sense of honor—and that made him special. She yearned to make their relationship work, but not this way.

She was too honest to deny the strong physical attraction between them. She could feel the heat in Clay's dark, hooded eyes whenever he looked at her. He was so controlled and self-confident, a hot detective used to dinner and his pick of women, most likely. Clay's hot, hungry kisses last night had left her breathless, craving more. She wasn't sure how much longer they could remain platonic if they lived together.

Clay's brows lowered over penetrating black eyes that held her captive. "Say yes, Marisol
,
" he said, his husky voice beckoning her.

"I can't." She took a shaky breath and looked away.

He turned her chin to face him. "Stop being obstinate. The stalker has access to this building. Anytime now he might make a real move for you."

"I need time to think about it. In the meantime, we'd better hurry and get to work," she said, not wanting to dwell on the enormity of what he'd just proposed.

* * *

Finishing up with her last client for the day, Marisol glanced at her watch. Five o'clock. If she hurried, she'd be able to go to the market before heading home. In her rush to get to her car, she barely avoided being hit by a silver van backing out of a parking space.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" she shouted. Powerless fury raged through her when the driver gave her the finger and tore out of the parking lot. She looked up at the sky and wondered if they were in for a full moon tonight. Ominous purple clouds gathered on the horizon threatening a drenching storm. Hoping to steer clear of it, she hurried to the supermarket.

When she got back home, Marisol unpacked the groceries and ignored the message light that blinked on her answering machine. Just as she was putting a carton of milk in the refrigerator, her iPhone pinged with a text from Trini:
Emergency – call ASAP!

Marisol took a deep breath and dialed Trini's cell.

"I'm so glad you called. Laila was just hit by a car in the parking lot!" Trini cried, the second she answered Marisol's call.

"How badly was she hurt?" Marisol's fingers were wrapped so tightly around her iPhone, they hurt.

"I don't know!" Trini's voice cracked. "She's still unconscious. We're waiting for the ambulance to arrive."

"Was she in her car?"

"No, she was walking. It was a hit-and-run."

"Oh God," Marisol cried. "I'm leaving now."

Her heart felt like it was bursting in her chest as she drove to the salon, cursing every red light on the way. It was too much of a coincidence that she'd almost been hit by a van in the same parking lot today. Marisol wondered who could have done such an act of violence. She'd only been able to see the back of the driver's head as he tore out.

An ambulance was there when Marisol arrived. Her stomach tightened when she saw two paramedics carry Laila on a gurney. Trini rushed to Marisol's car before she could get out.

"Will she be all right? What did the paramedics say?" Marisol asked.

Trini stared at her with anguished eyes. "They didn't say much. She's in shock."

"Are they taking her to Mount Sinai Hospital?"

"Yes. Her doctor will meet her there."

"I'll drive behind the ambulance. Where's Zara?"

"She's already on her way to the emergency room. Drive safely, Marisol," Trini said in a frantic voice.

Marisol clutched the steering wheel tightly to stop her hands from shaking as she drove to the ER. By the time the ambulance arrived at the hospital, Laila had regained consciousness and she was rushed inside. Marisol waited in the lobby and glanced at her watch repeatedly, unable to block out the terrifying dread that Laila could have been killed.