Yours In Black Lace

He leaned forward, trying not to think about what a mistake this was. It was easier than he expected because his mind focused on discovering that her sexy pout tasted as delicious as he’d imagined. The kiss was soft, gentle and slow, but an underlying expectancy was building between them.

Stevie’s mouth relaxed and parted beneath his, both inviting and daring him to deepen the kiss. Her skirt made a swishing sound as her hips swayed across his arousal. Her hands fisted in the material of his shirt, urging him closer. He wanted her, but he wouldn’t compound what was already a serious lack of judgment. No man with any honor would take advantage of a woman in an emotionally fragile state.

Emelio reluctantly broke the kiss. He had a responsibility, a duty to keep her safe from Braga. Getting involved with Stevie would only increase the danger to them both. He gently placed one hand on her shoulder and took a step back, putting some distance between them.

Stevie’s full lips looked even more lush when thoroughly kissed and damned if he didn’t want to do it again. Her cheeks bloomed with color and her eyes had taken on a somnolent expression. He kept his gaze from straying to the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the hard peaks of her nipples visible under her sweater.

“We’d better get going. Pack whatever’s essential and we’ll buy anything else when we get there.”

He saw the flash of confusion in her eyes at his brusque manner, then she crossed her arms over her waist and nodded. “It’ll only take me a minute.” She raised one hand to gesture at his face. “I’m sorry about that.”

Emelio thought about his parents, about the closeness and caring they all took for granted. “I’m sorry that your family let you down.”

Stevie’s blue eyes turned clear and cold. “The people you trust to protect you always hurt you the most.”

Her words sliced into him like a razor as she turned to go inside the apartment. The guilt that bled out of his heart made him even more determined to keep her safe at all costs.

He thought about his dead informant. He wasn’t going to make the same mistakes with Stevie. He had to concentrate on hunting down Braga before he found them. It was the only way to protect her.

Emelio went back inside the apartment and closed the French doors behind him. Looking around at the destruction strengthened his resolve. Gracias a Dios, she hadn’t been home. She might have ended up in the same condition. He looked at his watch and called out.

“Get it in gear, Stevie.”

“I’m coming.”

He heard a drawer bang in the bedroom and sighed. If she was anything like his sisters, Stevie’s idea of essential differed greatly from his. While he waited, his eyes catalogued her belongings, storing the information of her likes and preferences. The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement when he noticed she had the complete collection of James Bond videos.

A gleam of white caught his eye and he saw something partly hidden beneath the cane-back chair. His gaze narrowed to a sharp focus when he noticed a dark shadow along the top. There was something familiar about that pattern….

As Emelio turned the chair over, he saw that the object wasn’t white but pearl gray. He could only stare at the box of stationery with a black-lace design embossed on the edge. He reached for the envelope in his back pocket, comparing them to be certain.

Stevie? Stevie was the mystery woman who’d been mailing him erotic notes for almost four months?

At the office, she was friendly but professional. She was straightforward and hardworking and…sexy as hell. He suddenly remembered the flirtatious sparkle in her eyes when she sat on the edge of his desk earlier. She must have seen black-lace letter number nine in the stack of mail.

Stevie was his secret seductress.

Words that she’d written in the second letter flashed across his mind.

I straddle my thighs over your lap, my mouth open to your hot, wet kisses as I unbutton your shirt. Your hands glide under my skirt, pulling me closer to the hard bulge of your jeans….

Not only did he remember every sentence from every letter, but he also realized that they were going to be roommates for an indefinite amount of time. Emelio groaned out loud. He’d been fighting his attraction to her before. How the hell was he going to keep his hands off of her now?

3

“ALLIGATOR… ALLIGATOR… Oh, look…more alligators.”

Emelio changed his grip on the steering wheel and glanced over at Stevie. Her short blond hair was tousled from the wind blowing into Alex’s Jeep as they headed due west along U.S. 41 towards Naples, Florida. One elbow was propped on the open window, her chin resting on her palm. She stared out at the large reptiles sunning themselves beside the canal that ran next to the road.

He chuckled at her petulant tone. “Come on, it’s not all ’gators. I saw a couple of herons and a deer.”

“Too bad the ’gators didn’t eat the deer. It would have broken up the monotony.” Stevie let out a long-suffering and exaggerated sigh.

“You could use a little boredom today.” He reached over to turn the radio on low.

She sighed again, squirming a little in her seat. Her movements caused the short blue-and-white skirt to ride up, exposing more of her long, shapely legs. His fingers itched to reach out and stroke the smooth, tanned skin, feel the lean muscle just below the surface.

The next song on the radio was a slow sexy ballad. I’ll make love to you, baby, all through the night—

He flicked a button to change the radio station. That song was not what he needed to hear right now. Instead, he focused on the flat, tree-lined road ahead, stretching out as endless and hot as Stevie’s legs…. He had to stop daydreaming and pay attention to the highway.

This section of U.S. 41 had no emergency shoulder, just a crumbling edge immediately bordering the wetlands. It wouldn’t take much for the Jeep to end up among the palmettos and waist-high saw grass. Every time he made this trip from Miami, he got the feeling that if he stopped for too long, the fecund greenery would sprout up and make him an unwilling part of the Everglades.

Stevie dropped her arm off the window ledge and into her lap with another irritated sigh. Hiding an amused smirk, he braced for her next harangue.

“If you’d let me drive—”

“Forget it, Jayne Bond.”

“—I would have gone up to Route I-75. The interstate is a lot faster.”

He adjusted his sunglasses against the glare of the midday sun. “Maybe. But it would have been harder to keep track of the vehicles around us.”

Stevie crossed her arms under her perfect breasts and grumbled sarcastically. “No problem here. We’ve been on this two-lane, mosquito infested highway following the same slow-moving minivan for the last thirty miles.”

He silently agreed. His frustration levels had risen along with the time spent on the road, too. If they had taken the interstate, it would have only been a two-hour drive across the state. But after changing cars again, he’d decided the Tamiami Trail through Big Cypress Nature Preserve would be the safer of the two choices.

“Relax. It’s a nice day. The sun is shining. Try to enjoy the beauty that’s all around us.”

“It’s a swamp, Emelio.” The whine of the cicadas rose to a crescendo as if to emphasize her words. “All I see is kudzu vines, scrub pine and more goddamn alligators.”

She’d probably smack him, but not even her foul mood could detract from her appeal. “You know, you’re very cute when you’re complaining.”

Stevie inclined her head, regarding him with a quirk of one eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?”

“No, of course not.”

He shouldn’t be flirting. But it was hard to remain aloof when black-lace letter number nine lay on the console between them. Every now and again, he noticed her glance down at the envelope and then over at him. He couldn’t wait to find out what was written inside. Maybe he’d ask her to read it to him. Out loud, in that sexy Southern drawl that caressed his senses and danced along his nerves. Maybe she’d be naked, too.

Stevie sat up straight and stared at him. “Your lips moved.”

“What?”

“I saw your lips move. Careful, Emelio. That was almost a grin. With teeth and everything.”

It had been a long time since he’d felt like smiling, and yet Stevie had brought him close twice today. He decided not to comment, not sure himself what it meant.

“Didn’t you even realize you’d let it slip? No? That’s my new mission, then. To do whatever it takes to get you to smile again.”

Whatever it took? pImages** from her seductive notes crowded his thoughts.

The feel of my bare breasts rubbing against your chest makes my pulse race. Then you pull me into your embrace, your hands gliding down my naked body as you lower your mouth to my waiting lips….

Thinking about the possibilities was enough to strain the placket of his jeans. “That could be interpreted as sexual harassment, you know.”

“My, my. What made you jump to that conclusion?” Her laugh was darkly sensual, and her accent slipped into the cadence of her native New Orleans. “Don’t worry, chér. You’ll know right sure when I start harassing you.”

You know you want me. I know it, too—

The suggestive lyrics on the radio echoed his thoughts and increased the tension within the small space of the Jeep. Emelio switched the station again. Damn, what was it with the music today?

Give in to the feelin’, ’cause you’re gonna be mine—

He clicked the radio off.

Stevie looked over, amusement glowing in her eyes. “Is something wrong, Emelio?”

“Nope. I’d just rather listen to the mosquitoes and cicadas.”

She laughed again, low and husky, as the car phone rang. Emelio picked up the earpiece so the caller wouldn’t be on the speaker. Alex’s voice rumbled in his ear.

“I’m on vacation, hombre. What are you paging me for and what the hell are you doing in my Jeep?”

“Sorry, man. I had to take your wheels to get out of town.”

Alex’s tone instantly became serious. “Talk to me.”

“The Dominican cartel sent a message. It came through the office, but somehow Stevie is involved.” Emelio was well aware she was openly listening to his end of the conversation.

“Shit. How bad is it?”

He debated less than a second about how much to say. “How soon can you get back?”

His friend blew out a breath. “I’ll be on the next plane from Baltimore.”

“We’re heading for José’s place. You can reach me there. And Alex…”

“You’re welcome. Just watch your back, since I can’t be there to do it.”

Stevie settled her sunglasses on her nose to hide the fire she knew was blazing in her eyes. Her temper idled between annoyed and aggravated while she waited for Emelio to finish the call. How was she supposed to solve her first case, her own case, if he kept withholding information?

“Now that you’ve let Alex in on what’s happening—”

“Alex is my partner. While I keep you safe in Naples, he’s going to be digging around in Miami. And not without considerable risk, since he testified against the cartel, too.” He reached up to turn the visor down over the windshield, his sunglasses apparently not enough defense against the glare.

Alex wasn’t his only partner from now on. She was damned sick of being patted on the head as if she couldn’t be trusted. She was smart and strong and determined to be included.

“Then let me tell you what I know, Emelio. A hundred million dollars is a lot of money, but to a drug trafficking organization, it’s a drop in a very big bucket. That means the cartel’s message can only be personal. And I’m betting it has something to do with the man you tried to get me to recognize in that one photo.”

With his eyes hidden, there was no way to gauge his expression, but she saw his lips thin and noticed his hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

“Information is knowledge, Emelio, and knowledge—”

“—will often get you killed. You’re too smart for your own good, Stevie.” His tone suggested a reluctant admiration.

She immediately latched on to his words. “I heard Alex say once that Overtown was the end of your career with Justice. Who got killed?”

He drew in a deep breath and very slowly exhaled through pursed lips. Then he surprised her by giving a direct answer. “The man in the photo is Rogelio Braga, Frankie Ramos’s replacement.”

“What happened in Overtown?”

For a long while he didn’t reply. He gingerly rubbed the bruise on his jaw, concentrating on the road. “An informant I’d used to get evidence against the cartel double-crossed our team during a bogus drug buy. When the bullets started flying, she was killed in the gunfire.”

Stevie wondered if he realized how much was given away by the undercurrent in his voice. However things had gone wrong, Emelio obviously blamed himself. And her instincts told her he was still holding something back, so she hit him with the question that was uppermost on her mind.

“Why is Braga threatening me?”

He was quiet for a few seconds and she could almost feel his withdrawal. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know yet.”

Her voice hardened as she stared at him. “Take a wild guess.”

“Like you said, information is knowledge.” Emelio’s eyebrows drew together. “The question is, what does he think you know?”

ROGELIO BRAGA SLAMMED his fist against the oak surface of his desk. Bloody useless fools!

Frustration mingled with disgust and had him moving to the wet bar to pour a tumbler of dark rum. One of his first tasks when his takeover was complete would be to reorganize. He would eliminate anyone who dared substandard performance. Incompetence could not, and would not, be tolerated under the new regime.

The thug he’d hired from outside the cartel to take care of the Madison woman had failed him. He managed to deliver the messages, but had stupidly taken it upon himself to ravage her apartment, thereby alerting her to the extent of her peril before he’d planned. Then, not only had he lost them in traffic, he’d ended up in hospital. Braga would see to it he never left.

He swallowed a mouthful of the rum, hissing through his teeth as its fire trickled down his throat. He had bigger problems than the messenger.

His former boss, Frankie Ramos, had been offered the chance to make a deal in exchange for information about the cartel. Ramos was going to spill his guts in the courtroom unless Braga spilled them first. But so far none of his people had been able to find out where Ramos was being held.

Braga slumped into his wing chair, splashing rum against the side of the tumbler. He refused to settle for less than total control. He would find the woman and he would find Ramos. It was time to call in an old and very valuable debt. There had been small favors over the years—recanting witnesses, “lost” evidence—but now something more was required.

EMELIO GUIDED the Jeep along the main street through the Old Naples section of the city. The picturesque Fifth Avenue South was crowded with people strolling along the landscaped promenades or lunching in one of the many open-air cafés. He felt the tension ease from his shoulders. Only his family and best friend knew he stayed here, so he and Stevie should be safe from Braga’s spies.

He loved vacationing here, loved the escape from everyday life the quaint Gulf Coast town offered. Stevie’s head swiveled from side to side, her gaze trying to take in everything at once. Emelio knew how she felt. No matter how often he came here, the city’s charm and grace still affected him.

Old Naples boasted a low skyline of pastel-painted stucco-and-glass buildings tucked among palm trees and lush foliage. Upscale boutiques nestled beside jewelry stores and antique shops. Each structure was uniquely designed with columns or archways, recessed plazas with murmuring fountains and flower-draped balconies.

Stevie pointed to a series of six-foot fiberglass reptiles decorating the sand-colored brick sidewalks. “I can’t get away from the alligators.”

Emelio chuckled. “Those are part of the ‘Gators Galore’ public art project. It’s to raise money for the Boys and Girls Club. Kind of like the ‘Fish Out of Water’ project in Baltimore and the ‘Cows on Parade’ in Chicago.”

“They dress better than the gators back in the swamp. I like that one over there, with the sparkly purple evening gown, pink shoes and gold eyelashes.”

As he breathed in the scent of warm sea air and tropical flowers, he made a right turn onto Gulf Shore Boulevard. He immediately felt the cool breeze coming off the greenish-blue water. Glancing to his left as he drove, he could catch glimpses of the sugar-white sandy beach. Only a few more minutes and he’d be home.

Funny that he thought of it that way. Mamá, Pápi and his sisters lived within walking distance of his house in Coral Gables. His parents’ house was always full of relatives and friends, music and raised voices and his family was the most important thing in the world to him.

And yet… All of that love and togetherness could be stifling at times.

As the firstborn and the only son of Cuban immigrants, he carried the burden of responsibility and parental expectation. From the earliest age, Mamá and Pápi instilled in him a strong sense of family, honor and duty. How could he face his family if they ever found out that his informant, a woman he was responsible for, had been killed? He’d never allow that to happen ever again.

Still, he looked over at Stevie and wondered if he’d made the best decision by bringing her to Naples. Of course, he knew it was right—he had to protect her—but his chest tightened with more than a little resentment over having to take her to the beachside cottage. It was his solace, his sanctuary, and in taking her there he’d have to reveal his secret perhaps.

Then he remembered the mess in her apartment, and the look of devastation in her eyes when she saw it. He’d made the only decision he could. Keeping Stevie safe from harm was his chance to regain his honor, a belated attempt to make things right again, to find some peace.

Stevie’s belly rumbled and she turned her attention from the scenery to the matter at hand. “I’m starving. Can we stop somewhere for burgers and onion rings?”

“Sorry. There are a lot of cafés and restaurants in Old Naples, but no fast-food places.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “No golden arches, no yellow bells, no red-and-white buckets? How am I supposed to survive?”

“That stuff is poison. We’ll stop by the grocers and I’ll make us an early dinner.”

Half an hour later, Emelio guided the Jeep through the security gates of an exclusive resort community. Stevie’s eyebrows shot up and she yanked her sunglasses off. Not many private detectives traveled in the kind of circles that allowed them to stay in a place like this.

After passing several streets, he turned onto a circular driveway shaded by a canopy of palm trees. Behind a wrought-iron gate, the butter-beige stucco walls and white tile roof of the Bermuda-style house gleamed in the late afternoon sun. The front formed a U-shape with tall mullioned windows overlooking the central courtyard.

Stevie looked from the house to Emelio and back. “I thought you said your friend had a ‘cottage’?”

He shrugged. “That’s what the realtor called it.”

“Hiding from deranged drug-dealing stalkers won’t be so bad after all.”

Emelio pulled onto a parking pad beside one of the sandstone gateposts and shut off the engine. He took off his own sunglasses and gazed over at the house with a pensive expression for a moment. Then he climbed out of the Jeep and walked toward the cargo section. “I’ll get the groceries.”

Stevie opened her door and got out, as well. She took only a few steps before her heel twisted on the crushed shells and gravel. In an instant, Emelio was there, cupping her elbow to steady her. His large hands felt warm and strong, and she ached to feel them on her naked body. When their eyes met, she saw the awareness mirrored in his gaze.

Would he kiss her again? The memory of that first contact had been seared onto her lips. With little effort, she recalled the shock of desire and need, the feel of his hard, aroused body against hers. But even as she waited for a repeat experience, Emelio stepped back. Though a twinge of disappointment settled in her chest, she didn’t push. She was willing to bide her time and she’d bet he was worth waiting for.

She followed the driveway, carefully picking her way on the high-heeled sandals. He reached over to the gatepost and pushed one of the sandstone cobbles aside. When he punched in a sequence of numbers on the hidden security keypad, the tall iron gates slid silently apart.

“Wow. So this is Golden Eye.” When he glanced over with a curious expression, she explained. “Ian Fleming’s tropical hideaway. He wrote most of the Bond books there.”

Amusement lit the hazel depths of his eyes. Emelio lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “Wait until you see the secret laboratory of spy gadgets hidden in the cave under the dining room.”

Stevie laughed as they walked along the pathway leading to the front door. The courtyard was landscaped on either side with dark green palmetto, sweetly scented Indian blanket, graceful sword fern and lantana in shades of purple and violet. Alone in this fabulous house, miles and miles away from danger, she could let her attraction and his interest take the natural course. Mr. Calm, Cool and Controlled wouldn’t know what hit him.

A tendril of doubt curled in her belly, but she shoved it aside. She wasn’t Tom’s insecure and intimidated little wife anymore. That was all behind her. She’d found the courage to leave, the will to fight him for a divorce and the guts to move to a strange city and start her life over.

After that, confessing to Emelio that she’d written the letters would be a breeze.

When he shifted one of the grocery bags to his side, Stevie took it from him to hold. He flipped through the keys on his ring, and then fit one into each of the two locks on the front door.

“You just happen to have the keys already?”

“I stay here as often as I can.”

He stood aside to let her go past, her heels rapping against the terra-cotta tiles. Stevie looked around the simply decorated entrance foyer, noting that the house felt smaller than it had looked from the outside. A hallway stretched the length of the house to a back door, with arched entryways on either side that led to the rooms of the house.

Stevie set the bag down on the smoked-glass accent table in the foyer. She watched as Emelio swung the mirror above it open and fiddled with yet another security system. “What happens if you put in the wrong top-secret code?”

“Bambi and Thumper show up and beat the crap out of me.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Those cute little Disney animals?”

Emelio looked at her, sympathy coloring his tone. “You must be tired. Thumper and Bambi were the two bad girls who tried to kill Bond in Diamonds Are Forever.”

“Oh, yeah. I love that scene. They all end up wrestling in the swimming pool.” She cocked her head to one side and crossed her arms. “I think we got off the subject, though. Whose house is this really?”

His features darkened, closing off his expression. “It’s mine, Stevie.”

“But you told Alex we were going to—”

The words died in her throat and her arms dropped to her sides when she caught sight of the living room. Her eyes widened as she walked closer.

“Watch the step.” Emelio caught her elbow again before she tripped, then leaned one shoulder against the archway, both hands shoved into his front pockets.

She barely heard him, only vaguely noting the cathedral ceiling and large windows and that the room had the same stark modernist décor as his office back in Miami. Her gaze was focused on the José Castillo paintings displayed on every pale beige wall.