Yours In Black Lace

Stevie knew her art, having grown up with a collection that had been handed down through the generations. She especially knew Castillo’s work since he was her favorite modern painter. But she’d never seen any of these works in a book or gallery catalogue.

“These are originals, aren’t they? These paintings have never been shown outside of this house, have they?” Her voice rose with each question as she dashed from frame to frame to frame in disbelief. “These are your paintings!”

He answered in a monotone. “So now you know my secret.”

“But how—?”

“My full name is Emelio José Castillo Sanchez.”

She finally turned to look at him. A scowl twisted his full lips even as patches of color reddened his cheeks.

“Come on. After I put the groceries away, I’ll show you the house.”

Stevie dogged his footsteps into the large, sunny kitchen. “I can’t believe it. Emelio, you’re a wonderful artist, one of the most talented in the world. Why would you keep something like this to yourself?”

Emelio kept his back to her as he filled the refrigerator. “Everybody has secrets, don’t they, Stevie.”

“I told you mine back at my apartment.”

“Not all of them.”

Well, he had her there. But some things about her past were better left in the past. After throwing the grocery bag away, he crossed to the other side of the kitchen, not waiting to see if she followed, which, of course, she did.

“This is the Florida room.” He waved one arm to encompass a large tiled sunroom. Floor-to-ceiling glass offered a perfect view of the blue-green Gulf waves lapping against the powder-white sand. Despite the gorgeous panorama, she wasn’t about to be distracted.

“I admire those paintings in your office every time I come in, you’ve never said a word. When were you going to tell me?”

“I wasn’t. No one outside of my family knows except Alex and my agent. And now you. That’s the way I want it.” He unlocked the French doors and slid them open to access the glass-walled room that enclosed the swimming pool.

She followed him out to the lanai, stepping around one of the lounge chairs as she walked. “I still can’t believe you’re José Castillo. Your work is incredible! It’s provocative and passionate and yet you’re so…”

He stopped to glance over his shoulder, curiosity lacing his tone. “So what?”

“Well…inhibited.”

Emelio arched one raven-wing eyebrow, as if she’d insulted him, and for one brief instant his heated gaze stripped her bare. A jolt of electric awareness danced along her spine, hardening her nipples before settling between her thighs.

“Whoa. What was that look?”

“What look, Stevie?” When he shifted his weight to one leg and shoved his hands into his back pockets, the pistachio cotton of his shirt tightened across his broad shoulders.

“That look you just gave me.” Stevie ran her tongue over her lower lip and sashayed over to his side. Like a Bond babe going after classified documents, she felt the heat and turned it up fifty degrees. Tilting her head playfully, she reached out to draw one finger over the hard planes of his chest.

Strands of thick coffee hair fell over his forehead, luring her attention to the gleam of mischief and more that lit his eyes. The edge of his mouth curved and he lowered his voice to an intimate purr. “I was just wondering… When were you going to tell me you wrote the black-lace letters?”

Stevie gasped out a nervous laugh as her heart skittered to a halt, then pounded back to life. “Is that what you call them? I hadn’t figured out how to tell you. When did you know?”

“I saw the stationery in your living room.” He tipped his face down, his gaze focused on her mouth. “Like I said, we all have secrets.”

“Now that it’s out in the open, and we have this place all to ourselves, what are we going to do about it?”

Emelio held utterly still, in that watchful and predatory manner she’d come to know. But his eyes gave him away. Staring into the depths of his amber-green gaze, Stevie knew she had reached him on a primal level at last. She drew closer, seducing him with her eyes, yearning for another taste of his kiss.

Then a shutter came down over his features. He reached up to sweep the hair from his forehead, looking around as if he’d just remembered where they were. Regret darkened his eyes a second before he raised his chin and stepped away.

“I have a strict policy against workplace relationships.”

He walked along the edge of the swimming pool to the other side of the room and punched in a code for the back door. From the main hallway, another arch led to the short hall of the private section of the house. He flicked one hand toward the room on the right. “This is the gym.”

Stevie leaned around him, making sure her breasts brushed across his arm, and glanced inside. Expensive-looking boxing equipment and weight sets lined the padded mat-covered floor. She studied his reflection in the mirrored panels. “We’re nowhere near the agency now.”

In the mirror, his eyes widened at the contact and for an instant she saw his desire. He shifted back on his heels and jammed his fists into his pockets. A residual sheen of lust still clouded his gaze, but his tone was decisive. “You still work for me, Stevie.”

“Okay. I quit.”

“Resignation duly noted,” he said wryly. “But the policy is in place for a reason. Sleeping with someone who works for you impairs your judgment.”

“So who said anything about sleep?”

His nostrils flared and she saw his pupils dilate. She was standing close enough to hear the quick intake of breath before he shook his head. “Even if I accepted your resignation, which I don’t, that doesn’t solve anything. You asked me to take you on as a new client. The same policy applies.”

“Not a problem. You’re fired.”

He crossed his arms and straightened to his full height. “Nice try, Stevie, but you can’t fire me. We never actually contracted the job so—”

“So I’m not really a client and you have no more excuses.” She batted her eyelashes and grinned at him.

A myriad of reactions hurtled across his face, too swiftly for her to interpret any of them, but she could tell he was vacillating. Stevie turned, heading toward the opposite end of the passageway, noting a full bath and an office as she walked by. The last door opened onto a master-bedroom suite. A large side window looked out at the lanai and a set of French doors opened onto a brick-walled patio with a hot tub in the center.

Then she focused on the room and realized there was only a king-size four-poster with an elaborately carved mahogany headboard, no other furniture. Hoo yah. The “cottage” had only one real bedroom. And only one bed.

Though the carpeting muffled his steps, she knew instantly that Emelio had walked up behind her. The air was suddenly charged with a restless energy, and the faint citrus and spice of his cologne drifted to her senses.

Gazing at the paintings on the walls, large abstract pImages** of brightly swirling colors, she wondered why Emelio kept this other, boldly sensual part of his personality hidden. Obviously his art was his emotional outlet, the only way he could really express himself.

Well, she’d just have to show him another method….

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