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. Regret darkened his features a second before he stepped back.

“I have a strict policy against workplace relationships.”

“We’re nowhere near the P.I. agency now,” she pointed out. Stevie leaned around him, making sure her breasts brushed across his arm.

“You still work for me, Stevie.”

“No problem. I quit.”

“Resignation duly noted,” he said wryly. “But the policy is in place for a good reason. Sleeping with someone who works for you clouds 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 client. The same policy applies.”

“Not a problem,” she whispered, “you’re fired.”

Dear Reader,

Stevie Madison is smart, sexy and spirited. But even a tough girl has a tender side, as Emelio Sanchez soon discovers. She’s been sending him erotic notes signed, “Yours in Black Lace.” When the fiercely independent security expert goes on the run with the overprotective investigator, Emelio has to guard his heart against Stevie’s seductive charms.

It takes a special kind of hero to be matched with a strong and determined woman. Some of you may remember Emelio from my last book. Those who are meeting him for the first time, prepare to fall in love. Emelio offers Stevie exactly the kind of affection and understanding she needs to heal the wounds of her past.

Everyone wishes for a happy ending, and certainly Stevie and Emelio’s comes true. I wish you happy reading. I wish you joy. Please visit at www.miazachary.com.

Mia Zachary

Yours in Black Lace
Mia Zachary

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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This one is for my Wonder Muffin, my hero for the past twelve years, and for my Precious Angel, a little hero in training. Love you, guys.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The year 2003 was one of the most difficult years of my life, one full of loss and change. There’s no way I could have finished this book without the help, support and red ink of my critique partners: Kelly, Lisa, Sheryl, Maryanne and Dee. I’m eternally grateful.

Black-Lace Letter
Number One

You’re all I think about, all that I dream of. I can’t wait to get my hands on you. I want to strip you bare and pleasure your gorgeous body in the most erotic ways.

In my fantasy, I slowly unbutton your shirt and slip it off your shoulders. As I lightly stroke your neck and chest, I feel your skin heat beneath my fingers. Then my hands glide lower, over your belly and down to your waist.

I unsnap your jeans and slide the zipper down. Then I push them, along with your shorts, over your hips and down your thighs, leaving you naked at last.

I take my time, touching and tasting and enjoying you. I wait to hear you moan and whisper my name. Then, and only then, will I be…

Yours, in black lace.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

1

HE WAS READING one of her letters. She recognized the pearl-gray note card right away. Stephanie Madison stood in the doorway of Emelio Sanchez’s office and concentrated on him, instead of the packet she was gripping in her left hand.

South Florida sunlight poured through the large windows, flashed off the steel-and-smoked-glass desk, highlighting Emelio’s coffee-brown hair. Tousled strands fell loosely around his face then were absently pushed aside, his attention focused on the provocative words she’d written for him.

Stevie took advantage of his distraction, using the time to study features she’d already committed to memory on her first day at January Investigations. It was a compelling face, a blend of cool reserve and masculine appeal too beautiful to be called handsome and yet devastatingly male.

Her eyes roamed over his strong jaw, regal nose and the high ridge of his cheekbones. His hazel eyes, she knew, were flecked with amber and green and the shadows of distant secrets. His lips were firm and full in a wide mouth that rarely smiled.

Just now, there was a slight softening of his normally brooding features. Had the contents of her letter gotten to him? She hoped so. Dreams about Emelio, about what she wanted to do with him, made for long, frustrating nights. Her pulse accelerated and a delicious longing settled into her belly.

She’d been lusting after her boss ever since she joined the agency. But only on paper. Women called the office for him all the time, so she didn’t stand much of a chance with a playboy who was already juggling at least three girlfriends. Still, she hadn’t been able to resist the urge to write down her fantasies.

There was power and magic in words, because once she dared to put her thoughts on paper, she started to give Emelio the occasional flirtatious glance or inviting smile at work. When the looks he sent her in return began to hold a bit more than professional interest, she took a chance and mailed him one of her letters. Over the past four months, she’d sent eight more.

But she hadn’t yet figured out when or how to tell him of her attraction. Somehow the timing never seemed right. And, truthfully, she liked controlling the situation for now. She wanted to seduce his mind before she risked going after his body. She’d changed a lot, was almost a completely different person than the girl who’d fled New Orleans five years ago. However, inside, the fear of rejection, of not being good enough, remained.

Stevie continued to admire the sight of him. How could any man look so good in a polo shirt the color of pistachio ice cream? The pastel green material offset the golden brown of his skin and emphasized his muscular shoulders and broad chest. The short sleeves wrapped snugly around rock-solid biceps. But Emelio’s hands fascinated her most.

Long, tapered fingers curved around the letter he held. His hands had a surprising eloquence that accompanied his words when he spoke. Those hands had haunted her for months now. She longed to feel them cradle her neck as he kissed her, then slide along her bare skin until his fingers delved lower, making her moan with pleasure.

She must have made some sound because his head came up fast, like a wolf sensing danger. His amber-green eyes shimmered with a sensual heat before the emotion vanished behind his professional mask. In the same instant, he turned the letter facedown on his desk and brought his left hand out of his lap.

Stevie assumed her words had caused his need for adjustment but suppressed a grin. She wished she could give in to the laughter but for one thing, Emelio had no idea she’d been mailing him the erotic notes. For another, she was too damn upset to laugh right now.

All last night, she’d lain in bed awake, startling at the slightest noise, fighting the restless urge to escape into a glass of wine. As a result, her skin felt too tight, as if all of her nerve endings were exposed. She clutched the envelope in front of her as she stepped onto the gray-and-black area rug.

“Did I disturb you, Emelio?”

He cleared his throat, but a trace of huskiness remained. “No. Come on in.”

Out of habit, she looked over at the original José Castillo paintings on the wall as she passed by. The bold slashes of color swirling across the canvases seemed out of place in the stylishly austere corner office.

“You always do that.”

Stevie shifted her gaze at the sound of his voice. “I know. It’s impossible to look away. The artist’s work is so…passionate.”

Passion. Lately the only passion he experienced was vicarious, through either art or words. Emelio leaned back in his leather executive chair and glanced down at the latest note from his secret seductress. Just as with the last seven letters, these erotic pImages** burned themselves into his brain.

Your fingertips graze the fabric of my black panties, tickling the tender skin along my inner thigh. Reaching under the lace edge, you feel my damp heat. I’m slick with need and gasping with pleasure as your fingers slide inside…

It had been a while, but his body remembered. Anticipation heated his skin and an aching erection throbbed against his zipper. The anonymous notes intrigued him, but he still had no idea who his imaginary lover was.

“Can you make time for a new client?”

Emelio pushed the black-lace letter from his thoughts and sat forward, resting his arms on the edge of the desk.

“Of course. Who is it?”

“Me.”

Stevie settled into the guest chair, crossing her endless legs at the knee, and shoved the sleeves of her thin cotton sweater past her elbows.

He looked at her, really looked, for the first time since she’d walked in. Beneath a layered cap of hair every shade from honey to sand, her normally vivid complexion seemed pale against the turquoise-blue sweater. Otherwise, she was as striking as ever. Her skin was flawless and he imagined it felt as soft as a child’s. Her face was beautiful, despite an old break that marred the straight line of her nose. Her bottom lip was broader than the top, giving her a sensual pout.

Stevie’s mouth always looked ready to be kissed. And that was one temptation he couldn’t allow himself. The fact that she worked for him put her strictly off-limits. He’d once learned a deadly lesson about mixing business with pleasure, a lesson he would never forget.

The delicacy of Stevie’s features belied the enigmatic strength evident in her direct, almost aggressive, gaze. The color of her gray-blue eyes shifted like clouds across a summer sky. “Tiffnee signed for this yesterday before she shut down the phones for the night.”

Her watch, a man’s Timex that was too big for her slender wrist, clinked against the desk as she slid a packet across the surface. The plain manila envelope bore no address or postmark. “Madison” was written with black marker in letters uniform enough to have been stenciled onto the paper.

Disquiet slithered over him as he turned the envelope over and carefully removed the contents. Emelio stared at the glossy four-by-six photos. Surveillance photos of Stevie.

“Do you have any idea who sent these, or why?”

Her lush mouth twisted into a frown. “Believe me, I’ve been racking my brain all night. I thought it might be backlash from some case I’d investigated. Oh, wait, I forgot. I haven’t done any fieldwork yet.”

Emelio ignored the edge in her voice. “You were hired because we needed a security specialist.”

“Okay, well, I’ve spent ten months installing alarm systems and pulling guard duty for movie sets and society parties. Now I’m ready for an undercover assignment.”

He remembered some of the assignments from his days with the FBI. Undercover work wasn’t as glamorous as Hollywood made it seem. It was tense and tiring, lonely and frustrating. He looked at Stevie’s fresh, eager face and shook his head. “You’re not ready.”

He returned his attention to the first photograph. She wore a formfitting tank top and spandex shorts. She should wear spandex more often because the pliant material showed off one of the finest backsides he’d ever seen. Emelio forced himself to study the street, the pedestrians and the environment, searching for clues to the stalker’s identity.

“Tell me if you recognize anyone.”

“I was going into my gym. I know the women walking behind me. They’re regulars in my kickboxing class, but those pictures could have been taken almost any Tuesday night.”

He glanced up at her. “Kickboxing.”

She gave a sassy little shrug. “It’s part of my training program, along with Tai Bo and weight lifting. I want to be ready when you finally let me do real work.”

He rolled his eyes and looked at the next picture.

“Those were taken outside the grocery store. Judging by the outfit I had on, I’m guessing it was last Monday. But this—” she tapped a blunt nail against the next photo and her indignation almost succeeded in masking the catch in her voice “—this shows me leaving the bank and that was goddamn yesterday.”

He examined the last picture. Mierda! Emelio inhaled sharply and a hot rush of surprise and anger clawed at his chest. Barely visible in the corner of the photograph, he immediately recognized a man with salt-and-pepper hair and deceptively cultured features.

Rogelio Braga. The one who had got away.

Before starting January Investigations with Alex Worth, his partner and best friend, Emelio had worked for the Justice Department in the Special Operations Division. Braga liked to play the part of a quiet, respectable businessman, but he was in fact a money launderer and second in command of a notorious drug-trafficking cartel.

Emelio’s first undercover assignment for the SOD was to find proof that the Dominican cartel was moving drugs and cash through a Miami travel agency. The investigation had gone south when his informant betrayed him. His cover got blown, Alex was wounded and the informant had been killed. He shouldered his responsibility for the screwup and for the death, but it really burned him that Braga had skated on all charges.

“Do you recognize anybody in this one?” He forced the words past the cold rage threatening to choke him.

“Maybe.” Stevie cocked her head to the side to get a better look. She pointed to Braga. “I never forget a face, and I know I’ve seen his before, but I can’t place him.”

“There must be something. Think, Stevie.” He held the picture out to her, wanting to jar her memory.

She pushed it away. “Don’t you think I have been? Just because there’s no menacing note with those photos, doesn’t mean I don’t feel violated and threatened. Some creep is following me around, watching me…”

She squared her shoulders and gave him a challenging stare. “The question is, how do I handle it? I want to set up some kind of countersurveillance—”

“I think you should disappear.”

Her straight, golden eyebrows arched toward her hairline. “Excuse me?”

He slid the pictures back inside the envelope, handling them carefully by the edges. While his actions were slow and methodical, his mind raced with possibilities. Braga was sending a message, but damned if he knew exactly why, or how Stevie could be involved. He had to get her out of danger’s way until he could figure out what Braga was after.

“Whoever is stalking you may be a shy admirer, but more likely they mean you real harm.” Emelio glanced at the thin gold watch on his wrist. “You’ve got twenty minutes to wrap up whatever files are on your desk. Is there someplace you can stay?”

She shot to her feet. “Wait a minute. I’m a professional in an agency full of other professionals. I’ll admit to being a little freaked out, but there’s no reason—”

“Nineteen minutes and forty seconds, Stevie. Come get me when you’re ready to leave and I’ll drive you wherever you want to go.”

She crossed her arms defiantly, enhancing her cleavage as the cotton material stretched across her breasts. Her round, full, perfectly shaped breasts. Emelio dropped his gaze but found himself eyeing her slim hips and sleekly muscled thighs instead.

“I’m not running again.”

“Again?” He looked up.

Her eyes darted away, then back. Her tone had revealed more than she’d intended. “I did my best secret-agent impression to get a cab here this morning. It looks more fun in the movies.”

“Then don’t think of it as running. It’s a strategic retreat.” The telephone rang before she could retort. “Yes? Put her through, Tiffnee, thank you.” Emelio cupped one hand over the receiver. “Seventeen minutes, fifty. Go.”

This was unbelievable. She still wasn’t being allowed to do fieldwork, not even on her own case! She felt her temper shift from annoyed into irate. Another good-looking, arrogant, overbearing male thought he could control her life.

“Hola, Connie. How are you?” He shot a pointed glance at the door in a bid for privacy.

And infuriated was on the horizon. Emelio had just blatantly dismissed her to take a call from one of his girlfriends, and she wasn’t going to stand for it. After giving him a nasty look, she flopped back down on the guest chair.

Emelio sighed and began to speak in Spanish. Stevie gave him the courtesy of turning her head, but she couldn’t shut her ears. His voice was affectionate and warm, and, though she didn’t understand what he said, his tone held an underlying tenderness that cut straight to her heart. She felt jealous, embarrassed at eavesdropping on his intimate conversation, but she wasn’t going anywhere, damn it.

Finally, he said, “Okay, cariña. I’ll call you later, I promise.”

She snapped at him before he’d even hung up the phone. “You know more than you’re saying, Emelio. Since this involves me, tell me what’s going on.”

He held her gaze, searching for something, obviously debating how much to reveal. Then he set his features and lied to her, she’d swear to it.

“I don’t know anything, Stevie. I only suspect. So, you’re taking a leave of absence from work until I can get to the bottom of this.”

“I’m not some damsel in distress that needs a big strong guy to keep me out of trouble. It’s my life that may be in danger—”

“Trust me. You are in danger.”

She cocked her head to one side, baiting him. “But you just said you don’t know for sure. So let me do what I’ve trained for. I’m nobody’s victim, Emelio.”

Not anymore, Stevie thought. Never again.

THE MADISON WOMAN had seen far too much and she could not be allowed to talk. She could ruin everything he’d worked toward. She had to be silenced.

Rogelio Braga studied the photograph on the table before him, brushing his fingers lightly over the slick surface. She was quite lovely, despite her short hair and masculine name. What made her most attractive was her usefulness as an instrument of revenge.

His gaze shifted to the man beside her in the picture, the man he planned to destroy. Emelio Sanchez had made the grave error of allowing his feelings to show and the camera had recorded the moment. Falling in love would be the death of him; Braga would make sure of it.

He lit a cigarette and imagined another face, another time. Braga crushed the photograph in his fist. Yes, Sanchez would pay. First with the Madison woman’s life and then with his own.

THEY’D SPENT THE LAST ten of her twenty minutes in heated debate.

“I don’t see why you’re being so unreasonable. If it were Jason or one of the other guys, you’d be all for it.”

“Fine, I admit it. I’m an old-fashioned guy with a protective streak toward the fairer gender. But my decision is based on level of experience—”

“This is the twenty-first century, Emelio. A woman can do just about anything a man can. She doesn’t need to hide behind him. I don’t need to hide.”

He came around the desk and loomed over her, as if trying to use his size and stubbornness to intimidate her. “You know what I’m suggesting is the most logical solution. If you want to be treated like a professional, then act like one.”

His attitude was all it took for her to hit seriously pissed off. Stevie got in Emelio’s face, her height and two-inch heels putting her almost at his eye level. Stevie tried to concentrate on her argument, but the citrus and spice aftershave Emelio wore kept distracting her. She could feel the warmth emanating from his incredible body and the dark wisps of chest hair visible in the opening of his shirt was turning her on.

It didn’t matter that he was a walking pheromone, though. He was still a domineering dictator seriously jeopardizing her chance for career advancement. Her therapist would be proud that she’d, one, identified her emotions and, two, focused on the source. She was just about to follow step three, voicing her feelings, when the receptionist walked in.

“Jeez, Emelio, you got, like, a ton of mail today.” Tiffnee bounced over to where they stood glaring at each other, oblivious to the tension in the air.

He finally broke Stevie’s stare to acknowledge the bundle of mail thrust at him with a brief nod. “Thanks, Tiffnee.”

“No problem, boss.” The perky brunette grinned at him, revealing a wad of bright pink bubblegum. “Hey, Stevie. Great sweater. Beau-tique, right? I saw it last time I went shopping at Aventura Mall.”

She was irritated by the interruption, but being nasty to Tiffnee was a sin on par with kicking a puppy. So she listened as the girl launched into an inane conversation about the latest fashions. Out of the corner of her eye, Stevie recognized a small pearl-gray envelope. She saw Emelio tuck her ninth erotic note in his back pocket and continue to sort through the mail.

“Tiffnee.”

The receptionist turned her head in the same instant Stevie did, both of them alerted to the tone of his voice. In the space of a heartbeat Stevie realized that Emelio held a plain manila packet in his hand.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you.” Tiffnee pursed her rosebud lips in apology. “The messenger who just left said that one was, like, urgent.”

Emelio dropped the mail and sprinted for the door.

“Urgent means right-away-immediately-now, Tiff.” Stevie bent over and snatched the packet off the floor. “Sanchez” was written in thick black marker, just like on the envelope she got. She ripped it open with fingers gone cold from dread. A precisely cut article from the Miami Herald lay on top of another stack of photographs.

DRUG CZAR TRIAL CONTINUES

After a series of legal delays, Francisco Guillermo Ramos, who was arrested last year at a Florida Keys resort on several counts of drug trafficking and money laundering, is scheduled to take the stand…

Tiffnee leaned in close to read over her shoulder. “Hey, that’s the trial Em and Alex testified at a few weeks ago.”

Stevie made a sound of acknowledgement before flipping the newsprint under the photos. She blinked in confusion. Who the hell had taken these? The pictures showed her in a guard uniform, arms stretched wide to hold back a crowd of onlookers.

“I remember that. Miramax asked us to provide extra security while they were filming Angelfire near the Bayside Marketplace.”

Tiffnee grabbed her arm. “Ooh, I just love Will Smith! He’s so hot.”

The next photo was of Emelio standing watch outside of a large white trailer, then one of them together near the expensive car used in the movie’s chase scenes. Stevie shuffled the stack to the last picture and the breath caught in her throat. She stared at the close-angle shot.

Her head was turned to the left, smiling at something out of view. Emelio stood beside her and the camera had captured his unguarded expression. Several indefinable emotions were reflected in his gaze, lighting his hazel eyes with a smoldering intensity.

“Wow, Stevie. That man wants you bad.”

She choked out a laugh. If she wasn’t looking at Mr. Calm, Cool and Controlled with her own eyes, she never would have believed the depth of his regard. A warm tingling feeling spread through her body and settled in the apex of her thighs. That man wanted her bad.

Just then Emelio came back into his office. Tiffnee snatched the one picture and shoved it inside her T-shirt. She whispered under her breath, “I’ll put this in your purse.”

Stevie turned to Emelio, hoping her expression showed concern and not unexpected delight. His dark hair was swept back from his forehead as if he’d shoved it out of his eyes, revealing the small stud in his left ear and giving him a fresh-from-bed sexiness. “Did you find him?”

He scowled and stalked across the room, moving with his signature long, fluid stride. “I took the stairs since the elevators are notoriously slow, but I didn’t see any messenger.”

Stevie listened closely while Tiffnee briefly described the “blond hottie” who’d delivered both packages.

“I want a full, written description of him, everything he said and anything else you remember.”

“For sure, boss. Like, written written or typed written?” At the look he gave her, the receptionist backed toward the door. “Never mind. I’ll figure it out.”

Emelio shook his head as she bounced back out the door. “That girl is lucky she’s Alex’s cousin.”

Stevie passed him the contents of the manila envelope. “I’d say this blows your ‘harmless admirer’ theory.”

“Feel free to open my mail.”

“I did, thanks.”

Emelio sank into his chair while reading the article, his brooding expression firmly in place. Considering he’d just run down ten flights, there was only the faintest sheen of sweat on his forehead and he wasn’t even out of breath. A woman had to admire that kind of stamina.

She sauntered around the desk and rested one hip on the edge, allowing her blue-and-white skirt to creep up her thigh an inch or so. “That headline relates to your investigation at the Cayo Sueño Resort, right?”

Against his better judgment, Emelio allowed his gaze to travel. It moved from the long, slim thigh, over her knee and along her shapely calf to the high-heeled sandal dangling off her bare toes. It took him a second to remember her question. He raised his focus to Stevie’s face.

“Yeah, we were working an SOD case against the Dominican cartel. Alex went undercover down in the Keys as an investment broker, trying to use a man named Rogelio Braga to get to Frankie Ramos, former head of the cartel. I operated behind the scenes to gather evidence of money laundering. Braga disappeared two days before the arrest, but we finally took down Ramos and seized over a hundred million dollars from their organization.”

“I didn’t work on that case. So I don’t understand what this has to do with me.” She indicated the pictures from the movie set.

“Neither do I. Not yet.”

As he laid the newest set of photos on the desktop, he accepted that Stevie’s safety was now his responsibility. He didn’t want to tell her any more than necessary, not until he was sure. But it seemed obvious Braga intended to use Stevie to get to him. Braga prided himself on being a man who never forgot a favor. Or a slight.

Emelio had more than slighted him. He had infiltrated the cartel right under the man’s nose. Gracias a Dios, Alex had taken his wife, Meghan, and their newborn son to Baltimore to visit her family. That was three less people he had to worry about.

“I want to be on the road within the next hour.”

Stevie’s eyes darkened to a stormy gray, her sexy pout twisting into a frown. “Where are you going?”

“Wherever you go, lady. I’m not leaving your side.”

A warm frisson of awareness passed between them. Her pupils dilated in the dark blue depth of her gaze and he heard the quick intake of breath before she turned her normally subtle Southern accent into a sensual drawl.

“I don’t need a bodyguard, Emelio. I am a bodyguard. Well, at least I’ve been through the training.”

“Then you know how it works. We stay together 24/7 until this is over.”

2

STEVIE FORCED ASIDE all thought of danger until she focused on getting Emelio alone. She was going to have him to herself, twenty-four hours a day…and night. That was definitely the silver lining in the dark cloud hanging over her life right now.

A spark of excitement ignited in her belly. She’d spent the past four months creating the seduction. Now she was going to climb over the professional wall standing between them and, with any luck, land right in his lap. With a little planning, and a lot of opportunity, she could move their work relationship to an up-close-and-personal level.

The photograph that had captured his rare moment of openness was hidden in her handbag, but she didn’t need to take it out to remember Emelio’s expression. That look of unguarded lust had her feeling hot and tingly. So did the touch of his hand on her forearm.

Emelio stood in front of her, checking in all directions as he held the freight elevator open. His palm felt smooth and warm and strong and a bolt of desire shot though her. How many nights had she dreamed of having his hands stroke and caress her? How many times had she settled for her own?

Excitement hummed along her veins as her eyes roamed over him. His long hair touched the top of his collar in dark waves. The pistachio cotton shirt stretched across the wide expanse of his back was tucked into a pair of black jeans that molded to his butt and thighs.

The guy looked just as good going as coming.

A grin spread over her face. She hadn’t seen him coming yet. But she hoped to before the week was out. Stevie sobered her expression just as Emelio turned his head and nodded.

“All clear.”

His hand slid down to clasp her fingers, and the casual touch sent ripples of longing throughout her body. After another glance around, he led her down the cement-block hallway toward the service entrance. She stumbled as she followed him across the alleyway to the parking garage.

“Slow down, will you? I’m wearing sandals.” He shortened his stride with an apology, allowing her to catch up. To her surprise, he bypassed the VIP slots at the front of the garage. “Isn’t that your Lexus parked right over there?”

“Yeah, it is. We’re taking another car.”

Her hand flexed involuntarily beneath his when her pulse leaped with a different kind of excitement. “What are you going to do, hot-wire one?”

“Something like that.”

He looked around once more and let go of her hand before opening the door to the stairwell. She felt an odd sense of separation at the loss of contact. She also felt her calves screaming in protest.

“You take the stairs. These shoes are more decorative than functional. I’m catching the elevator.”

“One, we don’t want to get trapped in an elevator if anyone’s waiting for us. And two, we’re only going up two flights. You’ll live.”

Her sandals clattered on the concrete. “My life has become a spy-thriller movie.”

“Oh, yeah? Which Bond girl are you?” When he glanced at her a flash of amusement lit his hazel eyes.

“I always thought Holly Goodhead was a great name.” She smirked when his step faltered. The flare of heat in his eyes was quickly extinguished, but she saw it. And she would use it to her advantage later. “But I’d rather be Wai Lin, the heroine in Tomorrow Never Dies.”

“You don’t look Chinese.”

“Funny. She was the best, very strong and independent. Her character was more Bond’s equal. You should watch that film before assigning the next interesting case to one of the guys.”

“I like Sean Connery’s Bond girls better. You can’t go wrong with a woman named Pussy Galore.”

Stevie wrinkled her forehead and grimaced. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

“How about, ‘Ooh, James’?”

A chuckle escaped her at his impression of the line spoken by every woman in every Bond movie. Great body, bad-boy attitude and a sense of humor. What more could she ask for?

As Emelio pushed open the level-three entrance, Stevie took a quick look around and then followed him toward the corner parking spaces. It was all very stealthy and exciting. She watched him walk to the passenger side of a silver sports car and pretend to check the tires. Then he reached inside the wheel well and pulled out a small metal box. Inside was a set of keys.

“Well, I’m disappointed. I thought I was finally going to learn how to hot-wire.”

“I’ll teach you some other time.” He unlocked the passenger door and held it open for her.

She lowered herself onto the gray leather seat and swung her legs inside. “Mmm. Very nice. Whose car is this?”

“It’s registered to the corporation, so technically it belongs to the agency.” He shut her in and walked around the rear of the vehicle.

By the time he reached the other side, she was already in the driver’s seat. She rolled down the window when he tapped impatiently on the glass. “Since it’s the agency’s car, I get to drive. Hop in, handsome, and I’ll take you for a ride.”

At her choice of words frown lines appeared between his eyebrows, warring with a flash of sexual interest in his gaze. Then his expression cleared and she saw the corner of his mouth relax, though it wasn’t quite a smile.

Emelio nodded once in agreement. “Makes sense, since you know the way to your apartment.”

She started the engine and snuggled into the driver’s seat. “Sweet getaway car. Does it have a rocket launcher or remote-controlled steering?”

“You watch way too many movies.” He handed her the card key to get past the garage’s electronic gate.

As she turned her head to check for oncoming traffic, a beige sedan idling against the curb caught her eye. Looking at the man behind the wheel triggered alarms in her brain. “Emelio, I think that’s the messenger Tiffnee described.”

He swung his head to where she indicated. “Start driving and see if he follows.”

She eased out into traffic, trying to watch where she was going and peer into the rearview mirror at the same time. The presence of the messenger was unnerving, but she welcomed the challenge. She’d always wanted to drive a getaway car.

Emelio’s cell phone began to chime. “Hello? Angie. I can’t— Yes, I know—”

Didn’t those women ever stop calling him? The sudden stab of jealousy annoyed the hell out of her, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. “The beige sedan is pulling away from the curb, heading this way.”

“We’ll have to talk later, cariña.” He disconnected the call and tossed the phone into the beverage holder.

Cariña, again. He could at least show enough imagination to give his girlfriends different endearments. Envy had her growling as she glanced in the mirror again. “He’s only two cars behind us now.”

“Find someplace to pull over.”

“Forget it. We’ll be perfect targets.” Stevie waited until the traffic light turned yellow. Then she shifted down into second gear and hit the gas. The powerful V-6 engine roared in response and she peeled across the intersection, tires squealing.

“Are you crazy?” Emelio braced one arm against the door handle and tightened his seat belt. He held his breath until they shot past the delivery van barreling toward his side of the car. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Staring straight ahead, Stevie answered him through gritted teeth. “I’m trying to lose the bad guy.”

He rolled his eyes, unsure whether to laugh or pray. But a glance in the side-view mirror confirmed that the beige sedan had dodged the car in front of it and run the red light. Mierda! Thanks to Braga, and the wild woman beside him, he was going to end up a big smear on the pavement.

He turned his head to look at Stevie in case she was the last thing he ever saw. Her color was high and a daredevil grin split her face as she gripped the steering wheel in both hands and sped around a motorcycle. She was really loving this. And he was going to die.

“Hang a right onto First Street, then we’ll switch places so that I can drive.”

Stevie cut across to the far lane, downshifted and took the turn on two wheels. “I’m an expert at this, Emelio. I’ve been trained in high-speed, evasive and counterambush driving techniques.”

“Counter. Ambush. You’re kidding, right?” When he snickered, she shot him an offended glance.

She darted in and out between slower-moving cars. “No. I took a couple of classes with a former Secret Service agent. Graduated with honors, too.”

Of course she had. Out of nowhere, he wondered if she approached sex the same way. Just the thought of being on the receiving end of all that relentless enthusiasm got him hard. What the hell was going on? He’d never considered sleeping with her before. And he couldn’t consider it now.

Emelio checked the mirror again. “Damn, that beige sedan won’t let up.”

“No problem.” She slowed the car, as if stopping for another light, then whipped the steering wheel to the left and raced along East Flagler Street. “I’m serious about doing fieldwork, Emelio. I’m ready.”

“Can we talk about this later?” He closed his eyes and waited for the impact when she tried to pass the freight truck in front of them.

“I’ve studied martial arts, explosives recognition, tactical firearms and hostage survival skills.”

“We’re private investigators, Stevie, not the Navy SEALs.”

“Just know, I’m not giving up on this. I’m tired of sitting behind a desk designing alarm systems.”

“Later.” His heart leaped into his throat as she made a hard right around a minivan and careened onto Second Avenue.

“Listen, I’m more than qualified for the job—”

“Watch out!” He had to yell over the blare of honking horns. “Didn’t any of those classes teach you how to read a One Way sign?”

She managed to evade the oncoming cars and got off on Fourth Street. From behind them, Emelio heard the squeal of brakes followed by the crunch of metal against metal. He looked back to confirm the beige sedan was no longer behind them.

“Hoo yah!”

He turned at Stevie’s victory shout, not surprised to see her triumphant grin. Her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes alive with excitement, and he imagined she’d wear that same expression after a few hours in bed. Looking at her, he wasn’t sure if the rush he felt was adrenaline or attraction. Either way he wanted to reach over and kiss her, long and hard.

Stevie finally slowed down to the posted speed limit, but his heart beat an unsteady tattoo and his right hand still had a death grip on the door handle. He ought to flay her alive for taking ten years off his life, then have her committed to the nearest asylum.

Instead, he answered her proud grin with a quirk of his eyebrow. “So. What other classes have you taken?”

THE DOOR WASN’T LOCKED.

Stevie stared at the entry to her apartment in numb confusion. Why wasn’t the door closed all the way? She was sure she’d yanked it shut this morning—the door always stuck and that was the only way to get the lock to engage.

“Stay here.”

Emelio nudged her aside and reached out to gently push the door wider. It swayed open enough to let him slip through. She watched him crouch down before moving along the hall to check the other rooms.

Stevie followed as far as the living room, then jerked to a sickened halt. Everything she owned was strewn across the floor.

The love seat and chairs had been upended; the cushions slashed open to spill fluffy white filling onto the carpet. Her framed prints had been knocked from the walls. Sunlight from the now bare windows reflected off the plastic CD cases scattered about, and her collection of romantic suspense novels and mysteries had been swept off the shelves.

Her gaze slowly traveled over the mess to see that the dining table was on its side and all of the glassware in the kitchen lay in shards on the ceramic tile. She didn’t want to see what the bedroom and office looked like. Her hands clenched into fists even as she started to tremble. Comprehension, cold and piercing, crept along her veins until her body was frozen in place.

Someone had been here. Some unknown menace, some malicious stranger, had been inside her home. The significance weighed on her heart and sank into the pit of her stomach like a rock. She’d come so far, only to find herself cornered again.

Well, some people fought when cornered, and these days she was one of them. Red-hot fury melted the tendrils of fear that gripped her throat, spurring her into action. Stevie dropped to the floor and started gathering her books, stacking them in neat piles beside her.

Her independence and self-confidence were so hard-won, and at such a great price, she wouldn’t let a little thing like a break-in get to her. No way.

“I’m sorry, Stevie, but we have to go.”

Emelio carefully set a broken picture frame against what was left of her glass coffee table. She ignored him and began arranging her music discs. While separating the club music from the classical, she worked on identifying her emotions.

Frustrated. She’d have to replace all of her glasses and dishes, things she’d proudly chosen for her first apartment. Annoyed. She hated housework at the best of times, but this callous destruction went way beyond her normal sloppiness. Afraid… Her heart beat erratically, causing fine tremors that shook her hands. She’d deal with that one later. It was safer to be angry.

“Leave that, will you? I don’t know how long ago this happened. And I don’t know if they’ll be back.”

“I’m cleaning up, Emelio. You can help by picking up the TV set and putting it back in the entertainment center.”

“Just leave it! We’ve got to get out of here. Now.” Emelio snatched the music from her hands and tossed it aside.

She looked up, a protest on the tip of her tongue until he grabbed her left arm, pulling her to her feet. The instinctive part of her brain took over. He was big, he was strong, he was male. And he’d just put his hands on her.

Stevie swung at him, landing a hard blow to his shoulder. He dropped her arm in surprise and raised both of his in front of him. She watched his hands come up, and her mind emptied of all thoughts but one—fight back.

In a flood of emotion, she experienced the same fear and humiliation and self-loathing she’d felt the last time a man had grabbed her. He’d dislocated her shoulder that time. She’d had to suffer not only the pain but also the uncertain sympathy of the emergency room intern who treated her.

She lashed out again and again, barely able to see through the red haze clouding her eyes. Her head was spinning with memories. She heard a grunt of pain when her knee connected with his thigh, heard the low growl issuing from her own throat, but she felt nothing….

She felt nothing?

Stevie slowly returned to the present. It was Emelio, not Tom. And he wasn’t attacking her. He was trying to block her punches. In a split second, he captured both of her hands to keep her from harming either one of them anymore. Stevie took comfort from his warmth and the gentle way he held her fingers, but she couldn’t meet his eyes.

God, what must he think of her? Her gaze locked on to the dark purple bruise developing over his chin. She’d done that.

On the one hand, she should be proud that she hadn’t hesitated to use her training. But on the other, she’d lost control and descended into violence. The realization that she hadn’t escaped her past after all brought tears to her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Emelio. I… I’m sorry.”

He blew out a long breath and she felt the tension leave him. “Was he the same guy who broke your nose?”

She twisted out of his grasp, shame bringing hot color to her cheeks. “I think the slight bend gives my nose character.” Her attempt to lighten the mood fell flat when her voice cracked.

“Tell me about him.” Emelio’s gaze was soft, understanding, however, his voice was firm. She shook her head, but he gently persisted. “Is there any possibility he did this? I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“Tom didn’t trash my apartment. I made sure when I left New Orleans that nobody knew where I was going.”

“Could your family have—?”

“The last people I’d ever tell are my family.” Stevie turned to open the French doors.

He followed her outside to the balcony. “What happened, Stevie?”

“I guess I owe you an explanation, don’t I?” She gave a short laugh of embarrassment and leaned one hip against the railing, her arms wrapped protectively over her waist. “There’s not much to tell. I married young. I married wrong.”

She stared blindly across the street at the Miami-Dade Community College campus. “It started off with Tom picking my clothes, suggesting what I should do, where I should go. It was important for the wife of an aspiring politician to project a certain image. Then things changed and he started to dictate every aspect of my life.”

All of it was for her own good, of course. She wasn’t capable of taking care of herself, wasn’t smart enough to make her own decisions. And if she dared to ignore his advice… She shivered, remembering as if it were yesterday.

“Did you tell anyone? Try to get help?” Emelio’s face had darkened with anger but his voice remained low, soothing and, most importantly, nonjudgmental. A few of the tears blurring her vision spilled over her lashes.

“My parents didn’t believe a ‘nice boy like Tom’ would treat me that way. He just had ‘a quick temper’ and the best thing I could do was to keep him happy. Later, I tried to tell my brother, Eric, but he didn’t believe me, either. That sort of thing doesn’t happen to ‘people like us.’”

His hazel eyes reflected his understanding as he brushed the tears from her face with the pad of his thumb. “You didn’t call the police?”

“I was ashamed, Emelio. I felt trapped and alone and I thought if my own family didn’t believe me, no one else would, either. Tom belittled me until I had no self-esteem left. He made me a prisoner in my own life. And I let him do it….”

“You were victimized, Stevie. You didn’t do anything to deserve that. No woman ever deserves that.”

Following his instincts, Emelio tried to gather her into his arms, wanting to offer the sympathy and compassion he knew she’d never accept from his words. She hesitated, tensing when he refused to acknowledge her body language and held on to her anyway. Slowly, in resistant increments, she eased into his embrace. Her breathing became audible and then she cried, aching sobs that seemed torn from her soul.

Rocking gently from side to side, he tightened his grip as her tears soaked into his shirt. Pressing his mouth to her temple in a gesture of comfort, he stroked one hand over the corn-silk strands of her hair. He’d been denying his attraction to her, knowing it wasn’t to be. But for the first time, he saw the vulnerable woman beneath her tough exterior, and it touched his heart in a way he couldn’t allow.

Stevie’s breath hitched and her crying subsided almost as quickly as it had begun. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to ignore the feel of her lean, athletic body against his. He wouldn’t think about the way her soft, full breasts flattened against his chest or her long legs pressed between his thighs.

It would be a huge mistake to kiss her. But it had been so long since he’d allowed any contact with a woman that his body responded instinctively. Shameless desire filled him, lengthened and thickened him. Before the possibility fully formed in his mind, Stevie tilted her head back and brushed her mouth over the tender bruise on his chin. His heart thudded in his chest and a searing urgency rushed though him. Then she turned her face until their lips met.

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.

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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