Yours in Black Lace (3 page)

“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.