Propositioned?

Someone called out his name and Michael turned around to see Oscar Henley hailing him again. He clenched his jaw, knowing he couldn’t escape this time.

She noticed Oscar, too, and smiled up at Michael. “Duty calls.”

Duty. Michael had lived it every day of his life. As the only heir to the Wolff dynasty, it was his duty to make certain the family business thrived, to direct and expand Wolff Enterprises, to protect the family fortune.

A fortune that could be in jeopardy, thanks to his grandfather’s lovely young wife. Michael should be focused on that tonight instead of losing his head over a mysterious lady in red.

But he found himself reluctant to let go of her so soon. No names. No questions. No promises. Those were her terms and they had intrigued him before that incredible kiss. But now…now he wanted to know her name. Wanted to know everything about her.

And he realized she must be aware of his identity. It was tradition for the host of the Wolff Ball to dress as a wolf. Usually that was his grandfather’s role. But Seamus was in the hospital tonight, recovering from a broken hip.

Thanks to his lovely young wife.

Tension coiled inside of him, but Michael couldn’t think about the Wolff family problems right now. He didn’t want to think about them. Not with Red standing so close, her subtle vanilla scent driving him wild. It reminded him of her kiss. So sweet and innocent. Michael closed his eyes, his duty battling with his desire. He wanted nothing more than to whisk her far away from here, to leave behind all the problems and the decisions and the responsibilities that came with the Wolff name.

Oscar called out to him again and Michael opened his eyes to see the stocky man making his way across the ballroom floor. He swallowed a sigh. “I suppose I have to play the good host for a while.”

She nodded. “Thank you for the dance.”

That sounded too much like goodbye. He grasped both her hands in his own, his thumbs smoothing over the crinkled red silk of her gloves. “Meet me at midnight. Right here. In front of the bandstand.”

He wanted to be there when she removed her mask. He wanted to see her face.

She licked her lips, her hesitation telling him that she was going to refuse. He couldn’t give her that chance.

“No names,” he assured her, wondering at her skittishness. “No questions.”

“No promises,” she whispered.

“Midnight,” he repeated, gently squeezing her hands. Then he turned and walked away.

Midnight couldn’t come soon enough for him.

TEN MINUTES TILL MIDNIGHT.

Sarah was lost. She’d planned this nocturnal excursion into the Wolff mansion down to the last detail, memorizing every room, every staircase, every winding hallway. There was only one thing she hadn’t planned on—Michael Wolff.

Sensing his gaze on her across the ballroom, Sarah had changed her plan at the last minute, choosing a route via the ladies’ room instead of taking the main staircase to the third floor.

From there she found a back staircase that led to the second floor. She knew from the blueprints that here she would find the library, offices and a long gallery full of priceless art. She had to find the staircase leading to the third floor, where the private rooms were located.

Only that staircase was closed for renovation. Sarah stood in the dark hallway, trying not to panic. If only that kiss hadn’t left her so confused and disoriented. So…unsatisfied. She raised her fingers to her lips, still slightly swollen.

Meet me at midnight.

His words echoed in her ears and she leaned against the wall a moment to collect herself. What if she hadn’t been here under false pretenses, but was actually an invited guest? What if they truly were two strangers dancing in the night? What if she met him at midnight…?

Sarah shook those thoughts from her head. She couldn’t afford to indulge in fantasies, no matter how tempting. She needed to save her grandfather. Grasping the picnic basket more tightly, she surveyed her surroundings, then took a left down the hallway.

Her planned route was useless now and the longer it took to find the right floor, much less the right room, the more nervous she became. When she thought she’d finally found it, she ended up standing in a huge linen closet.

“Okay, take a breath,” she muttered to herself, inhaling the starchy scent of neatly folded sheets and pillowcases. Closing her eyes, she pictured the floor plans once more in her mind. If she was in the second floor linen closet, then she needed to take a right at the next hallway, then a left. That should lead her to the servants’ staircase at the back of the mansion.

As she hurried down the hallway, she found herself wondering what Michael would do when she stood him up at the bandstand. Would he be angry? Disappointed? If so, she knew it wouldn’t take him long to find another woman to take her place.

But Sarah didn’t want to think about that, not when she could still taste his champagne kiss on her lips and still remember the gentle way he’d touched her. That’s what surprised her the most—his gentleness. So at odds with his ruthless reputation.

Sarah turned a corner and was relieved to see the servants’ staircase directly in front of her. Quickly mounting the steps, she could only hope she didn’t run into a servant along the way.

Once on the third floor, she took a moment to get her bearings. It was dark, the long hallway lit by a lone sconce at the far end. She was close enough to the light switch to reach out and flip it on, but she didn’t dare risk calling attention to her presence up here.

Especially with Michael Wolff on the prowl.

FIVE MINUTES TILL MIDNIGHT.

Michael stood off by himself in the crowded ballroom and sipped his fifth glass of champagne. He kept checking the time, watching the seconds drag by.

As usual, many of the guests had approached him for a financial donation. Michael’s growing reputation as a philanthropist made him the target for every get-rich scheme out there. Most people believed he gave his money away for tax purposes—a fallacy he didn’t bother to correct. Michael was no saint, he just didn’t need any more money.

So he gave it to foster-care programs and pediatric research hospitals. Made anonymous donations to local shelters and urban-redevelopment programs. Unfortunately, the size of those gifts had been leaked to the media, whose tenacious digging revealed him as the benefactor.

Now everyone in Denver knew Michael liked to give his money away. Both friends and strangers approached him for donations—to either their favorite charity or, more often, their latest business investment.

Tonight, those solicitations for cash also came with questions about the woman he’d kissed on the dance floor—questions he deftly avoided, not only to protect his privacy, but simply because he didn’t know the answers.

To his surprise, Michael discovered that he wasn’t the only one stumped by Little Red Riding Hood’s true identity. Many of the other guests, especially the single women, kept trying to place her. But, so far, none had been successful, which just made her more intriguing in his eyes. More mysterious.

Four minutes till midnight.

Even Blair had asked him about her. His grandfather’s wife usually paid little attention to his social life, probably because she disliked him as much as he disliked her. No, that wasn’t true. Michael didn’t dislike her. He just didn’t trust her. With good reason.

His gaze moved slowly over the ballroom until he spotted Mrs. Seamus Wolff, resplendent in her elaborate Cleopatra costume. A former hand model, she was tall and slender, with long, sleek black hair that fit perfectly with her exotic costume.

He didn’t have any actual proof that she’d arranged that accident on the stairs. Yet. But it wasn’t the first accident to befall his grandfather in the six weeks since he’d changed his will. Seamus had also careened into a ditch with his vintage Packard, thanks to a faulty brake line. Either accident could have been fatal—which would have made Blair Wolff a very rich woman.

Only thirty-four, Blair Ballingham Wolff had been married to his seventy-year-old grandfather for almost three years. She was wife number six. Seamus jokingly described himself as a serial husband, divorcing his wives when they got too old for him.

But the truth was that Seamus’s first five wives had taken the easy escape route after only a few months of matrimony, collecting the one-hundred-thousand dollars promised them in the premarital agreement. An unusual agreement in that they only received the money if the marriage lasted less than one year. If it lasted more than a year, they received nothing. So far, all of them had preferred taking the cash to living with an extremely cranky, albeit very rich, old man.

All of them except Blair. Her loyalty had impressed Seamus so much that he’d actually changed his will recently, leaving her a sizable portion of the Wolff estate, certainly much more than a measly hundred grand. But was Blair truly loyal to Seamus or just greedier—and deadlier—than his other wives? That’s what Michael intended to find out—before it was too late.

Three minutes till midnight.

He drained his glass, aware once again that the Wolff fortune proved both a blessing and a curse. He had more money than he could ever spend. Unlimited opportunities. Yet, just like his grandfather, he could never afford the one thing that every person on the planet sought. Love. Because he’d never know for certain if a woman truly loved him or just his well-padded wallet.

That didn’t mean he’d given up on women entirely. He definitely enjoyed female companionship, especially in his bed. As long as they understood that sex didn’t equal love or commitment. He always made that perfectly clear before embarking on any new relationship, though most women still believed they could trap a Wolff. So far, he’d proven them all wrong.

Two minutes till midnight.

His wolf costume prickled against the bare skin of his back. He resisted the urge to squirm against the wall, desperate for relief from the agonizing itch that had been aggravated by the heat-inducing dance with Red. He’d stared into her mossy green eyes—eyes as lush and mysterious as a virgin forest. And he’d been the one in danger of getting lost there.

He longed for another slow dance with Red. A private slow dance.

Michael let his gaze wander around the ballroom, but he didn’t see her scarlet cape anywhere. What kind of body did that cape hide? What color hair under that hood? What secrets behind her smile?

One minute till midnight.

Michael pushed himself off the wall and headed toward the bandstand, slipping unobtrusively through the raucous crowd of guests. He wanted to see her face during the unveiling. To formally meet the woman who had turned down the invitation to his lair. He’d been half joking at the time, but her refusal had enthralled him. Maybe she truly didn’t recognize him. Or she simply wasn’t impressed by his wealth. Maybe money didn’t matter to her.

Michael wished he could still believe in fairy tales.

At last the clock struck midnight. He turned in a slow circle, his heart beating double time. Colorful balloons and confetti floated down from the ceiling to celebrate the dawn of the New Year. Couples embraced around him. Champagne corks popped. He removed his mask, but he couldn’t see his Red anywhere.

Maybe she’d gotten lost in his woods after all.

MIDNIGHT.

The first deep gong reverberated through the mansion. Sarah froze, her hand on the doorknob of the room containing the safe. Michael would be in front of the bandstand now, watching for her. Waiting. But how long would he wait?

The second gong sounded a heartbeat later and Sarah knew she didn’t have time to waste. She bent down to jimmy the lock, a trick taught to her by her grandfather. On the third gong, she slipped inside the room, quietly closing the door behind her. She locked it, then turned around, her pulse racing.

Her leather boots sunk into the deep, plush carpet as the fourth gong rang out. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood, but the room itself was pitch-black, without even a hint of moonlight.

The thick darkness unnerved her as the sound of the fifth gong echoed through the mansion. She fumbled inside the picnic basket for the miniature flashlight she’d purchased just this afternoon. At last she found it and switched it on.

The sixth gong drowned out her groan when nothing happened. She rapidly flipped the flashlight switch back and forth, hoping for a miracle. But no such luck. Either the new flashlight or the new batteries she’d purchased for it were defective. She wanted to kick herself for not testing it before now.

At the seventh gong, she skimmed one hand blindly along the wall for a light switch, then turned it on for the length of the eighth, ninth and tenth gongs, just long enough for her gaze to sweep along the wall, taking note of the small marble table and the chaise lounge shaped like a chariot underneath the window. In the middle of the room stood a gold tent. Odd. But Sarah didn’t have time to satisfy her curiosity by taking a closer look.

At the eleventh gong, she flipped off the wall switch, fearing someone passing by might see the light filtering under the door and become suspicious. She was probably more paranoid than necessary, but Sarah simply couldn’t stand the thought of discovery.

The twelfth gong rang out as she considered the consequences of what she was about to do. If caught, she’d not only lose her job, but the publicity would be humiliating. She’d lose the respect of her friends. Her co-workers. Michael.

Especially Michael.

It was silly, perhaps, since they’d never even been formally introduced. All they’d shared tonight was a dance and a kiss. A wonderful kiss.

Still, she didn’t want to imagine the expression on his face if he discovered his Little Red Riding Hood had broken into the family safe. Her best bet was to get moving so she’d be gone before the party broke up.

Gripping the picnic basket more tightly, she began to slowly walk along the wall, running the fingers of her free hand along the crevices. According to her grandfather, the safe was located somewhere between the window and the door, with a telltale fissure in the seam of the panel walls to indicate the hidden steel compartment underneath—a fissure that a person could only discern by touch.

Her grandfather had shared every detail of his diamond necklace heist, with a little prodding from Sarah. She’d felt a little guilty about it, especially since he was so darn proud of his success. So thrilled to give her what he truly believed to be her rightful legacy.

But Sarah couldn’t keep the necklace. Her conscience wouldn’t allow it and her grandfather’s growing bitterness over the years simply blinded him to that fact. He was so certain that the necklace could change her future. That it could have changed the past. That it could have saved her grandmother.

Sarah knew she could never convince him otherwise. So she had given up trying. And if her grandfather ever asked her about the diamond necklace, she’d simply tell him she’d put it in safekeeping. That would be the truth. The Wolff safe was the only place secure enough to keep Bertram Hewitt out of prison.

Her wandering thoughts made her forget about the small marble table in her path. She bumped her knee against it, causing the lamp on top of it to teeter precariously. She caught it just in time to prevent it from crashing to the floor.

She could just picture shattered glass on the carpet, a sure indication that someone had been in here. Sarah would prefer the Wolffs never suspected an intruder had entered this room. She didn’t want anything possibly leading the police to either her or her grandfather. Bertram had assured her that he hadn’t left any fingerprints behind a week ago, but with the sophistication of DNA testing, she couldn’t be certain he hadn’t left some identifying physical evidence in this room.

Carefully setting the lamp upright again, Sarah heaved an impatient sigh. The room was too big and she simply didn’t want to take the chance of bumping into something else. Despite the risks, she had to turn on the lamp to get her bearings.

Running her fingers along the lead crystal base, she found the switch and turned it on. Soft light spilled across the room and she saw now what she hadn’t the time to see before. It was a bedroom. The tent was actually a round canopy bed with heavy gold drapes concealing everything but the ornate sandalwood headboard.

The room resembled a desert oasis, with the thick carpet the color of sand and a trickling limestone fountain in one corner. Potted palm trees lined the far wall and the ceiling was painted a serene sky blue. The walls themselves were made of bleached pine paneling, with hieroglyphics painted on various portions. It truly was the oddest bedroom she’d ever seen.

Turning back to the wall once more, she moved her hand swiftly along the paneling until her fingers finally detected a grainy pattern in the crevice of the wood different from the rest.

Sarah pressed hard on the crease and the secret wall panel popped open, revealing the safe underneath. She set the picnic basket on the floor, then took a deep breath, preparing to disconnect the alarm wire. This was the trickiest part of the whole process. If she tripped the alarm…

“Don’t go there,” Sarah chastised herself. Just as in any other profession, to be successful, a safecracker had to think positively.

A moment later, she breathed a sigh of relief. The alarm wire was disconnected. All she had to do now was open the safe, place the diamond necklace back inside, then leave by the back entrance of the mansion. No doubt the party would still be in full swing, so no one would be the wiser.

Was Michael still waiting for her? Or had he already moved onto someone else?

Sarah turned the dial, grateful her grandfather had revealed the combination when he’d bragged about his heist. He’d taught her how to crack a safe, a skill he’d learned from some of his more unsavory customers at the pawnshop. But that would take time that she simply didn’t have.

“Fifty-four,” she murmured under her breath, her voice sounding odd to her ears.

She reversed the direction of the dial. “Thirteen.”

So far, so good. But at the sound of heavy footsteps out in the hallway, she hesitated, her entire body tensing. They stopped right outside the door.

She silently closed the secret wall panel, her heart beating so fast she thought she might pass out. But the sound of someone jiggling the brass doorknob shocked her enough to remain conscious. She looked desperately around the room, wondering where she could possibly hide. The sound of keys jingling told her she didn’t have much time to decide.

Someone was coming in.

3

MICHAEL JAMMED the key into the lock, the incessant itching almost driving him to the point of madness. He slammed the door open, then tore off the top half of the costume before he even turned on the light. Buttons popped and hit the wall, but he didn’t care. He flung the furry shirt halfway across his bedroom.

Frustration roiled inside of him. He’d looked everywhere for her—combed every inch of the ballroom, then broadened his search to include the entire first floor. He’d even interrogated the doorman. But it was no use.

She was gone.

It was these stupid costumes. Never again. He didn’t care if it was tradition for the host of the Wolff Ball to dress as a wolf. If Seamus didn’t want the role next New Year’s Eve, they could damn well forego the costumes and dress in tuxedos like normal people. He’d always thought the masquerade part of the ball was ridiculous anyway.

He never should have let her go. Now he had no way of identifying his Little Red Riding Hood. His only option was to go over the guest list tomorrow and try to establish her identity by process of elimination.

But that wouldn’t change the fact that she’d stood him up for their midnight rendezvous. Michael wasn’t used to chasing women. They usually came to him.

Until tonight.

Maybe she wasn’t even on the guest list. Had she come with someone? Another man? That possibility hadn’t occurred to him until now. It didn’t quite fit, though, since no man had objected when Michael had kissed her on the dance floor. If he’d seen his woman mauled by a wolf, he sure as hell would have made his presence known.

He reached out to turn on the light, then realized he could already see. The lamp was on. Odd, since he never used it. One of the maids must have left it on.

Michael sat down on the chaise lounge and stripped off his boots, socks and furry pants, tossing them all into a heap on the floor. Relief at last. Tomorrow the entire costume would go straight into the trash.

He stood up and walked over to the dresser, reaching for the centuries-old bronze spear hanging on the wall above it. Blair had purchased the spear in her latest redecorating binge. She was into Egyptian decor this month and his bedroom had suffered the consequences.

In his opinion, she’d gone overboard with the depraved sheik look. Another not-so-subtle message that she didn’t approve of him. Or perhaps an attempt to finally drive him out of the house. Blair had mentioned more than once that a twenty-nine-year-old man should not be living with his grandfather.

Neither should a thirty-four-year-old woman, but he mostly kept that opinion to himself. He also ignored Blair’s hints that he move into the city. Someone had to stay and watch over his grandfather.

Seamus Wolff had raised Michael since he was almost thirteen years old, helping him to care about life again after his father’s private jet crashed during an impulsive weekend ski trip to Vail. Seamus was the only family Michael had left in the world—the only family that counted, anyway. And he damn well intended to do whatever it took to protect the old man.

Michael raked the end of the bronze spear across his back, moaning aloud with pleasure as he satisfied the itch that had plagued him all evening. The spear had brought close to two thousand dollars at a Sotheby’s auction—one hell of an expensive back scratcher.

Music floated up from the ballroom two floors below and he knew he should return to the party until the last guest walked out the door. But he just couldn’t stand the thought of putting that suffocating wolf costume back on. Or making small talk. Or parrying the flirtations of the inebriated women downstairs.

There was only one woman he wanted.

Smoothing one hand over his bare chest, he wished like hell he’d never stopped kissing her. But Michael didn’t believe in regrets. Time to forget about her and move on. He’d done it before.

He laid the spear on top of his dresser, then padded over to the window to open the drapes. Moonlight cast an ethereal glow over the room. He turned to switch off the lamp and, for the first time, he caught a vanilla scent in the air that reminded him of Little Red Riding Hood. Her perfume must have clung to his costume.

Picking up the furry shirt, he held it to his nose and inhaled deeply. But all it did was make him sneeze. “Give it up, Wolff,” he muttered, dropping the shirt on the floor once more.

He padded barefoot to the ridiculous harem tent bed, already dreading the long day that lay ahead tomorrow. His grandfather would be coming home from the hospital, and that would make him vulnerable to another “accident.” Michael would have to be more vigilant than ever.

As he pulled back the heavy gold canopy drape, the alluring vanilla scent assailed him again, only much stronger now. He blinked when he saw the reason for it sitting on his bed.

Red had ventured into his lair after all.

THIS WAS NOT GOOD.

Sarah should have realized her mission to return the diamond necklace was doomed when that stupid flashlight didn’t work.

No, even before that, when she’d found the back stairway under construction. She should have turned around at that moment and walked right out the door. Now she had to find some way to extricate herself from this sensitive situation before Michael got the wrong idea.