Risking It All: The Proposition / The Dare / The Favour / The P.I. / The Cop / The Defender

“Give me a minute.” Chance tore his gaze away from the patio and found four pairs of eyes staring at him. What he read in them ran the gamut from annoyance and mild curiosity to speculation and amusement. It was the speculation that bothered him the most because it came from Sir Arthur Latham, the man he suspected would report his every move to Carlo.

Get a grip, he warned himself. He could hardly throw down his cards and go running after Natalie. One of Steven Bradford’s weaknesses was poker. He had a group of friends, ones who went back to the founding of his company, that he regularly played with. Chance had to believe that Brancotti’s dossier on Bradford would have included that little known piece of information. So he could only conclude that the poker game had been arranged to keep “Steven” occupied and separated from “Calli” for the evening.

“Mr. Bradford?” The question came from the Turkish man who was also clearly annoyed.

“I think that Mr. Bradford may be thinking of other ways that he could be spending the evening,” Sir Arthur said. “And I can’t say that I blame him.”

Chance pushed a pile of chips into the center. “I’m in.”

For the rest of the hand, he kept his attention focused on the game. Natalie was doing her job. If he wanted to keep her safe, all he had to do was concentrate on doing his.

“YOU DID SAVE the best for last,” Natalie said as Carlo led the way down a winding path bordered on either side by jewel-colored flowers.

“You delight me. Most women are more impressed with the main salon or the gallery,” Carlo said.

“They were lovely, too. But the paintings in the gallery made it seem more like a…museum.” She sent him an apologetic smile. “I’m not much on museums.”

As they continued down the path, Natalie reviewed the tour Carlo had just given her in her mind. He’d taken her through all of the rooms on the first floor—except for one that had a coded access pad. His workspace, he’d said as he’d guided her past it. Then for the length of a long hallway, he hadn’t spoken. Natalie suspected that he was waiting for her to ask to see it. She hadn’t. Instead, she’d stopped to “ooh” and “aah” over a marble-topped table with a mosaic inlay.

Gut instinct told her she was still being tested. Did he suspect that she wasn’t the real Calli or was he always this careful?

The main salon took up the entire first floor in the wing opposite the conservatory. Marble floors gleamed, mirrored walls caught the reflections of carved pillars and crystal chandeliers. French doors opened onto patios with a view of the ocean. Natalie had spotted at least two surveillance cameras.

“The masquerade ball will be held in here tomorrow night,” Carlo had said. “Who will you come as?”

Natalie had realized that she didn’t know so she’d shot him a flustered look. “I can’t tell you that. Steven says the whole point of a masquerade is that no one knows who you are. For one night you get to be someone else entirely with no consequences.”

“How will I find you?” Carlo had asked. “All I would ask for is a dance.”

Hoping for the best, Natalie had allowed herself to remain a bit flustered. “I really can’t tell you. Steven hasn’t even told me what costumes he brought.”

Carlo had laughed. “You’re charming. Steven is a very lucky man. But I will still try to figure out who you are.”

Which wouldn’t be much of a challenge, Natalie had thought. She’d spotted two cameras in the hallways, and Carlo would see them leaving the Venetian room in whatever they were wearing.

“I do love playing games. I believe your Steven does too,” Carlo had said as he’d taken her arm and drawn her back to the main hall. “Come, I want to show you something.”

The something had been a small room down the hallway. Oval in shape, it boasted two ornately carved pillars at the midpoint of the room.

“This gallery is my favorite place. We’ll have the auction here. What do you think?”

“Wow,” she’d said as she’d let her gaze sweep the room. Furniture was positioned to form conversation areas on richly hued oriental rugs, and settees were placed at intervals along one wall. Across from them hung the paintings.

Natalie had counted ten, and she’d been hard pressed to keep her mouth from falling open. She’d recognized several of the painters, but she hadn’t been sure that Calli would.

“It’s like you have your own museum,” she said. And while Calli had stared in awestruck wonder, Natalie had catalogued the pieces in her mind. There were two van Goghs, a Manet and what she was pretty sure was a Renoir. But there were other works whose artists she wasn’t as familiar with. Just how many of them had Carlo Brancotti acquired legitimately?

As if in answer, Carlo had stopped midway down the length of the room, leaned against one of the pillars and told an amusing story of how he’d won one of the van Goghs in a poker game.

Watching him, Natalie had felt a kind of prickling at the back of her neck, one that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She hadn’t dared look around to figure out what had caused it because she’d had to appear utterly fascinated by Carlo’s story. The pillar he’d leaned against was ornately carved and right behind his head was what looked to be a bronze sundial. The prickling sensation had increased.

The moment Carlo had finished his story, she’d smiled. “If you’re that good at poker, you should be out with Steven and your other guests.”

“Then I would have missed this opportunity to share my most prized possessions with you,” Carlo had replied as he’d led her back outside.

His most prized possessions. Now, as they toured the gardens, the phrase lingered in her mind. And what was in that room that had made the back of her neck prickle like that?

“The gardens are boring you,” Carlo said.

With a start, Natalie jerked her thoughts firmly back to the present. “No, they’re magical. Sorry.” She made the first excuse she could think of. “I guess I’m just missing Steven.”

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Carlo asked.

“No—I—” To her complete astonishment, Natalie felt herself blush. “We’re just…I…he doesn’t want…”

Carlo put one finger under her chin, tipping her face up so that he could see it.

Natalie felt a skip of panic as she stared up into those dark eyes. What would he see? For an instant there, she hadn’t been sure whether she was speaking as Natalie or as Calli.

She held her breath through a stretch of silence before Carlo dropped his hand and said, “Steven is a very lucky man.”

Carlo then gestured her forward, and for a while they walked in silence. The garden path was covered with a soft green mulch and bordered by lights. At regular intervals miniature streetlamps were nestled between palms.

“How clever of you to install the lights,” she said finally. “I feel as if I’m walking through a fairyland.”

“I had them installed because the temperatures are often so hot here in South Florida, and I wanted my guests to be able to enjoy the gardens once the heat of the day had passed.”

The streetlamps also offered the perfect places to install video surveillance equipment. Natalie was certain she’d spotted a tiny camera beneath the ornate shade of the light they’d just passed. She bet there were microphones, too. Carlo Brancotti was a very suspicious and very careful man.

Turning, she shot him a very steady look. “And yet you offer entertainment that keeps your guests otherwise occupied.”

He smiled at her. “Sometimes I prefer to enjoy the gardens under less crowded conditions. Come, there’s a new orchid I want to show you over there.”

Though she kept her pace slow and her attention focused on the varieties of blooms that Carlo was pointing out to her, Natalie was thinking about the man walking next to her. Not once since he’d told her that he admired loyalty had he tried to touch her in any kind of personal way. Yes, he’d made it clear he wanted to dance with her, but even when he’d tipped her chin up to study her face, his touch had been impersonal. He was being a charming host and very much the gentleman—a persona that was a far right turn from the man she’d read about in the file Chance had compiled.

But there were reasons other than romance why he might want to separate her from Steven. There’d been that moment in the gallery and another when he’d bypassed his “workspace” that she’d felt something. Did he suspect that she and Steven weren’t who they pretended to be? She couldn’t rid her mind of the certainty that this whole tour was some kind of test.

Natalie the cop would use this opportunity to pump him for information, so she didn’t. Instead, she yawned, then glanced guiltily at Carlo. “I’m sorry. It’s not the company. Steven woke me very early for the flight here.”

“Come. I’ll take you inside.”

“And Steven?”

“Sometimes the poker games go on into the morning hours.”

She allowed disappointment to show in her eyes before she glanced away. “Oh.”

“If you wish, I’ll send him to you,” Carlo offered as he led her back along the path.

She shook her head. “No. He loves the game. It’s his one vice.”

When they reached the door that he’d escorted her through earlier, he opened it. “If you go in this way, you can avoid the others in the conservatory.”

She met his eyes again. “Thank you. Your home is lovely.”

Natalie walked down the hallway without a backward glance. And she made very sure not to glance at the door with the coded access pad that led to Carlo’s “workspace.”

CHANCE FOUND himself glancing at his watch for the fourth time in two hours. Natalie had not reappeared on the patio, and neither had Carlo Brancotti. He’d managed to keep his mind on the game, and he’d even managed to win a few hands. But he hadn’t been able to shake off the urge he had to go to Natalie. The rational side of him told him that she was perfectly capable of handling a man like Brancotti.

But each moment that ticked by made him feel less and less reasonable. Chance shoved a pile of chips into the center of the table and waited for the other bets to be placed. When Sir Arthur turned over his full house, Chance laid down his cards and pushed himself away from the table. “I’m finished, gentlemen.”

There were a few grumbles. Chance paid them no heed as he let himself out of the screened gazebo and strode back toward the house. He might be making a mistake. He’d been weighing the odds of that for the past two hours. Logic told him that Steven Bradford would stay at the game. But gut instinct told him that he had to go to Natalie, and he hadn’t gotten where he was by ignoring his instincts.

Let Carlo Brancotti make what he wanted of the fact that Steven Bradford was so besotted and so hot for Calli that not even a high-stakes poker game could keep him distracted for very long.

The conservatory was empty when he moved through it. At another time, he might have paused to enjoy the orchids, but now he only quickened his stride. There were surveillance cameras everywhere. Not surprising since there were expensive pieces of pottery and sculpture on display even in the hallways. But then, Chance didn’t think that anyone Carlo invited to his estate would dare to steal from him.

No. The state-of-the-art surveillance equipment was for keeping tabs on his guests’ movements. Chance took the stairs two at a time. If Carlo was watching, he would see a man who was desperate to get to his woman. And Chance was. He needed to see her, to satisfy himself that she was all right.

He needed her. Chance felt himself rocked by the realization. Before he had time to absorb or reflect on that, he reached the door to the Venetian room. It was locked. As it should be, he told himself as he swore silently and searched in his pocket for the key.

NATALIE PACED back and forth inside the suite. Since she’d come back to the room, she’d gone over everything that had happened that evening—from the time Carlo had appeared on the balcony to when he’d let her into the house, making sure she walked by his office again.

He’d definitely wanted to know about her relationship with Steven Bradford. And she had to hope that it had rung true. She’d blushed, for heaven’s sake. And she was almost positive that it was Natalie’s cheeks that had heated, not Calli’s. When panic threatened to bubble up again, she ruthlessly pushed it down. She was not going to worry about that now.

Natalie paused in front of a mirror and faced her reflection. She was playing a game. That was all. Calli was in love with Steven Bradford. But Natalie was not falling in love with Chance Mitchell. What she felt for Chance was lust. And professional respect. The emotions tumbling around inside of her had no relation to what Catherine Weston felt for Steven Bradford. She couldn’t afford to let the different roles she was playing merge. Giving herself a nod, she began to pace again.

Gut instinct told her that Carlo Brancotti had not only been testing her, he’d also been playing some kind of a game with her. Her mind kept circling back to the fact that the tour had been his idea. He’d wanted her to see the layout of the house, his “workspace,” the salon and his gallery. Why?

She stopped pacing and began to tap her foot. It was in the gallery that her neck had begun to prickle. She often got that feeling when something meshed for her on a case. She and Chance had assumed that the Ferrante diamond would be locked in a safe in his office. Could it be in the gallery?

A quick glance at her watch told her it was midnight, the witching hour. There was no telling when the poker game would break up, and she needed to talk to Chance. Foot still tapping, she considered her options. As Natalie, she’d have to think of a plan. At the very least, Rachel would have to run through the possible repercussions. Thankfully, all Calli had to do was to go down to that poker game and tell Steven that she needed a walk on the beach before she could sleep.

She was at the door when she heard the knob turn, and she opened it just as Chance was fishing out his key. What she saw stopped her short for a moment. His hair was mussed, his expression impatient and just a bit dangerous. Her mouth began to water. But it was what she saw in his eyes—the mix of frustration and desire that had her heart taking a tumble. For just a second, she couldn’t move, couldn’t even think.

CARLO STUDIED the TV screens in the security room adjacent to his office. One of the security men had buzzed him the moment that Steven Bradford had left the poker game. And now Bradford was standing in the doorway to his room.

“What do you think?” he asked Lisa.

“He’s a man who prefers his woman to a poker game,” Lisa said.

“But it’s well known that poker is his weakness. He plays twice a month with old friends. He doesn’t rush home to be with his Calli.”

“Perhaps that’s because he’s playing with friends. Or perhaps he was overcome by jealousy when you spent over an hour giving his Calli a tour of the house and gardens.”

Carlo glanced at her sharply. Something in her tone told him that she didn’t approve, but it wasn’t like her to criticize him. “Are you jealous, too?”

She met his eyes, but said nothing.

“You don’t think the tour was wise.”

“No. You haven’t yet decided who the plant is, and yet you showed her the gallery where the safe is.”

Carlo smiled then and lifted a hand to trace it along her cheek. “Where one of my safes is.”

“You’re playing with fire.”

“It’s just a bit of misdirection, my dear Lisa. And I know what I’m doing. If they think the Ferrante diamond is in the gallery safe, it will make the game more interesting. And you can stop being jealous. My other guests will receive the same tour.”

“I still don’t like it,” Lisa said.

He leaned down and brushed his mouth over hers. When her lips warmed and softened beneath his, he drew back and raised her hand to his lips. “Come. I think we can leave the lovebirds to themselves. And perhaps I can make it up to you for spending so much time with Calli.”

FOR JUST A SECOND after Natalie opened the door, Chance couldn’t move. Feelings swamped him. She was here. She was safe.

And he didn’t have any idea which woman he was looking at. That realization fueled both his frustration and his desire. Stepping forward, he urged her back into the room, closed the door and locked it. Then he grabbed her arms, drew her up on her toes and closed his mouth over hers. Heat. He could feel it shoot from her to him and back again. He wanted, no, he needed…

Drawing back for a moment, he stared at her in the moonlight streaming into the room. Who are you? he wanted to ask. He wanted to shout it. But he couldn’t.

What he said was, “I want you.” Then before she could answer, he pushed her back against the wall and kissed her again. By damn, he was going to find out which part she was playing. He had to.

The flavor would give her away. Rachel was slightly tart. He tasted that. Calli was sweet—like wild honey—and he found that, too. He nipped her bottom lip and discovered the dark exotic flavor that had haunted him for three months. Natalie. Even as all three tastes flooded through him, he was desperate for more. Changing the angle of his head, he took the kiss deeper.

When he dragged himself back this time, they were both panting. In another moment, he would have pulled her to the floor and taken her right there. Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her into the bathroom and kicked the door shut behind him.

He didn’t set her down until he’d twisted the knobs of the shower. There was a small mike on the ledge of the hot tub. He wanted to make sure that the spray would block any sound. He said nothing as he began to strip out of his clothes.

Natalie waited, watching as he removed his shirt and allowed his trousers to pool at his feet. In the moonlight pouring through the balcony doors, he looked like a god. She moved closer. Then, placing her hands on his shoulders, she drew his head down and spoke into his ear. “There are cameras throughout the garden, probably microphones, too. And I’ve been everywhere on the first floor. I know where Carlo’s office is.”

He gripped her hips and set her far enough away that he could see her eyes. They were a bit puzzled, but focused on his. Did she believe that he’d brought her in here to hear a report? She was thinking of the job and all he was thinking of, all he could think of, was her.

“Do you care if that dress gets wet?”

He couldn’t hear his own words over the noise of the shower, but she must have read his lips because she turned and pointed to the zipper.

It extended all of three inches down from the small of her back, and as the silk parted, his fingers brushed against soft, damp skin. She shrugged her shoulders, wiggled her hips, and the dress slid to her feet.

She was wearing nothing beneath it. Chance’s mouth went dry as a bone. He’d wondered, of course. So had every other man at dinner. But he hadn’t known and hadn’t truly believed that the woman he’d known originally as Natalie Gibbs would have gone to a dinner party, wearing nothing at all under her dress. Even Rachel Cade had worn underwear, hadn’t she? To think she’d spent one hour alone with Carlo Brancotti wearing nothing but that thin swatch of silk.

Turning, Natalie looped her arms around his neck and pulled his ear to her mouth. What was she going to tell him now? That she knew where Brancotti’s safe was?

He gripped her shoulders hard. “You can give me the damned report later. First, I want to know who the hell you are.”

She didn’t answer him immediately, but he could see the way her eyes darkened, the way the pulse at her throat fluttered. Then she smiled and suddenly her mouth was at his ear again. “I can be anyone you want.”

Not quite gently, he clamped one arm around her waist and kept the other gripping her arm as he pulled her into the shower with him.

“I can be Rachel.” She nipped his earlobe. Somehow she’d managed to get hold of the soap, and her hands slid over his skin leaving trails of ice and fire in their wake.

“I love touching your body.” Her voice had become a breathy whisper. “Do you like it when I touch you here?” Her hand slithered from his shoulders down his chest.

“How about here?” Her fingers drew a line to his waist and then lower. “Or here? Do you like this?”

He closed his eyes as her slick, hot fist enclosed him.

“Or I can be Calli.” She dropped a quick line of kisses along his jaw and began to pump him gently.

“Or I can be both.” Her laugh was a breath in his ear before her tongue darted inside. And then she was whispering, “I could be two women at once. Is that your fantasy, Steven?”

He felt his head literally spin, his strength drain away.

“I could give you your fantasy,” she breathed. “Right now, I’m Rachel.”

Chance felt the subtle change in her posture. Her hand grew firmer on him and began to move more quickly.

“All during dinner, I thought of doing this. And this.” She ran a slick hand over his shoulder and down his back to spread her fingers over his buttocks. “If you’d been sitting next to me, I would have found a way to touch you—even with Lady Latham watching us from across the table. Can you imagine it?”

Her whispered words had the image filling his mind.

“We might have been caught while I was slipping down your zipper, inch by inch. And then I would have done this.” Her hand stilled, then milked him in one long pull.

With a moan, Chance slammed one hand against the shower wall to steady himself.

“You like that. Would you like me to make you come this way?”

This was madness. As he lifted his head and tried to clear it, she was all he could see—those wide eyes, the color now as dark and mysterious as the sea at night. That soft, soft mouth. In the misty steam that swirled around them, she made him think of a mermaid, and for the first time in his life, he understood how mythical sirens had lured sailors to their deaths. Those men simply hadn’t cared about anything else.

Then she smiled, and releasing him, she stepped closer until the length of his hardness was pressed against her softness. Her mouth was at his ear again.

“Now, I’ll be Calli. I’m not nearly as experienced as Rachel, but I read. When I was on the patio watching you play poker, I thought about this wickedly sexy book I read. It was all about what went on in this Victorian brothel. On Friday night, the men would gather in the parlor for a game of cards, and the lady of their choice would crawl under the table, and slip between the gentleman’s knees…can you picture that?”

As the image formed in his mind, she slithered down his body and took him into her mouth. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. He was drowning in her. Everything he was became centered on the sensations she brought him—the movement of that soft, hot mouth, the sharp press of her fingernails as she kneaded them into his backside.

He’d never felt a pleasure so intense. He wanted it to go on forever. But he wanted to be inside of her when he came. The struggle between those two desires was brief and vicious. But he finally found the strength to free himself. He knelt with her on the floor of the shower.

Water sluiced over them. Her wet hair clung to her forehead in jagged wisps, making her look different once again. The thought had barely entered his head, when she drew his ear to her mouth again.

“I’m a stranger you’ve just met. You don’t even know my name.” Her quick, wicked laugh only punched up the heat that was boiling inside of him.

“We have no history, no future, no expectations. You just know that you want me. You do want me, don’t you, Chance?”

Later he would wonder if it was her use of that name that pushed him to the edge. He didn’t know exactly who she was. When he looked into her eyes, all he saw was himself, trapped. All he was certain of was that he needed her with a desperation that threatened to slice him in two.