The Complete Series

As his taste, his heat, streamed through her, Natalie felt as if she were coming home. It would have been so easy to sink into that feeling, into him. But not yet. She hooked a foot around his ankle and gave him one good shove that sent him to the floor.

Couples scattered, and she heard a burst of applause. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tracker and Sophie on the side of the dance floor. Mac and Lucas stood behind them grinning.

“You go, girl!” Rory shouted.

“Trust in your talents,” Sierra called, the laughter clear in her voice.

Natalie kept her eyes on Chance as he shot her a grin. It nearly melted her, but she wasn’t through with him. Not yet. Planting her hands on her hips, she said, “You’re a jerk.”

“Okay. I plead guilty to that one.”

There was another burst of applause from the crowd.

Chance held out his hand. “Help me up?”

Her brows shot up again. “Do I look like I have the word Sucker written on my forehead?”

CHANCE THREW BACK his head and laughed. This was his Natalie all right. He got up off the floor and faced her. “God, I’ve missed you. I liked Rachel. I’ve always had this thing for blondes.”

“Really?” Her foot began to tap again.

Chance began to warm to his theme. “And Calli was really sexy. I had a real thing going for her.”

“Yeah. I got that feeling.”

She was softening. He was almost sure that he’d seen her lips twitch.

“But I missed you.”

He waited a beat, and when she said nothing, he decided for the first time in his life to risk everything. “I have another proposition for you.”

Her eyes narrowed and her foot tapped faster. “If you think—”

He raised a hand to stop her. “I thought we might go behind those potted trees over there—for old times’ sake?”

“Forget it.”

Oh, his Nat was back all right. He might have even begun to enjoy himself, if it weren’t for the fear that had tied itself into a tight knot in his stomach. If he blew this— No, he wasn’t going to blow it. He couldn’t.

“Okay. I’ll do it right here.” He pulled the small box out of his pocket. Then he got to his knees and opened it.

“A ring? You brought me a ring?”

There was such astonishment on her face, in her voice, that a quick sliver of panic raced up his spine. Was he pushing her too fast? “Yeah. It doesn’t have to be an engagement ring. It could just be a—”

Words slipped away as she dropped to her knees in front of him.

“Looks like an engagement ring to me,” she said, meeting his eyes. “But if you’re having second thoughts…”

“No.” Chance met her eyes steadily and saw what he needed to see. “No second thoughts. How about you?”

She gave him a shaky smile. “Just about a thousand or so. I didn’t plan on this.” She drew in a breath and let it out.

He smiled at her. “Me either. But I’m good at improvising. So are you.”

She looked down at the ring again. It was a big step, a huge one. And there wasn’t a plan in the world that she could come up with to deal with it. But as Chance put his hands on her shoulders, she thought she could hear a voice telling her, “You can do it, Nat.”

And then she heard Chance’s voice. “I love you, Nat.”

She met his eyes then and smiled. “I love you, too. So I guess we’ll just have to make it up as we go along.”

He kissed her then, and though she vaguely thought applause and shouts had broken out around them, the one thing that she was sure of was Chance.

The Dare

“I want to taste you,” Hunter said

He took a step toward her. “Give me one kiss and I’ll do everything I can to get you the interview.”

Rory thought that her heart might just beat out of her chest. Kissing this man might be the biggest risk she’d ever take. But she wanted the kiss. Desperately. What could it matter? She dared herself to do it.

“One kiss,” she agreed.

He backed her up against the mirror. “Last chance to change your mind.”

“I’m not going to change—”

Before she could even finish her sentence he’d lowered his head, drawn her up on her toes and covered her mouth with his.

There was such heat—glorious waves of it. And each movement of his hands, of his tongue seemed to throw fuel on the fire. She arched her body, straining against him, but it wasn’t enough. She had to—

“I want you.” His voice was a rough whisper in her ear.

No, she told herself to say.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. Please hurry.”

Dear Reader,

Writing a miniseries about triplet sisters Natalie, Rory and Sierra Gibbs has allowed me to create three very special women who find the courage to risk it all to get what they want. As they came alive on the page, I found myself admiring each one of them. But if I had to pick a favorite, I’d lean toward Rory—perhaps because she lacks the confidence of her more focused sisters.

Wannabe magazine writer Rory Gibbs has always thought of herself as the “muddled in the middle” triplet. Her sisters are tall, beautiful and successful; she’s short, still trying to figure out what she wants to be when she grows up, and as unlucky with men as she’s been with jobs. However, her latest plan—to land an interview with reclusive businessman Jared Slade—will allow her to prove to herself, her boss and everyone else that she’s finally found a career she’s good at. Problem number one is she can’t get past Hunter, Jared Slade’s handsome and dangerous bodyguard. Problem number two is she doesn’t want to get past him—she wants to make love with him!

I hope you’ll enjoy reading about how Hunter and Rory dare to take the greatest risk of all. And I hope you’ll want to read Natalie’s and Sierra’s adventures, as well—in The Proposition (May) and The Favor (July). For excerpts, contests and news about my future books, please visit www.carasummers.com.

Happy reading,

Cara Summers

To my cousins, the Kansier women: Jane, Kathy, Mary, Margaret, Amy and Debbie. I admire your strength, your courage, your love of adventure—and especially your unfailing sense of humor. You inspire the kind of women I try to create.

Thanks.

Prologue

Summer 1999

IF HE FAILED, the drop to the alley below would kill him. Harry Gibbs stood on the roof of the Hotel L’Adour Paris and glanced at the gap between the two buildings. He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline and grinned.

He didn’t allow himself to look down, or to take in the picture-postcard view that the roof of the hotel offered. At 3:00 a.m., the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame were still bathed in light, but Harry focused all his concentration on that dark narrow space—ten feet at the most. He’d paced off the distance in the alley that morning. Just in case the robbery didn’t go quite as planned.

And it hadn’t. He’d gotten the necklace out of the safe, but he hadn’t had time to close it and replace the tapestry before Madame Cuvelier had awakened in the next room and rung for her maid. There was only one route from the maid’s quarters to Madame’s bedroom, and that was through the salon he’d been standing in.

Madame Cuvelier, a resident of the small hotel for the past ten years, was a restless sleeper. That information was in the dossier he’d compiled on her. That made the theft riskier.

And more fun. Instead of exiting through the door, the way he’d come in, he’d had to hurry out onto a balcony and climb to the roof.

When the sound of sirens pierced the night air, Harry turned and strode to the far end of the roof. Then, he did what he always did when the stakes were high. He dared himself to make the leap. As he crouched down into the position of a sprinter, he thought of his daughter, Rory. He’d been thinking a lot about her lately. Tonight, he promised himself. He’d write to her.

Clearing his mind, he murmured, “You can do it, Harry. Dare you!” Then he ran, lengthening his stride as he raced across the roof. Fifty yards became forty, thirty, twenty, ten. He prepared for the jump, felt his right foot hit the parapet. Then he leapt.

For a prolonged second, he was arcing over the alley, his body slicing through the air. If something happened to him…

Before he could complete the thought, his foot came down hard and he tucked and rolled across the roof. Lungs burning, blood singing, Harry got to his feet and ran toward the door. It took him less than three minutes to finesse the lock. The sirens were still blocks away.

He was whistling as he stepped into the stairwell.

AN HOUR LATER, Harry stood on the balcony of his apartment in Montmartre and swirled cognac in a glass. Now that the excitement of the heist was over, his mood had turned melancholy again as he once more thought of Rory. Dammit, he missed her. He had three girls, triplets, and lately, he’d been missing all of them.

More than that, he’d been feeling an urgent need to talk to them. That was impossible, of course. They’d been ten years old when he and his wife, Amanda, had forged their agreement. She’d wanted a normal life for the girls, and so had he.

For the first ten years of their lives, he’d done his best to give them one. But he’d become bored with their “normal” life in the suburbs of D.C. He’d missed the adventure, the risk taking, the thrill of pulling off a perfect heist.

Amanda had been firm. At ten, the girls idolized him, and she didn’t want them idolizing his profession. Therefore, he could leave and resume his former profession as a master jewel thief on the condition that he didn’t see his girls or communicate with them until their twenty-sixth birthday.

Harry took a sip of his cognac. He’d made a mistake—the biggest one of his life—by agreeing to those terms. He and Amanda should have found another way. Two weeks ago, the girls had celebrated their twentieth birthday, and six more years had begun to seem far too long. Time could easily run out for him before that. It nearly had tonight.

Turning, he strode toward the desk in his study. On the night of their birthdays, he’d written a letter to his oldest daughter, Natalie.

But it was Rory, the second born, he’d thought of on that roof tonight. Each of his daughters had inherited something from him. Natalie had inherited his gift for picking locks and his talent for disguise. Sierra, the youngest, had inherited his curiosity and his analytical brain.

But it was Rory who’d inherited his love of taking risks and his inability to refuse a dare. Even as a toddler, she’d been the most impetuous of the three, and he’d always thought of her as his little daredevil. Natalie had worked hard to suppress any reckless streaks in her nature. And Sierra had naturally preferred to think things out, to plan. Rory had always chosen to throw herself into situations, making things up as she went along.

Earlier he’d opened an album to his three favorite photos of his middle daughter. In one, she was running over the finish line in a race. Harry smiled. Of the three girls, she was the one who always rushed headlong through life.

In the second, she was at her senior prom. And she was beautiful. When she was a little girl, she hadn’t believed that. She’d always felt that her sisters had inherited the “beauty” genes, as she’d called them. He couldn’t help but wonder if the years had brought her more confidence.

In the last picture, his favorite, she was on horseback, leaping over a fence. She’d been nineteen, and no doubt she’d dared herself to do it. That was what she’d always done when she was little. Rory had always been an excellent horsewoman. He recalled the times they’d ridden together, just the two of them, and rubbed the heel of his hand against the tight little band that squeezed his heart.

He had taken those photos himself. He might have promised Amanda that he wouldn’t contact them, but that hadn’t kept him from being there at important events over the years.

Harry set down his glass of cognac. He might have a pictorial history of his girls’ lives, but he didn’t have them. Reaching for a paper and pen, he shook off the nagging feeling that his time was running out. He might have to wait six years to deliver the letter in person, but he could write to her tonight.

To Rory, my darling daredevil…

1

WHY COULDN’T SHE EVER PLAN ahead?

Rory Gibbs gave herself a mental kick as she pushed her way through the crowd in the waiting area of the Blue Pepper. When she’d made the urgent call to her sisters to join her for dinner, she’d totally forgotten that Tuesday night was singles’ night at the popular Georgetown bistro. Now, as usual, she was going to have to depend on her luck to get a table. Rising to her tiptoes, she scanned the crowd trying to spot one of the owners.

George, a gentle giant of a man, would be busy at the bar, but his partner, Rad, should be somewhere near the reservation desk. Skirting a group of preppy-looking men, Rory climbed the four steps that led to the bar and once more scanned the crush of people. Or tried to. It was just hell being short.

“Excuse me.” Rory smiled up at a tall man as she wedged herself a path between him and the brunette he was talking to. He didn’t even glance down at her. Neither did another man whose elbow she jarred as she attempted unsuccessfully to duck beneath it. Halfway to the reservation desk, she finally bumped into Rad as they both were squeezing their way around a group of three women.

“Rory, Rory, Rory, Rory.” In spite of the crush of people, Rad managed to grasp her hands and kiss the air near her left cheek. Then he stepped back to give her a critical once-over. She returned the favor, noting that tonight his hair was white-blond and spiked. Rad changed his hair color almost as frequently as he changed his ties.

Before he’d bought the Blue Pepper, Rad had studied fashion design in New York City, and he’d appointed himself fashion policeman for the Gibbs sisters. He’d convinced her older sister, Natalie, to experiment with new colors and to start wearing her hair down.

For a full minute, Rory held her breath, hoping that the outfit she’d decided on met with his approval.

Rad had insisted she develop her own signature style. But like everything else she did, she was never quite sure how she was doing. She’d gotten the idea of pairing the faded, low-slung jeans with a vintage organdy-and-lace shirt from one of the layouts in Celebs magazine. She’d made the look her own by tying the shirttails beneath her breasts and adding strappy, high-heeled sandals, along with cascades of thin Italian gold hoops in her ears.

Finally, Rad beamed a smile at her, then leaned in and pitched his voice to be heard above the clatter of glasses and snatches of conversation. “A very nice variation on the Sarah Jessica Parker look! And I love the little gold bar in your navel. Veerry sexy.”

“Thanks.” Rory tried not to think about the fact that the only men who ever used that word to describe her were gay. No negative thoughts tonight, she reminded herself as she beamed a smile at Rad. “Tell me my luck’s holding and you can find me a table.”

Rad’s brows shot up. “On a Tuesday night? You’re lucky to have two sisters who plan ahead and call for reservations. Detective Natalie paged me at noon.”

That figured, Rory thought. Natalie took her responsibility as the oldest very seriously, and as a cop, she was good at thinking ahead.

“Dr. Gibbs beat her by calling this morning,” Rad said.

That figured, too. Sierra was a meticulous planner. She was forever making lists on blue note cards, and it had certainly paid off. She’d recently accepted a tenure-track position in Georgetown’s psychology department, and she ran her life with the same smooth efficiency that she wrote her books and taught her courses.

A little sliver of envy ran through Rory. Despite that they were triplets, she and her sisters were as different as two suns and the moon, and she wanted to be more like them. For starters, Natalie and Sierra had inherited the “planning” genes while her own approach to life so far could best be described as seat-of-the-pants.

She envied them in the looks department, too. Both Natalie and Sierra were tall like their father while she was short like their mother. Natalie was a smashing redhead; Sierra was a cool Gwyneth Paltrow–type blonde; and she was a plain brunette. But what was beginning to bother Rory most of all was that at twenty-six, her sisters were settled on their career paths and she was still trying to figure out what she wanted to be when she grew up.

Those days were history, she reminded herself. If everything went well tomorrow, she would no longer be the “muddled in the middle” triplet. She would be a reporter with a staff job at Celebs magazine. Nerves knotted in her stomach. If everything went well…

“Dr. Gibbs and Detective Natalie are waiting for you out on the patio,” Rad continued.

Sierra and Natalie had also inherited the “title” genes. She was just plain Rory.

“I’ve already put in an order for the appetizer special.” Rad turned her in the direction of the patio and gave her a nudge.

Food. That’s what she needed to settle her nerves. Usually, she chewed bubble gum, but she’d run out—a result of bad planning, of course.

No negative thoughts, she lectured herself again. As she nudged, ducked and generally bulldozed her way through the crowd, Rory tried to organize her thoughts and screw up her courage. After all, she was about to have one of life’s defining moments. She was going to open the letter her father had sent to her.

One month ago, she and her sisters had gathered here at the Blue Pepper to celebrate their twenty-sixth birthday, and Natalie had dropped a little bombshell into their lives.

After not seeing or hearing from Harry Gibbs for sixteen years, they’d each received a letter from him—a letter that had been held in trust by their father’s attorney for six years after Harry had died. They’d only been twenty when they’d lost both parents within months of each other.

Even now, it was hard for Rory to let herself think about her father without feeling a few pangs of pain and resentment. She couldn’t quite forgive him for walking out on them when they were ten. Neither could her sisters. Shortly after he’d left, they’d stopped calling him Dad and started referring to him as Harry.

Coming up short behind a solid wall of people who’d gathered to watch the salsa band, Rory edged her way along, looking for an opening. Just the thought of opening that letter had the nerves dancing in her stomach. Natalie had opened her letter a month ago, and the advice Harry had given her—to trust in her talents and risk everything to get what she wanted—had changed Natalie’s life. Not only had her older sister decided to say yes to the adventure of a lifetime, but she’d also found love. Since Natalie had found Chance Mitchell, she’d positively glowed.

But then Natalie had always had a lot of talents to trust in. Rory couldn’t imagine what Harry would say to her. Wiping damp hands on her jeans, she gave up on finding an opening in the wall of people. Instead, she ducked her head, twisted to the side and muscled her way through the crowd. After spotting her sisters, she shot across the dance floor, and finally dropped into a chair between them. Martinis were waiting, along with a platter of the Blue Pepper’s famous finger food. Rory reached for a stuffed mushroom and popped it into her mouth. Then she said around it, “Thanks for coming.”

“You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” Natalie said.

Sierra tapped the blue note card on the table in front of her. “We only agreed that you would be the one to go second. You can take all the time you want.”

Rory swallowed and drew in a deep breath. “I’ve waited long enough.” Slipping the letter out of her pocket, she set it on the table. “I need Harry’s advice.” There. She’d said it, and the words eased some of the flutters in her stomach.

“What’s up?” Natalie asked.

Rory glanced at Natalie. Of course, her perceptive older sister would know that something besides the letter was bothering her. She drew in a deep breath.

“I’ve finally chosen a career.”

Natalie smiled gently. “I understand why you feel like it’s important you make a decision, but you don’t have to put so much pressure on yourself, you know, Rory,” Natalie said.

Rory glanced down at the white envelope with her name scrawled across it. Yes, she did. Her conversation with her boss that morning clinched it. She was sick and tired of the self-doubts that had plagued her all her life. “You guys were born knowing what you wanted to do. I’ve changed jobs six times in four years. That must be some kind of a Guinness record.”

“Who says everyone has to be like Sierra or me?” Natalie asked.

“And who says that we’ll stay at our jobs forever?” Sierra peered at her over the rims of her glasses. “Research shows that most people in our age group will have to change their career paths three or four times in the course of their lifetimes. You’ll be much more prepared for those changes than either Natalie or I will.”

She could always depend on her sisters for unflagging support, but it didn’t change the fact that she’d never felt the kind of confidence that they’d always felt about their career choices. Bottom line—she was tired of being the “muddled in the middle” sister.

Her gaze dropped to the envelope again. “I can’t help thinking that if I’d only been as focused on a specific career as you both were, Harry could have come home sooner. I bet Mom was worried that I would have taken up after Dad if he’d become part of our lives again.”

Natalie took one of her hands and Sierra the other. “You can’t blame yourself for a decision that our parents made. And if you want to blame someone for the fact that Harry went away, blame me. I’m the one who inherited his knack for cracking safes. I’ll bet that’s what freaked Mom out.”

Sierra squeezed Rory’s hand. “Children always feel a certain amount of guilt when they’re abandoned by a parent.”

Rory stared at her. “You, too? What could you possibly feel guilty about?”

Sierra smiled wanly. “I was always sick. I figured that the reason Mom didn’t want to go with him was because of me.”

“No,” Rory protested.

“Not true,” Natalie said at the same time.

Then Natalie straightened her shoulders. “I think we have to come to an agreement. We aren’t to blame for what they did. And we certainly aren’t to blame that Harry died before he could come back and deliver his advice in person.” She raised her martini. “Let’s say goodbye to guilt.”

Rory and Sierra raised their glasses, and then they all sipped their drinks.

“Easier said than done.” Rory set down her glass.

“It’s a good first step,” Sierra said.

“Here goes.” Rory picked up the letter from her father. After opening the flap, she pulled out a single sheet of paper.

To Rory, my darling daredevil,

Your mother and I were both twenty-six when you girls came into our lives, and we agreed that you can open this letter on your twenty-sixth birthday in the event that I’m not there to talk to you in person.

Remember when you were little and I used to warn you that you could only trust in your luck so far? Well, I was dead wrong to tell you that. That was what your mother always told me. She was afraid that some day I’d take one risk too many, and because you were always so impetuous, she worried about you, too. I hope that you will listen to me now. Trust in your luck all the way—and be willing to push it. And never be afraid to take risks. You can do anything you want if you dare to take a shot at it. Most important of all—don’t be afraid to stay in the game.