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

The call would be with Tracker McBride. That much Natalie knew. The conversation would sound like business, but there would be a coded subtext. Right now the subtext of his message to her was to keep her mind on the job.

But wasn’t part of her job establishing the fact that she was totally besotted with Steven Bradford? Knowing that the driver was listening and probably watching through his rearview mirror, Natalie twisted around and placed her hand on Chance’s thigh. “You know what they say about all work and no play.”

In a quick move that she didn’t anticipate, Chance closed his hands over her shoulders and drew her close for a long, hard kiss. Then even as heat flared to life, he moved his mouth to her ear and whispered, “You’re playing with fire.”

She laughed. “I hope so.”

She felt his lips curve as he brushed soft kisses at the corners of her mouth. There it was again, that unexpected gentleness. Was it part of Chance or merely a layer to the persona of Steven Bradford? She was leaning forward when he slipped his hands out of her hair and set her away from him.

“Too late. We’re here,” he murmured.

Glancing through the window, she saw that they’d stopped at a mammoth gate set in a tall stone fence. The moment it opened, the limo slid through and continued up a winding narrow drive. Flowers bloomed on either side. To the right, there were three tennis courts where two hardy souls battled the heat and each other. Through the tall cypresses to her left she caught a glimpse of a landscaped patio area surrounding a huge pool. A few guests sat sipping drinks in the shade of red-and-white striped umbrellas.

Then as the car swept around a curve and the main house came into view, Natalie let her mouth drop open. The building was huge, three stories high with wings on either side. The entire structure was built out of slabs of gray marble streaked with shades of rose and pink. It reminded her of an Italian villa as she supposed it was meant to. At its right stood a low-slung building—an old carriage house, she guessed. Now it probably served as a garage and servants’ quarters.

“Wow,” she said as the car pulled to a stop. Though she didn’t repeat it, she might have said the same about the man who descended the marble steps to greet them. In person, Carlo Brancotti was even better-looking than he’d been in the photos Chance had shown her.

Tall and broad-shouldered, he wore black trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. But it was his face that drew and held her attention as Chance guided her out of the limo. The slash of cheekbones and the hair hanging loose to his shoulders made her think of ancient warriors. The hint of the savage in contrast with the elegant clothes and surroundings made for a devastating effect. She had a moment to absorb the impression as he shook hands with Steven Bradford. When he took her hand and looked into her eyes, a quick prickle of unease moved through her.

For a second, just until he released her hand, she had the uncanny sensation that he could see right through her. It passed the moment he smiled at her.

“I’m so glad I made an exception and allowed Steven to bring you along.”

“So am I.” The smile she sent him was genuine. “You have a lovely place.”

“It’s even lovelier now,” he said. Lifting a hand, he signaled for a man who wore a uniform identical to the one the driver had worn. “Show Mr. Bradford and Miss Calli to the Venetian room.” Then he turned to Steven. “Make yourselves at home in any way you wish. I’m giving a small party tonight so that my guests can get to know one another.”

Steven frowned. “I’m a busy man. I didn’t come to party.”

Brancotti smiled and shook his head. “So American. You’ll have to learn to relax and enjoy my hospitality.”

Then he turned and led the way into the house.

A PRICKLE OF UNEASE had worked its way up Chance’s spine the moment that Carlo had said the words Venetian room. It moved through him once more as he read the same words on the engraved brass plate that adorned the door to the suite they were shown into. Venetia and Venetian. Was the name of the suite a coincidence or Carlo’s way of letting him know that he was aware of who he was?

A part of his mind said no. There was no one at the agency who knew that he was coming here as Steven Bradford. Still, his mind raced as he watched Natalie move around the suite and peer through the French doors that led to a small balcony. She was playing her part beautifully, just the right mixture of sex kitten and wide-eyed innocent. And he was finding the combination fascinating. So damn fascinating that in spite of his resolution, he hadn’t been able to resist her when she’d begun to seduce him on the plane.

“Look, we have a view of the pool and the ocean.” Then she was skirting around the valet who’d escorted them to the room, and opening the door to an adjoining bath.

“Wow!” she said. “The shower takes up the whole wall, and there’s a hot tub.”

“Will there be anything else, sir?” the valet asked.

“No.” Chance followed the valet to the door. Before he closed it, he glanced once more at the brass plate.

Brancotti might suspect any one of the guests he’d invited to the estate. He might even put Steven Bradford at the top of his list. But he couldn’t know for sure.

Still, he should tell Natalie that they might be under suspicion. When he turned back into the room, she was moving through the suite, running her hands over the polished surfaces of old antiques, oohing and aahing. If Brancotti was listening, he’d hear a girl raised in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains nearly going into ecstasy over his home. He might be rattled, but Detective Natalie Gibbs was doing her job, checking for any hidden cameras or small microphones.

Emotions streamed through him—admiration and something he couldn’t quite put a name to. She was getting to him, and for both their sakes, he couldn’t let that distract him from the job he’d come here to do.

“This is so lovely,” she cooed as she climbed onto the bed and ran her fingers over the carved headboard. Then she stretched out on the mattress and sent him a quick grin. “Any idea about what we could do to while the time away until that dinner party?”

“You could take a swim in the pool,” he suggested.

“Too hot.” She made a face as she rolled over and then dropped her chin on her hands.

“I need to work,” he said.

She made another face. “Too boring.”

Moving to the bed, he took her hand and drew her up and off the mattress. “Why don’t you try out the hot tub?”

She locked her arms around his neck. “Why don’t we try it out together?”

“I really need to get some work done.” But he leaned closer, caught the lobe of her ear between his teeth and whispered, “What did you find?”

Keeping her arms looped around his neck, she drew back and mouthed the words. “No cameras, two mikes here in the bedroom. One mike in the bathroom.” Then she said aloud, “Oh, Steven, you worked on the plane.”

“I need to talk to you,” he whispered right against her ear. “Tonight, during the party, find an excuse to entice me away for a while. We’ll walk along the beach.”

“Oh, Steven.” Her voice was a throaty purr as she drew back again. “You’re always working. Can’t we play? Just a little?”

Pursing her lips in a little pout, she pulled his tie loose. Then before he could even think to stop her, she was working on his belt.

“Calli.”

“I want you.”

Quite suddenly, he wanted her. Calli, Rachel, Natalie. They were all parts of the same woman, and he wanted them all. But they had a job. They should both rest.

The thought slipped away as her hand enclosed him.

“You know I can’t go for very long without sex. It’s a curse.” She kissed him then, making sure that every soft curve of her body was pressed fully against his.

Chance flipped on the stereo beside the bed to mask the noises he knew they would make and then eased her back onto the mattress. “Then we’re both damned.”

NATALIE HAD to hand it to Carlo Brancotti. The man knew how to throw a party. Dinner had been a sumptuous seven-course affair served in a room that reminded her of a medieval dining hall. Her dinner partner had been a portly British gentleman, Sir Arthur Latham, who’d seemed sincerely interested in Calli’s aspirations in the modeling field. The woman on her left had looked vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t until Sir Arthur had introduced her that Natalie realized she was Risa Manwaring, a retired actress who had married a British lord.

By the time they’d finished with dessert, Risa had the name of her agent as well as a list of her most recent modeling jobs.

At the far end of the table, “Steven” had been seated to Carlo’s immediate right, and as far as she could tell, the conversation between the two men hadn’t flagged once.

Were she and Chance being tested—or was she just being paranoid? Natalie had always found that when she was doing undercover work, a little paranoia was a good thing. But hers had been increasing steadily from the moment she’d looked into Carlo Brancotti’s eyes that afternoon.

She was pretty sure that Chance was feeling the same way. She’d felt the tension in him escalate the moment they’d entered their suite. There’d been that urgent request that she lure him away from the party. And she’d sensed an even greater urgency when they’d made love. What did he need to tell her?

Whatever it was, he was willing to wait until they could be absolutely sure that no one was eavesdropping. So it was important, but not urgent.