Natalie’s dress slid to the floor. She was wearing nothing beneath it.

Chance gripped her shoulders hard. “I want to know who the hell you are.”

Natalie smiled and stepped toward him. “I can be anyone you want.”

He couldn’t wait any longer to touch her. Clamping one arm around her waist, he pulled her into the shower with him.

She grabbed the soap playfully. “I can be Rachel.” Her slick hands slid over his skin, leaving trails of ice and fire in their wake. Her fingers drew a line to his waist and then lower. He closed his eyes as her hot fist enclosed him.

“Or I can be Calli.” She began to stroke him gently.

“Or I can be both.” Her laugh was a breath in his ear before her tongue darted inside. “I could be two women at once. Is that what you want?”

All Chance was certain of was that he needed her with a desperation that threatened to slice him in two. “What I want is you. Now.”

Dear Reader,

D.C. cop Natalie Gibbs prides herself on being able to handle men on the job and off…until Chance Mitchell comes into her life and she finds she wants her hands on the sexy insurance investigator a bit too much. When Chance proposes one night of no-strings, no-complications, no-etiquette sex, the very practical Natalie sees his proposition as the perfect way to get him out of her system for good.

The problem is that one night with Chance Mitchell isn’t nearly enough, and after three months Natalie decides that she’s willing to run any risk to lure him back into her bed—even if she has to disguise herself to do it….

This is just the beginning of Natalie and Chance’s adventure. I hope you’ll come along for the ride and watch them ultimately take the biggest risk any two people can take when they risk their hearts.

Developing this miniseries—RISKING IT ALL—has allowed me to write about three fascinating triplet sisters who have very different dreams, talents and goals. But they have one thing in common—they’re willing to risk everything to get what they want. I hope you will look for Rory’s and Sierra’s stories, The Dare (June) and The Favor (July), and that you will enjoy reading them as much as I have enjoyed writing them.

I would love to hear what you think about these stories. You can e-mail me through my Web site, www.carasummers.com.

Happy reading!

Cara Summers

The Proposition
Cara Summers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my sister in heart and dear friend—Kathy Eagan.

Thanks for your support, your inspiration and your never-wavering belief in me. I love you.

And to all sisters everywhere.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Prologue

Summer 1999

HARRY GIBBS was a man who’d spent his life taking risks and loving every minute of it. For an international jewel thief, risks were a part of the game, and Harry had always played the game very well.

Of course, he’d been born smart and lucky. As for his other talents—such as his Houdini-like knack for opening locks and his gift for disguise—well, those he’d honed to perfection over the years.

And look where his chosen profession had gotten him. Standing on the balcony of his Tuscan villa, Harry watched as the summer sun bathed the vineyards below in a golden light. Although he had a small cottage outside of Dublin and an apartment in Paris, this was his favorite residence in between jobs.

Some would call his the perfect life.

Harry bit back a sigh. No life was perfect, and he had reason to know this better than most men. Life, he’d discovered, boiled down to a series of choices that you either embraced or rejected. Ten years ago, he’d made a big decision—to leave his wife and ten-year-old triplet daughters behind so that he could resume his career as a master thief.

His wife Amanda had wanted Natalie, Rory and Sierra to have a “normal” life. He’d wanted that for the girls, too. So for ten years, he’d tried, but in the end he just couldn’t accept that “normal” life for himself.

As the light pouring over the valley slowly darkened and the shadows lengthened, Harry finally let out the sigh he’d been holding back. There wasn’t a day that passed when he didn’t miss his family. And on this particular warm summer night, the twentieth anniversary of the day the triplets were born, he missed them more than ever.

He moved into the salon, then crossed to the bar and poured champagne into a flute. Six more years—he and Amanda had agreed on that. He wouldn’t contact the girls or try to see them until their twenty-sixth birthday.

Tonight, the six years seemed like forever, and lately he’d begun to feel that perhaps time was running out for him.

He crossed to his desk and opened the photo album to three pictures he’d taken of his oldest daughter, Natalie. Then he raised his glass in a toast.

“To my courageous Natalie,” he murmured. “Happy birthday.”

In many ways, she was the most like him. Sipping the icy liquid, he continued to study the pImages** arranged on the page. They were his favorites. The first was one he’d taken when she’d had her tonsils out. She’d been twelve, and though she hadn’t known, he’d joined Amanda to sit by her side the night she’d spent in the hospital. The second was of Natalie getting her diploma at her high school graduation. That was just one of many days that he’d missed being with his girls.

His agreement with Amanda hadn’t stopped him from secretly attending important events in their lives and doing his best to watch them grow up. He just hadn’t ever been able to let them know he was there.

When they were small, his girls had idolized him. The last thing Amanda had wanted for them was that they would romanticize the career path he’d chosen. He didn’t want that either.

Harry bent to get a closer look at the picture he’d snapped of Natalie during her first day at the police academy. He grinned. No way was his oldest daughter going to follow in his path. If anything, she seemed determined to uphold the laws that he had lived his life breaking.

And that was his Natalie to a T. From the time she’d been able to walk and talk, she’d taken on the responsibility of both defending and ensuring just treatment of her sisters. A series of pImages** streamed through his mind. In each of them, Natalie would stand in front of her sisters like a warrior. By the time she was ten, Harry could see that his oldest daughter had inherited not merely his red hair, but also his knack for opening locks and his talent for disguise. She would have made a great jewel thief.

Raising his glass, Harry drank to that. Of his three girls, Natalie had always been the biggest risk-taker, and he couldn’t help but wonder if being a cop would help her to come to terms with that side of her nature.

If he could just talk to her…

And what the hell good would that do? Harry set down his glass. What could he say? The problem was he wanted his girls to be able to have their cake and eat it, too—but he and Amanda hadn’t found a way to do that.

His gaze shifted to the framed photo of his wife, one he’d snapped at the girls’ graduation. Reaching out, he ran a finger down the side of her cheek. He’d never stopped loving her.

And he’d never stopped loving his daughters. Thinking of Natalie, Harry reached for a sheet of paper and a pen and sat down at the desk. His risk-taking daughter, his seekers of justice, wouldn’t hesitate to take action. There had to be something he could say to her. Even if he couldn’t send the letter now, he’d find a way to get it to her eventually.

Harry took another sip of champagne in a toast to his oldest daughter. And then he began to write.

Dearest Natalie…

1

Spring 2005

CHANCE MITCHELL had never before been obsessed by a woman in his life. He glanced down the table to where Detective Natalie Gibbs was sipping a glass of white wine. He continued to study her as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. The two women seated next to her could be described as equally attractive, but ever since he’d joined his friends for a celebration at the Blue Pepper, his gaze had returned to Natalie.

At nine o’clock the popular Georgetown bistro was crowded. Customers were lined up three deep at the bar, and a salsa band was playing on the patio. In some corner of his mind, Chance was aware of that, just as he was vaguely aware of the ongoing conversation at his table, but his focus remained on the fascinating detective.

Her hair fell past her shoulders, and in the dim light of the bar, the red-gold curls looked as if they might burst into flames at any moment. He wanted to touch those curls. He wanted to touch her, slowly and thoroughly.

Chance took a long swallow of his beer, but it did little to cool the heat that burned inside of him. Oh, he was obsessing all right, and he wanted to know why.

What he felt for Natalie had begun the first moment he’d seen her. They’d both been working undercover for different agencies, and she’d been disguised when she’d walked into his art gallery. From the instant their eyes had met, there’d been a connection. He’d felt a curious shock of recognition that had registered like a punch in his gut.

So far, he hadn’t acted on the attraction. During the three days that he and Natalie had joined forces and worked as partners, the cool, aloof redhead had kept him at arm’s length. And he’d let her. That’s what he couldn’t quite figure out. He was a man who knew how to get what he wanted, but Natalie Gibbs had him hesitating in a way he couldn’t recall doing since he’d been a teenager.

Perhaps it was time he put a stop to that. She didn’t look quite so cool tonight. Maybe it was the clothes. When they’d worked as partners, she’d always worn a jacket and slacks, the standard uniform of a woman who worked in a man’s world. But tonight, the blouse she wore left her arms and throat bare, and the lacy, sheer fabric revealed curves as well as skin.

His eyes shifted to the V-neck that ended just where he imagined the valley between her breasts began. He let his gaze lower to the tiny, pearl buttons that marched in a narrow line to her waist. He could imagine unbuttoning them one at a time, very slowly, drawing out the pleasure for them both.

As the pImages** filled his mind, the tightening in his gut turned raw and primitively sexual. Why in hell was he hesitating? Desire was something he was familiar with. He could handle it. Or he could walk away. Couldn’t he?

He took another swallow of his beer.

“You all right?”

Chance tore his gaze away from Natalie to face the two men seated beside him. Tracker McBride had asked the question. But it was Lucas Wainwright who was studying him thoughtfully. Seven years ago, Tracker and Lucas had worked with him in a Special Forces unit, and in the past two weeks, they’d had the opportunity to work together again to crack a smuggling ring operating in D.C. Tonight, they were supposed to be celebrating the successful closure of the case, and this was the second time he’d lost track of the conversation, thanks to Detective Natalie Gibbs.

“I think he has his eye on the fair detective,” Lucas said.

Tracker’s look turned speculative. “Really?”

Knowing that the best defense was a good offense, Chance said to Tracker, “Have you and Sophie set a date yet?”

Tracker’s gaze went to the tall blonde sitting to Natalie’s right.

Lucas grinned. “I hear from Mac that Sophie is talking about a fall wedding.”

Chance mentally shook his head at the satisfied expression on Tracker’s face and shifted his gaze to the third woman who sat at the other end of the table, Dr. MacKenzie Lloyd Wainwright. Mac and Lucas had been married for a year, and they were expecting a child. He’d never envisioned either of his friends marrying and settling down.

“Now that Lucas and I are pretty much spoken for, it’s your turn,” Tracker said.

Chance held both hands out, palms up. “Not a chance in hell.” Then he laughed as his friends winced at the pun. He just wasn’t the marrying kind.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like women. He did. And you could italicize the plural. Not that he had ever involved himself with more than one woman at a time. Going down that particular path had always seemed to him to be way too complicated if not downright suicidal. He’d always made sure that his relationships were simple, uncomplicated and a lot of fun while they lasted. Permanent wasn’t a word that existed in his vocabulary. Hell, nothing was permanent—not in this life.

“I don’t know,” Tracker said. “Sophie says that there’s a real spark between you and the detective.”

The sudden ringing of a phone had all three men reaching for their cells. Whoever was getting the call, Chance figured he was saved by the bell. Lucas opened his and a second later said, “I’m going to have to take this in a quieter spot.” Rising, he signaled Tracker to come with him. The two friends worked together now. Lucas ran his family’s company, Wainwright Enterprises, and Tracker headed up security for him.

Chance sipped his beer and found his gaze returning to Natalie. When she glanced up and met his eyes, there was a moment, a long moment, when everything else faded. A heated discussion at a nearby table, laughter from the bar, even the low sound of a saxophone became just a buzz in his ears. The faces of the other two women at the table blurred, and all he could see was Natalie.

Twin sensations assaulted him—a hard punch to his gut and a strange flutter just beneath his heart. No, this wasn’t the reaction he had to just any woman. Why did this particular woman have this kind of effect on him? A part of him wanted to find out; another part of him wanted to run.

The realization had a spurt of panic moving through him. No woman had ever made him want to run before.

“Hey.” Tracker’s amused tone only penetrated when he felt the nudge to his shoulder. Turning, Chance discovered that Lucas had moved to help Mac from her chair. “Our party’s breaking up,” Tracker said. “Mac’s tired so they’re driving home now. Sophie and I are going to walk back to her place. Do you need Lucas to give you a lift back to your hotel?”

“No,” he said as he rose from his chair. It had been years since he’d allowed himself to run away from anything. That part of his life was over. He was flying to London in the morning, but there was one thing he was going to do before he left. Chance moved with Tracker down to the other end of the table.

“Sorry to be such a party pooper,” Mac said, stifling a huge yawn.

“I’m the one who yawned first,” Sophie said. “The last few days have been hectic.” Then she smiled at Natalie. “But you should stay. Chance is an excellent dancer, and the music is good.”

“No, I—” Natalie began as she rose from her chair.

“Sophie’s right on one point,” Chance said. “The music is very good.”

“Please. Don’t let me break up your evening,” Mac said, taking Natalie’s hand and squeezing it. “Stay and have at least one dance. If I weren’t asleep on my feet, I’d drag Lucas out. There’s nothing more romantic than dancing under the stars.”

“What’s one dance?” Sophie said softly as she kissed Natalie’s cheek.

Chance waited until the two couples had taken their leave. “We don’t have to dance if you’re afraid of that Latin beat.”

Natalie’s eyes narrowed as she met his. “I can dance to that if you can.”

It was just the reaction Chance had hoped for. The one thing he’d learned from working with the beautiful detective was that she was never afraid to take a risk. That was his key, he realized as he took her hand and led her toward the patio. If he framed his proposition in the right way, they’d be taking a different kind of risk together before the night was over.

NATALIE KNEW she was making a mistake the moment that Chance took her hand. It wasn’t that he hadn’t touched her before. He was a very physical man. In the brief time they’d worked together, he’d taken her arm, or placed a hand at her back. But he’d never before held her hand. His was hard, his fingers callused, and just the pressure of his palm against hers had little ribbons of heat uncurling up her arm.

The intensity of the sensations had her wondering what it would feel like when he really touched her. And she’d been thinking of that since they’d first met in that art gallery. He’d been a possible suspect in an art theft ring, and it had been her job to keep an eye on him.

Natalie sent him a sideways glance as he made a path for them through the crowd. Keeping an eye on Chance Mitchell was nice work if you could get it.

He was a man any woman would look twice at. He had a long, rangy body that wore jeans and Armani suits with the same careless ease. Hair that looked brown one minute and blond the next. Eyes that were trapped somewhere between a smoky gray and blue. And a face that wasn’t quite handsome until he smiled in a certain way.

But for the three days they’d worked side by side, it was his hands that she’d become obsessed with—hands that held a priceless sculpture or a gun with equal skill. More than once, she’d struggled with fantasies of how those long, clever fingers might pleasure a woman.

And she knew enough about men to know that he was fantasizing just as much as she. The fact that she and Chance had been assigned to protect Sophie Wainwright from a ruthless killer had helped both of them keep their focus. But now…Sophie was safe. The case was over. There was nothing to divert her attention from this man. And she wanted him with an intensity that she’d never felt for anyone else.

Why?

Natalie found part of her answer the moment Chance drew her into his arms. Heat streamed through her and every nerve in her body began to throb. No one had ever made her feel this way, and she knew that this was only a promise of what he could make her feel if she would just let him.

Why was she so hesitant to do that?

“We fit perfectly,” he murmured.

Hadn’t she known they would? She was tall, but he was taller. His chin brushed her hair, and as he guided her across the small dance floor, his thigh pressed briefly against hers. The shock to her system had her stumbling even more closely against him.

“Relax.” His voice was just a breath in her ear as he ran those clever fingers up and then down her spine.

“Just listen to the music and let yourself go.”

Let yourself go. Natalie bit back a sigh as she struggled against doing just that. She’d always prided herself on her control where men were concerned. Two years of working on a D.C. police special task force had given her plenty of experience handling males, both on the job and in the bedroom as well. In the two serious relationships she’d had, her lovers had both been intimidated by the fact that she was a cop, and she’d learned from experience not to invest too much of herself in a relationship.

Instinct told her that Chance was different. He’d have the ability to break her control, and the idea of that tempted her almost as much as it made her wary.

When Chance drew back a little, Natalie barely kept herself from protesting.

“Much better,” he said. “Relaxation is the key.”

Of course, it was easy to relax when her bones were melting. But Natalie kept that to herself. Instead, she made herself focus. “You really do know how to dance. Where did you learn?”

“Here and there. I’ve found it a very useful tool.”

She raised her brows. “Tool?”

Chance smiled at her. “Absolutely. Dancing is the easiest method I know for getting a woman into my arms, and second only to my cooking for getting a woman into my bed.”

Bed. She should have had a quick comeback for that. Or at least she could have snorted. But the image, as well as the way he’d leaned close to her ear to say it, had a fresh wave of desire streaming through her.

The rhythm of the dance changed abruptly, and Chance slid his hands to her hips, pulling her close for one brief contact. Heat flashed through her as she felt the long hard length of him. The lower part of her body burned and melted. “Oh, yes,” one part of her mind said—even as another part said, “Get away while you can!”

But the negative voice in her mind was losing strength, and Natalie suddenly realized that she wasn’t going to play it safe. Hadn’t some part of her made that decision when she’d chosen her clothes tonight?

The admission sent a hot erotic thrill moving through her. A sliver of panic followed. It wasn’t like her to be thinking this way. Just as it wasn’t like her to dress with the intention of tempting a man. As the oldest child—by a few minutes anyway—she’d always been the responsible one, and she’d always had to control that wild, reckless streak inside of her that she’d inherited from her father.

“I want you, Natalie.” The words were nothing more than a breath in her ear, but her knees turned to water. She was suddenly aware that he’d steered her off the dance floor and into a darkened corner of the patio. Potted trees surrounded them; a brick wall pressed against her back. And he stood before her, the heat of his body so close…

“I want to take you to bed, I want to touch you—all over.”

She couldn’t prevent the quick thrill the words brought her any more than she could prevent her heart from beginning to hammer.

“I—”

“No.” He pressed a finger against her lips. “Let me finish. I have a proposition for you. I’m flying to London tomorrow morning. If I’m lucky, the assignment will take three months. If not, I’ll be gone even longer. So there’s just tonight.” He drew his finger down that line of her throat to the vee of her blouse and then down the tiny pearl buttons one by one. She was sure that her heart skipped a beat at each one.

“Spend just one night with me,” he said.

SHE HAD TO SAY YES, Chance told himself. He’d chosen his words very carefully. He always did where women were concerned. One night with no strings was just the kind of proposition that the cool, logical Natalie Gibbs he’d come to know would find irresistible. He figured she was cautious when it came to men because she didn’t want complications.

But as he stared into those cool, green eyes, he couldn’t get a hint of what she was thinking. She had to have felt at least part of what he’d experienced when they’d been dancing—the incredible promise of what they could share. And she had to be experiencing at least some of the desperation that he was feeling right now.

When he saw her lips part to speak, he raised his fingers to rest them there. “Don’t say no. I—” Chance broke off the moment that he realized what had nearly slipped out of his mouth. He’d almost said, “I need you.” And that wasn’t true. Being a little obsessed was one thing, but need?

Taking a quick breath, he spoke around the bubble of panic that had risen into his throat. “Just think about it. When was the last time you had sex for the sheer fun of it—no strings, no complications? No worrying about the morning-after etiquette? C’mon. What do you say?”

For a moment his question hung in the air between them. One night with Natalie Gibbs—that was what he wanted. And he wanted it very badly. That was all. Need had nothing to do with it. Chance Mitchell hadn’t needed anyone for a very long time.

Natalie took his fingers and removed them from her mouth. “That’s your proposition? No-strings, no-complications, no-etiquette sex?”

“Exactly.” Chance made himself stop with one word. Because he was very much afraid that he was going to babble. Worse still, he just might beg.

Her grin was quick and wicked. He’d never seen that look on her face before, and his heart did a little stutter.

“Proposition accepted,” she said.

Chance’s heart stopped altogether.

NATALIE LED the way down a narrow flagstone path to the back of a Federal-style house just three blocks away from the Blue Pepper. Lantern lights hung on either side of the door to her apartment.

She’d never before brought a man here—to her own space. But when Chance had suggested her place because it had to be closer than his hotel on Sixteenth Street, Natalie hadn’t argued. If she was going to give herself over to one night of reckless, no-strings, no-etiquette sex, she might as well do it in familiar surroundings.

Chance had said nothing since they’d left the Blue Pepper. He hadn’t touched her either, but she’d been very much aware of him walking at her side. When she drew the key out of her purse and slid it into the door, he laid a hand on hers.

She turned to look at him then. The full moon poured brightly into the garden behind him, but Chance’s face was caught in shifting shadows. His eyes were dark, and she couldn’t read what he was thinking.

“Second thoughts?” he asked.

The kindness of the question had some of the nerves in her stomach settling. But she’d made her decision, and she wasn’t going to run away from it. Shaking her head, she said, “You?”

“No.”

She led the way into the narrow foyer. After shutting the door with his foot, Chance moved quickly, using his arms and body to cage her against the wall.

“It’s not a night for any kind of thought,” he murmured as he lowered his mouth to within a breath of hers. “Tonight we’re just going to feel.”

Any lingering doubts streamed away in that first touch of his lips to hers. His mouth was firm, but giving, his hands almost gentle as he ran them up her arms and slipped them into her hair. And his taste—there was a dark sweetness there that she hadn’t expected. Natalie had one long moment to take a heady sample of it before he moved in even closer. His body, rock-hard, pressed against her, and she felt her own body soften and yield in response. He nipped her bottom lip then slid his tongue over hers.

Heat, one glorious, scorching wave of it, rushed up and over her. If she’d ever been more aware of a man before, she couldn’t recall it. Everything about him was hard—his chest, his hands, the angle of his hip and the long length of his thigh. Even his mouth had grown harder, more demanding, as if he was determined to find some flavor that she was hiding from him.

It wasn’t sweetness she tasted anymore, but a hungry desperation. Was it his or hers?

And all the while those clever, glorious hands raced over her—tracing the curve of her throat, cupping her breasts, and gripping her bottom to pull her even closer. Fire licked along her nerve endings as one sensation after another pulsed through her. Her body had throbbed before, but not like this. Her heart had hammered before, but not as if it intended to burst right out of her chest.

“More.”

Had she said the word aloud? The question had barely formed in her mind, when he answered it by slipping fingers into the vee of her blouse and ripping it open. Then in a lightning move, he jerked what remained of her blouse down her arms, trapping her hands at her sides.

Vulnerability. It was a feeling she’d fought against all of her life. But Natalie welcomed it now, along with the deeply erotic thrill that shot through her. She’d prided herself on always being in charge—on the job, in bed. Now, as those hard hands moved over her again, she couldn’t remember why she’d even wanted to be in control. When he began to use his mouth on her, she gave herself over to a fresh storm of sensations—the hot, rough texture of his tongue at her throat, the scrape of his teeth at her shoulder. One instant she burned, the next, she shivered.

Someone laughed. She didn’t recognize the low, sultry sound, and then his mouth closed over her breast. Fire, furious flames of it, sped along her nerve endings. There was another rip of cloth as she tore her arms free from her blouse. Then she threaded her fingers through his hair and tried to drag his mouth back to hers.

“More,” she repeated.

Her whispered plea became a drumbeat in his mind as hunger and need tangled inside of him. He’d been right that it wasn’t a night for thinking. He couldn’t seem to grab on to one coherent thought. Nor could he resist returning for one more sample of her mouth.

Would he ever get enough of the sweet, drugging flavor of her surrender, that throaty gasp of pleasure that ended in his name? And her scent—something wild and exotic that made him think of taking her quickly on a deserted, moonlit beach while waves thundered furiously over the sand.

Another second and he would simply drown in her. Drawing back, Chance fought to breathe, to clear his mind.

“Hurry. Please.”

Her words started his blood pounding in his head. Helpless to resist, he covered her lips again with his and plundered. This time it wasn’t sweetness he tasted, but a hunger as sharp and desperate as his own. The hands running over him were as eager and determined to possess as his. The change in her from surrender to fevered urgency swamped his senses, and need sliced through him.

His fingers fumbled as he tore her belt free and sent her slacks pooling to the floor. He ran his hand down her, pushing aside the remaining barrier of silk. Hanging on to a thin thread of control, he lifted his head—because he had to see her, needed to see her, as he slipped two fingers into her heat. She locked around him, and he watched her eyes darken and cloud as she absorbed the pleasure he was giving her. He knew the moment her climax began, and when she reached the peak, it was his name she breathed. The sound sliced through him and sharpened an ache deep inside him, sharper than any he’d ever known.

Even as the last ripples of her climax moved through her, Natalie knew she had to have more of him. Of this man. Of Chance. She pulled his shirt free and tugged at his belt. Together, they struggled to free him of slacks, T-shirt, shoes until the only barrier between them was the thin black fabric of his briefs. Unable to take the time to pull them down, she closed her hand over him.

“The bedroom.” His voice was ragged.

“Here,” she replied.

They dragged each other to the floor. Once they were there, she lost no time. Rolling herself on top of him, she began to explore him with her mouth, using her tongue and teeth on his shoulder, his throat, his chest. She couldn’t get enough. Her heart had never beaten this hard. Her body had never ached this sharply.

Rising to her knees, she straddled his thighs, dragged down his briefs. Hands clamped at her waist. He lifted her clear of the floor, and then she was sinking onto him. The moment he filled her, they began to move. Through a haze, she saw his smoky eyes, locked on hers as he filled her, withdrew, then filled her again. Pleasure, waves of it, engulfed her as they both increased the pace. As her vision grayed, she leaned down to cover his mouth with hers.

“Now,” she murmured against his lips. “Come with me, now.”

In one lightning move, he rolled her beneath him. Then he drove her, drove them both, until together they reached that peak and shattered.

2

Three months later…

WITH ONE HAND, Chance Mitchell reached into the cooler at his side and pulled out a beer. He was being watched. It was nothing that he could see in his brief scan of the shoreline—not yet. Still, the moment the boat he was on had rounded that last curve of the coast, all of Chance’s senses had gone on alert.

“The hair on the back of my neck tells me that I’m posing for pictures,” Tracker said from his position behind the wheel.

“Yeah,” Chance replied. That cinched it. If there was one person whose instincts he trusted more than his own, it was Tracker’s. “I’m getting the same feeling.”

Chance twisted off the cap on his beer and took a long swallow, all the while keeping a tight grip on his fishing pole. To any observer he looked like he was enjoying the fishing that the waters off the south Florida coast provided. That’s exactly what he wanted the security people he knew were watching him to believe.

And if they checked into it—as he was sure they were doing right now—they would find that the boat was registered to Lucas Wainwright III, CEO of Wainwright Enterprises, and that the man himself had indeed flown in from D.C. to spend the weekend in Boca Raton and had had his boat brought in from his place on the Keys.

Chance pulled his hat down hard. Luckily, he and his old friend Lucas were the same height and build, so all he’d had to do was use temporary black dye on his hair. But there was no telling how powerful those cameras were, and he didn’t want anyone on shore getting a good look at his facial features.

Something hit the line hard. The pole bent nearly double, then twanged upward. Chance nearly laughed out loud. Sometimes, he really loved undercover work. Here he was, on a job staking out the isolated Florida estate of Carlo Brancotti—a millionaire who’d made his fortune stealing from others—and he was going to have the pleasure of battling and landing a big catch. He couldn’t have planned it better for the audience that he was sure was recording his every move.

The only thing that might please him more was to land Carlo himself. Two years ago, a huge yellow diamond, the size of a baby’s fist, had disappeared from the Ferrante private collection in Rome, and Chance had been on Brancotti’s trail ever since. The theft had occurred while the jewel was in transport between the Ferrante palace and the museum where it was to be displayed. The real diamond had been taken and an amazingly accurate fake had been substituted.

From the moment he’d been called in to investigate the heist, Chance had been sure that Brancotti was the mastermind behind it. He’d been tracking the man for a long time, and Brancotti’s trademark was to leave an almost undetectable fake in place of the real jewel. By the time the theft was discovered, Brancotti would have found a buyer, and there would be no evidence to connect the man with the crime.

In this case, the substitution had been discovered within days because Count Ferrante had insisted on an appraisal of the diamond for insurance purposes just before the exhibition was opened to the public.

Chance had sold the insurance company and the count on offering a reward for the diamond, one large enough to tempt Brancotti to give it back. And Brancotti had taken the bait. It had been a good idea. If it had worked, the count would have gotten his diamond back, and Chance would have settled an old score and put Brancotti behind bars.

But the plan had gone terribly wrong, and Chance had lost his partner, Venetia Gaston.

The fish pulled hard on his line, and Chance dragged his thoughts back to the present. Mindful of the telescopic lens he was sure was aimed at him, he began to play the fish, releasing the tension on the line and then gradually pulling it taut again.

For two long years, he’d waited for news of a large yellow diamond to surface, and a week ago it had. Through one of his contacts, he’d received a tip that Carlo Brancotti was inviting a very select group of men and women to a weekend at his retreat in south Florida and that the Ferrante diamond would be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

The heightened security along the shoreline of Carlo’s estate cinched it. Carlo Brancotti was meticulously careful. That was why he’d never been caught. Tilting his head slightly, Chance kept one eye on his pole as he scanned the shoreline. The south Florida sun beat down, sending sparks skimming across the back-wash the boat was creating, but he didn’t miss the flash in the thick cypress trees that lined the shore, light reflecting off a lens. Someone was definitely watching them. He felt the quick kick of adrenaline that he always experienced when he knew the hunt was about to begin.

“Showtime,” he said to Tracker. “I’m going to need your help with this fish. It’s big.”

“Damn. You have all the luck.”

A second later, his old buddy was at his side. He’d been pleased when Tracker had agreed to help him with the case—they made a good team. Together, they watched the fish leap out of the water in a huge, graceful arc. The pole bent nearly double again as the fish dove below the surface.

“You spot anything?” Tracker asked as he grabbed Chance’s chair to steady it.

“One of them is at two o’clock as you face the shore.”

“Got it,” Tracker said. “There’s another one about a thousand yards to the left.”

The fish cleared the water again.

“A lot of security,” Chance remarked as he reeled in the line.

“Must be something needs guarding,” Tracker said.

“That’s the way I figure it, too. Keep a watch, will you? Landing this fish is going to require all of my attention. And if they’re watching me, maybe you can pick out a few more of them.”

“Right,” Tracker said.

For the next few minutes, they said nothing as Chance let out the line and then drew it in, over and over. By the time Tracker dipped the net over the side of the boat and they hauled the fish in, the boat had moved past the Brancotti estate.

Chance waited until they’d turned and were headed back. Tracker kept the throttle open, and Chance stood at the wheel with him while the video camera on the stern side of the boat recorded every inch of the shoreline. This time there was no telltale flash of light. Evidently, their cover had held. The photos that would make their way to Brancotti would show a very happy fisherman, heading home after a satisfying catch.

“Can you get in along the shore without being detected?” Chance asked.

Tracker grinned. “Is the Pope Catholic?”

“Carlo doesn’t leave anything to chance.”

“Getting you off the estate will be the easy part. You’ve got the tough job. You’ve got to get on the estate by getting invited to the party. And you have to steal the diamond.”

Chance smiled at his old friend. “I’ve got an invite already, thanks to a contact of mine. As for stealing the diamond—that will be the fun part.”

Turning, Tracker studied his friend for a minute. “This is more than a job to you, isn’t it?”

“Carlo and I go back a long way.” Longer than Chance would ever admit to anyone. He and Carlo had lived in the same orphanage for a year—one long year when he’d been a scrawny twelve-year-old and Carlo had been seventeen and his only friend and mentor. Of course, their names had been different then. Chance had hero-worshipped the older boy. But the friendship had died the night that Carlo had robbed the orphanage and made sure that Chance got the blame for the theft. That had been twenty years ago.

Tracker shot his friend a look. “If it’s personal between you and Brancotti, that could get in your way.”

“I won’t let it.”

“Is there any chance he’ll recognize you?”

“No. I was twelve the last time we saw each other.”

Tracker frowned, then said, “Why don’t I go in with you? I could pose as your bodyguard or your personal assistant.”

Chance grinned and shook his head. “Thanks, but I already have a partner in mind, and you won’t fit into the wardrobe.”

“There’s a wardrobe?”

“An expensive one. I’ll be posing as Steven Bradford. You probably haven’t heard of him because he’s very low-key, but he’s a software genius who made his billions in the high-tech boom. And as Steven, I’ll be bringing along my latest companion, a model type who, with my backing, is hoping to jettison her career into supermodel status.”

Tracker grinned. “The nerd and his arm candy.”

“Exactly.” Chance paused, then said what he’d been thinking about ever since he’d accepted the assignment. “I’m going to ask Natalie Gibbs to work with me.”

Tracker thought for a minute. “She’s a looker all right.”

“She’s the right body type and with blond hair she’ll be a dead ringer for Catherine Weston, who now calls herself ‘Calli.’” But it wasn’t just her looks that had kept Detective Natalie Gibbs in his mind and in his dreams for three straight months.

“I did some research on her.” He’d run a thorough check on Natalie, partly to figure out why she’d gotten to him. “Her father, Harry Gibbs, was an international jewel thief. One of those legends who’s the prime suspect in every big heist, but who never got caught. He died in an accident about six years ago.”

“The father’s a jewel thief and the daughter becomes a cop. Interesting.”

Fascinating was the word Chance would have chosen. The hell of it was, the more he’d learned about Natalie Gibbs, the more intrigued by her he’d become. “She’s not the only daughter. She’s the oldest of a set of triplets.” According to one source he’d talked to, Natalie took her position as the oldest quite seriously, especially since their mother had passed away six years ago.

“She evidently inherited some of her father’s talents,” Chance continued. “She worked her way through college cracking safes for various law enforcement agencies.”

Tracker eased the boat around a curve of land that cut them off from the Brancotti estate, then turned to study his friend. “Sophie’s pretty sure that there’s something going on between the two of you. Or that there could be something. She swears that sparks fly whenever you’re in the same room together.”

Chance shrugged. “It won’t interfere with the job.”

“It could interfere with your thinking. Take it from someone who’s been there.”

“The bottom line is I need her for the job. She’s got a cool head.” Except for when she was exploding in his arms. “Plus, she has a gift for disguise and a knack for undercover work.”

Tracker hadn’t taken his eyes off Chance. “You’re sure about this?”

Chance met Tracker’s eyes steadily. “She’s exactly what I want.” That was nothing less than the truth. Even before that one night in her apartment, he’d wanted her more than any other woman he’d ever met. The mistake he’d made was to think that having her once would get her out of his system. His miscalculation about that wasn’t the only error he’d made that night. He’d never been so rough with a woman before. Hell, he’d ripped her clothes off and taken her on the floor of her foyer. And he hadn’t been much gentler later in her bed.

To top everything off, he’d left before she’d awakened and flown off to London without so much as a note or a phone call to say goodbye. Chance liked women, and he prided himself on treating them well. But he hadn’t treated Natalie very well.

Truth be told, his response to Natalie Gibbs had scared him. It hadn’t been just the lack of control he’d had over his physical response to her. No. There’d been a moment when he’d stood in the doorway of her bedroom watching her sleep when he simply hadn’t wanted to leave. Ever.

That was unprecedented. Chance Mitchell never stayed in one place, never intended to settle down. He changed his name as often as he changed locations. But something about Natalie Gibbs pulled at him. That was why he hadn’t called or sent flowers. Now, three months later, he wanted her to help him catch Brancotti. And he still wanted her, period.

“You haven’t run any of this by Natalie yet?” Tracker asked.

“No.”

Tracker grinned. “I’d say you have your work cut out for you—on more than one front. She struck me as the straight-as-an-arrow type and I don’t have to tell you that you’ve always taken the riskier approach.”

“Yeah.” Tracker was the one who’d nicknamed him “Chance” when they’d worked together in a Special Forces unit.

“Have you got a plan?”

“Not yet.” Three days ago, he’d called her department, but at the last minute, he’d asked to talk to her partner, Matt Ramsey, instead.

“She didn’t strike me as the type who could be easily conned,” Tracker said, his grin widening.

“No.” Chance bit back a sigh. If he was going to convince Natalie Gibbs to join him, he was going to have to pull off some fancy moves all right. And so far, he hadn’t come up with a plan that had a chance in hell of succeeding.

“Tell you what,” Tracker said. “Sophie’s throwing a party at her antique shop on Friday to showcase some local artists. Natalie will be there. Why don’t you come?”

Chance thought for a minute. If he ran into Natalie at a party, she couldn’t refuse to see him. She’d have no choice but to talk to him at least.

“I’ll take you up on that,” Chance said. That gave him about forty-eight hours to come up with a strategy. Deadlines always sparked his creativity.

“Good. I was sure I was going to be bored. Now, I’ll have the chance to observe a master con man at work.”

“HERE ARE THE latest acceptances to your party.”

Carlo Brancotti didn’t glance up from his computer screen as his personal assistant, Lisa McGill, placed a manila folder on his desk. He was a careful man. Some judged him to be too careful, but he hadn’t remained at the top of his profession by letting down his guard. Anything out of the ordinary was reported to him instantly, and his surveillance team had phoned him the minute the boat had been spotted so close to shore. They’d already traced the license plate. It belonged to Lucas Wainwright. Frowning, he tapped his fingers on his desk. Wainwright…the name was familiar, but the details escaped him.

Suddenly, the information appeared on the screen. Carlo scanned it quickly. Lucas Wainwright, CEO of Wainwright Enterprises, owner of a resort hotel in the Keys and another in South Beach, frequently used his boat to fish.

Satisfied, Carlo turned his attention to Lisa. “Report.”

“All of the usuals, Sir Arthur and Lady Latham, the Moto brothers, the Demirs and Hassam Aldiri.”

“And the first-timers?”

Lisa frowned a bit. First-timers made her nervous because there was a chance, always a chance, that one of them would be a plant, someone that a big insurance company or a law enforcement agency had gotten to. Carlo was looking forward to that very possibility. Foiling those who thought they could catch him was half the fun of the business he was in. More than anything, he enjoyed the game. He always had. The money was just a very pleasant side benefit.

“Risa Manwaring, Armand Genovese and Steven Bradford have all accepted, and they will arrive on Sunday.”

The disapproval in her voice had him biting back a smile as he opened the file she’d placed on his desk. He wouldn’t show any disapproval for her concern, for it was her job to worry and to keep him safe. “You’ve put them under surveillance?”

“Of course.”

Carlo nodded in approval as he examined the photos in the file. Lisa had already run background checks on all three—Risa Manwaring, the retired film star, who now lived in seclusion; Armand Genovese, the Italian businessman, with rumored ties to organized crime; and Steven Bradford, the software genius, who reportedly had money to burn. Each would have his or her own reasons for wanting to acquire the Ferrante diamond. Which one, he wondered, would have that special craving for it that would run up the price?

Taking out the photos, he lined them up in a neat row, then pulled a magnifying glass from his desk. Not one of them offered a clear, accurate image. “These were the best you could get hold of?”

“Yes. I’m still working on it.”

He nodded in approval, but he didn’t expect her to find any better pictures of his future guests. He’d chosen these three specifically because all three shunned the media.

Which one would the man who called himself Chance Mitchell be impersonating? That was the question.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the insurance agent who’d come so close to tripping him up on his last job would take the bait. The man was good. Too good. After their last encounter, Carlo had made it his business to learn everything he could about the freelance insurance investigator who went by the name of Chance.

Carlo doubted that was the man’s real name or that he even used it very often. There was even a possibility that Chance was a woman. In the past seven years, Chance Mitchell had become a legend of sorts in certain circles, the one person feared by anyone in Carlo’s business.

But Carlo wasn’t afraid. No, indeed, he thought as he smiled. He was looking forward to going up against Chance Mitchell again. Lately, he’d found that life offered too few challenges. With one long finger, he tapped each of the photos in turn. Which one would Chance choose to appear as? Risa, Armand, Steven or the woman on Steven’s arm? He lowered the magnifying glass to decipher the name. Calli.

“Run a check on this Calli also.”

“Yes, sir,” Lisa replied.

Carlo set down the magnifying glass. He would know each one of his invited guests intimately before they arrived at his estate. Which one would turn out to be the one he would have to kill?

3

NATALIE SPOTTED her sisters the moment she stepped into the Blue Pepper. Rory, as usual, was in the thick of things, having an animated conversation with the reservation hostess. Natalie had no doubt that in spite of the crowd, Rory would get them a table. With her pixie face and short, dark hair, Rory had always reminded Natalie of Puck, the mischievous fairy in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. She had a knack for muddling things up the same way he had.

As Natalie edged her way through the crowd, she searched for a glimpse of her youngest sister, Sierra. Sure enough, Sierra was seated next to the reservation desk, looking on and jotting something down on one of the blue note cards she never seemed to be without. Natalie bit back a sigh.

With her straight blond hair and innocent air, Sierra had always made Natalie think of Alice in Wonderland. Though the academic Sierra was more intellectual than Alice and more shy, she was every bit as curious. However, Sierra never ever just tumbled into things the way Alice had. Instead, from the time she was little, she’d mapped out everything she did on blue note cards.

Well, Natalie believed in plans, too, but she drew the line at listing steps on note cards of any color. And she worried a bit that Sierra, who’d been sick a lot as a child, was a little too organized and too cautious in her approach to life. But whenever she broached the subject to Sierra, her sister would point out that her planning had gotten her two Ph.D. degrees and a tenure-track position at Georgetown University.

Ever since their father had left them, Natalie had always believed that it was her job to look out for her sisters, and she couldn’t help worrying about how they were going to take the news that she was bringing them tonight.

Outside on the patio, a saxophonist blew a trill of notes, and Natalie stopped short as the image of Chance Mitchell slipped, unwanted, into her mind. That was all it took for her body to respond. Annoyance streamed through her. It had been three months since she’d been here with him—three long months since she’d thrown caution to the winds and spent the night with him. And she still couldn’t get him out of her mind.

One night. That’s what he’d offered and what she’d agreed to. He’d promised no-strings, no-etiquette sex, and he’d certainly delivered. Just the memory of what he’d done to her, what they’d done to each other, was enough to have her skin heating and something deep inside of her melting.

It certainly wasn’t Chance’s fault that she’d never before experienced anything like it. Nor could she in all fairness blame him for the fact that she wanted to experience it again.

Her glance shifted to the patio where they’d danced and where he’d made her the proposition. Oh, there was a part of her that wanted to blame Chance, a part of her that wanted to pay him back for the fact that since she’d spent that one freeing night with him, she’d felt restless, unsatisfied with her job and with her life.

And dammit, she’d been perfectly satisfied before. Her work on a select task force that handled high profile crimes in D.C. was exciting, but lately she was…just plain bored.

“Detective Natalie! Greetings, greetings, greetings.”

Natalie smiled at Rad as he rushed up, grabbed her hands and rained kisses on the air several inches above her knuckles. The young restaurant owner was a full head shorter than she was, and he changed his hair color as frequently as he changed his ties. Tonight he was wearing his pale blond hair in spikes that were tipped with orange. She noted that the shade matched one of the swirls in his psychedelic tie.

Holding her hands a few inches out from her sides, Rad’s smile faded as he gave her outfit a thorough look. The linen suit she wore was khaki colored, the T-shirt beneath was black, and she could sense a fashion critique coming her way.

“How’s George?” she asked in an effort to deflect Rad’s attention. George, Rad’s partner, was a bronze-skinned, gentle giant of a man who managed the bar while Rad ran the restaurant.

Rad waved a hand. “George is gorgeous. Perfect, as usual. You, on the other hand…” He broke off to press a hand over his heart. “It cuts me to the quick to see you in such drab colors. Aquamarine would do wonders for you. Or mint-green.” He tapped a finger to his lips as he considered. “No, pink. You should really think pink.”

Natalie suppressed a shudder. A cop wearing pink? Not to mention what the color would look like in contrast to her red hair. She thought not. In a second attempt to distract Rad, she said, “Nice hairdo.”

He flashed her a grin. “Thanks. There’s a lot of product up there.”

“Excellent match with the tie.”

Rad fluttered his hand an inch above the spikes. “I had to work on the color for over an hour. I could do something quite wonderful with yours.”

“I’d rather you found me a table.”

Rad glanced over to where Rory was beaming at the reservation hostess. “I think your sister has taken care of that. I’ll run interference for you.”

Straightening her shoulders, Natalie followed Rad through the crowd. Tonight she and her sisters were going to celebrate their mutual birthdays, and she was bringing them a surprise present.

The envelope she carried in her purse had arrived this morning. It had contained a note from her father’s attorney and three separate sealed envelopes for Harry Gibbs’s daughters. Inside were messages from their father—messages that he’d written six years ago and had wanted them to read on their twenty-sixth birthday.

All day long the letters had been weighing on her mind and her heart. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about them. Harry Gibbs had walked out on his family when she and her sisters were ten years old. When they were twenty, he’d died in a fluke climbing accident. Her father had always been taking risks. Within six months of receiving the news of Harry Gibbs’s death, their mother had died, too.

Natalie had always known that her parents had loved one another—and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that her mother had died of a broken heart. But ten years before their deaths, Harry and Amanda Gibbs had split up because of “irreconcilable differences.”

In this case the difference they couldn’t reconcile was the fact that Harry Gibbs was a master jewel thief who found it impossible to settle down, and their mother Amanda wanted to raise her daughters in a stable, conservative environment.

Six years ago their father had suddenly decided to send them some kind of message they would receive on their twenty-sixth birthday? Personally, Natalie felt half pissed and half saddened by that, and she suspected that her sisters would feel the same.

Just then, Rory spotted her and called out, “Nat! This way.”

Not content with waiting for Natalie to reach them, Rory grabbed Sierra by the hand and began to muscle her way through the crowd. The picture that they made moving toward her was one she’d seen so often—Rory rushing forward and Sierra having to be dragged along. Natalie had sometimes wondered why Rory hadn’t made it first out of the womb.

“Happy birthday,” Natalie said when they reached her.

“Happy birthday,” Rory echoed.

“Ditto,” Sierra said as they exchanged hugs.

“It’s not every day we all turn twenty-six,” Rory said in an undertone. “When I explained it to the hostess, she agreed that we should have a table on the patio. C’mon.”

The patio was the last place Natalie wanted to be, but she didn’t have the heart to spoil Rory’s delight with herself. Still, as they moved down the short flight of stairs, she had to put some effort into keeping her eyes from straying to the spot behind the potted trees where Chance had drawn her to make his proposition.

“You all right?” Sierra asked as they followed Rory across the dance floor.

Natalie managed a smile. “Absolutely. How’s the research going, Dr. Gibbs?”

“It’s going. Of course, all the data isn’t in yet.”

“Don’t pay any attention to her. Her research is going brilliantly,” Rory said. “It always does. The big news is that my job at Celebs magazine is going well. A first for me. There’s a senior reporter there who’s taken me under her wing and I’m really enjoying the work.”

“This calls for champagne,” Sierra said.

“Agreed,” Rory said as she sat down and picked up a menu. “And I’m starved.”

Natalie waited until they were all seated before she said, “Maybe we ought to hold off on the celebration.”

“What is it?” Sierra asked.

As Natalie explained the package she’d received that morning, she took the sealed envelopes out of her purse and placed them on the table. For a moment, all three of them simply stared at the white rectangles.

“To open them or not to open them, that is the question,” Sierra finally said.

“Exactly.” Natalie could always depend on that fine analytical mind of Sierra’s to cut to the bottom line.

“They’re from our father,” Rory pointed out.

“So what?” Natalie said, letting a little of her anger show. “We agreed to stop calling him ‘father’ when we were ten because he left us.”

Silence stretched between them again.

“It’s been sixteen years since we last saw him and six years since he died.” Sierra placed one finger on the corner of her envelope. “Why now?”

“Exactly,” Natalie said again. “He’s never once gotten in touch with us—not when we were sick, not for a birthday or a graduation. Not for anything. Why did he instruct the attorney to get those letters to us now?”

A waiter appeared, pen poised at the ready. “Drink orders, ladies?”

“A martini,” Natalie said without taking her eyes off the envelopes. “Very dry with an olive.”

“I’ll have what she’s having,” Sierra said.

Rory sighed. “Ditto. Champagne just isn’t going to do it. And bring us one of those appetizer samplers with three of everything. I’m definitely going to need food before I deal with this.”

After the waiter hurried off, the silence descended again for a moment.

“Neither of you has to deal with this right now,” Natalie finally said. “But I think I do have to open mine. I’ve got too much of Harry in me just to throw it away.”

“We all have too much of Harry in us,” Rory said.

Sierra drew in a quick hitched breath and let it out. “I’m afraid to open mine.”

Natalie reached for her sister’s hand. “Are you all right? Do you need your inhaler?”

Sierra shook her head. “I’m not having an asthma attack. I’m just a coward.”

“No, you’re not.” Natalie and Rory spoke in unison.

“Tell you what,” Natalie said. “We’ll make a plan and you can jot it down on one of those note cards.”

Rory nodded in agreement. “Even I could use some kind of plan for this.”

Sierra pulled a blue card out of the canvas bag she always carried with her.

“We’ll go in the order of our births. I’ll go first,” Natalie said.

Rory patted Sierra’s arm. “Number one—Natalie, our fearless leader. And put me down for the number two slot.”

“And I’m number three,” Sierra said as she added her name to the list.

“And I’m the only one who’s going to open her letter tonight.” Though Natalie could sense that Rory might want to open hers tonight, she willed her to go along. “The two of you can wait. For a few weeks, a year, five years—take all the time you need. Harry certainly took his time getting these to us.”

“Good plan,” Rory said.

As Natalie slipped a finger under the flap, she could see some of the tension fade in the way Sierra was gripping her pencil. Finessing the envelope open, she took out the letter. Then clearing her throat, she read it out loud.

Dearest Natalie, my warrior and seeker of justice, Happy birthday. You’re probably wondering why I’m sending you this letter on this particular birthday, and the answer is a bit complicated. Your mother and I were exactly twenty-six when you came into our lives. Ten years later, I gave you up. Your mother and I agreed when we separated that I would cut off any contact with you until you were twenty-six. We thought that was for the best. I now know that leaving you and leaving your mother was the biggest mistake I ever made. If something happens to me and I can’t be with you on your twenty-sixth birthday, I want you to know this: Don’t make the same mistake that I did. When you see what you want, trust in your talents. Risk anything it takes to get it. And most importantly, hold on to it.

Love,

Harry

“Well,” Rory said.

Natalie placed the letter down on the table and ran her finger over the signature. She couldn’t put a name to any of the feelings swirling through her. “You’ve got to hand it to him—he’s a man who walked his talk. He went for what he wanted, and we all paid the price.”

“Look.” Sierra pointed at the envelope. “There’s something else inside.”

Natalie pulled out three photos. One was taken at her high school graduation, another on her first day at the police academy. The third one was from when she was twelve, and she’d had to stay in the hospital overnight to have her tonsils out.

“He was there,” Rory said. “I’d figured he’d forgotten all about us.”

Sierra studied the photos when Natalie passed them to her. “I’d always suspected that he and Mom made some sort of deal that he had to stay away. She was so afraid that we would take after him.”

“And now he seems to be advising you to do just that,” Natalie said. “‘Trust in your talents…risk anything it takes….’”

“That’s exactly what you want to do, isn’t it?” Sierra asked as the waiter set their drinks and a platter of appetizers in front of them. “That’s what’s been bothering you for the past three months, right?”

Natalie stared at her. Sierra was the most observant of her sisters, but Natalie hadn’t thought she’d been that transparent. “I don’t want to become a jewel thief, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But…” Sierra urged.

Natalie sighed and turned to Rory. “It was a mistake to let her get that Ph.D. in psychology.”

“You’re just evading the issue,” Rory said around a mouthful of shrimp. “You haven’t been yourself lately. Even I’ve noticed that. But I don’t think it’s because you’re thinking of ditching law enforcement for a career in grand larceny. I’m betting it’s a man.”

“I’ve sworn off,” Natalie said with a frown.

“Here, here.” Rory lifted her glass. “I’ll drink to that. Ever since Paul the jerk dumped me, I’ve decided that the only men I’ll allow in my life are the ones I create in my fantasies.”

Sierra laughed and joined in the toast. “Which particular man have you sworn off, Nat?”

Natalie slanted Sierra a look. “You should have been a cop.” Then with a sigh, she set down her glass. Who better to talk to than her two sisters? “The man is the one I worked with on that smuggling case three months ago. I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind.”

“So what’s the problem?” Rory asked. “I’ve never known you to have any trouble getting a man if you wanted him?”

Natalie turned to face her two sisters. “That’s just it. I don’t want to want him. Besides, the feeling doesn’t seem to be mutual. I haven’t heard from him in three months. Not that I expected to. We had an agreement—for one night. That was all.”

“That is a problem,” Sierra said.

Natalie sighed. “That’s not the only one. Ever since I worked with him on that case, I’ve begun to be restless at my job. I’ve been grumpy with my partner, Matt, my office seems to be closing in on me and I want more than anything to escape.”

Shocked at what she’d just admitted, Natalie stared at her two sisters and found them staring right back at her. “I am just like Harry.”

“Of course, you’re like him,” Rory said, helping herself to a crab puff. “We try to deny it, but we’re all like him. I count on luck to get me out of scrapes. Sierra uses that marvelous brain she inherited from him. And you take the risks that he thrived on, though you try very hard to keep a lid on that tendency. But, face it, we can’t escape our genes.”

“Sierra,” Natalie said, “you want to help me out on this one? Tell her she’s wrong.”

Sierra shook her head. “I can’t. Rory’s right. We are, all of us, his daughters—for better or worse. But if you want my advice…”

“I need something,” Natalie said, waving away the shrimp that Rory offered her. “And I don’t mean food.”

“I think that you ought to follow his advice. You’ve seen what you want. Why not trust in your talents and take a risk?” Sierra said.

Natalie turned her gaze to Rory.

“You’re not going to get any argument from me. You like this guy who hasn’t called you in three months. I say go get him. And if you want to give up your job as a cop, do that, too. For years, you’ve been the responsible one, holding down a steady job, helping Sierra apply to another graduate school, helping me write yet another résumé. But Sierra and I are officially all grown-up now. You can stop worrying about us and escape.”

“I’m not giving up my job.” The thought had a little curl of panic tightening in her stomach. “I heard this afternoon that he’s going to be at the party Sophie Wainwright is throwing at her shop on Friday.”

“Excellent,” Rory said. “Sierra was invited, and she’s bringing me as her guest. We’ll be there to cheer you on.”

Natalie drew in a deep breath, then let it out. “I’m just not sure….”

“Do you want him?” Rory asked.

“Yes.” She couldn’t deny that. It had been three months, and she hadn’t gotten him out of her head.

Rory selected another mushroom. “Then I say follow Harry’s advice and take a risk. What have you got to lose?”

Natalie said nothing as the curl of panic tightened in her stomach. As a cop, she was used to facing her fears. As a woman, she was less sure of herself. Except for that night she’d spent with Chance. She lifted her hands and dropped them. “We had an agreement—for one night.”

“Agreements can be renegotiated.” Rory sipped her martini.

“Whose idea was it to make it one night?” Sierra asked.

“His,” Natalie replied.

“Figures,” Rory said.

“In many primitive cultures, the woman is the hunter when it comes to mate selection,” Sierra said.

“Whoa.” Natalie lifted her hands, palm outward. “I’m not on the hunt for a mate. I’m more in the mood for a fling. And I was in total agreement about the one night.”

“And all you want is one more night?” Sierra asked.

“Yeah,” Natalie said. One more night. Maybe then, she could get him out of her system and get her life back to normal.

Sierra cleared her throat. “Then I have a suggestion. For my current research project, I’ve been researching the sexual fantasies of different cultures.”

“That’s our girl,” Rory said, lifting her glass.

After they toasted again, Sierra continued, “One of the most universal fantasies is sex with a stranger—someone you don’t know and never will know.” Pausing, she cleared her throat again. “So why don’t you just pretend that you’re someone else for the night?”

When her two sisters turned to stare at her, Sierra hurried on. “It makes sense. You love undercover work and you’re good at it. So just come to Sophie’s party as someone else.”

“That’s a great idea,” Rory said, waving a shrimp.

“I don’t think—”

“That’s your problem, Nat,” Rory said. “You over-think everything. Sierra’s got a great idea.”

“You’re so good at disguise,” Sierra continued. “You could just let yourself be this other person. That way you can put Natalie Gibbs’s fears and hang-ups away for the evening and be free to make a play for this man as a totally different person.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Natalie asked.

“Absolutely.” Sierra leaned forward. “It’s the age-old concept of Mardi Gras. For one night you put on a mask and do things that you would never do as your real self. Very freeing.”

Rory shot Natalie a look. “Freeing? Does this sound like the baby sister we used to know and love?”

Natalie shook her head, seriously considering her youngest sister’s idea. She glanced down at her drink. The glass was still half-full, so she couldn’t blame the martini. Her gaze shifted to the letter and her father’s words.

When you see what you want, trust in your talents. Risk anything it takes…

Natalie ran her finger over her father’s signature again. She wanted Chance, and if she took Sierra’s suggestion, she could go after him with a clean slate. She wouldn’t be Natalie, the woman he hadn’t called for three months.

“Think about it,” Sierra said.

If she did decide to follow Sierra’s advice, she knew two things for sure. Chance Mitchell wouldn’t recognize her. And he wouldn’t know what hit him.

CHANCE STOOD outside on the flagstone patio at the back of Sophie Wainwright’s antique and collectibles shop and scanned the crowd through the window. From what he could see, the event was a success. Three musicians were tucked away in a corner playing Mozart, and a white-jacketed waiter offering flutes of champagne was threading his way through the crush of guests.

In between the potted trees and terra-cotta urns bursting with pansies and geraniums, Chance spotted a prominent senator, a congresswoman and several well-heeled collectors who’d been frequent clients at the gallery down the street where he’d worked undercover.

The person he hadn’t spotted yet was Natalie Gibbs. He’d told himself that he came through the back alleyway because of the line of guests waiting to get in the front door of the shop, but the truth was he was stalling. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to handle Natalie when he ran into her.

Damn if his hands weren’t damp. With a frown, he rubbed them on his pants. A woman hadn’t made him nervous since junior high school. He’d spent two days thinking of ways to convince her to go with him on the Florida caper. The best scenario he’d come up with was to play it by ear. Not that he was worried about that part. He wasn’t a planner by nature, and he’d gotten himself out of plenty of scrapes by improvising. He wasn’t worried about the job—she’d come with him to Florida, all right. It was on the personal level that he wasn’t quite sure how to handle Natalie Gibbs.

Later, he couldn’t have said what it was that drew his gaze to the small balcony on the second story of Sophie’s shop. But the moment he saw the woman, he felt his mind go blank and then fill with her. Her hair was blond, parted in the middle, and it fell in a straight, smooth curve almost to her shoulders. The tiny black dress revealed curves in all the right places and left more bare than it covered. The summer sky was finally beginning to darken overhead, but even in the less than perfect light her skin had the pale perfection of an old-fashioned cameo. Chance let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

She was the kind of woman who would get a second glance from any man, but Chance couldn’t seem to get past the first one. The quick tightening in his gut was unexpectedly raw and hot, but what surprised him most was the flicker of familiarity, recognition almost, that pushed at the edges of his mind. He could have sworn he’d never laid eyes on her before. If he had, he certainly would have remembered.

And then her eyes met his, and for the second time in as many moments, Chance felt his mind empty. The primitive streak of desire that moved through him had him scanning the iron railing, looking for a staircase, a ladder—or tree branch that extended far enough to…He hadn’t realized that he’d moved closer to the balcony until he bumped smack into a waiter. The man’s tray tilted, two champagne flutes began a downward slide. Chance barely managed to catch them.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he settled them on the tray.

“No problem, sir.”

“I’ll take one of those, if you don’t mind.” He took a long swallow of the icy wine before he raised his gaze to the balcony again.

She was gone.

Disappointment warred with astonishment. Had he really been thinking of doing the Romeo thing and scaling a balcony? What in hell was the matter with him? Shakespeare’s star-crossed hero had been all of about sixteen. Chance was twice that age. Hormone-driven foolishness was a thing of his adolescent past. Or it should be.

Still there was some similarity between Romeo and himself, he thought as his lips curved in amusement. In a way, he was crashing a party. He hadn’t gotten an engraved invitation from Sophie, merely a verbal, secondhand one from his friend Tracker. But that’s where the parallel would end. He hadn’t come here to meet some woman he was going to lust after at first sight and then fall madly and tragically in love with.

He was here to make an offer to Natalie Gibbs that she would not be able to refuse. Taking another sip from his glass, Chance made his way to the French doors that opened into the shop. But it took more effort than he liked not to glance back up at the balcony.

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