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

For a moment, he didn’t move at all. And she couldn’t. Everything inside of her was melting.

“Please…”

His finger moved then, but only to trace the same erotic patterns he’d made earlier on her thigh.

“No…please.” Gathering all of her strength, she arched toward him, craving more.

He drew his hand away, gripped her thighs and pulled her to the edge of the counter. Then leaning down, he began to trace the same pattern on the silk of her panty with his tongue.

Pleasure built to a knife-edged pain inside of her as she strained toward him. But she couldn’t get close enough, and he kept the pressure so gentle. Too gentle. The torture was so exquisite, she thought she might die of it.

“I can’t… Please.”

He drew her panties off then and followed their path down her legs with his mouth. Then he began the journey back up. If she’d thought she might die before, Natalie was quite sure she would now as sensation after sensation battered through her. There was the scrape of his teeth at her ankle, the slick pressure of his tongue on her calf, and the string of kisses that drew closer and closer, only to stop before they reached their goal.

And then his mouth was just where she wanted it to be, and the pressure was just what she’d been craving. She called out his name as the orgasm erupted. His arms were around her as the pleasure careened through her with a force that built and built and built to a high, airless peak. As she shot over it, all she knew was Chance.

And then he was inside of her, moving slowly in and out, in and out. She couldn’t feel anymore. She was sure of it, but then the heat started to build again. And still he went slowly, too slowly. Drawing on all of her strength, she wrapped herself around him and began to move. She knew the moment the pleasure built to the flash point for him, and she went with him into the fire.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK of the costume?”

Natalie stared at herself in the mirror and tried to think of an appropriate Calli response. Of course, Chance had sprung the costume on her out of the blue.

And they still didn’t have a decent plan. Once she’d managed to gather up her brain cells after they’d made love, she’d suggested that they split up and each break into one of the safes. He’d rejected it, but what he’d replaced it with was sketchy at best. The only thing she was sure of was that they were going to break into the gallery safe first. In her mind, the sketchy details meant that he intended to improvise.

“Great, aren’t they?”

Natalie dragged her focus back to the costumes. The fact that they were in the bedroom and being listened to kept her from saying what she really thought about them. She shifted her gaze to Chance’s reflection in the mirror. He was Stan Laurel. Tall and lean, he looked the part right up to the dopey expression on his face. Very cute.

She, on the other hand, was a fat, pudgy and very disgruntled Oliver Hardy. Spikey little black bangs peeked out from the bowler hat she was wearing, and she had a mustache and chipmunk cheeks. Chance had made her stuff cotton rolls in them.

Finally, she let her gaze drift down to the stomach that felt as big as Kansas. The added padding around her middle held her tools and a second costume just in case they had to improvise at some point in the evening.

Just in case they had to improvise? Yeah, right. But she felt better knowing that at least Chance had some sort of a backup plan. Still, the added girth around her middle was going to slow her down.

“You really look like Oliver Hardy,” Chance said, grinning at her.

She did. And Calli should have some reaction to that. Someone was listening, but her mind had gone suddenly blank. How would Calli feel about wearing this costume?

For some reason she’d been finding it harder to keep in character since they’d made love in the bathroom. She was pretty sure that the clutch of nerves in her stomach had more to do with the way that Chance had made her feel than the job they had to do tonight.

“I was sure you’d like it,” Chance said.

Stalling, she fisted her hands on her hips and focused on her image in the mirror. But she didn’t want to be Calli right now. And she didn’t want to be Rachel Cade either. What she really wanted was to drag Chance back in the bathroom and ask him what he’d meant by making her feel the way he had.

He’d made her feel loved. The word had fear and panic slithering up her spine, but it was better to get it out and face it than to let it gnaw away at her.

He’d made her feel something that wasn’t real, that she couldn’t have. Better to get that harsh truth out and face it, too. Maybe then, she could get her mind back on the job they had to do.

“You love watching my collection of Oliver and Hardy films…” The expression on Chance’s face was puzzled. He’d probably looked forward to throwing her this curve ball, Natalie thought.

Tilting her head to one side, she met his eyes and said, “Loving the films doesn’t mean I want to dress up like them. And I don’t see why I have to be the fat guy.”

Chance grinned Stan Laurel’s silly grin and flipped his tie at her. “Because I’m taller.”

She rolled her eyes and ad-libbed. “I never should have let you pick out the costumes.”

“You told me to pick a couple.”

“I was thinking of a couple couple. Romeo and Juliet, Antony and Cleopatra…” Switching her gaze to her own image in the mirror, she frowned. “I think I ought to get a reward for wearing this.”

He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. “By the end of the evening, you’ll have the Ferrante diamond. You can bank on it.”

She met his eyes then. “I will.” And that was all she was going to think about for the rest of the evening—getting her hands on that diamond.

“Ready?” Chance asked.

The ringing of his cell phone prevented her from replying.

“Yes, Harold,” Chance said.

It was Tracker checking in again. He would have facts and figures to give Steven on the latest merger that Bradford Enterprises was engaged in. Sandwiched in would be anything important that Tracker wanted Chance to know.

While she waited, Natalie checked herself one more time in the mirror and practiced walking back and forth.

“There’s been a little shooting incident,” Chance said. “Nothing serious, but you can cancel the fishing trip and expect me back in New York tomorrow morning.”

Nicely done, Natalie thought. Now, Tracker would know that they had to leave the island tonight. Once Chance pocketed his phone, he turned toward her and handed her one of the feathery masks that Carlo had provided. “Ready?”

She felt her heart flip and tried to ignore it. This was a man who would never be hers, but they were about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime. This was why she’d signed on. Later, she’d test her ability to deal with a wounded heart. Right now, she was going to trust in her ability to pull off this job.

“Ready,” she said and waddled toward him.

14 (#ulink_12b95dd8-1dd3-5830-83ab-0524618a540e)

OVER THE TOP. That was the phrase that popped into Natalie’s mind the minute she walked into the main salon. Carlo had brought the room to life as surely as if he’d been the prince who’d awakened Sleeping Beauty. Crystal chandeliers glimmered overhead, and the wall of French doors stood open to the night. Across the room, tables draped in white linen cloths held silver buckets of champagne and trays of food. And there were flowers everywhere, their scents blending with candle wax and expensive perfume. A band played in the far corner of the dance floor, and she noted that the room was already more than half-filled with people.

Carlo Brancotti’s masquerade ball was the party to be invited to in South Florida. She’d almost forgotten that, and as Natalie let her gaze sweep the room, she wondered how many politicians and other assorted celebrities hid behind the glittering, feathery masks that Carlo had provided. It was a night to pretend, to do things you might not if you were yourself.

That’s what she was going to focus on. Taking a deep breath, she waddled at Chance’s side as they stepped into the line that was filing past Carlo and Lisa. Carlo’s assistant wore a blond wig and a long, white dress, glittering with sequins. Barbie, Natalie guessed.

But Carlo didn’t resemble the rather preppy-looking Ken. He wore a tuxedo with the same flair and effect as James Bond. With his long hair pulled back and fastened with a gold clip at the back of his neck, and one diamond glinting in his ear, he looked to be what he was—a rich, powerful man. There was nothing on the surface to even hint at the ruthless lowlife beneath.

“Ah, the film celebrities…” He paused and turned to Lisa. “Let me present Oliver Hardy and Stan Laurel.” As Chance took Lisa’s hand, Carlo continued, “And my companion, Barbie.”

Natalie was sure that Carlo recognized her when he took her hand. And she also noted that he wore a tiny listening device in his ear—a clever way to get updates from his security people. The moment they were out of earshot, she nudged Chance and spoke in a tone only he could hear. “He’s got a receiver in his ear.”

“And a microphone in his tie. He hasn’t survived this long without being very cautious. Want to try the food?”