Game For Anything. Cara Summers

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СКАЧАТЬ his game plan was back on track: he was exactly where he wanted to be, a recovering in valid in the Princess’s apartment.

      Swinging his feet to the floor, Tracker sat up and glanced around the narrow living room. It had surprised him. Sophie had been raised in a mansion, and she’d chosen to live in a place that wasn’t much larger than a cell. He knew she had the convenience of living adjacent to her shop by residing here, but it was no palace for a princess.

      The most surprising thing was that the room didn’t seem cramped. It was…comfortable. The honey-colored, pegged-wood floor wasn’t broken by rugs, but ran in a smooth line to the counter separating the rest of the living area from the kitchen. Aside from the overstuffed white sofa he’d spent the night on, and the cherub-faced jockey standing guard by the door, the room seemed almost monastic in its furnishings. But the bright explosion of color in the paintings that hung on the wall brought a homey warmth to the room. One on the opposite wall drew his eye. Pansies in every possible shade of red splattered across the canvas. It made him think of passion, hot and reckless, and of Sophie.

      Dragging his eyes from it, he forced his gaze to the wall behind the couch and stared at the collection of horses. He hadn’t noticed them last night. All in all, he figured the shelves held nearly fifty equestrian figures, some cast in clay, others carved of wood or marble.

      So, the Princess loved horses. He tucked the knowledge away.

      “Mmmrph.”

      Tracker glanced down to see that the cat had jumped back up on the couch. “You’re Chess, right?”

      The cat blinked and stared.

      Sophie had introduced them when they’d arrived. Then she’d given Tracker a quick tour, showing him the bathroom, which was half the size of the living room and had doors that accessed both the living room and the bedroom.

      She hadn’t shown him her bedroom. If she had, he might have been with her in that bed right now. He didn’t kid himself that it was going to be easy sticking to his game plan. And the Princess might have some plans of her own. He was going to have to keep his guard up and his wits about him.

      Just thinking about matching wits with her made him smile. He hadn’t felt this alive since he’d followed her across the country last year. Had he been waiting all this time for her to challenge him again?

      “Mmmrmph.”

      He glanced down at the cat. “Hungry?”

      The question had Chess sliding onto his lap.

      Scooping him up, Tracker moved to the kitchen, located cat food and filled one of Chess’s dishes. The other he filled with water. The cat dug in.

      Satisfying his own hunger was going to be more problematic. Oh, the pantry was well stocked and he’d found eggs and butter in the refrigerator, bacon and coffee beans in the freezer. He might have fixed the Princess breakfast in bed if it weren’t for two problems.

      First, he was supposed to be recovering from food poisoning. Second, going into Sophie’s bedroom for any reason would trigger a different and more basic kind of hunger.

      Basic was a good word for it. Tracker was beginning to believe that having the Princess was becoming every bit as necessary to him as breathing. From that first day in Lucas’s office, when he’d held her in his arms, he hadn’t been able to break free of the hold she had on him.

      In the middle of last night, she’d come out to check on him, and he’d used every bit of control he had to lie still and pretend to be asleep. Then he’d spent the rest of the night fantasizing what it would have been like to have her beneath him on that couch.

      He had a job to do, he reminded himself. And he needed a clear head to do it.

      When the cat jumped onto the counter, Tracker scratched him under his chin. “I might not be able to manage breakfast, but coffee might be a good idea. And then a cold shower. What do you think, Chess?”

      The cat growled deep in his throat.

      COFFEE. The scent of it had Sophie drifting up out of her dream. It had to be a dream, she thought as she sat up and shoved the hair out of her eyes. She was never organized enough to fill the coffeepot and set the automatic timer before she went to bed.

      The second breath she inhaled told her she wasn’t dreaming. And the memories flooded in. Tracker McBride had spent the night in her apartment. He’d made coffee in her kitchen.

      Okay, so he wasn’t in her bed yet. But she was making progress. She’d very nearly hugged the blond, perky nurse at the hospital who’d strongly urged that she keep Tracker under surveillance for at least twenty-four—preferably forty-eight—hours. And the wait in the emergency room had given her a lot of time to analyze the situation and to plan.

      Sitting up, she plumped the pillows behind her and pressed a hand to her stomach. There was no reason for it to be so jumpy. She could do this. After all, she had the coin. A quick glance at the nightstand assured her that it was still where she’d left it. And the little bag with Mac’s “toys” was right at the side of her bed.

      Lifting it, she drew out the black velvet ribbon that lay on top. She was going to have to work up a lot of nerve to use something like this. Truth be told, her confidence with men was mostly a sham. She could count on one hand the lovers she’d had, and most of them had been…unimaginative. Or maybe it had been her.

      Well, with a little help from Mac’s toys, Sophie was about to become a new woman.

      When she heard the shower start, a little skip of panic moved up her spine. She’d better hurry and examine her plan because she was going to have to put it into action soon. Slipping out of bed, she grabbed her robe and tucked the coin into her pocket.

      The key to any good business deal was to offer the other party exactly what he or she wanted. She and Tracker wanted each other, and so she would offer him a no-strings affair. What could be more simple or basic than that?

      She began to pace. She’d have to take the first step. In spite of that kiss, he hadn’t made any move to touch her once they’d entered her apartment.

      When she was making a sale in her shop, timing was everything. And surprise. If she could catch him off guard, she would have the advantage.

      She was lifting Mac’s bag of toys off the bed when the sound of the shower stopped. An image filled her mind of Tracker stepping out of the tub, water dripping from him. A river of heat pooled in her center. She could picture him so clearly—lean muscles, long bones and taut, slick skin. Even as the bag slipped through her fingers, she was moving toward the bathroom door. Timing. Surprise.

      Gripping the handle, she turned it and found it locked. No. No. She pounded on the door. “Tracker!”

      The lock clicked, the door flew open and she saw him. His scent—it assaulted her with its potency. His heat—she felt it reaching out to her, touching her. All thoughts of perfect timing and surprise drained from her mind as her body went into sensory overload. She was so aware of him, all at once, that she felt paralyzed. His skin was slick and damp—and only part of it was covered by the towel. Lust—a quick, sharp slap of it—filled her, along with greed. She wanted—no, she needed—to touch him, to run her hands over every inch of him.

      And she would, just as soon as she could move her arms.

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