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

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      “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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