High Society Sabotage. Kathleen Long

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      “Not horses.”

      Still holding her hand, he led her through the crowd and out into the cool, night air. He tipped his chin toward one of the guesthouses where a Harley gleamed under a floodlight. “Ever ridden a beauty like that one?”

      Sara narrowed her gaze. “What do you think? That I get driven everywhere, Mr. Prescott?”

      One dark brow crooked, amusement shimmering in his gaze. “If the shoe fits. And, please, call me Kyle.”

      “For your information, I’ve ridden plenty of bikes.” She bluffed completely.

      She’d been on the back of a motorcycle once, and it came nowhere close to the size of the giant Kyle had pointed out.

      He crossed his arms over his chest and grinned, the move lighting up his features. “Then perhaps you’d like to prove yourself.”

      She inwardly cursed the traitorous tumble her stomach took in response to his smile.

      “Now?” she asked.

      Sara’s plan was working beautifully. If Kyle Pres cott was ready to whisk her away on one of his infamous Harley rides through the mountains, she’d made more progress today than she’d hoped for.

      He nodded in answer to her question, daring her with his pale eyes. “You game?”

      She read the unspoken question buried in his words and suggestively traced a finger down her throat to the hollow at the base of her neck. She ran her finger over her choker. Back and forth. Back and forth.

      “I’m always game, Mr. Prescott…Kyle.” She corrected herself.

      When he offered his arm, Sara slipped her hand inside, taking note of his well-muscled upper arm and the lean body against which he tightly pressed her hand. She gave herself a mental nod of congratulations.

      Was she game?

      Most definitely.

      She was always game to get her man. And Kyle Prescott promised to be a worthy—and challenging—opponent.

      Chapter Two

      Kyle handled the bike effortlessly, as if he spent much of his time roaming the vast mountain roads outside of Denver. Sara smiled to herself as she followed his lead, leaning into the curve as they rounded a bend.

      From what she knew about Kyle Prescott, his days were supposed to be spent running the international rights division of TCM, but rumor had it he practiced a more absent management style. He rarely showed up at the office, and when he did, he remained isolated in his office. Nothing more.

      That particular description of him didn’t jibe with the outgoing, charming man she’d met tonight. One of the personas was an act. All she had to do was figure out which one it was.

      Sara tightened her grip around Kyle’s waist, pressing her body tightly against his back. What the heck. If she were going to play the role of a blinded-by-money-and-charm Kyle Prescott groupie, she might as well go all out.

      She let her mind wander momentarily, taking in the breathtaking scenery illuminated by the full moon. Majestic slabs of red rock gave way to deep valleys dropping far below the roadside. Summer wildflowers smattered the mountainside with what would surely be vivid splashes of color in the light of day.

      For the slightest moment she wanted to tell Kyle to stop—wanted to take just a minute out of the investigation to enjoy the beauty before her.

      How long had it been since she’d been up here?

      Too long.

      She and her sister used to sneak up this road all the time once Annemarie had gotten her license, but Sara had devoted the years since Annemarie’s death to taking down criminals, not sightseeing.

      She’d loved her time in the FBI, but being part of the Prescott Personal Securities team was a dream come true. Her undercover assignment to investigate the media conglomerate TCM was something she could sink her teeth into, and her first chance to truly shine as part of PPS.

      She could only hope Annemarie would be proud. Sara might not have been able to solve her sister’s murder, but she’d solved others. She’d eased other families’ pain. Try as she might to content herself with that fact, it somehow was never enough.

      Kyle eased the bike to the side of the road, snapping Sara’s focus back to the man—and the case—at hand. He cut the bike’s engine, climbed off the massive machine then helped Sara down from the back of the seat, no easy feat in her heels and dress.

      When he kept her fingers tightly in his grip, she resisted the urge to pull them free, instead playing the part of the smitten female.

      She followed him to the lookout’s edge, gazing down into a valley of jagged rock, stands of evergreens and lush green rolling hillsides. If she weren’t mistaken, the Turner ranch lay in the distance. She could just make out the shape of the buildings and the well-lit grounds.

      “Isn’t that—?”

      “Sure is,” Kyle answered before she finished her sentence.

      He dropped her hand, leaving her fingers oddly cool where his had been. Sara shook off the unwanted sensation, silently reminding herself not to be pulled under by the man’s obviously practiced charm.

      When he stepped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, she fought the urge to toss him over one shoulder and onto his back. Her automatic self-defense response screamed at her to make the move, but her undercover role demanded she stay put.

      “Look at this land.” His breath brushed past her ear and a shiver of awareness traced its way across Sara’s shoulders. “This is my favorite place to visit.”

      And probably with a different female each time, Sara thought.

      “Gorgeous,” she answered. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to develop an inch of these hills.”

      “Well, within limits, some development can actually add to the local tax base.”

      His quick response took her by surprise, not at all what she’d expected.

      “Matter of fact,” he continued, “some might look at it as a win-win. Additional housing, additional tax dollars, some pocket change for the developer, and you just never know. There might be oil in those hills.”

      Oil.

      Land held by at least three of the dead investors’ companies was known oil land. Maybe Kyle Prescott represented even more than the perfect means to infiltrate TCM. Maybe he also represented the perfect means to infiltrate the investing scheme.

      Sara spun on him, seizing the opportunity to push for information. “You can’t be serious.”

      His vivid gaze widened with evident surprise. Apparently Kyle Prescott wasn’t used to receiving criticism from his romantic conquests.

      He frowned slightly. “I’m completely serious.”

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