Risk It Read online

  Risk It is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept eBook Original

  Copyright © 2015 by Jennifer Chance

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  eBook ISBN 9780553392302

  Cover design: Caroline Teagle

  Cover photograph: Josep Ma Suria/ImageBrief.com

  www.readloveswept.com

  v4.1

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Acknowledgments

  By Jennifer Chance

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Prologue

  PALM D’OR GALLERY

  What was better: a good con, or great sex?

  Toss-up.

  Dani Michaels straightened her shoulders in her leather sheath dress, giving the question the consideration it deserved as she picked up a clipboard that one of the actual employees of the Palm D’Or Gallery had left on the counter. The clipboard’s pages contained the list of all of the paintings showcased here tonight, in her friend Erin Connelly’s first ever public display of her work, right along with details about the pieces and their availability.

  The list did not, more important, contain prices.

  Those were affixed to small placards on the wall, the numbers insanely inflated according to Erin, since the idea wasn’t so much to sell anything tonight as to position Erin within a certain range of other artists, should buyers wish to hire her for commissioned work. Whatever. These perfectly good paintings were available right here, right now. Why shouldn’t somebody pay for them? Or overpay for them, if he had more money than God?

  Dani flipped through a few of the sheets of paper, frowning at them intently before exhaling and glaring at the far wall. As she scanned, she allowed her gaze to brush against the Silver Spoon holding court in the center of the room, carefully ignored by the other browsers as his expensive girlfriend draped herself over his arm.

  With one more glance at the wall of paintings, Dani selected the right item for him. It was the smallest of Erin’s pieces, a portrait of two nude bodies intertwined. Erin had hated every part of that painting, mainly because she’d finished it half-drunk, thanks to Dani’s influence, and hadn’t had time to make it perfect in the days leading up to this show. Dani loved it, though. It was all heat and passion and jagged lines, even more powerful because of its flaws.

  Dani shifted her gaze back toward the man who was about to buy that painting. She’d never met him before—R4, her housemate Anna Richardson had called him when he’d first walked into the place. Employee shorthand, apparently, for the owner of the company where Anna used to work: Rand Sterling Winston IV. Tycoon. Playboy. Asshat. Whatever. Dani didn’t need to know the guy to get under his skin.

  Call it a gift. But all the years she’d spent either behind a bar or in front of a mark definitely paid off when it came to assessing any man’s deepest weakness.

  And this guy was a fraud.

  From the tousled curls of his jet-black hair, and his sculpted lips and cheekbones, to the drape of the One-Percenter suit beneath his gorgeous wool coat, everything about Rand Sterling Winston IV was icy perfection. Even the sidewalk salt on his shoes looked like decorator frosting. Still, Dani would bet serious money that the man’s veneer was as fake as her knockoff Blahniks, meticulously designed to hide his true colors. She didn’t know what danger lurked behind Winston’s aloof facade, but it snagged her attention, making it almost impossible for her to focus on anything else. The guy was like black ice, she decided. Cold and slick on the surface, dark and dirty underneath. The perfect kind of target for a frigid Boston night.

  Glancing up from her papers, Dani looked past Winston once more to the wall of paintings beyond, completely unsurprised to feel the man’s gaze narrow on her across the room. Frauds knew when they were being checked out. So did control freaks. She amended her assessment to add that to the tally of Winston’s impressive list of qualities.

  Still, that stare was her cue. Clutching her clipboard officiously, she stepped out from behind the counter to stride across the gallery floor. Just as she reached Tall, Dark, and Loaded, however, she met his gaze for half a second, then veered out of the way.

  “Miss.”

  He hadn’t expected to have to speak to get her attention, she knew. His beautiful face looked more surprised than it probably had at any point in the last six months. Score one for her side. “I’m sorry, sir,” Dani said. “If you’ll excuse me. I have to remove a painting.”

  “Remove one?” He frowned at her, the sheer command in his voice keeping her in place as much as the subtle shift of his body. He was taller than she’d expected. At five foot ten without the stilettos, Dani wasn’t used to having anyone look down at her, and she didn’t have to feign the chilliness of her smile as Winston blocked her path, reminding her of her initial evaluation of him. Black ice could be deceptive, too, and Silver Spoon seemed a lot more treacherous up close than he had from across the room. Her pulse was thrumming now, all senses on alert.

  “Yes. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

  Winston’s smile curved the edge of his mouth, his eyes predatory. “But the showing has only just started. Surely you can’t have a buyer so soon.”

  Dani’s return smile was all teeth. “I apologize, but”—she waved her hand over her clipboard—“I’m afraid we do. A bid for twice this piece’s stated price has come in from one of our wealthiest patrons.” She turned and studied the painting dispassionately. “He was quite insistent that it come off the wall immediately.”

  “I seriously doubt he is your wealthiest patron here tonight.” The cool, condescending voice dripped money, but it wasn’t Winston who spoke this time. Dani glanced over to his lapdog, surprised to see intelligence flicker in the woman’s jaded eyes. “Except we only stopped in because of the wind, and now we’re leaving.”

  Dani lifted her own eyebrow in perfect counterpoint. “I am so relieved to hear that.”

  “Why that piece?”

  She turned back to her mark, who wasn’t looking at her anymore, but at the small painting on the wall. “It’s amateurish at best.”

  “Raw, I believe were his words. Yes…” Dani returned her gaze to the wall with equal gravity. “Dark. Forbidden.” She sensed the moment when Winston’s attention slipped off the painting and rested once more on her face. She met his cold eyes without flinching, her manner still polite but firm. “Who’s to say what captures an art lover’s interest though? Now thank you, but I must—”

  “Triple the price.” His voice was bored, but Dani froze. Just as her own internal script demanded, her mouth opened in a soft O before she attempted speech again.

  “I’m sorry, sir?”

  “Rand…” Ice Barbie was tugging at his arm. “We’re already late.”

  But Rand ignored her. He pulled a card out of his jacket, which he flourished at Dani. When she didn’t make a move for it, he slid it onto her clipboard. Even his fingers were beautiful, she realized. Long and hard and cruel. “I’m certain I have an account with this gallery,” he said. “If not, I will by morning. I’d like to have the painting marked as sold, to me, immediately. You can keep it on the wall.”

  “Ahhh, of course Mister, hmmm…” Dani frowned down at the card, knowing she had already won. Now she was just pushing her luck, pretending not to recognize Rand’s name when surely she would have heard of him, if she was really an employee of the gallery. At the last minute, better judgment ruled. “Oh.” She brought her gaze up quickly, letting her eyes go wide.

  “Yes, ‘Oh.’ ” Rand’s arm candy snorted. “Now, please, Rand, can we go?”

  Rand held Dani’s gaze for a long, harrowing moment, and she forced herself not to tense up. The close was by far the most difficult part of the entire scam for her, but usually that was because she had a problem with gloating. This time, however, she wasn’t feeling cocky, exactly. Rand’s eyes were dark and challenging, the fire in their mocking depths promising the kind of pleasure Dani hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. The kind of pleasure he clearly craved, the way a drowning man craved air.

  The kind of pleasure he wanted to give to her.

  Black ice, baby.

  Dani stood her ground, putting everything she shouldn’t be feeling—but was, dammit—out there for him to see. The prickling of her skin, the stuttering of her heart, the quickness of her breath: she made sure Rand didn’t miss any of it.

  Triumph flashed in his gaze. He nodded, slowly, then—

  “Mr. Winston!” Dani stood aside abruptly as Erin’s boss, a pencil-thin woman in an electric-blue dress, glided up beside them. Three eager bobbleheads followed behind her, and Dani hid a smirk, her equilibrium restored. Rand was well and truly caught now, no matter what Princess Popsicle beside him wanted. “What a lovely surprise.”

  “I’ll send for it,” he said to Dani, and she blinked at him, clutching the clipboard to her chest to keep the charade going. The boss woman, not knowing who the hell Dani was but clearly recognizing her own gallery’s clipboard and putting the pieces together, smiled benevolently at her. Right on cue, Dani turned on her heel, her breathing still a bit too fast, her color still a bit too high.

  All part of the act, of course.

  Or mostly, anyway.

  She grinned as Erin stared at her across the room, then trotted toward the rear of the gallery—still uptight, still worried, at least to anyone who couldn’t see her face. The nervous stride of a gallery flunky who would now have to inform some very unhappy patron of the arts that he’d just had his beloved painting bought out from under him, not ten minutes into a gallery showing. By someone with a IV after his name, no less.

  She’d nailed it.

  What was better: a good con, or great sex?

  Score one for the con.

  Chapter 1

  “Haven’t I done enough for you already?”

  Dani sagged back in her seat as Erin slanted her a glance, navigating the bright-blue VW bug through downtown Boston traffic with remarkable dexterity. “He asked for you specifically,” Erin said.

  “Well, he’s not the pope. You could have told him you fired me.” Dani frowned out the passenger window, ignoring the phone buzzing in her messenger bag. Second call in five minutes. Only one person it could be, but little brother would have to wait. “I don’t see why one of the other actual, legitimate gallery employees can’t deliver the darn thing. Or, you know, a courier service.”

  “Maybe you should have thought about that before you charged one of Boston’s golden boys ten thousand dollars for an unknown artist’s first work.”

  “You weren’t unknown.” Dani shrugged. “I knew you. And Golden Boy probably spent ten grand on his dry cleaning last week. I don’t think he’ll miss it.”

  “Which is why you’re the one delivering the painting,” Erin said. “I swear, if I went in there myself, I’d give the man his money back. He launched my career just by showing up that night.” She turned a corner, then pulled the car in behind a long line of traffic. “At least there’s an overhang in front of his building, since you insisted on not wearing a coat. You won’t get your dress drenched.”

  “My dress has seen worse.” Winter rain was never fun in Boston, and February rain sucked particularly bad, since it usually turned into razor-sharp ice sheets falling from the sky. But Dani went through a lot of coats, and today was an off day. “Besides, that’s why God made cabs.”

  “I can wait—”

  “No, you cannot,” Dani said. “You’ve got two-hundred-plus pounds of ex–Army Ranger cooking you dinner tonight, and I have to work on the other side of town. Besides, we don’t know if this will be a five-second handoff or if Mr. Big up there is going to make me wait, just so he can have someone new to oppress today. If you hang around you’ll just piss me off.”

  “Well, if you get out of there fast, promise me you’ll call. I can be back here in no time.”

  “I promise,” Dani lied. She did have to work tonight, and that establishment wasn’t anything Erin needed to see. Her purse rattled again and she pressed her hand to it, willing her phone to shut up.

  It only took a few more minutes for them to reach the overhang of the Winston Securities building. Then she was out into the bracing Boston wind, her bag slung over her shoulder, the wrapped painting tight in her hands. Once she stepped into the mercifully warm lobby of the enormous building, she slid out her phone and scanned it. Yup, she’d been right: Jimmy. It’d been less than a week this time since his last flurry of calls. Did he think she sprouted money from her eyeballs?

  Shoving the phone back in her bag, she strode deeper into the elegant lobby of the Winston building, nodding as the sea of suits fleeing the establishment parted to let her pass. She felt like a salmon swimming upstream, but at least the double takes her outfit was getting were appreciative, not amused. Dressing for this crowd was always a crapshoot.

  “Package for Mr. Winston IV?”

  Dani kept her voice deliberately low and seductive, and the guard’s gaze shot from his screen to sweep up her body before he could catch himself. He had the grace to blush, however, and she held up her paper-wrapped painting with a wink.

  “Of course, miss. And you are?”

  “Delivery girl from the Palm D’Or Gallery,” she said. “His office is expecting me—or I could just leave this with you, if that works.”

  “No, no,” the man said quickly. He glanced back to his screen and picked up his phone, cradling it between his ear and shoulder as he punched a few keys. The line rang and the guard announced Dani as a courier. Better than mule, she supposed. But the gallery could totally have sent this over via any standard service, she knew, and Master Winston wouldn’t have known the difference. The guy probably wasn’t even here at this hour, which had been her intention. He’d said to bring the painting by early afternoon, but she’d deliberately stalled, showing up at Palm D’Or late enough that both Erin and the gallery owner had been waiting anxiously at the door by the time she’d arrived.

  “Right away.” The security guard smiled up at her, his gaze finally making it above Dani’s half-zipped neckline as he hung up the phone. “You can go right up, miss. The penthouse elevator is the last one on the right. His executive assistant, Ms. Pearson, will meet you.” He shifted uncomfortably, frowning at her with genuine worry. “She seems to think you’re late.”

  “Good to know.” Once again, Dani fought back her irritation that she was even here, when there were several other, better places she could be right now. Places where she could make some new money, for example, instead of babysitting the money she’d already scored. Besides, Erin had b een right. The cash from Winston’s impromptu art purchase had been a nice bonus, but it was the subsequent appearance of his name on the placard next to the small painting that had been the real coup of that evening. His interest had sent the notoriety of Erin’s work through the roof, netting her far greater long-term benefit than his initial outlay ever could.

  Still, Winston was the whale here, and he’d asked for Dani to deliver the painting, personally. She could afford to be civil to him. And besides, it wouldn’t have been smart to let Erin deliver her own work. She probably would have talked Winston into taking back the money he’d paid for the painting, out of some misguided belief that she’d gotten the better end of the deal just from the publicity.

  Dani shifted her package into her right hand and stabbed the up button, staring ahead as one of the main elevators opened to her left and a clutch of suits walked out. They saw her instantly, of course, standing there in front of the penthouse elevator. She read the assessment in their careful sidelong gazes, and the confusion that followed pleased her. Sex toy, dominatrix, actual legit businesswoman? They clearly couldn’t decide why she was meeting with the man in the penthouse office.

  That was okay. She knew exactly why she was here.

  The elevator door whooshed open, and she stepped inside, her black platform heels free of any of the salt and grit from the bitterly cold Boston streets, thanks to the walkway that was not only covered in front of Winston Securities, but carpeted. Carpeted. In the winter. Rand Sterling Winston IV might be an ass, but she appreciated his sense of style.

  When the doors parted again, she appreciated it a little more.

  Dani found herself staring into a large, graciously appointed reception area that screamed money, and a whole lot of it. The oil paintings on the walls glistened in muted silver frames, the chandelier looked like it had been dusted about fifteen minutes ago, and the gleaming dark-metal receptionist’s desk—looking ever-so-slightly like a coffin at a state funeral—blended perfectly with the charcoal-gray walls and champagne-colored carpet.