Risk It Read online

  The woman sitting behind the desk appeared to have been purchased out of the same catalog as the rest of the room. She looked up at Dani without a trace of warmth, then smiled as if she were passing a kidney stone. “Miss…?”

  “Michaels,” Dani said brightly, holding up the painting as she strode forward. “Are you Ms. Pearson? I was asked to deliver this to you from the Palm—”

  The secretary cut her off with a raised hand, pressing a button on her desk console. “Mr. Winston will be with you shortly.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Dani said. “I can just give it to you.”

  The woman flinched as if Dani had just offered to give her herpes. Instead of answering, she gestured to the large chairs scattered around the monochromatic space, a gentlemen’s club for the color-blind. “May I get you anything to drink?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Dani’s phone chose that moment to buzz again. She set the painting on the secretary’s enormous desk, then reached into her purse while tracking Ms. Pearson’s scandalized expression. “This will just take a moment, I’m sure.”

  Between them, one of the lights on Pearson’s desk console flickered green. Her face unfroze enough to betray relief. “Mr. Winston is ready to see you. I’ll take you right in.”

  Dani shrugged. Sorry, Jimmy. Today he was well back in her line of crazy. He’d have to wait his turn.

  Ms. Pearson knocked lightly on the door, then waited a nanosecond before swiping her keycard. Dani heard a lock unchink and lifted her brows in appreciation. Key-locked security during business hours? They really must be worried about the barbarians at the gate. She followed the woman inside, taking in the massive space as she was formally announced. It was chock-full of carefully spaced furniture, paintings, and a surprising number of objets d’art, some of them quite small. And quite expensive-looking. And quite definitely within easy reach.

  Don’t even think about it, she warned herself. And yet…

  “Thank you, Helen. Please get home safely.” The rich, cultured voice seemed to flip on every nerve ending in Dani’s body, and she shifted her attention back to her mark. She’d forgotten how much power the guy’s voice held.

  Rand Sterling Winston IV stood at his desk, but his warning wasn’t lightly made. His entire office was encased in glass, and the storm had picked up outside, the rain now battering the glass as the night crowded down. “I’ve ordered the car brought round,” he said.

  Ms. Pearson stiffened primly at Dani’s side, and Dani sensed her subtle not-glance. That’s right, Helen. We’re totally going to screw on your desk while you’re gone. “I’m not yet finished—”

  “It can wait. I’ll be in early tomorrow.”

  The secretary heard the same subtle command that Dani did. Funny, it didn’t seem to bother the woman so much. “Of course, Mr. Winston.” She turned to Dani. “Miss Michaels.”

  Dani nodded, holding up her wrapped package like a peace offering. She’d tried to convince ol’ Helen to take the painting off her hands back in the Platinum Ballroom. It wasn’t Dani’s fault that she made the boss man go all weak in the knees.

  Helen didn’t look impressed. She managed to close the door with a displeased yet still very polite snick, and Dani looked at Winston, who was now gazing solemnly back at her. He leaned against his desk and folded his arms.

  Dani offered the painting to him. “Your spoils, Mr. Winston.”

  He just smiled.

  They stood there a moment more, assessing each other like circling wolves. Dani felt a bead of perspiration slip down her neck, and cycled through her options. If Winston had figured out that she’d scammed him, it didn’t change anything, she told herself. His check had cleared, and he’d had days to reverse it. That meant the con was done, and that she’d won. Even if he’d realized she’d conned him, she’d still won.

  “Please, open it,” he said, surprising her. He gestured to a small table across the space. “I’d like to see again what my little impulse purchase has netted me.”

  “Of course,” Dani said. He was playing her, she knew, his gaze heavy as she walked across the room and set the wrapped painting on the table, frowning at the thickly taped corners. Before she could look up, Winston appeared at her side, a slim letter opener in his hand. “Will this be strong enough?”

  “I’m sure.” This close, she could smell his cologne. Of course he would be wearing cologne. And not too much of it either, just enough to tickle her senses and make her even more aware of him. Without his heavy winter coat, and wearing a sleek black suit, with a silky blue button-down shirt open at the neck, he seemed even more sensual, more vital, more dangerous on this cold, wet, miserable Boston night, with the rain sheeting down like the end of the world. Dani admired how steady her hands were as she slipped the letter opener under the package’s edge and knifed through the tape, her movements quick and efficient. She’d worked with her share of box cutters, switchblades, and shivs, after all.

  Winston apparently noted her efficiency with a blade as well. “Hmm. It’s Miss Michaels, correct?”

  “Correct.” Deftly, Dani sliced through the edge of the paper and unwrapped the painting. It had been reset into a lovely silver and gray frame, the gentility of the rich wood serving to make the stark sensuality of the figures within its boundaries even more unsettling. Rand leaned forward, peering at the painting, and his heat was like a physical presence between them. Once again, she was struck by how much larger he seemed up close than he did from a distance, as if his body held more power than it should, leashed so tightly under control that you didn’t notice it until it was almost too late. Now, standing next to him, she was nearly overwhelmed by the man’s intensity. His sharp gaze was focused on the artwork, true, and yet it seemed to encompass her as well, even though he wasn’t looking at her. He reached out and stroked the frame of the painting, and she imagined how that touch would feel: rich with promise—and threat. Watching those long, cool fingers, feeling them on her skin, in her hair…it was all Dani could do to hold her ground.

  “My compliments on your framing. It presents the work well.”

  “I’ll be sure to let Miss Garrison know,” she said, her words polite and final. “She asked me to extend her thanks as well. She would have been here, herself, but…”

  “But I did insist.” Rand looked over now to Dani, his lips curving into a lazy smile that somehow did not lessen the hardness of his face or his eyes. If anything, the casualness of his expression made him seem even more treacherous. Dani’s nerves pricked to attention, and her pulse jacked up a notch. Something was shifting here, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

  Rand’s next words didn’t do anything to change her mind. “So, would you like to tell me something about yourself, Miss Michaels?” he murmured. “Or shall I simply start with what I already know?”

  Chapter 2

  Rand watched the woman with increasing interest as she turned the letter opener over in her hand. The piece was fashioned out of platinum, and the small diamonds in the handle were real. Granted, even the most inexperienced petty thief would know that, and he was beginning to suspect Dani Michaels was nothing if not experienced.

  The thought tempted him more than it should.

  She swung her gaze up to him even as she stepped back, but she didn’t drop the ornately curved knife. “I can’t imagine my personal history is relevant,” she said.

  “You’re not employed by the Palm D’Or Gallery.”

  Her smile was noncommittal. “I do a lot of freelance.”

  “There was not another buyer for the painting.”

  “That’s simply you making a guess.” She tilted her head, regarding him coolly. “Is there a point to this?”

  “Must there always be a point?”

  “Saves time.”

  “I believed what you told me.”

  “A lot of people do.” The words were not spoken with pride or even much emotion, and certainly not with any apology. If anything, the woman straightene
d a little, an actress receiving her bouquet of roses on opening night. She turned away from him then and drifted through the open expanse of his office, her gaze running over his casually strewn treasures—including the tiny crystal figurines that had been his mother’s favorite possession. Other than the obviously pricey letter opener, he didn’t know for sure if she had any idea of the real worth of the contents of his office. He only had a record of the crimes for which Miss Michaels had been caught, after all—and those had been years ago. Perhaps she’d refined both her game and her tastes in the intervening years. And he certainly had believed her little act, back in the Palm D’Or. With her large, dark eyes and her smooth, olive-toned skin, her dark hair scraped back into a tight black chignon and her long, lean body encased in leather, she’d looked like exactly what he’d supposed she was: an employee of some forgettable Boylston Street art gallery where he’d sheltered for a few minutes with Catherine just as the wind had turned fierce.

  When such a low-level employee had dismissed him as an irrelevant roadblock in her rush to take a painting off the wall, he should have suspected something was off. Instead, he’d allowed himself to get drawn into her charade, enjoying it more than he should have. And the painting had been intriguing, yes. It still was, thankfully enough. But he hadn’t bought the thing to show his dominance, as Dani Michaels clearly thought. He’d bought it to extend the dance.

  Because she was here, after all.

  His gaze flickered over her.

  “What’s your relationship with the painter?”

  “Once again, I don’t see how that matters.”

  “You’re her friend, surely.”

  “I’d never met her before in my life.”

  Rand smiled, wondering at the edge to the woman’s voice. “Why are you fighting me?”

  Her smile was instant, and it warmed her entire face. “This isn’t fighting,” she said, gesturing with a now empty hand. He’d somehow missed her slipping the letter opener into her purse, but he had no doubt that she’d done so. “It’s not even good conversation. If we’re through, however, I’m happy to leave. As you pointed out to your assistant, the weather is only getting worse.”

  As if to punctuate her words, the wind chose that moment to batter against the plate-glass windows in sharp, percussive bursts. Rand didn’t miss the woman’s shiver. “You don’t like storms?”

  “I like them just fine.” She turned to the windows as she spoke, so Rand couldn’t tell if she was lying. “But this isn’t my only engagement this evening, and I do need to be on my way.”

  The spear of emotion that twisted inside Rand at her words was unwelcome, but he faced it anyway. He was jealous. Jealous of whomever else claimed this woman’s time, and he barely knew her. “I can take you there,” he said, his words mild, betraying none of the desire that was creeping up within him, setting fire to his blood.

  “That’s not necessary.” He could hear the smile in her voice, but she didn’t turn from the window. Interesting. He took the opportunity to regard her a little longer. The woman’s back was exquisite through the tight compression of her long-sleeved dress. Strong, but not overly muscled. Her waist was narrow, her ass rounded, and her legs long but not hammered into hard planes. She wore her platform heels easily, and her dress had the air of an expensive boutique. She wore no jewelry, and today her thick fall of dark hair was trapped in a simple barrette. Everything about her announced that she was a professional.

  But a professional what?

  “Miss Michaels.”

  “I really must be going.” Dani turned, offering a smile. She had a clear run at the door, and she gestured to the painting. “I hope you enjoy it.”

  “Let me get you a receipt.”

  “That’s not—”

  “I insist.” Rand turned to his desk, swiveling the notepad around and tearing free a loose sheet. He jotted down a quick note of thanks, signed and dated it. Dani had followed him to the desk.

  “Truly, it isn’t necessary, Mr. Winston,” she said as he handed it to her. She opened her purse, and he heard the telltale buzz of her silenced phone. She didn’t even look at it, but the effect it had on her was instantaneous, her artfully easy manner now going tight as a drum.

  “Necessary,” he mused, and something in his voice made her glance up sharply. The shiver of control it took for her to not step back from him was obvious, but Rand wasn’t about to let her get away a second time. “And do you always do only what is necessary?”

  “Saves time,” she said again. But her eyes were on his lips, and he felt the attraction between them like a living thing. He lifted a hand, and while her body didn’t flinch, her eyes did.

  Another surge of emotion blazed through him, this one hotter, less controlled. He didn’t understand that flinch of hers, the reflex she could not quite quell. But he knew the reaction wasn’t about him, and he wanted her to only think of him in this moment—to have the same intensity of emotion, the same nerves, the same trepidation, even a little fear. He didn’t mind her fearing him. He expected it. But the nature of that fear was what intrigued him.

  “Ah, fuck it,” Dani said, startling him again. She stepped into his body, reaching up to draw his head toward hers. “I don’t have all goddamned night.”

  She kissed him, hard, and the spears of desire touched together at their tips, igniting Rand with need. Still, he didn’t move forward, just let Dani pull him closer in, sensing that the deepening of the kiss was something she hadn’t planned for. His hands went naturally to her waist and felt large against the curve of her hips, anchoring her almost possessively. She pulled away—or tried to, her body leaning back even as he kept her still and tight. Her smile was satisfied against his lips, and understanding lit through him. She’d won, he realized. By controlling the kiss between them, by taking the initiative and coming to him, instead of waiting for him to come to her, she had won.

  “Was that what you wanted, Miss Michaels?” he asked, and he deliberately kept the teasing challenge in his voice.

  She drew in a sharp breath, but didn’t take the bait. “Everything I could have hoped for,” she said, leaning back with a smug grin.

  He lifted his brows. “Did I just experience sexual harassment?”

  Dani’s smile flashed a little more broadly now. “I do apologize, sir. I was just so swept away.”

  “Hmm.” He eyed her. “You didn’t seem terribly swept away. I must be losing my touch. Perhaps I should try again.”

  “No, no. That won’t be necessary.” Dani’s words were a little too quick, a little too breathless, and she seemed to know it. She licked her lips, then colored at that action as well. “If we’re finished here, I’ll be on my way.”

  “But we’re not finished here.” Rand could feel the heat radiating off her, liquid with intensity, and he dipped his head lower. “And you don’t strike me as someone who leaves the game before it’s done.”

  “And yet I really need to be going.”

  “You can leave at any time, Miss Michaels.” And it was true. He’d dropped his hands from her hips, and she just stood there now in the lee of his body, her eyes fixed on his. Her breathing was unsteady, and a pulse jumped just below her jaw, her breasts rising and falling beneath the narrow slit of her neckline. Her reaction to him was undeniable, and Rand’s resulting determination was direct and absolute. Dani Michaels was going to be his. He could see his hands moving over her body, trapping those breasts in his hands, squeezing them, his fingers teasing the tender nipples until she stood on tiptoe, her mouth slack with need for him, her skin shimmering with heat.

  He hovered over her lips, waiting for her to break, and Dani stood frozen before him. He was letting her make the final call, but there was no way anyone would believe she was winning this round.

  Not by a long shot.

  “Shall I kiss you again?” Rand brushed his lips against hers and they opened on a sigh. He curved his mouth into a hard smile. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

&nb
sp; —

  Dani didn’t know when the balance of power had shifted, but the taste of Rand’s lips on hers rocketed through her brain like a klaxon call of warning. She nearly groaned as he pulled her to him, his mouth hard, demanding, the thrust of his tongue the ultimate sensual intrusion that somehow felt like she was giving up too much, too soon.

  And yet…

  Rand’s arms circled around her, his hands dropping down her back until he cupped her backside, kneading her ass through the slinky fabric. Instantly, hot, wet desire pooled inside her, an aching fire that Rand seemed to be stoking with his kiss, his hands, his tongue, his—

  He pulled away to stare at her, the abrupt absence of him shocking Dani into a gasp. His eyes were both icy and demanding, and she struggled to regain her composure. She was delivering a painting, for God’s sake. And this man was just toying with her. Or she was toying with him, rather. Something.

  “Have dinner with me.”

  “What? No.” Dani responded automatically, but the words jolted her back to reality. Because Rand suggesting that he fuck her against a wall? That was a reasonable request, and undoubtedly a damned fine time. But Rand asking her out on an actual date? That was him pulling her chain, and she had no patience for that shit. No matter how polished Dani’s packaging for this little drop-off, there was no way Rand didn’t recognize that she was not in his social class, not by about a billion dollars. Besides, the man had all but admitted he’d done a background check on her; after that, a romantic dinner just didn’t quite have the same ring to it. She stepped away from Golden Boy and smoothed down her dress, though nothing was out of place. She felt like she’d just been stripped and flung to the ground, but she hadn’t—she was together, she was on top of this.