Risking It All: The Proposition / The Dare / The Favour / The P.I. / The Cop / The Defender. Cara Summers
HELD three royal ladies in his hand, but the woman who held his attention wasn’t in the cards he’d been dealt. She was standing on the patio talking to Carlo Brancotti. And she could handle herself. Wasn’t that the reason he’d been so determined to get Natalie Gibbs for this job?
“Are you in, Mr. Bradford?”
Silently cursing himself, Chance glanced back down at his cards.
Natalie was focused on the job. He was the one who was allowing himself to be distracted. The truth was that whenever he made love to her he became so drawn into the moment that he almost forgot that he was here to do a job. When he glanced back up at the patio, it was empty.
Chance ruthlessly suppressed the mix of panic and anger that tangled in his stomach. Natalie had made her plan clear. She was going to persuade Carlo to give her a tour. Obviously, the plan was working.
But Venetia had been following a plan, too.
“Are you in or out?” Armand Genovese’s voice was thin with impatience.
“Give me a minute.” Chance tore his gaze away from the patio and found four pairs of eyes staring at him. What he read in them ran the gamut from annoyance and mild curiosity to speculation and amusement. It was the speculation that bothered him the most because it came from Sir Arthur Latham, the man he suspected would report his every move to Carlo.
Get a grip, he warned himself. He could hardly throw down his cards and go running after Natalie. One of Steven Bradford’s weaknesses was poker. He had a group of friends, ones who went back to the founding of his company, that he regularly played with. Chance had to believe that Brancotti’s dossier on Bradford would have included that little known piece of information. So he could only conclude that the poker game had been arranged to keep “Steven” occupied and separated from “Calli” for the evening.
“Mr. Bradford?” The question came from the Turkish man who was also clearly annoyed.
“I think that Mr. Bradford may be thinking of other ways that he could be spending the evening,” Sir Arthur said. “And I can’t say that I blame him.”
Chance pushed a pile of chips into the center. “I’m in.”
For the rest of the hand, he kept his attention focused on the game. Natalie was doing her job. If he wanted to keep her safe, all he had to do was concentrate on doing his.
“YOU DID SAVE the best for last,” Natalie said as Carlo led the way down a winding path bordered on either side by jewel-colored flowers.
“You delight me. Most women are more impressed with the main salon or the gallery,” Carlo said.
“They were lovely, too. But the paintings in the gallery made it seem more like a…museum.” She sent him an apologetic smile. “I’m not much on museums.”
As they continued down the path, Natalie reviewed the tour Carlo had just given her in her mind. He’d taken her through all of the rooms on the first floor—except for one that had a coded access pad. His workspace, he’d said as he’d guided her past it. Then for the length of a long hallway, he hadn’t spoken. Natalie suspected that he was waiting for her to ask to see it. She hadn’t. Instead, she’d stopped to “ooh” and “aah” over a marble-topped table with a mosaic inlay.
Gut instinct told her she was still being tested. Did he suspect that she wasn’t the real Calli or was he always this careful?
The main salon took up the entire first floor in the wing opposite the conservatory. Marble floors gleamed, mirrored walls caught the reflections of carved pillars and crystal chandeliers. French doors opened onto patios with a view of the ocean. Natalie had spotted at least two surveillance cameras.
“The masquerade ball will be held in here tomorrow night,” Carlo had said. “Who will you come as?”
Natalie had realized that she didn’t know so she’d shot him a flustered look. “I can’t tell you that. Steven says the whole point of a masquerade is that no one knows who you are. For one night you get to be someone else entirely with no consequences.”
“How will I find you?” Carlo had asked. “All I would ask for is a dance.”
Hoping for the best, Natalie had allowed herself to remain a bit flustered. “I really can’t tell you. Steven hasn’t even told me what costumes he brought.”
Carlo had laughed. “You’re charming. Steven is a very lucky man. But I will still try to figure out who you are.”
Which wouldn’t be much of a challenge, Natalie had thought. She’d spotted two cameras in the hallways, and Carlo would see them leaving the Venetian room in whatever they were wearing.
“I do love playing games. I believe your Steven does too,” Carlo had said as he’d taken her arm and drawn her back to the main hall. “Come, I want to show you something.”
The something had been a small room down the hallway. Oval in shape, it boasted two ornately carved pillars at the midpoint of the room.
“This gallery is my favorite place. We’ll have the auction here. What do you think?”
“Wow,” she’d said as she’d let her gaze sweep the room. Furniture was positioned to form conversation areas on richly hued oriental rugs, and settees were placed at intervals along one wall. Across from them hung the paintings.
Natalie had counted ten, and she’d been hard pressed to keep her mouth from falling open. She’d recognized several of the painters, but she hadn’t been sure that Calli would.
“It’s like you have your own museum,” she said. And while Calli had stared in awestruck wonder, Natalie had catalogued the pieces in her mind. There were two van Goghs, a Manet and what she was pretty sure was a Renoir. But there were other works whose artists she wasn’t as familiar with. Just how many of them had Carlo Brancotti acquired legitimately?
As if in answer, Carlo had stopped midway down the length of the room, leaned against one of the pillars and told an amusing story of how he’d won one of the van Goghs in a poker game.
Watching him, Natalie had felt a kind of prickling at the back of her neck, one that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She hadn’t dared look around to figure out what had caused it because she’d had to appear utterly fascinated by Carlo’s story. The pillar he’d leaned against was ornately carved and right behind his head was what looked to be a bronze sundial. The prickling sensation had increased.
The moment Carlo had finished his story, she’d smiled. “If you’re that good at poker, you should be out with Steven and your other guests.”
“Then I would have missed this opportunity to share my most prized possessions with you,” Carlo had replied as he’d led her back outside.
His most prized possessions. Now, as they toured the gardens, the phrase lingered in her mind. And what was in that room that had made the back of her neck prickle like that?
“The gardens are boring you,” Carlo said.
With a start, Natalie jerked her thoughts firmly back to the present. “No, they’re magical. Sorry.” She made the first excuse she could think of. “I guess I’m just missing Steven.”
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Carlo asked.
“No—I—” To her complete astonishment, Natalie felt herself blush. “We’re just…I…he doesn’t want…”
Carlo put one finger under her chin, tipping her face up so that he could see it.
Natalie felt a skip of panic as she stared up into those dark eyes. What would he see? For an instant there, she hadn’t been sure whether she was speaking as Natalie or as Calli.
She held her breath through a stretch of silence before Carlo dropped his hand and said, “Steven is a very lucky man.”
Carlo then gestured her forward, and