Game for Anything (5 page)

“I'll handle it.”

“You know the penalty if you don't.”

Replacing the receiver, the man leaned back in his chair and studied the reaction of his companion.

“I can handle him. Just give me the word, and I'll have him out of the way.”

“Such ruthlessness,” the man admonished. He would discourage it now, but it would come in handy later. He took a sip of his brandy. “Patience, my friend. This particular puppet may still be of some use. Besides, removing him now might draw too much attention to Ms. Wainwright's shop, and we don't have the coin yet.”

The man called the Puppet Master had other puppets in place. Any one of them could get the coin tomorrow, and his companion would be useful later. His
long-term success lay in knowing how to play the game.

He would wait, for now. The coin would be here tomorrow and once he had it, he would have all three.

“Your move.” He smiled and gestured toward the chessboard.

T
RACKER AWOKE
to find a rather large, tiger-striped cat sleeping on his chest. In the time it took him to remove the creature and set it on the floor, his mind cleared and the events of the previous evening came flooding back.

The side trip to the emergency room had turned out better than he'd expected. After a two-hour wait, they'd finally been escorted to a sheet-draped cubicle where an exhausted-looking doctor had ventured a diagnosis of mild food poisoning and pronounced Tracker good to go. By that time, he'd fully recovered from any lingering effects of the ipecac he'd taken, and he'd managed to charm one of the nurses into suggesting to Sophie that she keep him under surveillance for another forty-eight hours.

As a result, his game plan was back on track: he was exactly where he wanted to be, a recovering in valid in the Princess's apartment.

Swinging his feet to the floor, Tracker sat up and glanced around the narrow living room. It had surprised him. Sophie had been raised in a mansion, and she'd chosen to live in a place that wasn't much larger than a cell. He knew she had the convenience of living
adjacent to her shop by residing here, but it was no palace for a princess.

The most surprising thing was that the room didn't seem cramped. It was…comfortable. The honey-colored, pegged-wood floor wasn't broken by rugs, but ran in a smooth line to the counter separating the rest of the living area from the kitchen. Aside from the overstuffed white sofa he'd spent the night on, and the cherub-faced jockey standing guard by the door, the room seemed almost monastic in its furnishings. But the bright explosion of color in the paintings that hung on the wall brought a homey warmth to the room. One on the opposite wall drew his eye. Pansies in every possible shade of red splattered across the canvas. It made him think of passion, hot and reckless, and of Sophie.

Dragging his eyes from it, he forced his gaze to the wall behind the couch and stared at the collection of horses. He hadn't noticed them last night. All in all, he figured the shelves held nearly fifty equestrian figures, some cast in clay, others carved of wood or marble.

So, the Princess loved horses. He tucked the knowledge away.

“Mmmrph.”

Tracker glanced down to see that the cat had jumped back up on the couch. “You're Chess, right?”

The cat blinked and stared.

Sophie had introduced them when they'd arrived. Then she'd given Tracker a quick tour, showing him the bathroom, which was half the size of the living
room and had doors that accessed both the living room and the bedroom.

She hadn't shown him her bedroom. If she had, he might have been with her in that bed right now. He didn't kid himself that it was going to be easy sticking to his game plan. And the Princess might have some plans of her own. He was going to have to keep his guard up and his wits about him.

Just thinking about matching wits with her made him smile. He hadn't felt this alive since he'd followed her across the country last year. Had he been waiting all this time for her to challenge him again?

“Mmmrmph.”

He glanced down at the cat. “Hungry?”

The question had Chess sliding onto his lap.

Scooping him up, Tracker moved to the kitchen, located cat food and filled one of Chess's dishes. The other he filled with water. The cat dug in.

Satisfying his own hunger was going to be more problematic. Oh, the pantry was well stocked and he'd found eggs and butter in the refrigerator, bacon and coffee beans in the freezer. He might have fixed the Princess breakfast in bed if it weren't for two problems.

First, he was supposed to be recovering from food poisoning. Second, going into Sophie's bedroom for any reason would trigger a different and more basic kind of hunger.

Basic
was a good word for it. Tracker was beginning to believe that having the Princess was becoming every bit as necessary to him as breathing. From that first day in Lucas's office, when he'd held her in his
arms, he hadn't been able to break free of the hold she had on him.

In the middle of last night, she'd come out to check on him, and he'd used every bit of control he had to lie still and pretend to be asleep. Then he'd spent the rest of the night fantasizing what it would have been like to have her beneath him on that couch.

He had a job to do, he reminded himself. And he needed a clear head to do it.

When the cat jumped onto the counter, Tracker scratched him under his chin. “I might not be able to manage breakfast, but coffee might be a good idea. And then a cold shower. What do you think, Chess?”

The cat growled deep in his throat.

 

C
OFFEE
. The scent of it had Sophie drifting up out of her dream. It had to be a dream, she thought as she sat up and shoved the hair out of her eyes. She was never organized enough to fill the coffeepot and set the automatic timer before she went to bed.

The second breath she inhaled told her she wasn't dreaming. And the memories flooded in. Tracker McBride had spent the night in her apartment. He'd made coffee in her kitchen.

Okay, so he wasn't in her bed yet. But she was making progress. She'd very nearly hugged the blond, perky nurse at the hospital who'd strongly urged that she keep Tracker under surveillance for at least twenty-four—preferably forty-eight—hours. And the wait in the emergency room had given her a lot of time to analyze the situation and to plan.

Sitting up, she plumped the pillows behind her and
pressed a hand to her stomach. There was no reason for it to be so jumpy. She could do this. After all, she had the coin. A quick glance at the nightstand assured her that it was still where she'd left it. And the little bag with Mac's “toys” was right at the side of her bed.

Lifting it, she drew out the black velvet ribbon that lay on top. She was going to have to work up a lot of nerve to use something like this. Truth be told, her confidence with men was mostly a sham. She could count on one hand the lovers she'd had, and most of them had been…unimaginative. Or maybe it had been her.

Well, with a little help from Mac's toys, Sophie was about to become a new woman.

When she heard the shower start, a little skip of panic moved up her spine. She'd better hurry and examine her plan because she was going to have to put it into action soon. Slipping out of bed, she grabbed her robe and tucked the coin into her pocket.

The key to any good business deal was to offer the other party exactly what he or she wanted. She and Tracker wanted each other, and so she would offer him a no-strings affair. What could be more simple or basic than that?

She began to pace. She'd have to take the first step. In spite of that kiss, he hadn't made any move to touch her once they'd entered her apartment.

When she was making a sale in her shop, timing was everything. And surprise. If she could catch him off guard, she would have the advantage.

She was lifting Mac's bag of toys off the bed when the sound of the shower stopped. An image filled her
mind of Tracker stepping out of the tub, water dripping from him. A river of heat pooled in her center. She could picture him so clearly—lean muscles, long bones and taut, slick skin. Even as the bag slipped through her fingers, she was moving toward the bathroom door. Timing. Surprise.

Gripping the handle, she turned it and found it locked. No.
No.
She pounded on the door. “Tracker!”

The lock clicked, the door flew open and she saw him. His scent—it assaulted her with its potency. His heat—she felt it reaching out to her, touching her. All thoughts of perfect timing and surprise drained from her mind as her body went into sensory overload. She was so aware of him, all at once, that she felt paralyzed. His skin was slick and damp—and only part of it was covered by the towel. Lust—a quick, sharp slap of it—filled her, along with greed. She wanted—no, she
needed
—to touch him, to run her hands over every inch of him.

And she would, just as soon as she could move her arms.

 

F
OR A MOMENT
, Tracker stood absolutely still, paralyzed by a swift onslaught of emotions. When she'd called his name, fear had hit him hard, like a sucker punch to his gut. In the three short seconds that it had taken him to open the door to her bedroom, he'd realized that he hadn't checked it out. Last night, he hadn't trusted himself to even set foot in the room. Someone could have gotten in through a fire escape or through a back entrance to the apartment.

Though his eyes never left Sophie, he instantly catalogued the room, taking in a tall dresser, a full-length oval mirror, a bed. The closet door, standing ajar.

She was alone in the room. Safe.

He had about one second to process relief before he was sucker-punched by pure lust.

The oval-shaped mirror stood at an angle behind her, so that he could see her back and front. Her robe was a thin bit of silk and lace that draped over her breasts and hips so closely that it made a man wonder if she wore anything beneath. The thought of touching her and finding out had his blood running hotly, greedily.

It took every bit of strength he had not to tumble her onto the bed. He could have her just that quickly, and put an end to the desire that was clawing at his insides.

“Are you all right?” His voice sounded strained, raw.

“I thought you'd gone.”

He should go. He should step back into the bathroom and relock the door. She was fine. He'd over-reacted to a false alarm. And if he didn't get control of the situation, he wouldn't be prepared when a real alarm sounded. He ordered himself to back out of the room right now. But he didn't move. And he wasn't going to. His feet had stopped taking orders from his brain.

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“Good.” She moistened her lips, and Tracker had to swallow a moan. “I don't want you to go. I wanted to talk.”

Talk?
The woman was killing him.

 

T
ALK
?
What was she saying? Sophie wanted to jump him. But she couldn't seem to make her body take
orders. She couldn't even remember the little speech she'd been rehearsing before she'd decided to storm the bathroom. The ripe, hot desire she saw in his eyes was melting her brain. She wasn't even sure she
could
talk.

Taking a deep breath, she gave it a try. “I want to make love to you.” She might have turned around to see who'd spoken if she could have taken her eyes off Tracker. The good news was that his gaze was still hot enough to burn her skin. The bad news was he wasn't moving.

You can do this, Sophie. You're Mac's role model.
“Right now would be good for me. Are you game?”

There was a beat of silence, his eyes never leaving hers. She saw his jaw tighten as he clenched his teeth. “It's not that I don't want you.”

But.
He hadn't said it, but the word threatened to slam down between them like a brick wall. Panic bubbled up at the same moment that her fingers closed around the coin in her pocket. Thank heavens her fingers were working. Testing, she took a step toward him. She could move. She could do this. “The way I see it, we could have a debate about the pros and cons, but why don't we cut right to the chase and settle it with a coin toss?”

Taking the quarter out of her pocket, she tossed it into the air. “Heads, we make love. Tails, we…”

 

T
RACKER WATCHED THE COIN
sail into the air. It didn't matter which way it came down, they were going to make love. He'd lost whatever battle he'd been waging
with himself the moment she'd said, “I want to make love to you.”

He hadn't expected it, hadn't built up any defense against the possibility.

How could he have possibly known that it was the one thing he'd wanted to hear her say? From the moment he'd heard those words, he'd wanted her on that bed beneath him, and he didn't know how much longer he could wait.

“Heads,” she said as she glanced down at the coin and then held it out for him to see. “Okay, that's settled.”

Fear gripped him then. In a second he was going to touch her, and he had to make sure that he maintained control. He'd pay a price for making love to her, but he had to make sure that she didn't. He didn't want to hurt her, and the urge to take her swiftly was so huge. “Unless you'd rather…talk? Set up some ground rules?” She fumbled a little, slipping the coin into her pocket, and he noticed for the first time that her hands were trembling.

Nerves. He'd always thought of her as the Princess, so confident, so brave. That she was nervous because of him thrilled him and softened something inside of him. Tracker wasn't even aware that he'd closed the remaining distance between them until he touched her shoulders and absorbed the quick shiver that moved through her.

“Easy.” He ran his hands slowly up and down her
arms the way he might gentle one of his horses. Then, lifting her hand, he pressed his lips to her palm, and watched the pulse at her throat quicken. “We'll talk later. Right now, I want to make love to you.”

She moved her hands to the belt of her robe.

“No.” He covered her hand. “Let me.” He'd done this in his fantasies, but he hadn't imagined the quick tremors that moved along her skin, nor the quick hitch of her breath as he eased the robe off her shoulders. Nor had his imagination quite captured the silky smoothness of her skin. He let out a deep breath. “You're wearing nothing. I wondered.” He reined in the urge he had to touch and possess every inch of her.

When his hands moved to the towel at his waist, she closed hers over them. “No. Let
me.
”

This time the tremors moved through
him
as his towel slid to the floor and she ran her fingers along the length of his erection.