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  I laughed. I also relaxed. "Fair enough. And I suppose I should thank you for the rescue. Even though it took you long enough."

  "Is that a criticism?"His hand slipped around my waist, but rather than jerk out of his embrace as I had with Reggie, I had to force myself not to press closer.

  "Just an observation."

  He eased us toward the dance floor, then started to sway with the low, slow strains of music. I felt light, as if Tyler's hands were the only things keeping me anchored.

  "I'm glad to hear it," he said. "Still, I suppose I lost some of my chivalry street cred."

  "A bit." My voice sounded breathy, and I wanted to close my eyes and melt from the heat that his palm pressed against my naked back was generating.

  I'd gotten lost in the swirl of sensations and emotions, and I stumbled blindly, trying to find some sort of rope to draw me back to myself, but failing miserably. I'm not the kind of woman who falls apart in the arms of a man, but right then, I was unraveling. And my dark and scary secret was that I liked the way it felt.

  "I suppose I'll have to earn it back." His words, whispered at my ear, skittered across my skin like an electric current. They were only sounds, with no meaning attached to them at all. Just the low, sexy tones of his voice.

  "Hmm?" I asked stupidly. "Earn what back?"

  He chuckled, as if he knew damn well that he was the source of my confusion. "Chivalry. You said I lost some street cred."

  "Oh. Right." I managed to gather myself, then tilted my face up to look at him. I saw desire behind the blue fire of his eyes, and I wrapped it around me, reveling in its warmth. "I guess you will. I mean, what's a knight without his chivalrous reputation?"

  "For the record, it was worth it to make a point."

  "What point is that?"

  His expression changed, and I once again felt trapped in his gaze. As if he didn't just desire me, but had claimed me for his own. "I didn't like it when you walked away from me. And I'm guessing you didn't like me staying away."

  "No," I admitted. "I didn't." I turned my head again, not wanting him to examine my face too closely. Not because I was lying, but because there was more truth in my words than I wanted to admit.

  He stroked his hand lightly over my back as we continued to move on the dance floor. I pressed against him and sighed, my body feeling warm and melty.

  "Remember that," he said gently. "And don't walk away from me again."

  The meltiness hardened into steel as I came to a stop, then stepped out of his arms so I could face him dead on. Around us, other couples continued to swirl, but I barely noticed them. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

  "No," he said simply. "I'm not." He tugged me back to him, then slid us seamlessly back into the mix of dancing couples.

  "You're pretty damn sure of yourself."

  "Very. What did you think? That walking away was going to wind me up? Was somehow going to make me want you more?" His voice, low and smooth, sent shivers coursing through me. "I'll tell you a secret, Sloane. I already want you more. I saw you, and I knew I would have you."

  I licked my lips, but stayed silent. In part because I wanted to see where he was going, but also because I couldn't trust myself to speak.

  He paused on the dance floor, then took a single step back so that he could look at me fully. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I don't care."

  I shook my head. "I'm not playing a game."

  "No?" His gaze lingered on my face, and I had to fight the urge to turn away, afraid he'd see the truth in my eyes. "Too bad," he said. "Because I am. I started playing the moment I saw you."

  I swallowed, not sure if I should run away or wrap myself in his arms. "I don't understand."

  "Yeah," he said. "I think you do," and though his smile was warm, I saw heat and danger in his eyes. "You're the prize, Sloane. And I'm in it to win."

  "Me?"

  "You," he said. He stepped closer, and the air seemed to shimmer from the intensity of my desire. "Does that excite you, Sloane? Knowing I want you? That I will have you?"

  "Yes." My voice was soft. Breathy. My heart was pounding an unsteady rhythm, and even as the fact of my victory settled over me, it wasn't celebration that burned in my veins, but heat. A raw, primal heat that I'd never experienced before, but couldn't deny liking. "God, yes."

  He drew me to him again, his hands at my waist, then easing up to brush the swell of my breasts. I drew in a shuddering breath, and though I wanted to simply close my eyes and let the wave crash over me, rational thought kicked in. "People," I whispered in protest. "Tyler, there are all these people."

  "Do you care?"

  "I--yes. Maybe."

  I felt my cheeks burn as he chuckled. "Fair enough. With me. God, Sloane, with me, now." His voice sounded as raw as I felt, and as he led me to the far side of the room, maneuvering us through the other dancers, I followed willingly. Eagerly. And a little bit giddily from the simple high of knowing that my plan was in full swing, and I was about to enjoy the perks of my success.

  He led me to the back of the restaurant and then through a hidden door into a concrete-walled service corridor lined with rolling tables topped with covered serving dishes. The staging area for the buffet and waitstaff, I realized, though I didn't have long to think about it. Tyler had me up against the wall, squeezed in tight between two tables, his hands cupped on my breasts.

  He gently pinched my already sensitive nipples, and a hot-wire of desire shot from my breasts to my sex. I gasped with pleasure even as I wanted to protest that there were still people around. The waitstaff. A few maids. But somehow, I didn't care anymore. Somehow, all I wanted was his touch.

  "Shall I tell you?" he asked. "Shall I tell you exactly what I want? Exactly what I will have from you?"

  His mouth was beside my ear, so close I could feel the brush of his lips as his words teased me. I didn't want to be entranced--didn't want to feel my body go soft with longing. But dammit, he was drawing me under, and soon I was going to drown in the swell of his words.

  "Shall I go over in intimate detail how I will touch you? The way my fingertips will tease your nipples. How my tongue will dance over the curve of your ear. Will it make you wet to know how hard I am? How much I want to sink deep inside of you."

  I made a little sound. I think I meant it to be a yes.

  His hands eased lower, sliding down to my waist, then behind to cup my rear. He drew me in, nestling my sex against his thigh, and pressing so tight against me I could feel the hard bulge of his erection against my lower belly. I reached out to steady myself, and found the edges of two serving tables. I clutched at them, desperate to hold on, because I knew damn well that if I let go, I'd melt into a puddle on the floor.

  "I imagine you taste like honey," Tyler murmured. "And when I slide my tongue between your legs, I'll lose myself in the sweetness of you. I want to watch your face as the orgasm builds inside you. I want to feel you tremble beneath me. And when you finally explode, I want to hold you in my arms and let my kisses pull you back together."

  I trembled, my body hot and sizzling. I was aroused, my breasts heavy, my sex aching. I wanted his touch--wanted him to do all the things he was saying.

  Hell, I simply wanted.

  I breathed in. Once, twice. I needed to gather myself, my thoughts. I needed to maintain at least some illusion that he hadn't completely destroyed me with nothing more than words.

  "Wow," I finally managed. "You don't waste time, do you?"

  His smile was slow and lazy. "As far as I'm concerned, time is the one thing too precious to waste."

  He stroked my cheek, my hair. His fingers twined in my curls as he played and stroked. Tighter and tighter, not enough to hurt, but enough so that I gasped in surprise when he tugged my head back and met my eyes. There was ice in the blue now. A cold, winter storm, the chill of which laced his voice as well. "Tell me the truth, Sloane. Are you wasting my time?"

  I felt the blood pump through me, the rush filling
my head. Not fear--not really. This was excitement. Challenge. And, yes, a bit of frustration, too, because the victory I'd so greedily claimed had apparently been premature.

  "Let go of me," I said, my voice matching the ice of his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  He released his grip on my hair and took a step back. I used the motion of standing up straight to shake off my nerves. Despite my desperately pounding heart, right then, this was all about playing it cool. Just like in a suspect interrogation, I wasn't about to let him see that he'd shaken me.

  "I know what my game is," he said. "I'm trying to figure out yours."

  "I'm not playing a game," I lied.

  "Everyone's playing a game." There was no humor in his voice.

  I said nothing. I'd already denied. Repeating myself would get me nowhere.

  "A lot of people want a piece of me, Sloane. What do you want? An introduction? A loan? I want to know why you're here. I want to know what you want."

  Slowly, I shook my head. "I'm not gold-digging, if that's what you think. And I already told you what I want. Hell, you've already told me what I want." I took a single step forward, then pressed my hand over his cock, hard inside his tailored slacks.

  I watched his face as I touched him, not moving, simply touching. "'I want to feel you tremble beneath me.' That's what you said. That's what I want, too. Christ, Tyler, isn't it obvious what I want? Why I came here? I want you."

  Beneath my hand, I felt his cock stiffen. He glanced down, then back at me. His face was all hard lines and angles, as if he was fighting for control. "Don't move," he said. "Don't even breathe."

  "I--"

  "No." His finger pressed against my lip before skimming downward. Over my chin, down my neck until he delicately traced my collarbone. Then lower, teasing my nipple with slow circles as I sucked in air and bit my lip in defense against the sounds of pleasure that wanted so desperately to escape.

  The bodice was a halter, with two triangles of material attached to the waist, then rising up to tie behind my neck. He followed the material up, his finger skimming under the bow at the base of my neck.

  "Shall I untie it? Let it fall? Shall I close my mouth over your bare breast right now, tease your nipple between my teeth? Tell me the truth, Sloane, would that make you hot?"

  I swallowed. My mouth was so dry. I thought of the waitstaff. Of camera phones. Of the Internet and the image of us, his mouth on my breast, my head back, my lips parted in pleasure. I thought of it, and I felt the quickening in my belly. The clenching in my sex.

  I thought--and I whispered the only answer I could. "Yes."

  "Good girl," he said, as his hand sneaked down, leaving my dress intact. I breathed a sigh of relief, then gasped as he traced his way down my cleavage, his hand slipping beneath the material just long enough for his fingers to tease and for the heat of his palm to cup my breast.

  "Tyler," I moaned when he withdrew his hand, leaving me clutching the tables on either side of me, because if I let go, I would surely fall.

  "Hush," he said, as he moved closer. His hand snaked around my waist to find the zipper at the back of the dress, then slowly eased it down. "Now spread your legs," he ordered as he slid his palm inside my dress, over my lower back, and then down to the curve of my ass.

  I wore a stretchy lace thong, and he stroked my bare skin before finding the thin, damp strip of material between my legs and tugging it aside. I heard the desperate sound of my own whimper as he teased me, then sucked in a gasp as he slid a finger easily inside me and my body clenched tight around him.

  He groaned in satisfaction. "Christ, you're wet," he said, his voice raw. "I don't doubt you want me, Sloane. And god knows I want you, too." He stroked my sex once, twice, then withdrew his hand, and I had to bite my lower lip in order to silence my protest. "But there's something else going on in that pretty head of yours," he added, as he zipped up my dress, leaving me wanting and confused and frustrated. "And I will find out your secret."

  He stepped back from me, then paused to look me up and down. I could only imagine what he saw. Clothes askew. Skin flushed. But I lifted my head, determined to hold my own.

  He moved to the door, and pulled it part of the way open. The sounds of the party wafted in, echoing in the service hall. His eyes locked on mine, and for a moment I saw the true depth and power of this man who held so much of Chicago in his hand.

  "I'll give you what you want, Sloane," he said. "What we both want. But think long and hard before you come to me. There are things that I like. Things that I want and expect from the woman in my bed. And I don't play by anyone's rules but my own."

  Chapter Five

  I waited as the door closed, then let myself sag until I was seated on the floor with my back against the wall, two tables laden with dessert refills on either side of me.

  He'd rattled me--no doubt about that. Rattled me, intrigued me, enticed me. I may have set out to seduce the man, but I couldn't deny the fact that he'd turned the tables on me any more than I could deny that I'd enjoyed it.

  And I had. God help me, but I wasn't simply playing a part. I'd enjoyed it. I'd enjoyed him.

  How the hell was that possible? I knew damn well the man was a con. A thief. Possibly a whole lot worse. A man who gave the middle finger to the law and the system that I'd sworn to uphold. He represented everything I fought against. Hell, he was everything I'd run from. Everything I'd fought so hard not to be.

  Brutally I shoved away the rising images. The ones I fought every damn day. The blood. The fear. The guilt. The crack of a gun echoed in my mind, and the sound swirled together with the scream of police sirens and the long, violent wail of soul-deep pain.

  Tyler Sharp was the kind of man who would take the law and gleefully twist until it broke. And there I was trying so damn hard to put it back together--to fix everything I'd once broken--and yet I was ready to slide into his bed?

  I couldn't even fall back on the mission as an excuse. That may have kick-started it, but I was the one who was finishing it. I was the one who wanted it.

  I drew in a breath and dragged my fingers through my hair. I didn't trust him--not even remotely. But I did see him. Whatever else Tyler Sharp might be, there was a hell of a lot more to him than the slick facade. He was a man who was very much alive, who took the world as it came, and didn't take shit from anyone.

  Those were qualities I admired, and for one brief, shining moment I wished I was a girl without an agenda and without expectations. A woman, not a cop. A woman who knew nothing about all the black marks that marred his permanent record. Who wasn't even now trying to figure out the best way to proceed in order to get close, get in, get the info.

  Because that was the crux of it--woman versus cop. The woman wanted his touch, his body. Wanted to feel that heat he generated deep inside her.

  The cop knew that once you'd fucked a guy, you risked a blind spot, especially if that guy had already gotten under your skin.

  I may have been using seduction as a tool, but Tyler Sharp had used it as a weapon, and he'd cut me down at the knees. He'd seen past the facade to the very real desire inside me, and he'd twisted it around. Used it. Taken control.

  God, I was a walking cliche. The strong woman, knocked out at the knees by a smooth man with a hard cock.

  Maybe. But I had no intention of losing sight of my end game. I'd come to Chicago to find Amy, and right now, Tyler Sharp and Destiny were my best starting point.

  Bottom line--I was going to stay. I was going to walk through that door and back into that party, and I was going to find him. I knew it, and I could tell by the way that Tyler had looked at me that he'd known it, too.

  The party was still going strong when I stepped back into the room. That made sense, I supposed, considering I'd been away less than half an hour. But in that time the world had shifted, and it seemed anticlimactic to go back into the room and have everything be exactly the same.

  Then I saw Tyler across the restaurant, s
aw him looking at me. Saw the heat in his eyes.

  No, I thought. Nothing is the same at all.

  I considered playing it coy, but I wasn't certain he'd stand for it. More, I didn't want to. He'd lobbed the ball soundly into my court. Now it was my turn to return it.

  I'd checked my purse with the attendant hired to work the party, so I borrowed a pen from the bartender, then scribbled a note on a napkin. I folded it, then called over one of the waitresses and gave it to her. "Just make sure he's the one who gets it," I said, pointing to Tyler.

  She flashed a conspiratorial grin. "You got it. Good luck."

  "Passing notes in class?" Kat asked, walking up as the waitress walked away.

  "Something like that."

  "Buy you another glass of wine?" she asked, holding up two fingers to the bartender.

  "They're free," I said.

  "Don't let that discount my generosity." She took the glasses from the bartender and passed one to me. "To success," she said, then held up her glass to clink.

  "Success? In what?"

  "In whatever the hell that was all about," she said, nodding toward the waitress, who had just reached Tyler.

  I watched as he took the note, unfolded it, and then--very slowly--lifted his eyes to mine. Come here, he mouthed, and the command seemed to fill me up, warm and enticing.

  "Well," Kat said, a lilt to her voice. "How very interesting."

  I barely heard her. I was already on my way across the room.

  Tyler met me halfway, a small concession that pleased me more than it should. I'd expected him to drag out this little power play and make me go all the way to him. The fact that he didn't gave me a different type of tingle.

  "I was very pleased to get your note," he said, pulling it from his pocket. He unfolded the napkin, then read aloud. "I want to play." He glanced up at me. "Are you sure?"

  "I'm surprised. You didn't seem like the kind of man who would give a girl an out."

  "Just this once." He took my hand, then lifted it so that my palm faced up. Slowly, he trailed his fingers over my palm. It was a simple touch, nothing even remotely erotic, and yet it swirled inside of me, heating me up and fueling the desire that had been bubbling under the surface since he'd left me in that corridor.