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  "No," he said simply. "And you're not innocent."

  "No, I'm not." I pressed my palm to his chest, then reveled in the way he drew in air, as if he needed to gather strength. "And I don't want to be teased."

  "In that case, we have a problem." He placed his own hand over mine, capturing me against him so that I couldn't have pulled away if I wanted to. "Because I have every intention of teasing you. Fully. Mercilessly. I'm going to make you beg, Sloane. And only when I've taken you far enough will I make you come."

  My mouth went dry and my skin tingled. Beneath my dress, my nipples were as hard as pebbles. I wanted more, so help me I did, and I think the only reason I didn't press myself shamelessly against him was that the doors behind us hissed open, and the gentle wash of cool air was as potent as a bucket of ice water. Especially when I saw the elegantly dressed couple waiting to enter.

  I cleared my throat and, with my head high, stepped around them and off the elevator. Beside me, Tyler chuckled. "Shocking to think that they must know where we're going and what we're planning to do."

  I shot him a sideways glance. "They couldn't possibly," I said. "I don't even know what we're planning to do."

  He laughed. "You make a good point. But isn't the anticipation delicious?"

  I kept my mouth shut, deciding that silence was the wiser course, and followed him down the narrow ninth floor hallway. I'd never been on the guest level of such a fancy hotel, and I was just as impressed by this simple space as I had been by the Palm Court downstairs.

  "It's beautiful," I said, letting my fingers stroke the molding and cream-colored wallpaper as we walked past door after door.

  "It was built in 1920, and no dollar was spared. Did you know that Peter Ustinov once said that walking in The Drake was like walking on diamonds?"

  "The actor?"

  "Mmm. The list of people who have stayed here would make a gossip rag drool. Actors, royalty, even criminals."

  "Oh, really?" I said, working hard not to sound too amused. "Like who?"

  "You ever heard of Francesco Nitto?"

  "The Enforcer?"

  He lifted his brows, then nodded with approval. "You know Chicago history."

  "I know about the Outfit," I said, referring to Chicago's infamous organized crime ring, the most famous leader of which was probably Al Capone. "Nitto stayed here?"

  "Lived here," Tyler said. "Kept his office and a suite of rooms. That was in the '30s and '40s. Later--" He cut himself off with a laugh. "Sorry. The Outfit is one of my obsessions."

  "It's interesting stuff," I said, filing that tidbit away for future reference. Not that it was very telling. All you had to do was look at Hollywood to know that most of the population was fascinated with organized crime.

  "Architecture and real estate are my other obsessions," he continued. "Put them together and I'm known to get carried away. The Drake is like a perfect storm. But that's also one of the reasons I decided to stay here. This way," he added, pushing open a door and revealing a hidden set of stairs. I eyed him curiously, but didn't ask. And when he headed up the stairs, I obediently followed.

  We emerged onto a landing for the next floor. As I followed him down the hall, I was going to ask why the elevator didn't go this far, but he'd already unlocked the door to our destination and pushed it open. The moment I got a look inside that room--although the word "room" didn't do it justice--all other thoughts left my head.

  "Good god," I said.

  "Spectacular, isn't it," Tyler said, the appreciation clear in his voice.

  "That pretty much sums it up." The suite was decorated in shades of white and cream. The furniture looked old, and I assumed it had been selected to complement the hotel's heritage. Or, for all I knew, maybe it was original. If so, it had been incredibly well-maintained.

  Fresh flowers dotted all the surfaces. Artwork--mostly portraits and landscapes--hung in decorative groupings on the walls. Everything seemed rich and opulent, yet nothing seemed overdone.

  "Wow," I said.

  Tyler nodded. "To be honest, it's not my style. The architecture, yes. But my taste in furniture and interior design is more contemporary. But I can't deny this works."

  "Yeah. It really does." I stepped farther into the living area, trying not to be overwhelmed. Growing up, my dad's idea of a fancy hotel for vacation was the Holiday Inn. And although my stepfather had money, I felt lucky if he remembered to give my mom cash for groceries.

  Now I earned my own money, but I rarely had a reason to stay in a hotel, and when I did, I usually defaulted to the Holiday Inn. I was Daddy's little girl, after all. And considering my skimpy cop paycheck, the price was right.

  That's not to say I hadn't been in some pretty fancy apartments and hotel rooms. I worked homicide, and murder wasn't picky about the price tag. But this room was beyond anything I'd ever seen. As far as I was concerned, I wasn't standing in a hotel room at all. Instead, I'd been transported to an alternate universe.

  I allowed myself one long, low whistle before turning to Tyler. "Let me guess. You're really a foreign prince traveling incognito."

  "I'm not," he said. "Nor would I want to be. I made my own way in the world. Family had very little to do with it."

  I heard the hard edge in his voice. "I'm sorry," I said sincerely. "I didn't mean to push a button." I knew better than anyone that discussions of family could spiral down into unpleasant and unwanted territory.

  I saw his chest rise and fall. "No, I'm sorry. My childhood should have been idyllic. It wasn't."

  I nodded. I knew the feeling.

  "It's taken me a long time to cut loose from all those threads. But that has nothing to do with you and nothing to do with this room." He took an appreciative look around. "It really is over the top, isn't it?"

  "Just a bit."

  He gestured toward a pristine white sofa that I realized was upholstered in silk. "Would you believe me if I told you that a prince really did live here once?"

  I let my gaze linger on the various small treasures. Vases. Paintings. Fancy bric-a-brac. "I think he left behind some of the royal treasure. Wait, you're serious?" I added, seeing the smug expression on his face.

  "Cross my heart. A prince and a princess. They had a long-term lease, but decided not to renew when it came due about a year ago. The rumor is they're going to spend a few years in a similar property in Paris."

  "So you decided that you needed to crash here after the engagement party? Soak up a little of that regal buzz?"

  "Oh, it's much worse than that," he said. "I live here."

  I gaped at him. "Come again?"

  "I needed a place to stay. And this was available. I love the convenience of living in a hotel. I love The Drake. And you have to admit, it's got a stunning view."

  I glanced toward the window where Michigan Avenue's lights twinkled like Peter Ustinov's diamonds. "Yeah. It does."

  "Besides," he added with a boyish grin, "it was too fucking cool to pass up."

  I laughed. "Can't argue with that. But I thought you ran more contemporary. You don't strike me as the kind of man who compromises on what he wants."

  "No," he said, looking at me so intently I wasn't sure if we were still talking about the room. Then his face cleared and he smiled. "But I'm only leasing the place for another six months."

  "And then?"

  "Then I'll see where the wind blows."

  "Away from Chicago?"

  "No. I love it here. I grew up here."

  "Then surely you already have a house?" From my research, I knew he owned several properties across the city, and his current residence was listed in Old Irving Park. I was curious, though, what he was going to say.

  "I did," he said. "An awesome Victorian that I refurbished."

  "Did?" I repeated. "You sold it? Like a flip?"

  "I still own it. But I won't be moving back in."

  "No?" I moved to the couch and sat down. I leaned back, feeling more comfortable and at ease than I'd anticipated, all things
considered.

  "Sounds like there's a story there. Care to share?"

  "Let's just say that I'm a sucker for a woman in need."

  "I'm intrigued. Tell me the rest."

  For a moment, I thought he would. Then he slowly shook his head. "No," he said. "I don't think so. I rather enjoy being the dark and brooding man of mystery."

  "You don't seem dark to me," I said, and I meant it. Oh, I had no doubt he had his hands in a number of illicit pies. And he definitely had an edge. I'd seen it myself when he'd rescued me from Reggie. But Tyler Sharp was a charmer at the core. Sophisticated. Smart. A hustler, not a thug.

  "Everyone has a dark side," he said. "Some people just hide it better than others."

  "That's a rather pessimistic view of the world," I countered.

  "You disagree?"

  I thought of my own dark side and the things that I kept hidden. I thought of my stepfather, and how the world had seen a hero when I had seen a monster.

  "No," I admitted. "I don't."

  "And that sounds like a story as well. Don't worry," he added. "I'm not going to ask you to reveal your secrets." His mouth curved up in the faintest of smiles. "Not yet, anyway. But I am going to ask you to do something else for me."

  He'd taken a step toward me as he spoke, and his voice took on a low, commanding quality. "Stand up, Sloane. Stand up, and take off your clothes."

  Chapter Eight

  I had to take a deep breath and replay the words back in my head. "My clothes," I said stupidly. "You want me to take off my clothes?"

  "Oh, yes," he said, as his gaze drifted over me with the same gleam of anticipation as a man about to unwrap a present. "I want it very much. But first things first. Stand up, Sloane."

  He held his hand out, gesturing for me to rise. I complied, though my legs were a bit unsteady, and once I was upright, he turned away from me and picked up the house phone. I heard him hit the button for the operator and then speak to someone, but the conversation was too fast and too low for me to make out.

  Throughout it all, I simply stood there, a little shocked, a little frazzled, and, yes, more than a little aroused.

  When he turned back, his eyes were flat, and his mouth curved down in the slightest of frowns. "My rules, Sloane. And though we got a little sidetracked, you did say that you wanted to play."

  I swallowed, but I lifted my chin. My body was flush, my skin hot. My fingers twitched as if reaching for my weapon, but at the same time I could imagine the dress sliding to the floor. Me stepping out of it, going to him, and folding myself in his arms.

  Could imagine it--the touch of his mouth upon my breast, the caress of his fingers over my sex--and wanted it.

  I was nervous. I was overwhelmed. But god help me, I was desperately turned on.

  But we were playing a game now, and I wasn't ready to concede victory quite yet.

  For a moment, we just stood there at an impasse. Then he took a single step toward me.

  "There are consequences for breaking the rules."

  I shivered as memories sliced through me, potent enough to cut me to pieces. Consequences. Yes, there damn sure were. But I wasn't a child anymore. And I wasn't hiding. Not now. This wasn't about pain or about fear or about monsters who hid in the dark.

  "Sloane?"

  That was all he said, just my name. But I heard the worry underneath it. I didn't want that--didn't want him wondering about the secrets I held close, and didn't want him backing off now, afraid that he'd pushed too far. That I'd changed my mind.

  I hadn't.

  No matter what else, I wanted this. And not because of Amy. Not because I'd planned an op. But because I liked the way he made me feel, and because I wanted more. Break the rules? Yeah, where Tyler was concerned, I think that's exactly what I wanted to do.

  I lifted my head, managed a teasing smile. "Consequences?" I repeated. Slowly, I dragged my teeth over my lower lip. "Are you going to punish me?"

  The corner of his mouth twitched. "I'd say that's a fair assumption."

  His eyes roamed over me, the worry now gone, replaced by control and anticipation. We were playing now, and knowing that sent swirls of heat reeling through me.

  "I wonder if that sweet ass of yours has ever been spanked."

  Oh. I felt an unexpected tingle at his words, but I wasn't about to admit that. Instead, I casually lifted a brow. "So that's the fetish."

  "No. Just a delight."

  The dark intensity of his voice kicked casual out the window, and that tingling increased to a low vibrato. "I wouldn't know."

  "Wouldn't you?" He closed the distance between us, then stopped in front of me, so close I caught the scent of him. The fading earthiness of his cologne was overpowered now by a sensual musk that made me want to lean closer and taste him.

  "Interesting. And I like knowing that mine will be the first hand to redden that sweet backside," he continued, as he reached behind me to briefly stroke my rear through the thin material of the dress.

  I gasped, the sound both pleasure and surprise, and when Tyler smiled, I knew that I had lost this round.

  "There's another rule you broke," he said. "Don't lie to me about what you want. About what makes you hot."

  "I didn't--I've never--"

  "Maybe not. But you know you'd like it. You may not have been spanked yet, but I see the flush on your skin, the way your nipples are straining against your dress. You can imagine the sting, then the warmth after. You can almost feel the heat spreading through you. The way your body clenches with desire. You can imagine being naked across my lap, not knowing if I'm going to spank you or fuck you, but simply desperate for my touch."

  He paused, and I gulped in air, realizing with some surprise that I'd forgotten to breathe. "Jesus," I murmured.

  "Tell me I'm right. Tell me you want that."

  "Yes," I whispered, because how could I lie when he'd already seen the truth?

  "Then you'll have it. But not now. Now, you're going to strip." He pulled the folded napkin with my note out of his pocket. "You said you wanted to play."

  "I did. I do. But I also expected you to keep your promises."

  He lifted a brow. "I see. And what promise have I broken?"

  "In the corridor. You said you were going to strip me naked." Desire cut across his face, and I took a step toward him, emboldened by victory. "You said you were going to stretch me out," I said, as my blood burned with the memory of his words. "You said you were going to taste every delicious inch of me."

  I was right in front of him now, my head tilted up to see his face. His hands were in his trouser pockets, and he still wore the suit. He looked commanding and powerful and incredibly sexy, and I craved his hands upon me.

  His eyes locked on mine, full of heat and power, and I drew in a breath, certain that he was just as turned on as I was. "I have a very good memory," I added.

  He cocked his head in acknowledgment. "So I see. And you're right. I said all of those things. I meant all of them. And I'm looking forward to doing exactly that. But first," he added, in a voice that broached no argument, "I'll watch you strip for me."

  "I--"

  "I want to see you," he interrupted. "Want to see you so much I can barely breathe." He moved across the room to a floor lamp, then adjusted it so that the beam cut across the room like a spotlight. He nodded at the circle of light on the carpet in front of me, then moved to casually sit in an armchair. "Strip for me, Sloane."

  My breath hitched as my pulse increased. The tiny hairs on my arms and the back of my head seemed to stand up. Electricity fizzed through me. I was scared--as riled and as jacked up as I'd ever been before going through a door. Then, I didn't know what lay on the other side. Death? Blood?

  Now, I knew exactly. There was Tyler. A man who saw more of me than I wanted to expose. And that small truth was both terrifying and oddly comforting.

  For a moment, I considered refusing. Telling him that if he wanted me naked he could take care of that himself. But whe
n I looked at his face, the words died on my tongue. He was looking at me with such a mixture of lust and adoration that it seemed to not only fill me but to spur me. It felt like a challenge. Like he was taunting me even as he was worshipping me.

  This was the game. And the only way I could win was to watch the flame in his eyes burn even hotter with every bit of flesh that I exposed.

  Slowly--so very slowly--I lifted my hands to the back of my neck. My fingers found the ties that held the halter in place, and I pulled at the bow, releasing it. I eased the two sections of material down, slowly revealing the swell of my breasts, the tight brown of my areolae, the hardness of my nipples.

  I dropped the material, allowing the halter portion to dangle at my waist. The air felt cool against my heated skin, and my breasts seemed heavier, as if they were begging for the support of his hands.

  I heard Tyler's sharp intake of breath, saw the way he shifted in his chair and the way his fingers tightened on the armrest, as if he was working hard to hold himself back.

  "You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered.

  "That's what the guy downstairs said."

  "Shit." The curse was low, almost inaudible. "I didn't mean to put that in your head."

  "No ... no, it's just ..." I drew in a breath. "He said it and I wanted to bolt. You say it, and--"

  "And what?"

  "And I want you to touch me."

  His face was cast in shadows, but I could still see the way his features tightened, as if he was putting up a fight. "I will," he said. "Dear god, I will. But right now, I want to look at you. Go ahead," he said with a nod. "I want to see every inch of you."

  My body thrummed with nerves and excitement, and my hand shook as I reached behind to the zipper. I tugged it down, then gave the dress the tiniest of shoves. The material spilled off me to pool around my feet, leaving me clad only in the pale pink thong and bright red shoes.

  I licked my lips, then met his eyes. Then I carefully stepped out of the dress and stood still again. I was only a few feet closer to him, but the air seemed thicker, full of power and promise.

  "Do you have any idea how lovely you are?"

  My cheeks warmed from the compliment. I knew I was pretty, some would even say beautiful. But once I decided to become a cop, it wasn't pretty that mattered, but strong. Now my body was tight and lean. Feminine, yes. But powerful, too.