Читать книгу: «Propositioned?»

1

SARAH HEWITT had never crashed a party before. Or broken into a safe. But there was a first time for everything, and tonight she was planning to do both.

Her black leather boots crunched in the snow as she stealthily approached the Wolff mansion. Bright lights shone from the tall windows gracing the front of the grand edifice, casting an eerie crystal glow on the snowy mountainside. Towering pine trees surrounded the open black wrought-iron gate, making it easy for her to slip inside the private grounds unnoticed.

She’d left her twelve-year-old Toyota parked on an unpaved road a half mile away. The crisp mountain air had numbed her cheeks as she’d made the remainder of the journey to the Wolff mansion on foot. Now her breath came in quick, uneven puffs of frosty air, though more from the anticipation of the night ahead than the steep uphill hike she’d just taken. Adrenaline pumped through her veins now, warming her from the inside out. She wiggled her frozen toes inside her boots as sharp pinpricks of feeling slowly flowed back into them.

From her vantage point on the mountain, she could see tiny dots of lights marking the city of Denver, which lay twenty miles to the east. That’s where she lived with her grandfather, who assumed Sarah was out celebrating New Year’s Eve with her friends.

Little did he know she was about to follow his footsteps into a life of crime.

She moved swiftly in the shadows toward the mansion, watching as a steady string of shiny black limousines made their way around the circular driveway. Each one stopped briefly at the front entrance to let its costumed passengers disembark.

The Wolffs’ annual masquerade ball was one of the highlights of the Denver social season. Or so she’d heard. Sarah didn’t pay much attention to lives of the rich and famous. She was too busy trying to earn enough money so she could finally pursue her master’s degree in sociology. She was currently working two jobs—as a bank teller during the day and a waitress evenings and weekends.

When Sarah had glimpsed an invitation to the Wolffs’ masquerade ball on the bank president’s desk, she knew it had been a little nudge from fate. It couldn’t have simply been by chance that she’d been given the perfect opportunity to correct a horrible mistake before it came back to haunt her family.

Standing near the front entrance now, hidden behind a massive marble column, Sarah watched as the doorman stood inside the open foyer to welcome the arriving guests. She pulled her long, hooded red cloak more tightly around her, grateful she’d picked a warm costume.

Little Red Riding Hood’s red wool cloak, elbow-length red gloves, and black leather boots were perfect for traipsing around a mountain in the middle of winter. As an added advantage, the gloves would ensure that she left no telltale fingerprints behind.

Peering through the slits of her red mask, she leaned farther around the column to see a commotion in the foyer. One of the arriving guests, a woman dressed as a Las Vegas showgirl, had gotten her tall feather headdress stuck on the crystal chandelier.

As the doorman struggled to untangle the distraught showgirl, Sarah quickly raced up the steps and moved inside the foyer, heading rapidly for the ballroom. The loud band music reverberating down the hallway would have led her there, even if she hadn’t memorized the blueprint of the mansion’s floor plans the night before.

Sarah held her breath as she hurried down the hallway, half-expecting someone to sound an alarm and cut her off before she could lose herself among the crowd of costumed guests milling around the opulent ballroom. But to her surprise, no one tried to stop her. She soon found herself standing at the arched doorway to the ballroom, mercifully anonymous behind her mask.

Relief washed over her, though she knew the greater challenge lay ahead. She let her gaze wander over the ballroom, impressed with the polished marble floor and the crystal chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling. All of the guests wore masks to conceal their identity. According to the party invitation, the grand unveiling was scheduled for midnight.

That’s when Sarah intended to make her move.

She checked her watch, realizing she’d allowed herself plenty of time. Now she simply had to blend in and mingle for the next hour or so, try to act as if she really belonged here. Sarah couldn’t wait until this night was over. Then she could return to her regular life. In a regular house. With regular people.

If she didn’t land herself in prison first.

She sucked a deep breath of air at that thought and tightened her grip on the small wicker picnic basket she carried in the crook of her arm. It wasn’t as if she’d come here tonight to actually steal anything. Just the opposite, in fact. Sarah was here for the express purpose of returning the diamond necklace presently inside her basket to the safe on the third floor of the Wolff mansion, where it belonged.

And she desperately needed to do it before anyone noticed the necklace was missing. Before they could accuse her grandfather, Bertram Hewitt, of stealing it. Again.

Unfortunately, her grandfather was guilty, though he truly believed it was no more than he deserved. Forty years ago, Bertram Hewitt and Seamus Wolff had gone into the estate business together, purchasing entire households of possessions belonging to the recently deceased, then reselling them at a profit. After only two prosperous years, Seamus Wolff had abruptly demanded they close their business and split all the assets in half.

Bertram claimed to this day that Seamus knew about the diamond necklace stashed in one of the old trunks—a trunk Seamus had made certain he received as his part of the business settlement. The man had gone on to become a multimillionaire, using the valuable necklace as collateral to embark on several very successful business ventures. Meanwhile, Bertram had eked out a living in a pawnshop, certain that he’d been cheated by his old friend.

So he’d stolen it with the best of intentions, determined to provide Sarah with her rightful legacy. Not that the police would care. They certainly hadn’t cared eighteen years ago when he’d stolen the necklace the first time, hoping to save his dying wife.

Her grandfather’s bitterness had only grown deeper in prison. He’d vowed to get the necklace back again. And he’d done just that two weeks ago, blending in among a crew of house painters while the Wolff family was in Jamaica over Christmas.

Fortunately, they hadn’t noticed the necklace missing yet, or the police would be at their door once more. That’s why Sarah had to return it now, while there was still a chance to save her grandfather.

“Do you have something in that basket for me?” The deep voice curled around her spine.

Sarah’s heart thumped wildly in her chest as she slowly turned around to see a man-size wolf hovering over her. The shirt and pants of his costume were made of thick, black fur, so plush over his broad chest she had to resist the urge to reach out and stroke it.

“Nothing that would interest you,” she lied. “You might try the buffet table.”

Even if she hadn’t recognized his voice, she’d know those eyes anywhere. Michael Wolff. Ruthless businessman and notorious playboy. Grandson of Seamus Wolff. Natural enemy of the Hewitts.

Did he recognize her? She worked at the bank in the building he owned, but he’d never been one of her customers. Besides, her costume concealed her almost from head to foot. Still, he had mentioned the basket. It hung heavy on her arm and she was suddenly certain he knew the diamond necklace was inside.

Sarah glanced toward the doorway, wondering if she should make a run for it. She was five-six and had run the hurdles in high school, but Michael had a good eight inches on her and a powerful, athletic body. She should know since she’d stared at it often enough when he’d walked through the bank to his private elevator. All the women had stared. Though he’d seemed as oblivious of the drooling female admiration as he had of her.

Until now. Michael stood with his legs wide apart, a long tail hanging between them. The wolf costume hugged his body, looking as if it had been custom-made. It probably had. No, running wasn’t a good idea. He’d probably tackle her before she even made it to the door.

He bared straight, white teeth in a wolfish smile. “These woods are dangerous for such a tasty little morsel like yourself. Did you get lost on your way to grandmother’s house, my dear?”

Sarah blinked, suddenly realizing he hadn’t recognized her after all. He was simply playing the part of the Big, Bad Wolf to her Little Red Riding Hood. She’d better relax and play along, too, if she didn’t want to arouse his suspicion.

“I decided to take the scenic tour,” she replied, meeting his intense gaze, “although the woods are certainly getting crowded these days.”

He looked around the ballroom. “Very true. But at the moment I don’t find any of these people nearly as enticing as you.”

The husky tenor of his voice made her palms grow damp in her gloves. Was the man actually flirting with her? Despite her plan to break into a safe tonight, she’d never been attracted to danger. But something about the heavy shadow of whiskers on his square jaw and the way his gray eyes glittered behind the slits of the black silk mask intrigued her.

“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls who get lost in your woods.”

He took a step closer to her. “The woods can be a dangerous place.”

“I don’t scare easily.”

“But I’m a very hungry wolf.” He took another step toward her. “I could feast my eyes on you all night.”

She heard it again. The husky undertone that told her his interest was more than casual. Sarah hadn’t been on the receiving end of this kind of undivided male attention for a very long time. She found the experience as intoxicating as the champagne bubbling from the fountain in the middle of the ballroom.

But she also knew about Michael’s notorious reputation with women. “Be careful, Mr. Wolff. I might give you heartburn.”

“Impossible,” he countered with a smile that made her stomach drop. “I don’t have a heart.”

She’d heard that, too, but the admission didn’t seem to bother him. And no doubt the man had broken plenty of hearts himself. Was he as ruthless in love as he was in business? His skills as the CEO of Wolff Enterprises had recently been featured in both the Wall Street Journal and Fortune magazine. Both articles had made the rounds among her fellow bank employees shortly after he’d acquired the parent company of Consolidated Bank.

“You, on the other hand,” he said, leaning closer to her, “probably have too big a heart. Don’t you ever just want to let old granny take care of herself so you can have time to play?”

His words hit the mark closer than she wanted to admit. Her family meant everything to her. That’s why she was here, risking her future, instead of out with her friends celebrating New Year’s Eve. She’d already made some resolutions for the upcoming year. Be spontaneous. Take more risks. Date.

That last one was difficult to do while working two jobs. But her reaction to Michael’s simple flirtation tonight was proof that she’d been out of the dating circuit too long.

Her skin actually tingled when his appreciative gaze once again drifted below her neck. She found herself wondering how his whiskers would feel against her cheek. How his broad hand would feel on her body.

It had been much too long. She needed to put some distance between them before she made a complete fool of herself. “Granny is depending on me.” She motioned toward the buffet table. “I’ll just fill up my basket with some goodies, then be on my way.”

Sarah wanted to kick herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Why had she mentioned the basket? She saw his gaze move toward her arm where the wicker basket hung, its valuable contents hidden beneath the lid. All he had to do was open it to see the vintage blue velvet jewelry case inside. What if he recognized it?

Then all hell would break loose.

Michael grabbed two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. He handed one of them to her. “Have a drink with me first. To celebrate the New Year.”

Michael Wolff had already clouded her thinking. The last thing she needed was alcohol. “Thank you,” she replied, setting it back on the tray. “I don’t drink.”

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, a feral glimmer in his gray eyes. Then he lifted the champagne flute to his lips.

She started to contradict him, then realized he was right. She’d been good forever. When you grew up in a household with a sick grandmother and a felonious grandfather, you learned not to make trouble for your parents. So she’d been a straight-A student in school, then paid her own way through college with a series of scholarships, grants and student loans.

When her father’s business had transferred him and her mother to California last year, she’d moved from an apartment back into the family home to take care of her grandfather—a task made all the more difficult when he decided to come out of retirement and start stealing again. Small wonder she had no time for a social life.

Sarah watched Michael’s firm mouth curl around the rim of the crystal flute as he tipped back his head. The muscles in his throat flexed as he swallowed, then he lowered the flute, and his feral gray eyes met hers once more. “We had the champagne flown in from France. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

How she wanted to give into temptation. Even the way he drank champagne was sexy. But she couldn’t afford to lose her head, not over champagne and not over Michael.

“I think I do,” she replied, turning away from him. “Goodbye, Mr. Wolff.”

He grasped her elbow, the gentle pressure of his fingers sending a flush of heat through her body. “Dance with me, Red.”

When she hesitated, he moved closer and whispered, “I see Oscar Henley heading my way and if you don’t dance with me I will have to listen to his excruciatingly long audit story again. He’s such an awful storyteller, I actually root for the IRS each time I hear it.”

She smiled. “He does seem to like the sound of his own voice.”

Michael arched a brow. “So you know Oscar?”

Sarah mentally cringed. Oscar was on the board of directors at Consolidated Bank. So much for trying to remain anonymous. Maybe she could bluff her way out of it. “Doesn’t everyone?”

He laughed. “Yes. Whether they want to or not.” Then he pulled her into his arms. “So you have to rescue me.”

“Little Red Riding Hood rescuing the wolf,” she mused, her common sense telling her this was madness, her curiosity making her unable to walk away. “Now that’s a definite twist to the story.”

The music was slow and seductive. He tried to pull her close, but the picnic basket got in the way. Michael gently slipped it off her arm before she could react and a spasm of panic enveloped her. But he simply set the basket on the edge of the bandstand, then turned back to dance with her.

Was she crazy? She never should have let him take the basket away from her. Never should have accepted his invitation to dance. She’d planned to blend into the gold brocade wallpaper this evening, slipping upstairs when the clock struck midnight to complete her mission.

Now she was in his arms, her cheek pressed against his broad, furry shoulder. She closed her eyes as they swayed to the music, thinking he smelled quite nice for a wolf. Spicy and masculine.

Sarah certainly hadn’t planned to capture the attention of big, bad Michael Wolff. But as the evocative music swelled around her, she slowly began to relax. What could one dance hurt? For the past two years, she’d found herself watching Michael Wolff every time he’d walked into Consolidated Bank. Even fantasized about him a little. Okay, a lot. So why not take advantage of the opportunity to fulfill one of those fantasies?

Best of all, she could do it anonymously. Michael would never know the identity of Little Red Riding Hood because she planned to be long gone before the unveiling at midnight.

He tightened his arms around her and his warm breath circled her ear, sending delicious shivers throughout her body. “This is nice.”

“You sound surprised.”

His deep chuckle reverberated in his chest. “I’ve never been a big fan of masquerade parties. I don’t like playing games, especially when it’s so easy to guess who’s behind the mask.” He pulled away slightly to meet her gaze. “Except for you, Red. I have to admit I’m stumped.”

She intended for him to stay that way. If Michael knew her real identity, she’d be booted out the door. The Wolffs and the Hewitts were sworn enemies, at least according to her grandfather. Maybe that’s the reason Michael Wolff had always held such a fascination for her.

Besides, she and Michael lived in completely different worlds. He was crème brûlée while she was cream of wheat. It made the fact that they were dancing together all the more unbelievable.

“Why not just enjoy the fantasy?” she said at last. “No names. No questions. No promises. Just two strangers dancing in the night.”

Heat flashed in his eyes. “In my fantasy, we do more than dance.”

She never should have come here tonight. “Really?”

He lifted one hand and slowly slid the tip of his finger over the curve of her cheek, then across her lower lip. “Like I said before, it’s dangerous in these woods.”

His sensuous touch made her lips tingle. “I’m not afraid.”

“Liar,” he whispered huskily, then cupped her cheek in his broad hand. “But I’ll keep you safe. Just come back with me to my lair.”

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding even harder now, but not with fear. “My, what a big ego you have.”

He smiled. “That’s not all.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “Thank you for the invitation, but I think it will be much safer here in the woods.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Red.”

Then he kissed her.