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Why in hell was he hesitating? Desire was something he was familiar with. He could handle it. Or he could walk away. Couldn’t he?

He took another swallow of his beer.

“You all right?”

Chance tore his gaze away from Natalie to face the two men seated beside him. Tracker McBride had asked the question. But it was Lucas Wainwright who was studying him thoughtfully. Seven years ago, Tracker and Lucas had worked with him in a Special Forces unit, and in the past two weeks, they’d had the opportunity to work together again to crack a smuggling ring operating in D.C. Tonight, they were supposed to be celebrating the successful closure of the case, and this was the second time he’d lost track of the conversation, thanks to Detective Natalie Gibbs.

“I think he has his eye on the fair detective,” Lucas said.

Tracker’s look turned speculative. “Really?”

Knowing that the best defense was a good offense, Chance said to Tracker, “Have you and Sophie set a date yet?”

Tracker’s gaze went to the tall blonde sitting to Natalie’s right.

Lucas grinned. “I hear from Mac that Sophie is talking about a fall wedding.”

Chance mentally shook his head at the satisfied expression on Tracker’s face and shifted his gaze to the third woman who sat at the other end of the table, Dr. MacKenzie Lloyd Wainwright. Mac and Lucas had been married for a year, and they were expecting a child.

He’d never envisioned either of his friends marrying and settling down.

“Now that Lucas and I are pretty much spoken for, it’s your turn,” Tracker said.

Chance held both hands out, palms up. “Not a chance in hell.” Then he laughed as his friends winced at the pun. He just wasn’t the marrying kind.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like women. He did. And you could italicize the plural. Not that he had ever involved himself with more than one woman at a time. Going down that particular path had always seemed to him to be way too complicated if not downright suicidal. He’d always made sure that his relationships were simple, uncomplicated and a lot of fun while they lasted.
Permanent
wasn’t a word that existed in his vocabulary. Hell, nothing was permanent—not in this life.

“I don’t know,” Tracker said. “Sophie says that there’s a real spark between you and the detective.”

The sudden ringing of a phone had all three men reaching for their cells. Whoever was getting the call, Chance figured he was saved by the bell. Lucas opened his and a second later said, “I’m going to have to take this in a quieter spot.” Rising, he signaled Tracker to come with him. The two friends worked together now. Lucas ran his family’s company, Wainwright Enterprises, and Tracker headed up security for him.

Chance sipped his beer and found his gaze returning to Natalie. When she glanced up and met his eyes, there was a moment, a long moment, when everything else faded. A heated discussion at a nearby table, laughter from the bar, even the low sound of a saxophone became just a buzz in his ears. The faces of the other two women at the table blurred, and all he could see was Natalie.

Twin sensations assaulted him—a hard punch to his gut and a strange flutter just beneath his heart. No, this wasn’t the reaction he had to just any woman. Why did this particular woman have this kind of effect on him? A part of him wanted to find out; another part of him wanted to run.

The realization had a spurt of panic moving through him. No woman had ever made him want to run before.

“Hey.” Tracker’s amused tone only penetrated when he felt the nudge to his shoulder.

Turning, Chance discovered that Lucas had moved to help Mac from her chair. “Our party’s breaking up,” Tracker said. “Mac’s tired so they’re driving home now. Sophie and I are going to walk back to her place. Do you need Lucas to give you a lift back to your hotel?”

“No,” he said as he rose from his chair. It had been years since he’d allowed himself to run away from anything. That part of his life was over. He was flying to London in the morning, but there was one thing he was going to do before he left. Chance moved with Tracker down to the other end of the table.

“Sorry to be such a party pooper,” Mac said, stifling a huge yawn.

“I’m the one who yawned first,” Sophie said. “The last few days have been hectic.” Then she smiled at Natalie. “But you should stay. Chance is an excellent dancer, and the music is good.”

“No, I—” Natalie began as she rose from her chair.

“Sophie’s right on one point,” Chance said. “The music is very good.”

“Please. Don’t let me break up your evening,” Mac said, taking Natalie’s hand and squeezing it. “Stay and have at least one dance. If I weren’t asleep on my feet, I’d drag Lucas out. There’s nothing more romantic than dancing under the stars.”

“What’s one dance?” Sophie said softly as she kissed Natalie’s cheek.

Chance waited until the two couples had taken their leave. “We don’t have to dance if you’re afraid of that Latin beat.”

Natalie’s eyes narrowed as she met his. “I can dance to that if you can.”

It was just the reaction Chance had hoped for. The one thing he’d learned from working with the beautiful detective was that she was never afraid to take a risk. That was his key, he realized as he took her hand and led her toward the patio. If he framed his proposition in the right way, they’d be taking a different kind of risk together before the night was over.

NATALIE KNEW she was making a mistake the moment that Chance took her hand. It wasn’t that he hadn’t touched her before. He was a very physical man. In the brief time they’d worked together, he’d taken her arm, or placed a hand at her back. But he’d never before held her hand. His was hard, his fingers callused, and just the pressure of his palm against hers had little ribbons of heat uncurling up her arm.

The intensity of the sensations had her wondering what it would feel like when he really touched her. And she’d been thinking of that since they’d first met in that art gallery. He’d been a possible suspect in an art theft ring, and it had been her job to keep an eye on him.

Natalie sent him a sideways glance as he made a path for them through the crowd.

Keeping an eye on Chance Mitchell was nice work if you could get it.

He was a man any woman would look twice at. He had a long, rangy body that wore jeans and Armani suits with the same careless ease. Hair that looked brown one minute and blond the next. Eyes that were trapped somewhere between a smoky gray and blue. And a face that wasn’t quite handsome until he smiled in a certain way.

But for the three days they’d worked side by side, it was his hands that she’d become obsessed with—hands that held a priceless sculpture or a gun with equal skill. More than once, she’d struggled with fantasies of how those long, clever fingers might pleasure a woman.

And she knew enough about men to know that he was fantasizing just as much as she. The fact that she and Chance had been assigned to protect Sophie Wainwright from a ruthless killer had helped both of them keep their focus. But now…Sophie was safe. The case was over. There was nothing to divert her attention from this man. And she wanted him with an intensity that she’d never felt for anyone else.

Why?

Natalie found part of her answer the moment Chance drew her into his arms. Heat streamed through her and every nerve in her body began to throb. No one had ever made her feel this way, and she knew that this was only a promise of what he could make her feel if she would just let him.

Why was she so hesitant to do that?

“We fit perfectly,” he murmured.

Hadn’t she known they would? She was tall, but he was taller. His chin brushed her hair, and as he guided her across the small dance floor, his thigh pressed briefly against hers.

The shock to her system had her stumbling even more closely against him.

“Relax.” His voice was just a breath in her ear as he ran those clever fingers up and then down her spine.

“Just listen to the music and let yourself go.”

Let yourself go.
Natalie bit back a sigh as she struggled against doing just that. She’d always prided herself on her control where men were concerned. Two years of working on a D.C.

police special task force had given her plenty of experience handling males, both on the job and in the bedroom as well. In the two serious relationships she’d had, her lovers had both been intimidated by the fact that she was a cop, and she’d learned from experience not to invest too much of herself in a relationship.

Instinct told her that Chance was different. He’d have the ability to break her control, and the idea of that tempted her almost as much as it made her wary.

When Chance drew back a little, Natalie barely kept herself from protesting.

“Much better,” he said. “Relaxation is the key.”

Of course, it was easy to relax when her bones were melting. But Natalie kept that to herself. Instead, she made herself focus. “You really do know how to dance. Where did you learn?”

“Here and there. I’ve found it a very useful tool.”

She raised her brows. “Tool?”

Chance smiled at her. “Absolutely. Dancing is the easiest method I know for getting a woman into my arms, and second only to my cooking for getting a woman into my bed.”

Bed.
She should have had a quick comeback for that. Or at least she could have snorted.

But the image, as well as the way he’d leaned close to her ear to say it, had a fresh wave of desire streaming through her.

The rhythm of the dance changed abruptly, and Chance slid his hands to her hips, pulling her close for one brief contact. Heat flashed through her as she felt the long hard length of him. The lower part of her body burned and melted. “Oh, yes,” one part of her mind said—even as another part said, “Get away while you can!”

But the negative voice in her mind was losing strength, and Natalie suddenly realized that she wasn’t going to play it safe. Hadn’t some part of her made that decision when she’d chosen her clothes tonight?

The admission sent a hot erotic thrill moving through her. A sliver of panic followed. It wasn’t like her to be thinking this way. Just as it wasn’t like her to dress with the intention of tempting a man. As the oldest child—by a few minutes anyway—she’d always been the responsible one, and she’d always had to control that wild, reckless streak inside of her that she’d inherited from her father.

“I want you, Natalie.” The words were nothing more than a breath in her ear, but her knees turned to water. She was suddenly aware that he’d steered her off the dance floor and into a darkened corner of the patio. Potted trees surrounded them; a brick wall pressed against her back. And he stood before her, the heat of his body so close…

“I want to take you to bed, I want to touch you—all over.”

She couldn’t prevent the quick thrill the words brought her any more than she could prevent her heart from beginning to hammer.

“I—”

“No.” He pressed a finger against her lips. “Let me finish. I have a proposition for you. I’m flying to London tomorrow morning. If I’m lucky, the assignment will take three months.

If not, I’ll be gone even longer. So there’s just tonight.” He drew his finger down that line of her throat to the vee of her blouse and then down the tiny pearl buttons one by one. She was sure that her heart skipped a beat at each one.

“Spend just one night with me,” he said.

SHE HAD TO SAY YES, Chance told himself. He’d chosen his words very carefully. He always did where women were concerned. One night with no strings was just the kind of proposition that the cool, logical Natalie Gibbs he’d come to know would find irresistible.

He figured she was cautious when it came to men because she didn’t want complications.

But as he stared into those cool, green eyes, he couldn’t get a hint of what she was thinking. She had to have felt at least part of what he’d experienced when they’d been dancing—the incredible promise of what they could share. And she had to be experiencing at least some of the desperation that he was feeling right now.

When he saw her lips part to speak, he raised his fingers to rest them there. “Don’t say no.

I—” Chance broke off the moment that he realized what had nearly slipped out of his mouth. He’d almost said, “I need you.” And that wasn’t true. Being a little obsessed was one thing, but need?

Taking a quick breath, he spoke around the bubble of panic that had risen into his throat.

“Just think about it. When was the last time you had sex for the sheer fun of it—no strings, no complications? No worrying about the morning-after etiquette? C’mon. What do you say?”

For a moment his question hung in the air between them. One night with Natalie Gibbs—

that was what he wanted. And he wanted it very badly. That was all. Need had nothing to do with it. Chance Mitchell hadn’t needed anyone for a very long time.

Natalie took his fingers and removed them from her mouth. “That’s your proposition? No-strings, no-complications, no-etiquette sex?”

“Exactly.” Chance made himself stop with one word. Because he was very much afraid that he was going to babble. Worse still, he just might beg.

Her grin was quick and wicked. He’d never seen that look on her face before, and his heart did a little stutter.

“Proposition accepted,” she said.

Chance’s heart stopped altogether.

NATALIE LED the way down a narrow flagstone path to the back of a Federal-style house just three blocks away from the Blue Pepper. Lantern lights hung on either side of the door to her apartment.

She’d never before brought a man here—to her own space. But when Chance had suggested her place because it had to be closer than his hotel on Sixteenth Street, Natalie hadn’t argued. If she was going to give herself over to one night of reckless, no-strings, no-etiquette sex, she might as well do it in familiar surroundings.