“My, what big muscles you have,” Sarah whispered

She knew she was playing a dangerous game, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. No, she didn’t want to stop herself.

“All the better to hold you with,” Michael said, taking her mouth in a hungry kiss, before pulling her body flush with his own. Sensations overwhelmed Sarah. Cool against hot. Soft against hard. The intimate contact made her long for more, made her forget everything but this man. This moment.

As his mouth devoured her, his fingers stalked the buttons of her blouse, the zipper on her skirt. Before she knew it, she was wearing nothing but her lacy red bra and panties, lingerie bought on a whim yesterday to implement her New Year’s resolution to take more risks. No more boring beige underwear.

No more boring beige life.

“And what big hands you have,” she gasped as his touches became more intimate.

She could sense rather than see his predatory smile.

“All the better to ravish you with, my dear.”

Dear Reader,

My New Year’s resolutions are usually fairly tame: lose weight, become more organized, stop procrastinating. Resolutions I usually manage to break before Valentine’s Day, unlike my heroine, Sarah Hewitt, who makes a New Year’s resolution to take more risks—a resolution that ultimately lands her in the bed of Michael Wolff, a sexy stranger who’s determined not to let her go…literally. Now all Sarah has to decide is if she wants to escape!

I had so much fun writing a story for THE WRONG BED, one of Temptation’s most popular miniseries. And I’d love to know what you think about Michael and Sarah’s story. You can reach me online at www.KristinGabriel.com or write to me at P.O. Box 5162, Grand Island, Nebraska 68801-5162.

Enjoy!

Kristin Gabriel

Books by Kristin Gabriel

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

834—DANGEROUSLY IRRESISTIBLE

868—SEDUCED IN SEATTLE

896—SHEERLY IRRESISTIBLE

HARLEQUIN DUETS

7—ANNIE, GET YOUR GROOM

25—THE BACHELOR TRAP

27—BACHELOR BY DESIGN

29—BEAUTY AND THE BACHELOR

61—OPERATION BABE-MAGNET

OPERATION BEAUTY

Propositioned?

Kristin Gabriel

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my readers.

I hope wonderful things await you in the New Year!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

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.

2

SWEET.

That was the first word that came into Michael’s mind when he kissed her, his mouth tasting those lush pink lips that had tempted him from the first moment he’d set eyes on her tonight.

Innocent.

He’d caught her startled gasp in his mouth when his lips had molded to hers. He glimpsed the uncertainty in her beautiful green eyes. The desire, too. It fueled his own, his body on fire now as he pulled her even closer to him.

Perfect.

Maybe it was the imported champagne, or the incredible stress of the past few weeks. Maybe he’d simply gone too long without a woman in his arms, in his bed. Whatever the reason, Michael simply couldn’t remember a kiss so perfect before. So right.

She clung to his shoulders as he deepened the kiss, her hands fisting in the fur of his costume. After a moment, her lips softened, parted. Giving him entry to her mouth. So sweet. So innocent. So perfect.

The woman made him insatiable. He wanted more, so much more. But the sound of glasses clinking and the rumble of voices around them finally sifted through his lust-fogged brain, telling him this wasn’t the time or the place to pursue his fantasy.

Michael lifted his head and tried to breathe normally. The wolf costume, which had been unbearably itchy all night, now was even more so, thanks to the heat generated by that kiss.

His Red Riding Hood blinked up at him, her green eyes wide and her lips now as red as her cape. His gaze quickly scanned the room, aware of a few knowing smiles and furtive whispers. Michael was used to gossips, though he usually tried to avoid giving them firsthand grist for the mill.

What the hell had come over him?

Red wasn’t even his type. He liked his women sultry and sophisticated, tall and tempestuous. She barely reached his shoulder. He wouldn’t have even approached her tonight if he hadn’t seen her standing alone in the middle of the ballroom, looking as lost as he often felt.

Yet, he wanted her. Wanted her so damn much that now he took another step back just to keep from reaching for her again.

She cleared her throat, a pretty pink blush sweeping over her cheeks. “The music is over.”

The music might be over, but not the fantasy. Now he wanted to do more than dance with her, more than kiss her. But not in front of a hundred guests. He wanted Red all to himself.

Someone called out his name and Michael turned around to see Oscar Henley hailing him again. He clenched his jaw, knowing he couldn’t escape this time.

She noticed Oscar, too, and smiled up at Michael. “Duty calls.”

Duty. Michael had lived it every day of his life. As the only heir to the Wolff dynasty, it was his duty to make certain the family business thrived, to direct and expand Wolff Enterprises, to protect the family fortune.

A fortune that could be in jeopardy, thanks to his grandfather’s lovely young wife. Michael should be focused on that tonight instead of losing his head over a mysterious lady in red.

But he found himself reluctant to let go of her so soon. No names. No questions. No promises. Those were her terms and they had intrigued him before that incredible kiss. But now…now he wanted to know her name. Wanted to know everything about her.

And he realized she must be aware of his identity. It was tradition for the host of the Wolff Ball to dress as a wolf. Usually that was his grandfather’s role. But Seamus was in the hospital tonight, recovering from a broken hip.

Thanks to his lovely young wife.

Tension coiled inside of him, but Michael couldn’t think about the Wolff family problems right now. He didn’t want to think about them. Not with Red standing so close, her subtle vanilla scent driving him wild. It reminded him of her kiss. So sweet and innocent. Michael closed his eyes, his duty battling with his desire. He wanted nothing more than to whisk her far away from here, to leave behind all the problems and the decisions and the responsibilities that came with the Wolff name.

Oscar called out to him again and Michael opened his eyes to see the stocky man making his way across the ballroom floor. He swallowed a sigh. “I suppose I have to play the good host for a while.”

She nodded. “Thank you for the dance.”

That sounded too much like goodbye. He grasped both her hands in his own, his thumbs smoothing over the crinkled red silk of her gloves. “Meet me at midnight. Right here. In front of the bandstand.”

He wanted to be there when she removed her mask. He wanted to see her face.

She licked her lips, her hesitation telling him that she was going to refuse. He couldn’t give her that chance.

“No names,” he assured her, wondering at her skittishness. “No questions.”

“No promises,” she whispered.

“Midnight,” he repeated, gently squeezing her hands. Then he turned and walked away.

Midnight couldn’t come soon enough for him.

TEN MINUTES TILL MIDNIGHT.

Sarah was lost. She’d planned this nocturnal excursion into the Wolff mansion down to the last detail, memorizing every room, every staircase, every winding hallway. There was only one thing she hadn’t planned on—Michael Wolff.

Sensing his gaze on her across the ballroom, Sarah had changed her plan at the last minute, choosing a route via the ladies’ room instead of taking the main staircase to the third floor.

From there she found a back staircase that led to the second floor. She knew from the blueprints that here she would find the library, offices and a long gallery full of priceless art. She had to find the staircase leading to the third floor, where the private rooms were located.

Only that staircase was closed for renovation. Sarah stood in the dark hallway, trying not to panic. If only that kiss hadn’t left her so confused and disoriented. So…unsatisfied. She raised her fingers to her lips, still slightly swollen.

Meet me at midnight.

His words echoed in her ears and she leaned against the wall a moment to collect herself. What if she hadn’t been here under false pretenses, but was actually an invited guest? What if they truly were two strangers dancing in the night? What if she met him at midnight…?

Sarah shook those thoughts from her head. She couldn’t afford to indulge in fantasies, no matter how tempting. She needed to save her grandfather. Grasping the picnic basket more tightly, she surveyed her surroundings, then took a left down the hallway.

Her planned route was useless now and the longer it took to find the right floor, much less the right room, the more nervous she became. When she thought she’d finally found it, she ended up standing in a huge linen closet.

“Okay, take a breath,” she muttered to herself, inhaling the starchy scent of neatly folded sheets and pillowcases. Closing her eyes, she pictured the floor plans once more in her mind. If she was in the second floor linen closet, then she needed to take a right at the next hallway, then a left. That should lead her to the servants’ staircase at the back of the mansion.

As she hurried down the hallway, she found herself wondering what Michael would do when she stood him up at the bandstand. Would he be angry? Disappointed? If so, she knew it wouldn’t take him long to find another woman to take her place.

But Sarah didn’t want to think about that, not when she could still taste his champagne kiss on her lips and still remember the gentle way he’d touched her. That’s what surprised her the most—his gentleness. So at odds with his ruthless reputation.

Sarah turned a corner and was relieved to see the servants’ staircase directly in front of her. Quickly mounting the steps, she could only hope she didn’t run into a servant along the way.

Once on the third floor, she took a moment to get her bearings. It was dark, the long hallway lit by a lone sconce at the far end. She was close enough to the light switch to reach out and flip it on, but she didn’t dare risk calling attention to her presence up here.

Especially with Michael Wolff on the prowl.

FIVE MINUTES TILL MIDNIGHT.

Michael stood off by himself in the crowded ballroom and sipped his fifth glass of champagne. He kept checking the time, watching the seconds drag by.

As usual, many of the guests had approached him for a financial donation. Michael’s growing reputation as a philanthropist made him the target for every get-rich scheme out there. Most people believed he gave his money away for tax purposes—a fallacy he didn’t bother to correct. Michael was no saint, he just didn’t need any more money.

So he gave it to foster-care programs and pediatric research hospitals. Made anonymous donations to local shelters and urban-redevelopment programs. Unfortunately, the size of those gifts had been leaked to the media, whose tenacious digging revealed him as the benefactor.

Now everyone in Denver knew Michael liked to give his money away. Both friends and strangers approached him for donations—to either their favorite charity or, more often, their latest business investment.

Tonight, those solicitations for cash also came with questions about the woman he’d kissed on the dance floor—questions he deftly avoided, not only to protect his privacy, but simply because he didn’t know the answers.

To his surprise, Michael discovered that he wasn’t the only one stumped by Little Red Riding Hood’s true identity. Many of the other guests, especially the single women, kept trying to place her. But, so far, none had been successful, which just made her more intriguing in his eyes. More mysterious.

Four minutes till midnight.

Even Blair had asked him about her. His grandfather’s wife usually paid little attention to his social life, probably because she disliked him as much as he disliked her. No, that wasn’t true. Michael didn’t dislike her. He just didn’t trust her. With good reason.

His gaze moved slowly over the ballroom until he spotted Mrs. Seamus Wolff, resplendent in her elaborate Cleopatra costume. A former hand model, she was tall and slender, with long, sleek black hair that fit perfectly with her exotic costume.

He didn’t have any actual proof that she’d arranged that accident on the stairs. Yet. But it wasn’t the first accident to befall his grandfather in the six weeks since he’d changed his will. Seamus had also careened into a ditch with his vintage Packard, thanks to a faulty brake line. Either accident could have been fatal—which would have made Blair Wolff a very rich woman.

Only thirty-four, Blair Ballingham Wolff had been married to his seventy-year-old grandfather for almost three years. She was wife number six. Seamus jokingly described himself as a serial husband, divorcing his wives when they got too old for him.

But the truth was that Seamus’s first five wives had taken the easy escape route after only a few months of matrimony, collecting the one-hundred-thousand dollars promised them in the premarital agreement. An unusual agreement in that they only received the money if the marriage lasted less than one year. If it lasted more than a year, they received nothing. So far, all of them had preferred taking the cash to living with an extremely cranky, albeit very rich, old man.

All of them except Blair. Her loyalty had impressed Seamus so much that he’d actually changed his will recently, leaving her a sizable portion of the Wolff estate, certainly much more than a measly hundred grand. But was Blair truly loyal to Seamus or just greedier—and deadlier—than his other wives? That’s what Michael intended to find out—before it was too late.

Three minutes till midnight.

He drained his glass, aware once again that the Wolff fortune proved both a blessing and a curse. He had more money than he could ever spend. Unlimited opportunities. Yet, just like his grandfather, he could never afford the one thing that every person on the planet sought. Love. Because he’d never know for certain if a woman truly loved him or just his well-padded wallet.

That didn’t mean he’d given up on women entirely. He definitely enjoyed female companionship, especially in his bed. As long as they understood that sex didn’t equal love or commitment. He always made that perfectly clear before embarking on any new relationship, though most women still believed they could trap a Wolff. So far, he’d proven them all wrong.

Two minutes till midnight.

His wolf costume prickled against the bare skin of his back. He resisted the urge to squirm against the wall, desperate for relief from the agonizing itch that had been aggravated by the heat-inducing dance with Red. He’d stared into her mossy green eyes—eyes as lush and mysterious as a virgin forest. And he’d been the one in danger of getting lost there.

He longed for another slow dance with Red. A private slow dance.

Michael let his gaze wander around the ballroom, but he didn’t see her scarlet cape anywhere. What kind of body did that cape hide? What color hair under that hood? What secrets behind her smile?

One minute till midnight.

Michael pushed himself off the wall and headed toward the bandstand, slipping unobtrusively through the raucous crowd of guests. He wanted to see her face during the unveiling. To formally meet the woman who had turned down the invitation to his lair. He’d been half joking at the time, but her refusal had enthralled him. Maybe she truly didn’t recognize him. Or she simply wasn’t impressed by his wealth. Maybe money didn’t matter to her.

Michael wished he could still believe in fairy tales.

At last the clock struck midnight. He turned in a slow circle, his heart beating double time. Colorful balloons and confetti floated down from the ceiling to celebrate the dawn of the New Year. Couples embraced around him. Champagne corks popped. He removed his mask, but he couldn’t see his Red anywhere.

Maybe she’d gotten lost in his woods after all.

MIDNIGHT.

The first deep gong reverberated through the mansion. Sarah froze, her hand on the doorknob of the room containing the safe. Michael would be in front of the bandstand now, watching for her. Waiting. But how long would he wait?

The second gong sounded a heartbeat later and Sarah knew she didn’t have time to waste. She bent down to jimmy the lock, a trick taught to her by her grandfather. On the third gong, she slipped inside the room, quietly closing the door behind her. She locked it, then turned around, her pulse racing.

Her leather boots sunk into the deep, plush carpet as the fourth gong rang out. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood, but the room itself was pitch-black, without even a hint of moonlight.

The thick darkness unnerved her as the sound of the fifth gong echoed through the mansion. She fumbled inside the picnic basket for the miniature flashlight she’d purchased just this afternoon. At last she found it and switched it on.

The sixth gong drowned out her groan when nothing happened. She rapidly flipped the flashlight switch back and forth, hoping for a miracle. But no such luck. Either the new flashlight or the new batteries she’d purchased for it were defective. She wanted to kick herself for not testing it before now.

At the seventh gong, she skimmed one hand blindly along the wall for a light switch, then turned it on for the length of the eighth, ninth and tenth gongs, just long enough for her gaze to sweep along the wall, taking note of the small marble table and the chaise lounge shaped like a chariot underneath the window. In the middle of the room stood a gold tent. Odd. But Sarah didn’t have time to satisfy her curiosity by taking a closer look.

At the eleventh gong, she flipped off the wall switch, fearing someone passing by might see the light filtering under the door and become suspicious. She was probably more paranoid than necessary, but Sarah simply couldn’t stand the thought of discovery.

The twelfth gong rang out as she considered the consequences of what she was about to do. If caught, she’d not only lose her job, but the publicity would be humiliating. She’d lose the respect of her friends. Her co-workers. Michael.

Especially Michael.

It was silly, perhaps, since they’d never even been formally introduced. All they’d shared tonight was a dance and a kiss. A wonderful kiss.

Still, she didn’t want to imagine the expression on his face if he discovered his Little Red Riding Hood had broken into the family safe. Her best bet was to get moving so she’d be gone before the party broke up.

Gripping the picnic basket more tightly, she began to slowly walk along the wall, running the fingers of her free hand along the crevices. According to her grandfather, the safe was located somewhere between the window and the door, with a telltale fissure in the seam of the panel walls to indicate the hidden steel compartment underneath—a fissure that a person could only discern by touch.

Her grandfather had shared every detail of his diamond necklace heist, with a little prodding from Sarah. She’d felt a little guilty about it, especially since he was so darn proud of his success. So thrilled to give her what he truly believed to be her rightful legacy.

But Sarah couldn’t keep the necklace. Her conscience wouldn’t allow it and her grandfather’s growing bitterness over the years simply blinded him to that fact. He was so certain that the necklace could change her future. That it could have changed the past. That it could have saved her grandmother.

Sarah knew she could never convince him otherwise. So she had given up trying. And if her grandfather ever asked her about the diamond necklace, she’d simply tell him she’d put it in safekeeping. That would be the truth. The Wolff safe was the only place secure enough to keep Bertram Hewitt out of prison.

Her wandering thoughts made her forget about the small marble table in her path. She bumped her knee against it, causing the lamp on top of it to teeter precariously. She caught it just in time to prevent it from crashing to the floor.

She could just picture shattered glass on the carpet, a sure indication that someone had been in here. Sarah would prefer the Wolffs never suspected an intruder had entered this room. She didn’t want anything possibly leading the police to either her or her grandfather. Bertram had assured her that he hadn’t left any fingerprints behind a week ago, but with the sophistication of DNA testing, she couldn’t be certain he hadn’t left some identifying physical evidence in this room.

Carefully setting the lamp upright again, Sarah heaved an impatient sigh. The room was too big and she simply didn’t want to take the chance of bumping into something else. Despite the risks, she had to turn on the lamp to get her bearings.

Running her fingers along the lead crystal base, she found the switch and turned it on. Soft light spilled across the room and she saw now what she hadn’t the time to see before. It was a bedroom. The tent was actually a round canopy bed with heavy gold drapes concealing everything but the ornate sandalwood headboard.

The room resembled a desert oasis, with the thick carpet the color of sand and a trickling limestone fountain in one corner. Potted palm trees lined the far wall and the ceiling was painted a serene sky blue. The walls themselves were made of bleached pine paneling, with hieroglyphics painted on various portions. It truly was the oddest bedroom she’d ever seen.

Turning back to the wall once more, she moved her hand swiftly along the paneling until her fingers finally detected a grainy pattern in the crevice of the wood different from the rest.

Sarah pressed hard on the crease and the secret wall panel popped open, revealing the safe underneath. She set the picnic basket on the floor, then took a deep breath, preparing to disconnect the alarm wire. This was the trickiest part of the whole process. If she tripped the alarm…

“Don’t go there,” Sarah chastised herself. Just as in any other profession, to be successful, a safecracker had to think positively.

A moment later, she breathed a sigh of relief. The alarm wire was disconnected. All she had to do now was open the safe, place the diamond necklace back inside, then leave by the back entrance of the mansion. No doubt the party would still be in full swing, so no one would be the wiser.

Was Michael still waiting for her? Or had he already moved onto someone else?

Sarah turned the dial, grateful her grandfather had revealed the combination when he’d bragged about his heist. He’d taught her how to crack a safe, a skill he’d learned from some of his more unsavory customers at the pawnshop. But that would take time that she simply didn’t have.

“Fifty-four,” she murmured under her breath, her voice sounding odd to her ears.

She reversed the direction of the dial. “Thirteen.”

So far, so good. But at the sound of heavy footsteps out in the hallway, she hesitated, her entire body tensing. They stopped right outside the door.

She silently closed the secret wall panel, her heart beating so fast she thought she might pass out. But the sound of someone jiggling the brass doorknob shocked her enough to remain conscious. She looked desperately around the room, wondering where she could possibly hide. The sound of keys jingling told her she didn’t have much time to decide.

Someone was coming in.

3

MICHAEL JAMMED the key into the lock, the incessant itching almost driving him to the point of madness. He slammed the door open, then tore off the top half of the costume before he even turned on the light. Buttons popped and hit the wall, but he didn’t care. He flung the furry shirt halfway across his bedroom.

Frustration roiled inside of him. He’d looked everywhere for her—combed every inch of the ballroom, then broadened his search to include the entire first floor. He’d even interrogated the doorman. But it was no use.

She was gone.

It was these stupid costumes. Never again. He didn’t care if it was tradition for the host of the Wolff Ball to dress as a wolf. If Seamus didn’t want the role next New Year’s Eve, they could damn well forego the costumes and dress in tuxedos like normal people. He’d always thought the masquerade part of the ball was ridiculous anyway.

He never should have let her go. Now he had no way of identifying his Little Red Riding Hood. His only option was to go over the guest list tomorrow and try to establish her identity by process of elimination.

But that wouldn’t change the fact that she’d stood him up for their midnight rendezvous. Michael wasn’t used to chasing women. They usually came to him.

Until tonight.

Maybe she wasn’t even on the guest list. Had she come with someone? Another man? That possibility hadn’t occurred to him until now. It didn’t quite fit, though, since no man had objected when Michael had kissed her on the dance floor. If he’d seen his woman mauled by a wolf, he sure as hell would have made his presence known.

He reached out to turn on the light, then realized he could already see. The lamp was on. Odd, since he never used it. One of the maids must have left it on.

Michael sat down on the chaise lounge and stripped off his boots, socks and furry pants, tossing them all into a heap on the floor. Relief at last. Tomorrow the entire costume would go straight into the trash.

He stood up and walked over to the dresser, reaching for the centuries-old bronze spear hanging on the wall above it. Blair had purchased the spear in her latest redecorating binge. She was into Egyptian decor this month and his bedroom had suffered the consequences.

In his opinion, she’d gone overboard with the depraved sheik look. Another not-so-subtle message that she didn’t approve of him. Or perhaps an attempt to finally drive him out of the house. Blair had mentioned more than once that a twenty-nine-year-old man should not be living with his grandfather.

Neither should a thirty-four-year-old woman, but he mostly kept that opinion to himself. He also ignored Blair’s hints that he move into the city. Someone had to stay and watch over his grandfather.

Seamus Wolff had raised Michael since he was almost thirteen years old, helping him to care about life again after his father’s private jet crashed during an impulsive weekend ski trip to Vail. Seamus was the only family Michael had left in the world—the only family that counted, anyway. And he damn well intended to do whatever it took to protect the old man.

Michael raked the end of the bronze spear across his back, moaning aloud with pleasure as he satisfied the itch that had plagued him all evening. The spear had brought close to two thousand dollars at a Sotheby’s auction—one hell of an expensive back scratcher.

Music floated up from the ballroom two floors below and he knew he should return to the party until the last guest walked out the door. But he just couldn’t stand the thought of putting that suffocating wolf costume back on. Or making small talk. Or parrying the flirtations of the inebriated women downstairs.

There was only one woman he wanted.

Smoothing one hand over his bare chest, he wished like hell he’d never stopped kissing her. But Michael didn’t believe in regrets. Time to forget about her and move on. He’d done it before.

He laid the spear on top of his dresser, then padded over to the window to open the drapes. Moonlight cast an ethereal glow over the room. He turned to switch off the lamp and, for the first time, he caught a vanilla scent in the air that reminded him of Little Red Riding Hood. Her perfume must have clung to his costume.

Picking up the furry shirt, he held it to his nose and inhaled deeply. But all it did was make him sneeze. “Give it up, Wolff,” he muttered, dropping the shirt on the floor once more.

He padded barefoot to the ridiculous harem tent bed, already dreading the long day that lay ahead tomorrow. His grandfather would be coming home from the hospital, and that would make him vulnerable to another “accident.” Michael would have to be more vigilant than ever.

As he pulled back the heavy gold canopy drape, the alluring vanilla scent assailed him again, only much stronger now. He blinked when he saw the reason for it sitting on his bed.

Red had ventured into his lair after all.

THIS WAS NOT GOOD.

Sarah should have realized her mission to return the diamond necklace was doomed when that stupid flashlight didn’t work.

No, even before that, when she’d found the back stairway under construction. She should have turned around at that moment and walked right out the door. Now she had to find some way to extricate herself from this sensitive situation before Michael got the wrong idea.

Judging by his expression, it was already too late. “My, what big eyes you have,” he said, standing beside the bed in nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts. The sight of his powerful body sent her already frazzled nerves into complete disarray.

Sarah could hardly think straight, much less speak. At last she recovered enough to form a sentence. “I think that’s my line.”

His brawny shoulders and rippling muscles belied the fact that this man worked behind a desk. The dark, silky hair matting his chest tantalized her, but her hands fisted into the sheets as he loomed closer. She knew he’d be as dangerous to touch as a real wolf.

It was a danger that strangely appealed to her.

Sarah sucked in a deep breath. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“But I’m so glad you are.” He reached out one broad hand and lightly traced the length of the red glove encasing her left arm.

His touch was hypnotic. Her gaze followed his hand as it trailed up her forearm, then down again. She should make some kind of excuse, jump out of this bed and run right out the door.

Only the diamond necklace was still in her picnic basket, and that basket sat directly beneath the safe. If she left it behind, could Michael find a way to trace it to her? She needed time to think. A new plan.

But thought became impossible when Michael leaned even closer, the canopy drape falling closed behind him so that they were now enclosed in silky darkness. Only the barest hint of light glowed behind the golden drapes.

Michael’s face was hidden in the shadows, which just made everything seem more unreal. More dreamlike.

Until he kissed her. The taste of him was very real. Dizzying. Delicious. His warm, firm mouth skimmed her lips in a way that actually made her lean into him for more.

A low growl rumbled in his throat as he deepened the kiss and she had to grab his broad shoulders to keep from falling back on the bed. Her fingers encountered warm skin and hard muscle that flexed beneath her touch.

Michael moved beside her on the bed, never breaking the kiss, as his fingers slid down the length of her throat to the bow tied at the collar of her cloak. He worked it with his fingers until it loosened, the fabric gaping to reveal the red silk blouse she wore underneath.

He broke the kiss and used both hands to reverently lower the hood, revealing her hair tied back in a ponytail. He released it, so that her wayward dark curls hung about her face. Winding one loosely around his index finger, he brushed it against the rough whiskers on his jaw.

“Soft.” His voice was husky, his eyes intense.

Desire pooled low in her belly as Michael slid her cloak off her shoulders, his hungry gaze roaming over her body.

Sarah reached out one hand, but instead of pushing him away, she placed her palm flat against his chest. The silky hair there trickled between her fingers. Her touch made his chest muscles contract and she could feel the fast gallop of his heart beneath her hand.

Almost as fast as her own. “My, what big muscles you have,” she whispered, knowing instinctively how risky it was to tease a wolf. But Sarah couldn’t seem to stop herself. She didn’t want to stop.

“All the better to hold you with, my dear.” Then Michael kissed her again, even more hungrily this time. He enveloped her shoulders with his grip, the warmth of his big hands seeping through the thin silk of her blouse.

He pulled her closer, until her body was flush against his own. Silk against skin. Soft against hard. The intimate contact made her long for more. Made her forget everything but this man. This moment.

As his mouth devoured her, his fingers stalked the buttons of her blouse. The zipper on her skirt. Until she wore nothing but her lacy red bra and panties, lingerie bought on a whim yesterday to implement her New Year’s resolution to take more risks. No more boring beige underwear.

No more boring beige life.

“My, what big hands you have,” she gasped as his touches became more intimate.

She could sense rather than see his predatory smile.

“All the better to ravish you with, my dear.”

Then he did just that, but with a fierce tenderness that both touched and aroused her. Michael’s big hands peeled away her bra with such sensual skill that Sarah thought she must be dreaming.

Then those incredible hands moved lower.

A midnight madness now consumed her and she simply couldn’t think at all anymore. Only feel. The hard length of his body pressed against her. The skilled pressure of his hands. The urgent heat of his kisses.

Soon they were both naked. Both voracious. Both hunting for the pleasure they knew they’d only find in each other.

Michael tasted every inch of her. His tongue stroking her breasts. Her belly. The inside of her thighs. His ravenous exploration of her body driving her wild. A wildness he seemed to share when she did the same to him.

“Oh, Red,” he moaned, his breath coming in short pants as her hair swept over his belly. Strangled groans of desire emanated from deep in his chest.

At last, Michael pulled her up to kiss him. Frantically. Reverently. Her naked body now lay atop his own and she wasn’t surprised to find they fit perfectly together.

Then he rolled her under him, reaching into a drawer and retrieving a condom in the same movement. He tore it open with his teeth, then inhaled a choked breath as she slowly rolled it on him.

When he reached up to remove her mask, she shook her head, determined to remain anonymous, to perpetuate the fantasy. They were two strangers in the night. No names. No questions. No promises.

Only Michael did make promises. With his hands. His mouth. His body. At last he sank into her, moving with deliberate slowness to draw out the exquisiteness of the moment. She’d never made love like this before. Never with so much savage hunger. So much need. So much passion. Animal passion that now consumed her, bringing out her most primal instincts. Her hands raked across his back as he brought her to the brink of ecstasy.

“Michael,” she cried, wanting more of him. All of him.

“Red,” he breathed, sweeping his lips across her mouth and shifting his body in a way that heightened the incredible sensations twisting through her.

It was enough to send her over the edge.

She took him with her, his body tensing in her arms, then shuddering with one final thrust. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breathing as harsh and uneven as her own. When at last he collected himself, he turned onto his side, pulling her with him.

“I won’t let you go,” he whispered, even as his eyelids drooped. His arm tightened around her, pulling her even closer.

Sarah relaxed against him, all her nerve endings still thrumming. The warmth of his large body enveloped her like a cocoon. She closed her eyes for a moment, still caught up in the fantasy, one she knew had to end very soon. But not yet.

Not quite yet.

SARAH AWOKE SLOWLY the next morning, the rays of the morning sun streaming through the open drapes. She winced at the brightness, yawned lazily, then suddenly she realized that she was naked beneath the silk sheets.

Naked in Michael Wolff’s arms.

Panic hit her like a jolt of caffeine. She’d fallen asleep last night. She hadn’t returned the necklace to the safe. She was in big trouble.

Her body tensed as she listened to the sound of Michael’s deep, even breathing. At least he was still asleep. She might still have a chance to make her escape before he awoke.

Carefully extricating herself from his arms, she slipped soundlessly out of the big round bed. How could she have fallen asleep last night? She remembered lying in his embrace, waiting for him to drift off. The warmth of his naked body pressed against her. The sated afterglow of her own. The dreamy visions of more nights together.

A dream that could never come true.

Instead, she’d created her own nightmare. She’d proved beyond all doubt that she wasn’t cut out for a life of crime—as if sleeping with her family’s archenemy hadn’t already done that.

But Sarah couldn’t let herself think about that now. She had to get dressed, get the necklace back in the safe, then get the hell out of there.

She frantically searched for the clothes he’d stripped off of her the night before. All she could find were her panties, bra, boots and the cloak. Her gloves, blouse and skirt had to still be in the bed with him.

Not willing to take the risk of waking him, she hastily pulled on her bra and panties, then tied the wrinkled red cloak around her neck. She placed her boots in the picnic basket, deciding not to put them on until she was out of the house. Her exit needed to be as silent as possible.

Her basket still sat directly beneath the safe. Thankfully, Michael hadn’t noticed it there last night or he might have gotten suspicious. He might have questioned her in his bed instead of making love to her there.

Memories of the night before washed over her, warming her cheeks. In the light of day, making love to Michael Wolff seemed like a huge mistake. But she’d worry about that later. After she was out of his house.

Padding silently to the safe, she slowly opened the panel. The slight squeal made her wince. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she didn’t see any movement from the bed, though the canopy drapes obscured her vision of Michael. She hoped he was a deep sleeper.

Fifty-four. Telling herself not to rush it, Sarah turned the dial on the safe, her fingers sensing the slight give in the tension of the dial when she reached the first number of the combination.

Thirteen. She reversed the direction of the dial, hearing her own rapid heartbeat in her ears.

Sixty-one. She heard the satisfying click as she reached the last number. Almost there.

Sarah slowly swung open the heavy steel door of the safe, thankful it didn’t squeak. Then she bent down and reached inside her basket for the worn velvet jewelry case, a case she hoped to never lay eyes on again.

Sarah carefully set the velvet case deep inside the safe, releasing a deep breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Then Michael’s cold, harsh voice turned her blood to ice. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

4

MICHAEL COULDN’T BELIEVE his eyes. He blinked, certain he must be dreaming—or in the midst of some horrific nightmare. Red was standing there with her hand inside his safe.

He catapulted out of the bed, flinging the heavy canopy drapes back behind him. He watched her beautiful green eyes drop down his body and realized too late that he was still naked.

But he was too furious to care.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said, barely able to keep his voice below a roar.

She still wore the red mask, along with the red cloak, though the hood was down. Her silky dark hair spilled wildly over her shoulders.

He remembered the sensation of that hair on his skin last night when she’d explored his body with her mouth. Sweet torture.

Michael hastily turned around and grabbed his bulky terry cloth robe off the hook near the bed, pulling it on before she could see the effect the sensual memory had on him.

When he faced her again, her green eyes met his through the mask and he saw her swallow.

“I…I…”

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