by Cara Summers
Natalie smiled. “A bit.”
“Carlo is European and old-fashioned. He still honors an old tradition that men and women separate for a time after dinner. That is not the case in America, am I correct?”
“Yes, that is not the case in America.”
Lady Latham smiled at her. “Well, maybe you were right to fight for your independence. But don’t tell Sir Arthur I said that.”
Natalie pantomimed locking her lips and then throwing away the key. She was beginning to like Lady Latham very much.
“You ought to go out there and lure your Steven away. A man with someone like you doesn’t need imported cigars or the poker game that Carlo will entice them into next.”
Natalie studied the woman for a minute. Though she was well into her sixties, she could see that Lady Latham must have been quite a beauty in her day. The smile she saw in the pale gray eyes looked sincere. “I promised Steven to be on my best behavior tonight. He wants to conclude his business with Carlo as quickly as possible.”
Lady Latham’s brows shot up. “There won’t be any business done until tomorrow or the next day. Hassam Aldiri’s plane was delayed, and he won’t arrive until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. Carlo will wait for him. Hassam has a lot of money. Even if he decides that he doesn’t want the diamond, I doubt that Carlo will want to offend him.”
“Well…in that case.” Flashing Lady Latham a conspiratorial smile, she moved toward the doors she’d seen the men exit through earlier. The night air was warm in spite of the breeze from the ocean, but one quick glance told her that the patio was empty. Hurrying toward the balustrade that separated it from the sprawl of gardens below, she caught sight of the men seated at tables in a small candlelit gazebo.
“I understand Steven has a weakness for poker.”
Natalie pressed a hand to her heart as she turned to face Carlo. She hadn’t heard him approach. “Yes, he can never resist a game. How did you know?”
“I make it a point to get to know the people I do business with.”
Though she couldn’t see his eyes as clearly as she had earlier, Natalie felt the intensity of his gaze. “I was hoping to lure him away for a walk on the beach.”
Carlo held out his arm. “Perhaps you’ll allow me to stand in for him?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Natalie said with a shy smile. “I had more than walking in mind.”
“Ah.” Lifting a hand, he drew a finger down her cheek. “I would be delighted to be his substitute for that also.”
“Oh no. I could never…” She and Chance had discussed the possibility that Carlo would make a move on her, but she hadn’t expected it to be so soon.
For a moment he said nothing. Natalie waited. She was pretty sure that Carlo Brancotti was not a man who accepted rejection easily. This might blow her chance of ever getting that private tour. Finally, she saw the quick flash of his smile. “I admire loyalty. It’s a precious commodity.”
Natalie eased away a step so that he was forced to withdraw his hand. The last thing she wanted to do was alienate Carlo Brancotti, but she had no choice except to react to the situation the way she believed that Catherine Weston would react. “I don’t want to interrupt Steven’s game, so I think I’ll retire to my room,” she said.
“I apologize if I offended you. I want you to feel perfectly comfortable and enjoy your stay here.” He smiled again and held out his hand. “Could we, as you Americans say, wipe the slate clean and begin again?”
“Sure.” She put her hand in his and felt the warm press of his palm before he released hers.
When she turned to go back into the conservatory, he placed a hand on her arm. “Please. I will feel that I have failed as a host if you retire so early. How about if I offer you a tour of the gardens or the house—or both?”
Natalie hesitated, then smiled. “I’d love to see both. Steven has a couple of great homes—a ranch and a house he just built outside of L.A.—but I’ve never seen anything like this place. How old is it?”
“It’s relatively new.” He didn’t touch her but merely held his hand out to indicate the direction. “I bought the house from a Saudi Prince two years ago, but the gardens are new. Flowers are my passion.”
“I admire anyone who can grow things,” she said enthusiastically as he guided her down a circular stair. “Not that I have a green thumb. I don’t. But I love flowers.”
“It’s a passion that we share then,” Carlo said as he urged her toward a door beneath the stairs. “Shall we start with the house and save the best until last?”
10
CHANCE HELD three royal ladies in his hand, but the woman who held his attention wasn’t in the cards he’d been dealt. She was standing on the patio talking to Carlo Brancotti. And she could handle herself. Wasn’t that the reason he’d been so determined to get Natalie Gibbs for this job?
“Are you in, Mr. Bradford?”
Silently cursing himself, Chance glanced back down at his cards.
Natalie was focused on the job. He was the one who was allowing himself to be distracted. The truth was that whenever he made love to her he became so drawn into the moment that he almost forgot that he was here to do a job. When he glanced back up at the patio, it was empty.
Chance ruthlessly suppressed the mix of panic and anger that tangled in his stomach. Natalie had made her plan clear. She was going to persuade Carlo to give her a tour. Obviously, the plan was working.
But Venetia had been following a plan, too.
“Are you in or out?” Armand Genovese’s voice was thin with impatience.
“Give me a minute.” Chance tore his gaze away from the patio and found four pairs of eyes staring at him. What he read in them ran the gamut from annoyance and mild curiosity to speculation and amusement. It was the speculation that bothered him the most because it came from Sir Arthur Latham, the man he suspected would report his every move to Carlo.
Get a grip, he warned himself. He could hardly throw down his cards and go running after Natalie. One of Steven Bradford’s weaknesses was poker. He had a group of friends, ones who went back to the founding of his company, that he regularly played with. Chance had to believe that Brancotti’s dossier on Bradford would have included that little known piece of information. So he could only conclude that the poker game had been arranged to keep “Steven” occupied and separated from “Calli” for the evening.
“Mr. Bradford?” The question came from the Turkish man who was also clearly annoyed.
“I think that Mr. Bradford may be thinking of other ways that he could be spending the evening,” Sir Arthur said. “And I can’t say that I blame him.”
Chance pushed a pile of chips into the center. “I’m in.”
For the rest of the hand, he kept his attention focused on the game. Natalie was doing her job. If he wanted to keep her safe, all he had to do was concentrate on doing his.
“YOU DID SAVE the best for last,” Natalie said as Carlo led the way down a winding path bordered on either side by jewel-colored flowers.
“You delight me. Most women are more impressed with the main salon or the gallery,” Carlo said.
“They were lovely, too. But the paintings in the gallery made it seem more like a…museum.” She sent him an apologetic smile. “I’m not much on museums.”
As they continued down the path, Natalie reviewed the tour Carlo had just given her in her mind. He’d taken her through all of the rooms on the first floor—except for one that had a coded access pad. His workspace, he’d said as he’d guided her past it. Then for the length of a long hallway, he hadn’t spoken. Natalie suspected that he was waiting for her to ask to see it. She hadn’t. Instead, she’d stopped to “ooh” and “aah” over a marble-topped table with a mosaic inlay.
Gut instinct told her she was still being tested. Did he suspect that she wasn’t the real Calli or was he always this careful?
The main salon took up the entire first floor in the wing opposite the conservatory. Marble fl
oors gleamed, mirrored walls caught the reflections of carved pillars and crystal chandeliers. French doors opened onto patios with a view of the ocean. Natalie had spotted at least two surveillance cameras.
“The masquerade ball will be held in here tomorrow night,” Carlo had said. “Who will you come as?”
Natalie had realized that she didn’t know so she’d shot him a flustered look. “I can’t tell you that. Steven says the whole point of a masquerade is that no one knows who you are. For one night you get to be someone else entirely with no consequences.”
“How will I find you?” Carlo had asked. “All I would ask for is a dance.”
Hoping for the best, Natalie had allowed herself to remain a bit flustered. “I really can’t tell you. Steven hasn’t even told me what costumes he brought.”
Carlo had laughed. “You’re charming. Steven is a very lucky man. But I will still try to figure out who you are.”
Which wouldn’t be much of a challenge, Natalie had thought. She’d spotted two cameras in the hallways, and Carlo would see them leaving the Venetian room in whatever they were wearing.
“I do love playing games. I believe your Steven does too,” Carlo had said as he’d taken her arm and drawn her back to the main hall. “Come, I want to show you something.”
The something had been a small room down the hallway. Oval in shape, it boasted two ornately carved pillars at the midpoint of the room.
“This gallery is my favorite place. We’ll have the auction here. What do you think?”
“Wow,” she’d said as she’d let her gaze sweep the room. Furniture was positioned to form conversation areas on richly hued oriental rugs, and settees were placed at intervals along one wall. Across from them hung the paintings.
Natalie had counted ten, and she’d been hard pressed to keep her mouth from falling open. She’d recognized several of the painters, but she hadn’t been sure that Calli would.
“It’s like you have your own museum,” she said. And while Calli had stared in awestruck wonder, Natalie had catalogued the pieces in her mind. There were two van Goghs, a Manet and what she was pretty sure was a Renoir. But there were other works whose artists she wasn’t as familiar with. Just how many of them had Carlo Brancotti acquired legitimately?
As if in answer, Carlo had stopped midway down the length of the room, leaned against one of the pillars and told an amusing story of how he’d won one of the van Goghs in a poker game.
Watching him, Natalie had felt a kind of prickling at the back of her neck, one that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. She hadn’t dared look around to figure out what had caused it because she’d had to appear utterly fascinated by Carlo’s story. The pillar he’d leaned against was ornately carved and right behind his head was what looked to be a bronze sundial. The prickling sensation had increased.
The moment Carlo had finished his story, she’d smiled. “If you’re that good at poker, you should be out with Steven and your other guests.”
“Then I would have missed this opportunity to share my most prized possessions with you,” Carlo had replied as he’d led her back outside.
His most prized possessions. Now, as they toured the gardens, the phrase lingered in her mind. And what was in that room that had made the back of her neck prickle like that?
“The gardens are boring you,” Carlo said.
With a start, Natalie jerked her thoughts firmly back to the present. “No, they’re magical. Sorry.” She made the first excuse she could think of. “I guess I’m just missing Steven.”
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Carlo asked.
“No—I—” To her complete astonishment, Natalie felt herself blush. “We’re just…I…he doesn’t want…”
Carlo put one finger under her chin, tipping her face up so that he could see it.
Natalie felt a skip of panic as she stared up into those dark eyes. What would he see? For an instant there, she hadn’t been sure whether she was speaking as Natalie or as Calli.
She held her breath through a stretch of silence before Carlo dropped his hand and said, “Steven is a very lucky man.”
Carlo then gestured her forward, and for a while they walked in silence. The garden path was covered with a soft green mulch and bordered by lights. At regular intervals miniature streetlamps were nestled between palms.
“How clever of you to install the lights,” she said finally. “I feel as if I’m walking through a fairyland.”
“I had them installed because the temperatures are often so hot here in South Florida, and I wanted my guests to be able to enjoy the gardens once the heat of the day had passed.”
The streetlamps also offered the perfect places to install video surveillance equipment. Natalie was certain she’d spotted a tiny camera beneath the ornate shade of the light they’d just passed. She bet there were microphones, too. Carlo Brancotti was a very suspicious and very careful man.
Turning, she shot him a very steady look. “And yet you offer entertainment that keeps your guests otherwise occupied.”
He smiled at her. “Sometimes I prefer to enjoy the gardens under less crowded conditions. Come, there’s a new orchid I want to show you over there.”
Though she kept her pace slow and her attention focused on the varieties of blooms that Carlo was pointing out to her, Natalie was thinking about the man walking next to her. Not once since he’d told her that he admired loyalty had he tried to touch her in any kind of personal way. Yes, he’d made it clear he wanted to dance with her, but even when he’d tipped her chin up to study her face, his touch had been impersonal. He was being a charming host and very much the gentleman—a persona that was a far right turn from the man she’d read about in the file Chance had compiled.
But there were reasons other than romance why he might want to separate her from Steven. There’d been that moment in the gallery and another when he’d bypassed his “workspace” that she’d felt something. Did he suspect that she and Steven weren’t who they pretended to be? She couldn’t rid her mind of the certainty that this whole tour was some kind of test.
Natalie the cop would use this opportunity to pump him for information, so she didn’t. Instead, she yawned, then glanced guiltily at Carlo. “I’m sorry. It’s not the company. Steven woke me very early for the flight here.”
“Come. I’ll take you inside.”
“And Steven?”
“Sometimes the poker games go on into the morning hours.”
She allowed disappointment to show in her eyes before she glanced away. “Oh.”
“If you wish, I’ll send him to you,” Carlo offered as he led her back along the path.
She shook her head. “No. He loves the game. It’s his one vice.”
When they reached the door that he’d escorted her through earlier, he opened it. “If you go in this way, you can avoid the others in the conservatory.”
She met his eyes again. “Thank you. Your home is lovely.”
Natalie walked down the hallway without a backward glance. And she made very sure not to glance at the door with the coded access pad that led to Carlo’s “workspace.”
CHANCE FOUND himself glancing at his watch for the fourth time in two hours. Natalie had not reappeared on the patio, and neither had Carlo Brancotti. He’d managed to keep his mind on the game, and he’d even managed to win a few hands. But he hadn’t been able to shake off the urge he had to go to Natalie. The rational side of him told him that she was perfectly capable of handling a man like Brancotti.
But each moment that ticked by made him feel less and less reasonable. Chance shoved a pile of chips into the center of the table and waited for the other bets to be placed. When Sir Arthur turned over his full house, Chance laid down his cards and pushed himself away from the table. “I’m finished, gentlemen.”
There were a few grumbles. Chance paid them no heed as he let himself out of the screened gazebo and strode back toward the house. He might be making a mistake. He’d been w
eighing the odds of that for the past two hours. Logic told him that Steven Bradford would stay at the game. But gut instinct told him that he had to go to Natalie, and he hadn’t gotten where he was by ignoring his instincts.
Let Carlo Brancotti make what he wanted of the fact that Steven Bradford was so besotted and so hot for Calli that not even a high-stakes poker game could keep him distracted for very long.
The conservatory was empty when he moved through it. At another time, he might have paused to enjoy the orchids, but now he only quickened his stride. There were surveillance cameras everywhere. Not surprising since there were expensive pieces of pottery and sculpture on display even in the hallways. But then, Chance didn’t think that anyone Carlo invited to his estate would dare to steal from him.
No. The state-of-the-art surveillance equipment was for keeping tabs on his guests’ movements. Chance took the stairs two at a time. If Carlo was watching, he would see a man who was desperate to get to his woman. And Chance was. He needed to see her, to satisfy himself that she was all right.
He needed her. Chance felt himself rocked by the realization. Before he had time to absorb or reflect on that, he reached the door to the Venetian room. It was locked. As it should be, he told himself as he swore silently and searched in his pocket for the key.
NATALIE PACED back and forth inside the suite. Since she’d come back to the room, she’d gone over everything that had happened that evening—from the time Carlo had appeared on the balcony to when he’d let her into the house, making sure she walked by his office again.
He’d definitely wanted to know about her relationship with Steven Bradford. And she had to hope that it had rung true. She’d blushed, for heaven’s sake. And she was almost positive that it was Natalie’s cheeks that had heated, not Calli’s. When panic threatened to bubble up again, she ruthlessly pushed it down. She was not going to worry about that now.
Natalie paused in front of a mirror and faced her reflection. She was playing a game. That was all. Calli was in love with Steven Bradford. But Natalie was not falling in love with Chance Mitchell. What she felt for Chance was lust. And professional respect. The emotions tumbling around inside of her had no relation to what Catherine Weston felt for Steven Bradford. She couldn’t afford to let the different roles she was playing merge. Giving herself a nod, she began to pace again.
