Heated (Most Wanted 2)

Oh, my. A hot coil of desire twisted through me, making my skin flush and my knees go weak.

If he noticed my reaction, he said nothing. But he began to walk slowly around me, as a man in a museum might circle a statue.

I started to turn as well, tracking his movement. "No," he said, the command in his voice undeniable. "Stay still. Look forward."

I stopped, hesitated, then turned my head to look out at the party, at the people floating by in pretty dresses and elegant suits. With smiles and laughter and nothing on their minds except the quality of the wine and the rhythm of the band.

I told myself that my acquiescence was simply part of the game--he was a man who wanted control, I was the woman falling under his spell.

But it was more than that, and I damn well knew it. That flutter I felt in my belly wasn't the excitement of the chase, but the anticipation of his touch.

Yeah, Tyler Sharp was dangerous, all right.

He was behind me now, and though I could no longer see him, I felt his presence as firm and gentle as a kiss. My breath caught in my chest, and I realized that I was anticipating the brush of his fingertips upon the nape of my neck, then his hand on my bare back, exposed in the halter-style dress.

But the touch never came--and my breath never came easy.

When he spoke, his voice was low, as if too much volume would break the spell. "You're a riddle, Ms...."

"O'Dell," I whispered.

He was right there, but I couldn't see him. I could only breathe in the scent of him, fresh and woody, like a forest after a rain. Sexy, enticing, and undeniably male. "Sloane O'Dell," he said. "I like it."

"I like the way you say it." I kept my voice low and full of invitation.

"Do you?" he asked, as he finished the circle. "I'm very glad to hear it."

I looked at him, at that perfect face, and felt my fingers twitch with the desire to touch him, a desire that was magnified because I could see only too well that it was returned. Tyler Sharp wanted me, too. Maybe he was teasing me, playing me. Maybe he had an agenda. I didn't know. But my world centered around seeing--seeing people, seeing evidence, seeing the truth. And I saw the truth in the way Tyler's eyes were dilated. In the slightest flush of color on his skin. In the way that his pulse beat just a tad too quickly in his neck.

Yes, he wanted me--and yet there was no denying that he was playing with me, too. We were locked in a game, and though I'd initiated it, I couldn't claim to fully understand the rules.

I felt unanchored and slightly out of control. But at the same time, I felt more desperately alive than I had in a very long time.

With some effort, I managed to gather myself. "You never did say why you were looking for me."

"No. I didn't."

I couldn't help but grin. Forget chess; this was way more fun. "Am I supposed to guess?"

Instead of answering, he just smiled. Slow and easy and full of decadent promise. "Sloane," he said. Just a syllable. Just a name. But it was my name, and it seemed to drip with honey. I wanted to taste it. Taste him.

A shiver raced up my spine. My inner thighs felt warm, and my breasts strained against the bodice of my dress. It had been years since I'd had such a pronounced reaction to a man. He might be as dangerous as they come, but that was part of what made my job exciting--the more dangerous the quarry, the bigger the thrill.

Tyler took a step forward, and I took a corresponding step back, then one more just because I wanted to clear my head. I realized too late that he'd edged me back against the pillar. I might have been trying to escape, but there was no place to go, especially not when Tyler leaned forward, pressing his palm to the pillar just over my shoulder. He was right there, right in front of me, so close I could feel the air thickening from the pressure.

"Tyler." My voice was low, barely a whisper. "I don't think--"

"No," he said. "Don't think. Just wait. Just close your eyes."

I fought the urge to protest--this is what I wanted, after all. To get close to this man. To heat it up and see how far we could take it. No matter how out of control I might feel, I had to remember that this was my game, and though he might score a few points, I was the one who'd made up the rules.

"That's a good girl," he said, as I let my eyes flutter closed.

I concentrated on breathing, trying to ignore the way the tiny hairs on my arms stood up, a reaction to the electricity now swirling in the few inches that remained between us. He cupped my jaw with his free hand, then brushed his thumb lightly over my cheek. He was going to kiss me.

My mind was spinning so damn fast, reeling between excitement and wonder. He was a tool, a suspect, a criminal. Even so, I wanted this, and not because seduction was my endgame.

I simply wanted the man. Damn me to hell, I wanted him bad.

I felt the brush of his lips against my ear as he spoke. His voice was as soft and sensual as the kiss that I expected, but the words held the sting of a slap: "You shouldn't be here."

Ice burned in my veins, and I stood as tight and still as a statue.

He'd made me. Goddammit, how the hell had he made me?

But no. The "how" wasn't important. Now it was all about denial and damage control.

I allowed myself only a second to rein in my fear. I let confusion color my expression--not hard under the circumstances--then I opened my eyes. He'd stepped back, and I met his gaze boldly. I expected to see anger and accusation on his face. Instead, I saw warmth. "I--" I closed my mouth and regrouped. "What are you talking about?"

"You shouldn't be tucked away like this." He spoke simply, apparently oblivious to my discomfiture. "You should be the center of attention. See that flower arrangement?" he asked, nodding toward the stunning arrangement of flowers that dominated the center of the Palm Court. "You outshine it a thousandfold."

It was an utterly unoriginal line--not worthy of the man at all. I thought about telling him so, but considering my goal of getting close, insulting him probably shouldn't be my next move. Frankly, I was so flustered I wasn't sure what the next move should be. All I knew was that I'd gone on the defensive, and I needed to drop that before he noticed.

It took some concentration, but I managed to conjure a shy smile. "You're very sweet," I said. "And I'm very flattered."

For a moment, he said nothing, but I saw the inquisitive gleam in his eye along with the way his head tilted slightly, as if he was examining something curious. "No," he finally said. "I don't think you're flattered at all."

"Excuse me?" I couldn't help the bite of temper in my voice, but it was directed at me, not at him. I should have gone for bold, not demure. Should have stepped forward instead of stepping back.

I'd miscalculated. And I didn't like to lose.

"You don't strike me as a woman who needs pretty words and flattery. I think you like a more direct approach." Once again, he closed the distance between us. Once again, the air shimmered with rising heat, this time fueled by the kind of danger that had the power to burn.

"Is that what you think?"

"It's what I know. It's who you are." He took hold of my wrist, the shock of his touch effectively silencing my lie. "Tell me why you were looking for me, Sloane. Tell me flat out."

I drew in a breath, buying time as I weighed my options and considered how to mix truth with lies. "I saw you," I finally said. "On the television, in magazines, in newspapers. You seemed powerful and a little mysterious."

"Always good to keep the press and the public guessing. It increases the mystique."

"Does it? Well, I guess it worked. I've thought about you, Tyler Sharp. You wouldn't leave my head. And I decided that I had to get close to you. I had to know if the living, breathing man was as interesting in person as he was in my fantasies."

I met his eyes. Made sure that he could see the heat in mine. "I wanted to get close. I wanted to see if you were the kind of man I wanted in my bed."

"And?"

"Now I've met you," I said as I gently pulled my arm free. But my smile was slow and easy and full of invitation.

And leaving that little bit of bait dangling, I slowly walked away.

Chapter Three

I managed to keep my back straight and add a nice little swish to my hips as I crossed the ballroom toward the ladies' room. I wasn't about to turn around and check, but I imagined that he was watching me go, and I couldn't falter. Not then. Not after taking the kind of chance I'd just taken.

The moment I was through the door of the restroom, though, I raced to the closest cubicle and locked myself in. As with everything at The Drake, even the bathroom was elegant, and my little stall was a far cry from typical. Instead of simply housing a toilet, there was a marble vanity, a sink, and an upholstered stool, upon which I gratefully sagged. I pressed my elbows to the counter, stared at my reflection, and sighed.