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  His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

  “Why don’t we leave it up to chance?” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the coin Mac had given her. “A simple toss of the coin. Heads, you come up when we get to my place and we continue our game of twenty questions. Tails, you follow me home and slide back into the shadows. Are you game?”

  He studied her for a moment. “Okay. Toss the coin.”

  She tossed it up, caught it and let him look. “Heads. And since it’s my turn to ask a question, I’ll tell you what it is so you can think about it. I want to know what your real name is.”

  Pocketing the coin, she turned and headed toward her car. Let him chew on that while he followed her home.

  WHAT IN HELL KIND OF GAME was she playing? The question had been plaguing him ever since the Princess had flipped that damn coin. Easing his foot off the gas, he allowed the car to drop back a little farther behind Sophie’s as they sped along the expressway that would take them into the District of Columbia. The last thing he was going to do was crowd her. She’d surprised him three times tonight. First of all, she’d kissed him. Then she’d dumped Landry. And now she’d invited Tracker into her apartment for a continuation of their game of twenty questions. He didn’t like surprises where the Princess was concerned, especially when the stakes were this high.

  Since he couldn’t predict what kind of game she was playing, he’d make sure the odds were in his favor.

  When she slowed and signaled a turn onto an off-ramp, he eased his foot from the gas.

  He should never have kissed her on the dance floor. He hadn’t been able to resist her. And that one kiss had confirmed his worst suspicion: one was not going to be enough with Sophie Wainright. Not nearly. Whatever he’d imagined in his fantasies hadn’t come close to reality. One taste and his control had slipped. The pull between them was so elemental that before he’d found the strength to set her away, he’d lost something of himself.

  He wanted her, and he was beginning to understand that he would have her. The need he had for her might not leave him with any choice. The thought chilled him even as it made every pulse in his body throb. But for now—tonight and the next few days—he had a job to do, and he would do it much better if he could maintain some distance.

  Pressing his foot on the accelerator, he closed the distance between them. It was time for plan A. Uncapping the bottle he’d pulled from his pocket, he took a good swallow. It would take about five minutes for the contents to work its magic on his stomach.

  He planned to spend the night in Sophie’s apartment, but not in her bed. Tonight, he wasn’t going to take any chances. He hadn’t kept watch over the Princess for two years without figuring out what her weaknesses were, and she was a sucker for strays and under-dogs.

  When the first stomach cramp hit, he closed the distance between the cars and let his weave all the way onto the shoulder. Slamming on the brakes, he made sure the tires made plenty of noise on the gravel before he came to a complete stop. Then he stumbled out of the car and emptied his stomach on the grass verge.

  If he knew the Princess, just pretending to be sick wasn’t going to work. She was going to need to see the evidence, and there it was. One of his foster mothers had introduced him to the curative powers of ipecac when he’d gotten into her medicine cabinet. He kept a bottle in the kit with his other “tools.”

  Leaning against the fender, weaker than he’d thought he would be, he watched Sophie gun her car backward along the shoulder until she screeched to a halt about five feet in front of him. She was out of the car and running toward him so fast that watching her brought on another wave of nausea. He pressed a hand against his stomach.

  “What happened? Are you all right?”

  The concern in her eyes was everything he’d hoped for. Plan A was going to work just fine.

  “It must have been something I ate.”

  When she glanced past him at the grass, he tried to block her view after he was sure she’d seen the evidence.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you drunk?”

  He shook his head and felt another wave of nausea hit. This one had him doubling over, and his deposit just missed her opened-toed sandals. He was beginning to think he’d taken too big a dose.

  “C’mon. I’ll drive. You’re in no condition to operate a vehicle. You can send one of your men to pick up your car later.”

  “I didn’t drink too much. It was the food,” he protested as she opened the passenger door and settled him inside. Before she got the door shut, he leaned out and made another deposit on the grass.

  Without a word, she closed the door, marched around to get in the driver’s side. Plan A might have a few minor bumps that had to be ironed out, but he figured he was halfway there when she started the car.

  “Sorry about this. I think I just need some sleep,” he said as they pulled back onto the highway. It had been more than twenty years since his foster mom had dosed him, and he didn’t recall feeling this sleepy afterward. Nor had his head felt quite this heavy. He tried to clear his mind. “T.J.”

  “What?” Sophie sent him a sideways glance.

  “My name. It’s T.J. Next question’s mine.”

  “Not on your life,” she said. “Initials don’t count. I want your real name, or a penalty. But let’s get you back on your feet first.”

  It wouldn’t hurt to pretend to sleep, he decided. That should be enough to get the Princess to take him home with her.

  THE NEXT THING Tracker knew, someone was nudging his shoulder.

  “Time to wake up.”

  “Hmm? Where are we?” Opening his eyes, he blinked against the lights.

  “We’re at the hospital.”

  He came fully awake and saw that Sophie had pulled the car into the well-lit entrance of a hospital emergency room. “I’m not going in there.”

  “Afraid of hospitals, are we?”

  “No. I just don’t need one.”

  “Relax,” she said as she climbed out of the driver’s seat and walked around the front of the car. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

  Damn, he’d underestimated her nurturing instinct. And she had him between a rock and a hard place. If he told her he wasn’t really sick, he’d ruin plan A. While he mulled over what to do, she opened the car door.

  “I told you I was fine,” he said.

  “C’mon, I’ll hold your hand while they examine you,” she assured him as she helped him out of the car.

  Shit, he thought. By the time they released him, he’d sure as hell better come up with Plan B.

  “REPORT,” the man said as he pressed the button on the speakerphone. Then he leaned forward to adjust the position of one of his knights on the chessboard.

  “Everything is going according to plan.”

  “Not quite,” said the man.

  There was a beat of silence. He let it stretch to two beats and then three. “Your plan was to become her lover so that you would be intimate with her when the shipment arrived. She left the party with another man.”

  “I’ll be at the shop when the coin arrives tomorrow.”

  “But you’ll have company. He’s in her apartment right now, and perhaps in her bed, where you were supposed to be.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “You know the penalty if you don’t.”

  Replacing the receiver, the man leaned back in his chair and studied the reaction of his companion.

  “I can handle him. Just give me the word, and I’ll have him out of the way.”

  “Such ruthlessness,” the man admonished. He would discourage it now, but it would come in handy later. He took a sip of his brandy. “Patience, my friend. This particular puppet may still be of some use. Besides, removing him now might draw too much attention to Ms. Wainwright’s shop, and we don’t have the coin yet.”

  The man called the Puppet Master had other puppets in place. Any one of them could get the coin tomorrow, and his companion would be useful later. His long-term s
uccess lay in knowing how to play the game.

  He would wait, for now. The coin would be here tomorrow and once he had it, he would have all three.

  “Your move.” He smiled and gestured toward the chessboard.

  4

  TRACKER AWOKE to find a rather large, tiger-striped cat sleeping on his chest. In the time it took him to remove the creature and set it on the floor, his mind cleared and the events of the previous evening came flooding back.

  The side trip to the emergency room had turned out better than he’d expected. After a two-hour wait, they’d finally been escorted to a sheet-draped cubicle where an exhausted-looking doctor had ventured a diagnosis of mild food poisoning and pronounced Tracker good to go. By that time, he’d fully recovered from any lingering effects of the ipecac he’d taken, and he’d managed to charm one of the nurses into suggesting to Sophie that she keep him under surveillance for another forty-eight hours.

  As a result, his game plan was back on track: he was exactly where he wanted to be, a recovering in valid in the Princess’s apartment.

  Swinging his feet to the floor, Tracker sat up and glanced around the narrow living room. It had surprised him. Sophie had been raised in a mansion, and she’d chosen to live in a place that wasn’t much larger than a cell. He knew she had the convenience of living adjacent to her shop by residing here, but it was no palace for a princess.

  The most surprising thing was that the room didn’t seem cramped. It was…comfortable. The honey-colored, pegged-wood floor wasn’t broken by rugs, but ran in a smooth line to the counter separating the rest of the living area from the kitchen. Aside from the overstuffed white sofa he’d spent the night on, and the cherub-faced jockey standing guard by the door, the room seemed almost monastic in its furnishings. But the bright explosion of color in the paintings that hung on the wall brought a homey warmth to the room. One on the opposite wall drew his eye. Pansies in every possible shade of red splattered across the canvas. It made him think of passion, hot and reckless, and of Sophie.

  Dragging his eyes from it, he forced his gaze to the wall behind the couch and stared at the collection of horses. He hadn’t noticed them last night. All in all, he figured the shelves held nearly fifty equestrian figures, some cast in clay, others carved of wood or marble.

  So, the Princess loved horses. He tucked the knowledge away.

  “Mmmrph.”

  Tracker glanced down to see that the cat had jumped back up on the couch. “You’re Chess, right?”

  The cat blinked and stared.

  Sophie had introduced them when they’d arrived. Then she’d given Tracker a quick tour, showing him the bathroom, which was half the size of the living room and had doors that accessed both the living room and the bedroom.

  She hadn’t shown him her bedroom. If she had, he might have been with her in that bed right now. He didn’t kid himself that it was going to be easy sticking to his game plan. And the Princess might have some plans of her own. He was going to have to keep his guard up and his wits about him.

  Just thinking about matching wits with her made him smile. He hadn’t felt this alive since he’d followed her across the country last year. Had he been waiting all this time for her to challenge him again?

  “Mmmrmph.”

  He glanced down at the cat. “Hungry?”

  The question had Chess sliding onto his lap.

  Scooping him up, Tracker moved to the kitchen, located cat food and filled one of Chess’s dishes. The other he filled with water. The cat dug in.

  Satisfying his own hunger was going to be more problematic. Oh, the pantry was well stocked and he’d found eggs and butter in the refrigerator, bacon and coffee beans in the freezer. He might have fixed the Princess breakfast in bed if it weren’t for two problems.

  First, he was supposed to be recovering from food poisoning. Second, going into Sophie’s bedroom for any reason would trigger a different and more basic kind of hunger.

  Basic was a good word for it. Tracker was beginning to believe that having the Princess was becoming every bit as necessary to him as breathing. From that first day in Lucas’s office, when he’d held her in his arms, he hadn’t been able to break free of the hold she had on him.

  In the middle of last night, she’d come out to check on him, and he’d used every bit of control he had to lie still and pretend to be asleep. Then he’d spent the rest of the night fantasizing what it would have been like to have her beneath him on that couch.

  He had a job to do, he reminded himself. And he needed a clear head to do it.

  When the cat jumped onto the counter, Tracker scratched him under his chin. “I might not be able to manage breakfast, but coffee might be a good idea. And then a cold shower. What do you think, Chess?”

  The cat growled deep in his throat.

  COFFEE. The scent of it had Sophie drifting up out of her dream. It had to be a dream, she thought as she sat up and shoved the hair out of her eyes. She was never organized enough to fill the coffeepot and set the automatic timer before she went to bed.

  The second breath she inhaled told her she wasn’t dreaming. And the memories flooded in. Tracker McBride had spent the night in her apartment. He’d made coffee in her kitchen.

  Okay, so he wasn’t in her bed yet. But she was making progress. She’d very nearly hugged the blond, perky nurse at the hospital who’d strongly urged that she keep Tracker under surveillance for at least twenty-four—preferably forty-eight—hours. And the wait in the emergency room had given her a lot of time to analyze the situation and to plan.

  Sitting up, she plumped the pillows behind her and pressed a hand to her stomach. There was no reason for it to be so jumpy. She could do this. After all, she had the coin. A quick glance at the nightstand assured her that it was still where she’d left it. And the little bag with Mac’s “toys” was right at the side of her bed.

  Lifting it, she drew out the black velvet ribbon that lay on top. She was going to have to work up a lot of nerve to use something like this. Truth be told, her confidence with men was mostly a sham. She could count on one hand the lovers she’d had, and most of them had been…unimaginative. Or maybe it had been her.

  Well, with a little help from Mac’s toys, Sophie was about to become a new woman.

  When she heard the shower start, a little skip of panic moved up her spine. She’d better hurry and examine her plan because she was going to have to put it into action soon. Slipping out of bed, she grabbed her robe and tucked the coin into her pocket.

  The key to any good business deal was to offer the other party exactly what he or she wanted. She and Tracker wanted each other, and so she would offer him a no-strings affair. What could be more simple or basic than that?

  She began to pace. She’d have to take the first step. In spite of that kiss, he hadn’t made any move to touch her once they’d entered her apartment.

  When she was making a sale in her shop, timing was everything. And surprise. If she could catch him off guard, she would have the advantage.

  She was lifting Mac’s bag of toys off the bed when the sound of the shower stopped. An image filled her mind of Tracker stepping out of the tub, water dripping from him. A river of heat pooled in her center. She could picture him so clearly—lean muscles, long bones and taut, slick skin. Even as the bag slipped through her fingers, she was moving toward the bathroom door. Timing. Surprise.

  Gripping the handle, she turned it and found it locked. No. No. She pounded on the door. “Tracker!”

  The lock clicked, the door flew open and she saw him. His scent—it assaulted her with its potency. His heat—she felt it reaching out to her, touching her. All thoughts of perfect timing and surprise drained from her mind as her body went into sensory overload. She was so aware of him, all at once, that she felt paralyzed. His skin was slick and damp—and only part of it was covered by the towel. Lust—a quick, sharp slap of it—filled her, along with greed. She wanted—no, she needed—to touch him, to run her hands ov
er every inch of him.

  And she would, just as soon as she could move her arms.

  FOR A MOMENT, Tracker stood absolutely still, paralyzed by a swift onslaught of emotions. When she’d called his name, fear had hit him hard, like a sucker punch to his gut. In the three short seconds that it had taken him to open the door to her bedroom, he’d realized that he hadn’t checked it out. Last night, he hadn’t trusted himself to even set foot in the room. Someone could have gotten in through a fire escape or through a back entrance to the apartment.

  Though his eyes never left Sophie, he instantly catalogued the room, taking in a tall dresser, a full-length oval mirror, a bed. The closet door, standing ajar.

  She was alone in the room. Safe.

  He had about one second to process relief before he was sucker-punched by pure lust.

  The oval-shaped mirror stood at an angle behind her, so that he could see her back and front. Her robe was a thin bit of silk and lace that draped over her breasts and hips so closely that it made a man wonder if she wore anything beneath. The thought of touching her and finding out had his blood running hotly, greedily.

  It took every bit of strength he had not to tumble her onto the bed. He could have her just that quickly, and put an end to the desire that was clawing at his insides.

  “Are you all right?” His voice sounded strained, raw.

  “I thought you’d gone.”

  He should go. He should step back into the bathroom and relock the door. She was fine. He’d over-reacted to a false alarm. And if he didn’t get control of the situation, he wouldn’t be prepared when a real alarm sounded. He ordered himself to back out of the room right now. But he didn’t move. And he wasn’t going to. His feet had stopped taking orders from his brain.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Good.” She moistened her lips, and Tracker had to swallow a moan. “I don’t want you to go. I wanted to talk.”

  Talk? The woman was killing him.