Kristin Gabriel - Propositioned?

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.