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
