Beneath my hand, I felt his cock stiffen. He glanced down, then back at me. His face was all hard lines and angles, as if he was fighting for control. “Don’t move,” he said. “Don’t even breathe.”

“I—”

“No.” His finger pressed against my lip before skimming downward. Over my chin, down my neck until he delicately traced my collarbone. Then lower, teasing my nipple with slow circles as I sucked in air and bit my lip in defense against the sounds of pleasure that wanted so desperately to escape.

The bodice was a halter, with two triangles of material attached to the waist, then rising up to tie behind my neck. He followed the material up, his finger skimming under the bow at the base of my neck.

“Shall I untie it? Let it fall? Shall I close my mouth over your bare breast right now, tease your nipple between my teeth? Tell me the truth, Sloane, would that make you hot?”

I swallowed. My mouth was so dry. I thought of the waitstaff. Of camera phones. Of the Internet and the image of us, his mouth on my breast, my head back, my lips parted in pleasure. I thought of it, and I felt the quickening in my belly. The clenching in my sex.

I thought—and I whispered the only answer I could. “Yes.”

“Good girl,” he said, as his hand sneaked down, leaving my dress intact. I breathed a sigh of relief, then gasped as he traced his way down my cleavage, his hand slipping beneath the material just long enough for his fingers to tease and for the heat of his palm to cup my breast.

“Tyler,” I moaned when he withdrew his hand, leaving me clutching the tables on either side of me, because if I let go, I would surely fall.

“Hush,” he said, as he moved closer. His hand snaked around my waist to find the zipper at the back of the dress, then slowly eased it down. “Now spread your legs,” he ordered as he slid his palm inside my dress, over my lower back, and then down to the curve of my ass.

I wore a stretchy lace thong, and he stroked my bare skin before finding the thin, damp strip of material between my legs and tugging it aside. I heard the desperate sound of my own whimper as he teased me, then sucked in a gasp as he slid a finger easily inside me and my body clenched tight around him.

He groaned in satisfaction. “Christ, you’re wet,” he said, his voice raw. “I don’t doubt you want me, Sloane. And god knows I want you, too.” He stroked my sex once, twice, then withdrew his hand, and I had to bite my lower lip in order to silence my protest. “But there’s something else going on in that pretty head of yours,” he added, as he zipped up my dress, leaving me wanting and confused and frustrated. “And I will find out your secret.”

He stepped back from me, then paused to look me up and down. I could only imagine what he saw. Clothes askew. Skin flushed. But I lifted my head, determined to hold my own.

He moved to the door, and pulled it part of the way open. The sounds of the party wafted in, echoing in the service hall. His eyes locked on mine, and for a moment I saw the true depth and power of this man who held so much of Chicago in his hand.

“I’ll give you what you want, Sloane,” he said. “What we both want. But think long and hard before you come to me. There are things that I like. Things that I want and expect from the woman in my bed. And I don’t play by anyone’s rules but my own.”

Chapter Five

I waited as the door closed, then let myself sag until I was seated on the floor with my back against the wall, two tables laden with dessert refills on either side of me.

He’d rattled me—no doubt about that. Rattled me, intrigued me, enticed me. I may have set out to seduce the man, but I couldn’t deny the fact that he’d turned the tables on me any more than I could deny that I’d enjoyed it.

And I had. God help me, but I wasn’t simply playing a part. I’d enjoyed it. I’d enjoyed him.

How the hell was that possible? I knew damn well the man was a con. A thief. Possibly a whole lot worse. A man who gave the middle finger to the law and the system that I’d sworn to uphold. He represented everything I fought against. Hell, he was everything I’d run from. Everything I’d fought so hard not to be.

Brutally I shoved away the rising images. The ones I fought every damn day. The blood. The fear. The guilt. The crack of a gun echoed in my mind, and the sound swirled together with the scream of police sirens and the long, violent wail of soul-deep pain.

Tyler Sharp was the kind of man who would take the law and gleefully twist until it broke. And there I was trying so damn hard to put it back together—to fix everything I’d once broken—and yet I was ready to slide into his bed?

I couldn’t even fall back on the mission as an excuse. That may have kick-started it, but I was the one who was finishing it. I was the one who wanted it.

I drew in a breath and dragged my fingers through my hair. I didn’t trust him—not even remotely. But I did see him. Whatever else Tyler Sharp might be, there was a hell of a lot more to him than the slick facade. He was a man who was very much alive, who took the world as it came, and didn’t take shit from anyone.

Those were qualities I admired, and for one brief, shining moment I wished I was a girl without an agenda and without expectations. A woman, not a cop. A woman who knew nothing about all the black marks that marred his permanent record. Who wasn’t even now trying to figure out the best way to proceed in order to get close, get in, get the info.

Because that was the crux of it—woman versus cop. The woman wanted his touch, his body. Wanted to feel that heat he generated deep inside her.

The cop knew that once you’d fucked a guy, you risked a blind spot, especially if that guy had already gotten under your skin.

I may have been using seduction as a tool, but Tyler Sharp had used it as a weapon, and he’d cut me down at the knees. He’d seen past the facade to the very real desire inside me, and he’d twisted it around. Used it. Taken control.

God, I was a walking cliché. The strong woman, knocked out at the knees by a smooth man with a hard cock.

Maybe. But I had no intention of losing sight of my end game. I’d come to Chicago to find Amy, and right now, Tyler Sharp and Destiny were my best starting point.

Bottom line—I was going to stay. I was going to walk through that door and back into that party, and I was going to find him. I knew it, and I could tell by the way that Tyler had looked at me that he’d known it, too.

The party was still going strong when I stepped back into the room. That made sense, I supposed, considering I’d been away less than half an hour. But in that time the world had shifted, and it seemed anticlimactic to go back into the room and have everything be exactly the same.

Then I saw Tyler across the restaurant, saw him looking at me. Saw the heat in his eyes.

No, I thought. Nothing is the same at all.

I considered playing it coy, but I wasn’t certain he’d stand for it. More, I didn’t want to. He’d lobbed the ball soundly into my court. Now it was my turn to return it.

I’d checked my purse with the attendant hired to work the party, so I borrowed a pen from the bartender, then scribbled a note on a napkin. I folded it, then called over one of the waitresses and gave it to her. “Just make sure he’s the one who gets it,” I said, pointing to Tyler.

She flashed a conspiratorial grin. “You got it. Good luck.”

“Passing notes in class?” Kat asked, walking up as the waitress walked away.

“Something like that.”

“Buy you another glass of wine?” she asked, holding up two fingers to the bartender.

“They’re free,” I said.

“Don’t let that discount my generosity.” She took the glasses from the bartender and passed one to me. “To success,” she said, then held up her glass to clink.