LITMIR.BIZ

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didn’t allow the spectacular view to distract her; it had taken her most of the morning to work up the courage for this visit. She had to do it now, before she lost her nerve.

      This time she wouldn’t wimp out.

      This time she’d wait until Mason Chandler got rid of his visitor, then she’d either sweep everything off his burled mahogany desk and make wild, uninhibited love to him on its polished surface or—She gulped. Or she’d hand him back the four-carat emerald-cut solitaire he’d slipped on her ring finger last January.

      Last January! She paused with her hand on the brass door latch, thinking of her unconventional engagement. She couldn’t quite believe that she and Mase had been engaged for almost nine months. Or that they’d shared only a few casual kisses in all that time.

      Okay, so maybe their self-imposed restraint had been part of the ground rules she’d laid down when she proposed to Mase. After all, she was the one who’d come up with the idea of a phony engagement in the first place. At the time it had seemed like the perfect answer to her dilemma.

      She’d just returned to Minneapolis after two years in Paris, bringing home with her a degree in art history, a slightly bruised heart and a seriously dented ego. The degree she’d earned from the Paris Institute of Art. The damaged heart and ego she owed to handsome tennis star, Andre Couvier, who, she’d discovered, had loved the prospect of getting his hands on a chunk of her father’s millions far more than he’d loved her. The last thing Chloe wanted when she got back to the States was to rush into another disastrous romance.

      Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to convince her overly solicitous father that she was more interested in translating her degree into a viable marketing tool than in socializing. Emmet Fortune had exerted the kind of constant, loving pressure that only a father can, urging her to cut back on her long hours at the Fortune Corporation headquarters, to go out more, to enjoy her youth.

      So-o-o-o...in desperation, Chloe had proposed to Mase.

      The deal was simple. He would run cover for her with her father. In return, she’d take over the marketing campaign for Chandler Industries’ latest twin-engine jet prototype. Since the VP for Marketing had just been caught with his hand in Mase’s executive till, Chloe’s offer had been deliberate, calculated and timely. Once he’d recovered from his initial surprise, Mase had agreed to her scheme readily enough.

      She’d been sure he would. She’d known Mase Chandler off and on for most of her life—first as her older brother Mac’s friend and then as an occasional escort. Unlike her fiercely overprotective father and older brother, however, Mase didn’t take her personal ambitions lightly. Nor had he ever patronized her. He understood her need to prove she was as capable as any of her Fortune cousins. So she’d worked up the marketing campaign, and he’d agreed to act as her fiancé.

      Their phony engagement had worked perfectly . . . at first. The match had certainly thrilled her father, who liked and respected Mase. It also allowed Chloe to devote every ounce of energy to learning the intricacies of the marketing and advertising worlds from the ground up. And Mase made the perfect fiancé. Easy, undemanding, relaxing to be with. Whenever he wasn’t jetting off on one of his extended business trips, he and Chloe enjoyed each other’s company at dinner and the theater.

      She wasn’t quite sure when or how the engagement had taken on a life of its own. She hadn’t expected the diamond Mase slid onto her finger the night they announced their engagement to his family. Nor had she planned on giving in to her father’s pressure to set a wedding date. That had sort of...happened. Before she knew it, she’d been roped into discussing gowns and menus and flowers with Mollie Shaw McGuire, the wedding planner who’d become such a close friend of the Fortune family.

      Even worse, the pretend bride had somehow fallen hopelessly in love with her phony groom.

      Looking back, Chloe couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened, couldn’t pick a morning when she suddenly woke up and realized that she wanted her fake engagement to end in a real wedding. She only knew that she missed Mase when he was gone. That the hand he planted in the small of her back to guide her to a table burned right through whatever she was wearing. That she ached to peel off his hand-tailored suit, unknot his tie, unbutton his shirt and plant hot, greedy kisses all over his naked chest.

      All of which she fully intended to do today.

      If she didn’t lose her nerve!

      They couldn’t continue the deception any longer. Mollie wanted to send the wedding invitations to the printers. Her father was already talking about endowing a chair at his alma mater to ensure his grandchildren got a quality education. Chloe either had to call the engagement off...or convince Mase to toss out their original ground rules and make wild, reckless love to her.

      He wanted to. For all his deliberate restraint, Chloe sensed the desire he so carefully kept in check. She’d tried to hint that she was ready—more than ready!—for him to unleash it. This time, she vowed, she’d do more than just hint.

      Dragging in a deep, steadying breath, Chloe pushed down the brass latch. The heavy oak door slid open noiselessly. She’d taken only a single step when the sound of a husky contralto floated across the luxurious office suite.

      “Come on, Mase. You love what we do together. Surely you’re not going to give it up just because you’re engaged?”

      The intimacy in the dark-as-chocolate voice brought Chloe up short. That...and the sight of a stunning brunette nestled comfortably between her fiancé’s thighs.

      Mase was leaning against the front edge of his desk. Beneath his neat black hair, his tanned face wore a smile that ripped at Chloe’s heart. His hands rested on the brunette’s waist, while hers played with his tie. The same silk tie that Chloe had envisioned slowly unknotting just seconds ago!

      Her fingers balled into fists. She struggled for breath as a wave of raw emotion crashed over her and Mase replied in his rich, easy baritone, “No, I’m not giving it up because I’m engaged. I told you my reasons.”

      “None of which will matter when the fireworks start,” his companion purred, tickling the underside of his jaw with the tie ends. “You’re hooked, just like I am. You crave the thrill, the excitement, of our little games.”

      His smile tipped into a wry grin. “I don’t think you can call what we do a game, Pam. We’ve taken it too close to the edge too many times.”

      “And that’s what makes it so wonderful. What makes us so damned good together. You don’t want to give it up, Mase. You know you don’t. Besides, I need you. No one plays it harder or faster or rougher than you do.”

      Chloe choked. She didn’t want to hear any more. She certainly didn’t need to see any more. Now she understood why Mase hadn’t taken her up on her subtle hints about morphing their pretend relationship into a real one. Only a fool would want to tie himself to idiotic, naive Chloe, who had traveled all the way to Paris to lose her virginity at the ripe old age of twenty-four, when he could play hard and fast and rough with this...this person.

      Misery and a fury she had no right to feel coursed through her. She must have made some movement, some sudden jerk, because the brunette flicked a quick look over Mase’s shoulder.

      Her brown eyes locked on the woman frozen in the door, then filled with an expression that hovered between recognition, amusement and—damn her!—triumph. The message was immediate, unmistakable, woman to woman.

      He’s mine. He put an engagement ring on your finger, lady, but we both know he’s mine.

      Chloe’s nails dug into her palms. Her chin shot up at the exact moment Mase twisted around and spotted her.

      Another man might have stammered or flushed with embarrassment at being caught in such intimacy by his-supposed fiancée. Not Mase. Not calm, controlled, always-in-command Mase.

      “I’m sorry, Chloe. I didn’t know you were here.”

      “Obviously not.”

      Unruffled,

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