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lifted her hands and dropped them. “We had an agreement—for one night.”
    “Agreements can be renegotiated.” Rory sipped her martini.
    “Whose idea was it to make it one night?” Sierra asked.
    “His,” Natalie replied.

    “Figures,” Rory said.
    “In many primitive cultures, the woman is the hunter when it comes to mate selection,”
    Sierra said.
    “Whoa.” Natalie lifted her hands, palm outward. “I’m not on the hunt for a mate. I’m more in the mood for a fling. And I was in total agreement about the one night.”
    “And all you want is one more night?” Sierra asked.
    “Yeah,” Natalie said. One more night. Maybe then, she could get him out of her system and get her life back to normal.
    Sierra cleared her throat. “Then I have a suggestion. For my current research project, I’ve been researching the sexual fantasies of different cultures.”
    “That’s our girl,” Rory said, lifting her glass.
    After they toasted again, Sierra continued, “One of the most universal fantasies is sex with a stranger—someone you don’t know and never will know.” Pausing, she cleared her throat again. “So why don’t you just pretend that you’re someone else for the night?”
    When her two sisters turned to stare at her, Sierra hurried on. “It makes sense. You love undercover work and you’re good at it. So just come to Sophie’s party as someone else.”
    “That’s a great idea,” Rory said, waving a shrimp.
    “I don’t think—”
    “That’s your problem, Nat,” Rory said. “You over-think everything. Sierra’s got a great idea.”
    “You’re so good at disguise,” Sierra continued. “You could just let yourself be this other person. That way you can put Natalie Gibbs’s fears and hang-ups away for the evening and be free to make a play for this man as a totally different person.”
    “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Natalie asked.
    “Absolutely.” Sierra leaned forward. “It’s the age-old concept of Mardi Gras. For one night you put on a mask and do things that you would never do as your real self. Very freeing.”
    Rory shot Natalie a look. “Freeing? Does this sound like the baby sister we used to know and love?”

    Natalie shook her head, seriously considering her youngest sister’s idea. She glanced down at her drink. The glass was still half-full, so she couldn’t blame the martini. Her gaze shifted to the letter and her father’s words.
    When you see what you want, trust in your talents. Risk anything it takes…
    Natalie ran her finger over her father’s signature again. She wanted Chance, and if she took Sierra’s suggestion, she could go after him with a clean slate. She wouldn’t be Natalie, the woman he hadn’t called for three months.
    “Think about it,” Sierra said.
    If she did decide to follow Sierra’s advice, she knew two things for sure. Chance Mitchell wouldn’t recognize her. And he wouldn’t know what hit him.

    CHANCE STOOD outside on the flagstone patio at the back of Sophie Wainwright’s antique and collectibles shop and scanned the crowd through the window. From what he could see, the event was a success. Three musicians were tucked away in a corner playing Mozart, and a white-jacketed waiter offering flutes of champagne was threading his way through the crush of guests.
    In between the potted trees and terra-cotta urns bursting with pansies and geraniums, Chance spotted a prominent senator, a congresswoman and several well-heeled collectors who’d been frequent clients at the gallery down the street where he’d worked undercover.
    The person he hadn’t spotted yet was Natalie Gibbs. He’d told himself that he came through the back alleyway because of the line of guests waiting to get in the front door of the shop, but the truth was he was stalling. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to handle Natalie when he ran into her.
    Damn if his hands weren’t damp. With a frown, he rubbed them on his pants. A woman hadn’t made