She glanced toward the actor. “Do you know him?”
“No.” As much as he wanted to get her away from public scrutiny and speculation, he realized star sightings were probably a big deal to her. Although he couldn’t picture her yanking up her shirt and asking a guy to sign her boob. Toby had signed more cl**vage than he could count. Fans asked for autographs on the damnedest things. “Did you want an introduction or autograph?”
“No. I don’t want to intrude. Let’s go.” She didn’t speak again until they’d walked a couple of blocks from the restaurant. There was a speculative quality to her gaze when she looked up at him. “I guess I never considered you one of them.”
“Them?”
“A celebrity.”
“Does that mean you want to jump my bones now that you do?”
The familiar gurgle of disgust burst from her lips, making him smile. He’d grown attached to that sound. He’d lain in bed too many nights thinking of ways to provoke it and then to turn it into that whimper she made when she cli**xed.
“In your dreams.”
“Every night, sugar.” Sad fact—that wasn’t a lie. His smile faded.
“Do you meet a lot of stars?”
“Enough. Drivers make appearances for their sponsors. NASCAR’s big on fund-raisers and charity events.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Charity events? You?”
She didn’t think much of him and that bothered him more than it should. Since his father, he hadn’t worried about anyone’s approval except his own. So why her? Why did this uptight nurse’s opinion matter?
He didn’t have the answer. The only thing he knew for sure was that his patience for getting her nak*d was shrinking fast while other parts of him weren’t. Taking it slow and easy wasn’t getting him anywhere in his quest to get her into his bed and out of his system. Maybe it was time to scrap that plan and turn up the heat.
“I support several charities besides the Haynes Foundation. I came from nothing. It’s my duty to give back.”
The sun beat down, reflecting off the sidewalks, glass storefronts and car windshields, driving shards of pain through his head.
“That’s a really nice thing to do, Toby.”
The approval in her soft voice made him feel ten feet tall and bulletproof. He wanted to kiss her so bad he couldn’t see straight. Hell, he wanted to drag her into the nearest hotel and lose himself inside her long enough to forget the races he was missing and the fear that he might not be back in the car for Chicagoland. Or ever.
Amelia took his arm and steered him toward a shop. “The sunlight’s bothering you. You need to buy some sunglasses before you get a headache.”
Nurse mode. His engine revved. As much as he hated hospitals—and he’d seen the inside of several—it was disgusting how easily her efficient take-charge demeanor turned him on. But it was more than a sexual turn-on. Amelia looked out for him. In the casino, the elevator, the pool, here. How long had it been since a woman—including his mother—gave a damn about him except for what she could get out of him? But he didn’t dare let himself come to like or expect it, because in the end she’d let him down the way women invariably did.
He should cut his losses and push her away.
But he couldn’t. Not yet.
Not until he’d relieved this itch. And he intended to start scratching it.
Tonight.
“I want my five minutes.”
Toby’s words stopped Amelia in her tracks. Her hotel key card flipped out of her hand and tumbled, as if in slow motion, to the carpeted hall floor. Adrenaline raced through her veins, flushing her skin and quickening her breaths.
Buying time, she took advantage of Toby’s slowed reflexes and knelt quickly to retrieve the card before he could. And then she straightened ever so slowly before meeting his gaze. “Now?”
“Now.”
She tried to gauge his mood by his tone and failed, tried to guess what her penalty would be from his expression with no better luck. His set jaw and level gaze gave nothing away. Nor had he said anything on the drive back to Monaco to hint at his intentions. In fact, he’d been unusually silent.
She wanted to fabricate an excuse for why this wasn’t a good time, but the creative side of her brain was too busy running amok considering what he could do with five minutes to come up with logical reasons.
Making that wager had been stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stooopid. She didn’t gamble, didn’t bet. Heck, she’d never even joined the nurses’ pool to buy lottery tickets. But she’d foolishly made an exception by wagering with Toby because she’d believed winning a sure thing.
And now she would pay for her recklessness.
“I, um…guess you could come in. I don’t know if my roommates are in or out or—”
“My room.”
Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t speak and could barely drag a breath into her constricted chest. He strolled down the hall, extracted his key from the pocket of his khaki pants, unlocked his door and pushed it open. A tilt of his head indicated she precede him.
This was a mistake. But a promise was a promise. Wobbly legs carried her forward. Doubt sucked each step like deep mud.
Entering cautiously, she scanned his sitting room, noting the earthy Tuscan colors that were so different from the lighter, more feminine decor of the suite she shared with Candace and the bridesmaids. She halted beside the cognac-colored L-shaped leather sofa separating the sitting and dining areas. A wide balcony and a door leading to the bedroom were the only exits—neither a viable means of escape.
He stopped behind her, close but not touching. Her mouth dried. She dampened her lips and focused on the blue sky beyond the glass balcony doors. “What’s my penance?”
“Eager, sugar?” The words were low, barely audible, like the rumble of thunder in the distance.
The fine hairs on her body rose as if an electrical storm crackled nearby. “Eager to get back to my room, yes.”
“Drink?”
“No, thank you.” She clutched her purse tighter. The lace edging the scooped neckline of her teal top rasped against her skin like a calloused fingertip with every shallow breath, and the hem of her denim skirt teased the back of her thighs like a lover’s caress.
She’d been wearing this outfit for eight hours. Why had it suddenly become a source of tantalizing friction?
Because Toby was right. She’d fixated on that night, her mind rutted in a treacherous path that could only lead to trouble. Being alone with him made her think of sex. Of intense pleasure. Of impulses best ignored.
He reached around her, took her purse and tossed it on the coffee table. Her fingers fisted and her muscles tensed. She was a mature twenty-seven-year-old woman who dealt with life and death on a daily basis. She could handle five minutes of whatever Toby Haynes dished out.
She cleared her tight throat. “Do you have a timer?”
The air stirred as he shifted behind her and then she heard a click and a metallic chink. Toby’s muscled forearm, tanned and sparsely dusted with dark golden curls, entered her peripheral vision. He offered his watch. His other arm encircled her and he pointed at a tiny button.
“Push that button when you’re ready to start.”
She took his watch in her hand. The gold carried the warmth of his body and burned her palm like a hot ember. “Y-you promised no hands and no p—”
“I remember.” He lowered his arms and moved closer. Heat blanketed her back even though he didn’t make contact. “Whenever you’re ready.”
She’d never be ready.
“Couldn’t I just do your laundry or something?”
“Hotel does that.”
Her thumb trembled above the button. Five minutes. Get it over with. His leather-and-lime scent surrounded her, and his breath stirred her hair. Do it. Her thumb contracted, starting the second hand. She concentrated on that tick-tick-tick and willed her heart to slow to the same steady beat. No such luck. It hammered three times as fast.
Toby’s breath teased the sensitive skin beneath her right ear and his chest molded her back. The barrier of clothing did nothing to lessen the transference of heat. Sparks scattered through her bloodstream.
“You smell good.”
“Um, thanks,” she croaked. “Toby, this is not a good idea.”
“Five minutes. Of whatever I want. You agreed.” He nuzzled her temple, pressing his face to hers. His late-afternoon beard scraped deliciously against her cheek, contrasting with the smoother skin over his cheekbone. Soft lips teased the shell of her ear. The nip of his teeth on her earlobe startled a gasp from her.
Damn that promise. But if she held her ground and quit running, then maybe he’d quit chasing and give up the seduction attempts.
She kept her eyes open and tried to remain rigid and unresponsive as he trailed feathersoft kisses down her neck and across her shoulder. But she couldn’t stop the tendrils of desire winding along her synapses. He painted a design on her skin with his tongue and then blew on her damp flesh, sending a shudder undulating through her.
Her lids grew heavy. Forcing them back open, she bent her head to check the watch. Only sixty seconds had passed.
He burrowed his way beneath her hair to nibble her nape. Goose bumps raised her skin. Her br**sts tightened. Ached. She wanted to lean against him, to surrender and turn in his arms. Instead she clamped her bottom lip between her teeth, stiffened her spine and lifted her chin to study the smooth ceiling.
His tongue laved the pulse point on the opposite side of her neck. He sipped from her jaw, the hollow of her cheek. She wanted to turn her head, wanted to join her lips to his, because heaven knows the man was a champion kisser. He stepped away, saving her from making an enormous mistake. And then he circled in front of her. His hunger-filled gaze devoured hers.
With his hands fisted beside him, he closed the gap between them, sandwiching the hand she’d clenched around his watch between her navel and his erection. She shifted her hand away from the burning contact, unintentionally stroking his length. He sucked in a sharp breath and then leaned forward and kissed her brow, her nose, the corner of her mouth.
Her lids fluttered shut. He was really, really good at this. She longed to touch him, to twine her arms around him, pull him close and surrender her mouth.
You’re weakening. Restrain your impulses.
She turned her head and forced her sluggish brain to look at his watch and calculate time. It wasn’t easy. Two minutes left. She needed something to concentrate on besides the magic of his touch. She started counting down the seconds. One hundred twenty. One hundred nineteen. One hundr—
Soft hair brushed the underside of her chin and then his tongue traced the lace edge of her top from one collarbone to the other, dipping low to lave the cl**vage created by the push-up bra Candace had insisted Amelia buy. A moan slipped past her lips.
Um…one hundred, um…seventeen. One hundred sixteen. One—
He bent lower and nuzzled her nipple through the fabric of her top. His teeth scraped the sensitized tip and his breath heated her flesh. She felt the caress deep in her womb and her thoughts scattered. The strain of resisting the urge to hurl herself into Toby’s arms and his bed made her tremble.