She stiffened her weak limbs and shaky defenses. She would not think about that night. Bad enough that the memory still invaded her dreams, she refused to let it take over her conscious hours. “Toby, I’ve heard about your conquests. Women are like races to you. You win one and then you pack up and fly to the next. You had me. It’s time to move on.”
“Can’t do that, sugar. We’re not finished.”
The conviction in his words sent a shiver of desire rippling through her. He had her hot and bothered and weakening with only words. If she didn’t scare him away, then she was going to be in serious trouble. Shock tactics might work. “Are you looking for a wife?”
He flinched. “No.”
“Well, I’m looking for a husband and children, the white picket fence, the dog, the cat and the whole package. I won’t deny you were an enjoyable interlude, but I am looking for Mr. Right and someone to share a porch swing with thirty years from now. You are nowhere close to qualified for the position, and I don’t want to waste any more time on you. So back off.”
She turned on her heel and beat a hasty retreat toward the elevator.
Waste time on him?
Toby fisted his hands and gnashed his teeth. Women didn’t walk away from Toby Haynes. He loved ’em and left ’em on his terms and he always—always—left ’em wanting more.
Forget the bet. This had nothing to do with the wager he’d made to keep Vincent entertained during rough months of countless skin grafts and painful rehab and everything to do with Amelia Lambert—the first woman to mess up his foolproof system.
She’d left him wanting more. Nothing permanent like her fantasy house in the suburbs and happy ever after, mind you, because he didn’t believe in permanence. He’d seen too many women walk away when times got tough and too many men blow when the pressure got too high. But he wanted more of her particular brand of five-alarm-fire sex. They’d combusted every which way including sideways that night, and having her dismiss the potent chemistry between them—dismiss him—chafed worse than sucking exhaust from the back of the pack.
He wanted her back. What’s more, she wanted him, too. He’d seen the hunger in her green-and-gold eyes as she’d visually stripped him a few minutes ago, and his body had responded. Give him a few more laps around the mattress and then he’d be ready to drop the checkered flag on their relationship.
He took a minute to admire her slender figure and lean legs in a short white skirt and frilly, sheer peach-colored blouse over a fitted camisole instead of her usual shapeless hospital scrubs. Her hair, a wavy cinnamon curtain, swished between her shoulder blades with each step. His blood took a pit stop in his south end at the memory of the silky strands gliding across his belly and thighs—an experience he intended to repeat soon. Very soon.
He knocked himself out of neutral and straightened to tail her sweet, swaying behind. The sudden movement made the floor shift beneath his feet. Damn. He planted a steadying palm on the cool column. The vertigo vanished as quickly as it had appeared, but it reminded him why he was here.
Concussion. Couldn’t drive. The doc claimed that by the time the wedding passed Toby should be back behind the wheel. Missing five races meant that, short of a miracle, he and his team would be eliminated from this year’s chase for the championship. He didn’t believe in miracles.
He’d been in the top ten for the past eight years and he didn’t like losing. Every win proved his daddy wrong. Toby Haynes wasn’t a worthless piece of crap. Too bad the old bastard hadn’t lived long enough to eat his words.
Toby covered the ground between him and his target in long strides. “Hold up, sugar. We have to make plans. What in the devil is a Jack and Jill shower anyway?”
Amelia stopped abruptly and turned. “Why?”
“Because Vincent wants one and he put me in charge of it. And Candace sent me a link to a wedding Web site that says you and I are supposed to host some brunch thing together, too. I have the e-mails. C’mon up to my room and we’ll go over ’em.”
He’d done his research and he knew exactly what his best-man duties were. Back when he’d thought he’d be racing every weekend and blowing in only for the wedding, he’d intended to hire the best party planner in Monaco to set up a pair of bashes the bride and groom would never forget. Money was no object. But since he was stuck here he might as well use the situation to lure Amelia back into the sack.
Amelia folded her arms and gave him that prissy in-your-dreams look—the one that fired every cylinder in his engine. Nothing he liked more than a challenge, and the sweet little nurse had been a challenge from day one when she’d tried to bounce him from Vincent’s hospital room after visiting hours ended. She hadn’t stood a chance of ditching him then and she didn’t now. What Toby wanted, Toby got. He hadn’t made it from white trash to multimillionaire by letting a few obstacles stop him.
He held out his hands and shrugged. “Hey, if you’re not interested, I’m sure I can pull something together. They sell kegs in Monaco, right? And I bet the concierge can recommend a good stripper or two for the bachelor party.”
Amelia’s raspberry-red lips dropped open in horror. Bull’s-eye. He’d missed riling her and bit the inside of his lip to stop a grin.
“You don’t have beer kegs at bridal showers, Toby, and Candace would not appreciate strippers.”
No kidding. But he loved Amelia’s shocked whisper. Kinda reminded him of how she’d sounded when he’d dipped his head between her legs and licked her that first time. “No?”
She huffed out an exasperated breath. “Give me your list and go back to the States, back to your races and your bimbos and…whatever. I’ll take care of everything.”
If only he could go back.
“Nope. Gave my word. Never break it.” If his good-ole-boy act made people underestimate him, that wasn’t his problem. And if Amelia thought he’d give up his pursuit just because she played hard to get, then she’d seriously miscalculated how much he liked to win.
“Speaking of teamwork, I could use your help. Airline lost my luggage. Let me dump my bag upstairs and then you can take me shopping and do your worst.” The airline had promised to have his bag to him within twenty-four hours, and he had a change of clothes in his carry-on. But he didn’t have to share that information.
“I am not your personal shopper.”
No, but she was one of those women who always helped out someone in need, a real sucker for a sob story. He’d learned that in the months of chasing her up and down hospital corridors.
“Admit it, you’d love to get me out of my pants. Again.” He winked and she bristled predictably. “You’ve been here a day already. I know you women have scoped out the stores.”
The glint in her eyes warned him he wouldn’t score an easy victory. “I’m sure Gustavo, our concierge, can give you a map. If you want to discuss shower and brunch arrangements, then I’ll make time to meet you in the café by the gardens later this afternoon. But right now I have plans.”
Plans that didn’t include him.
He ought to be frustrated by his lack of success. Instead the temporary setback only made him more determined to succeed.
The express elevator to the penthouse floor opened. She whirled around and stepped inside. Toby followed.
Her eyes widened. “Where are you going?”
“My suite.”
She folded her arms and abruptly faced the doors. He was glad, because the swift ascent left him reeling. He braced a shoulder against the wall and widened his stance. The moment the brass panels opened again, Amelia bolted down the thickly carpeted hall. Toby straightened carefully, found his balance and followed more slowly, scanning the space to get his bearings.
Nine doors opened off the penthouse level. Two emergency exits. Six suites. One rooftop pool and hot tub for the private use of the penthouse-level guests. Amelia stabbed her key card into the door at the far end and a grin tugged Toby’s lips. His room was next door. Convenient. Thanks, Vince.
He inserted the key into his electronic lock. “Knock on the wall when you’re ready for me, sugar.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” Amelia ducked into her room.
Toby’s grin widened. Being sidelined for a month from the sport he lived and breathed no longer seemed like a fate worse than death. In fact, he could even say he was looking forward to it.
Two
Amelia slammed the suite door behind her—as hard as one could slam a door designed to operate silently.She stalked into the luxurious sitting area and confronted her best friend. On second thought, maybe her former best friend. “Is there something you forgot to tell me?”
Candace tucked a lock of pale blond hair behind her ear and blinked her big blue eyes innocently. Too innocently. “Like what?”
“Like Toby Haynes is Vincent’s best man and he’s going to be a pain in my neck for the entire month, not just the weekend of the wedding.”
“Oh, that.” Candace made a show of straightening the pages of whatever wedding project she’d been working on.
“You knew. And you didn’t warn me.” Just as Candace had known about that miserable mistake Amelia had made ten months ago. Candace was the only one Amelia had told, and then only because she’d had to offer some explanation for suddenly switching to the Thursday-Sunday shifts—days when Toby would be at a racetrack somewhere.
“I didn’t know until a couple of days ago. But it’s been months since you two hooked up and split up, Amelia. You should be able to be civil to each other. Or if there’s still something between you, maybe you can see where it leads.”
Realization dawned and the betrayal winded her. Candace had a notorious reputation at the hospital for trying to pair up people. But because of their shared pain and shared past, Amelia had never expected her friend to practice that annoying habit on her. “You’re matchmaking. With me. How could you?”
Candace’s gaze softened. “Honey, Neal is dead. You’re not.”
Amelia flinched. “You don’t need to remind me. I loved your brother. I still do.”
“I loved him, too. And he loved you. You made the last year of his life better. Amelia, we don’t have to forget him, but he’s been gone three years and we have to move on. You spend most of your time alone in your apartment, reading romances or watching sappy old movies. You need to get out more.”
“Not with Toby Haynes!”
“He’s the only guy you’ve dated since Neal.”
“We didn’t date. We had sex.”
“So you skipped a few preliminaries. Big deal. Besides, Vincent wants us to keep an eye on him.”
“On Toby? Why?”
“Because of the wreck.”
At a loss, Amelia shook her head. “What wreck?”
“The one last weekend that gave Toby a grade-three concussion. Vincent claims Toby’s one of those alpha males who refuses to admit to any weakness, so he asked Toby to fly over here and keep an eye on us. But we’re really watching him. Sneaky, huh?”