Amelia didn’t have an answer and she suspected she resembled a goldfish with her mouth opening and closing but nothing coming out. She wanted to argue, to prove Madeline wrong. But a rebuttal wouldn’t form. Doubts, however, bloomed like wildflowers after a desert rain.
“How do you know we strike sparks off one another?”
“Because I stepped off the elevator Wednesday night when you and Toby were standing outside our door. You were so engrossed in each other I don’t think either of you heard the elevator ding or saw me in the hall. Rather than get zapped by the current between you, I got back on and went downstairs to the bar, where I hooked up with Stacy.”
Madeline held her palms up by her shoulders like balancing scales. “Live or dream? Fun or fantasy? What’s it going to be, Amelia?”
Naked and alone, Amelia lay facedown on the table and squirmed under the sheet covering no more than an eight-inch-wide swath across her bottom.
She’d never had a massage, and the idea of someone other than her doctor getting up close and personal made her uncomfortable. But this “treat” was a gift from Candace, and her friend had promised when she’d scheduled appointments for each bridesmaid at Hôtel Reynard’s top-rated spa that a massage would be a relaxing and rejuvenating experience.
A little stress reduction couldn’t be a bad thing, Amelia admitted. Having to fight the illogical push-pull of her attraction to Toby all week had been challenge enough. Combining his tempting presence with Madeline’s eye-opening evaluation this morning threatened to make the knot of tension between Amelia’s shoulder blades a permanent fixture.
Yesterday’s kiss hadn’t helped. If Toby’s watch alarm hadn’t gone off—
Don’t go there.
She’d excused herself from the bridal party after lunch and headed directly for the spa rather than risk bumping into Toby in the upstairs hall. She couldn’t face him with her mind in turmoil. But when the receptionist had escorted her into this candlelit room, told her to strip, lie down and cover only her buttocks with the sheet, she’d almost decided she’d rather deal with Toby than expose herself to a total stranger.
Better the devil you knew…
Three things had kept her from chickening out. One, it would have been inconsiderate to cancel at the last moment and to refuse Candace’s gift. Two, Candace would be charged for the expensive massage at this late date whether Amelia had it or not. And three, Madeline’s accusation that Amelia was playing it safe was a little too accurate for comfort.
Exhaling a series of long, slow breaths, Amelia willed her limbs to loosen. Relax. The masseuse is a professional. He or she doesn’t care what you look like nak*d.
She’d almost convinced herself when the door opened and a draft of warm sage-scented air swirled over her skin. Her muscles clenched all over again. She pressed her face firmly into the horseshoe-shaped pillow. If she concentrated on visually tracing the veins in the marble floor beneath the table and didn’t look at the masseuse, then maybe this wouldn’t be as embarrassing. “G-good afternoon.”
“Back atcha, sugar.”
Toby! She jerked her head up just in time to see him drop the towel encircling his hips. Her lungs seized and her heart stuttered. It’s a wonder he couldn’t hear it knocking against the table. His gaze caressed her face, her nak*d back and her legs before traveling back up to linger on her upper torso.
She flattened her br**sts against the table. “What are you doing here?”
His penis thickened, lengthened and rose from his dark golden curls, drawing her attention the way a new intern attracts nurses. Her internal muscles contracted.
“Massage. Same as you. Keep looking at me like that and I’m going to have trouble lying facedown.”
“Then leave.” Shielding her br**sts with her arm, she forced her gaze back to his face. “This is a private massage.”
“A private couple’s massage,” he corrected. “You and me, side by side, being rubbed in all the right ways. I changed the reservation.”
She could kick him…and herself. She’d thought it odd that the room contained two tables, but she hadn’t asked for an explanation. If she had, she could have avoided this. “Do not turn this into something sexual, Toby Haynes.”
“I dare you to lie there while the masseuse does her thing and know that I’m nak*d right beside you getting the same treatment and not get turned on. By the time we’re done you’ll be wishing it was my hands on your body and that we could lock the door and finish each other on the table.”
She did not need that image in her head—the one of Toby pulling her to the padded edge and plunging deep inside her the way he had on her coffee table. And if her cheeks were half as red as they were hot, then he’d know how strongly his words had affected her.
She glanced at the door. No lock. Good. That meant she wouldn’t be tempted. Not that she was. Not even a tiny bit.
He sat on the table beside hers, knees splayed, palms planted beside his thighs, which left his privates at eye level. He made no attempt to lie down or cover himself with the sheet. The man had absolutely no modesty.
With a body like that, who would?
And she was trapped. She couldn’t get up and leave without giving him an eyeful. She averted her gaze from his long, thick shaft. “Go. Away. This is supposed to be relaxing.”
Mischief twinkled in his eyes. “Do I make you tense?”
As a bowstring. “If Candace sent you, I will strangle her.”
“Lucky for her, joining you was my idea. I’d hate to have to explain to Vincent that the maid of honor knocked off his bride because Candace was matchmaking.”
He knew. She wanted to crawl under the Egyptian-cotton-draped table. Could she possibly be more humiliated? Nope. “Joining me was a bad idea. And cover up, for pity’s sake.”
His grin widened. “If you insist. No need to get prissy. It’s not as if you haven’t seen and tasted everything I have.”
Her cheeks erupted with a fresh wave of lavalike heat, and her mandible locked. “That. Night. Was. A. Mistake.”
“So you keep saying. But repeating the words doesn’t make ’em true. And your eyes…well, let’s just say lying’s not one of your talents.” He picked up the sheet and lay down—carefully. She tried not to ogle his perfect honeydew-melon rear before he covered up. Tried and failed.
He rolled onto his side, propped his head on his hand and sought her eyes. “Ever had a massage?”
She couldn’t help following the line of hair bisecting his abdomen and disappearing beneath the sheet. “No. Have you?”
“Yep. Occupational hazard. Loosen up or the massage won’t feel good.”
She shoved her face into the pillow and muttered, “I could do that a lot better if you’d leave.”
“We could always cancel and take this upstairs to my suite. I give one hell of a good massage.”
“No doubt you’ve had lots of practice,” she grumbled in disgust. “Forget about it.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing. No wait—you do. Am I too much for you, A-mel-i-a?” There he went again, stretching out her name like an orgasmic groan. “Because I could have sworn you were with me every second of that night. Sure felt like it when your body was contracting around mine and squeezing me so tight I thought my…brain would explode. And I could’ve sworn I heard you say—”
“Roll over and shut up or I’m leaving.” She lifted her head enough to glare at him. If blood could simmer, hers would. From anger but also from arousal. Which only made her angrier.
“Nah, I don’t recall you saying that. It was something more along the lines of—”
The door opened before she could make good on her threat to leave. A man and a woman entered and introduced themselves as Lars and Nina. Amelia tensed and chewed her bottom lip. She hoped the big blond guy was Toby’s. But Lars crossed to the shelf at the head of Amelia’s table, and her hopes crashed and burned.
The abstract idea of having a strange male massage her hadn’t bothered her too much, but actually having his crotch inches from her eyebrows and his hands preparing to touch parts of her the sun never saw made her extremely uncomfortable. She wanted to bolt.
“No,” Toby barked, making Amelia jump. His jaw muscles looked like marbles beneath his tanned skin. He pointed to Lars. “You’re over here. Nina’s over there.”
Lars shook his head. “Mademoiselle Meyers specifically requested me for Mademoiselle Lambert.”
“I’m overriding that request,” Toby insisted. “Switch or Mademoiselle Lambert and I are outta here.”
She really ought to object to his high-handedness. But her lips remained sealed.
The spa employees exchanged a look, then changed positions. Relief sagged through Amelia. And then a peculiar idea slipped under her skin like a hypodermic needle. Toby didn’t want the guy touching her. His possessiveness sent a thrill through her. And wasn’t that insane since she didn’t want him to be possessive? But the tingles in her extremities couldn’t be denied.
Maybe he’d seen the panic on her face and had done the gentlemanly thing. Warm fuzzies joined the tingles.
Or was he one of those guys who fantasized about two women and a ménage à trois? Her lip curled in disgust. The tingles and warm fuzzies evaporated.
She dropped her face into the pillow with a silent groan. She’d better cling to the last idea if she wanted to keep her distance from Toby Haynes.
Do you want to keep your distance?
She chewed her bottom lip. Before this morning the answer would have been an easy and unequivocal yes. But Madeline’s comments haunted her.
Had she sabotaged her search for Mr. Right by only dating Mr. Right Nows?
Looked that way. And how could she not have noticed that?
Did the short-term nature of her relationships mean she hadn’t cared about the men she’d been involved with? No. But she had to admit she’d never pictured herself sharing side-by-side rockers at the retirement home with any of them.
Not even Neal.
That disturbing revelation rattled her so much she barely registered the warm oil on her shoulders or the firm hands working it into her skin.
“Go easy on her. It’s her first massage,” Toby said.
Amelia turned her head sideways and found Toby watching her. His back glistened with oil. Lars’s big hands dug deep into muscle, but Toby didn’t flinch.
For ten months she’d been running from Toby Haynes and the passion she’d experienced in his arms, and yet avoidance of a problem had never been her style. She faced difficult issues head-on. The way she had her father’s paralysis, her mother’s subsequent caregiver-stress issues and Neal’s debilitating disease.
If she didn’t get a handle on her aberrant feelings, her desire for Toby could devastate her future plans. He was everything she didn’t want in a man. Except physically. And yet he’d monopolized her thoughts for an entire year. There was something terribly wrong in that.