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The Playboy's Passionate Pursuit (Monte Carlo Affairs #3) Page 3
Author: Emilie Rose

Vincent wasn’t the only sneaky one. Amelia stabbed her fingers into her hair, yanked and silently screamed, This cannot be happening. “He looks fine.”

“And since you worked in neurology before transferring to the burn unit, you know how deceiving head injuries can be. One of us—preferably you, me or Madeline—should be with him whenever he leaves the hotel, since we know what postconcussion syndrome looks like,” Candace said. “And I have the name of a Monaco neurologist. Toby’s supposed to check in regularly.” She dug in her purse and offered a business card to Amelia.

Amelia took it with about as much enthusiasm as she would an open test tube of the Ebola virus. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask me to share his suite.”

“I was hoping you’d volunteer.”

Amelia narrowed her eyes. “You’d better be joking.”

Candace gave her an enigmatic smile.

“I could hate you for this.”

“No, Amelia, you can’t. We were almost family, and you can’t hate family.”

Ha. Shows what she knew. Amelia’s parents detested each other. Their virulent screaming matches were legendary in the neighborhood. Her father might not be able to walk, but he sure could bellow and curse. And her mother didn’t take his verbal abuse silently. More often than not, she provoked it.

“If he’s so bad off, why did the doctors clear him for travel?”

“To keep him away from racing. There’s some rule that says if a sick or injured driver can make one lap around the track and then hand the car off to a relief driver, he can still earn points. Or something like that. Vincent didn’t want to risk Toby trying to make those laps when he’s unstable.”

Which only confirmed Amelia’s opinion that adrenaline junkies didn’t know what was good for them. If the man had to be forced to take time off when he was incapacitated—

“Consider taking shifts managing the best man as one of your maid-of-honor duties,” Candace stated firmly.

If she didn’t love Candace so much, she would tell her to take her maid-of-honor tribute and insert it like a suppository. “I really could hate you for this,” she repeated.

“Nah, you’re just miffed because you can’t keep running. And because Toby makes you feel something.”

Amelia didn’t want to feel anything. Numbness was safer. It allowed her to make logical decisions instead of impetuous ones. If the right man ever came along to replace Neal, then he would gently coax her emotions back to life. He would not turn her into a quivering mass of screaming nerves on her coffee table, her floor, her bed and in her shower.

Toby had turned her into a stranger that night ten months ago. Someone passionate, impulsive, impractical and without restraint—a combination guaranteed to result in disaster.

Someone she never wanted to be again.

“Feeling lucky tonight?”

Amelia startled and gasped at the sound of Toby’s low-pitched voice rumbling in her ear. His warm breath stirred the fine hairs on her neck.

How did he sneak up on her that way? He’d done so numerous times during the days when Vincent had been in the hospital. She wouldn’t even know he was on the floor and then—bam!—he’d materialize behind her, whisper something outrageous in her ear and rattle her nerves like leaves in a hurricane.

She turned away from the craps table. Surprise stole her words and glued her feet to the carpet. Gone was the jean-clad invitation to sin she’d come to know and avoid. In his place stood a man sexier than any other in Le Sun Casino. Correction: sexier than any man in the entire Monte Carlo Casino complex. Maybe even in all of Monaco.

Toby had tamed his golden hair and shaved his stubborn block of jaw. He looked dashing, debonair, suave…all those words she’d read but never used.

Like the blond James Bond. Only better.

He certainly left her shaken and stirred. “I—I don’t gamble, so luck doesn’t come into it.”

“No?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy trying to figure out how different games work.” With a flip of her hand she indicated the black tux adorning his tall, broad-shouldered athletic frame to GQ perfection. “I thought you’d lost your luggage.”

“I did, but our helpful concierge pointed me toward the shops when you refused.”

She didn’t feel guilty for that. Well, maybe just a twinge, given his concussion. She scanned the brightly lit circus decor of the room, looking beneath the colorful carousel dome in the center, past the numerous slot machines and other games of chance and over the finely dressed guests. She didn’t spot her suitemates.

“Where’s Candace?” The bride had agreed to take the first Toby-watching shift. Amelia had broken away from the group to wander around looking for celebrities before Toby joined them. She adored entertainment magazines, and Monaco—the casino in particular—was packed with famous faces. Too bad it would be tacky to collect autographs.

“Candace said something about the three of them heading to the Café Divan for dinner and sent me after you. Hungry?”

“Not really. You go ahead.”

His silvery-blue gaze coasted from her French-twisted hair to her bronze silk evening gown with its bust-enhancing lace bodice and chiffon godet skirt that gave the impression of curves—curves her matchstick figure didn’t naturally have. He finally reached her ridiculously high heels and then took a leisurely return trip. She felt as glamorous as a Hollywood starlet in this gown—doubly so when Toby’s appreciative gaze returned to hers.

“You look good, sugar. Good enough to eat.”

Her skin scorched. Memories bombarded her. She snuffed them and mentally searched her barren brain for a polite way to send him back to Candace before she weakened. “Thank you.”

But then she noted the groove between his eyebrows and his slight flinch when a woman beside him squealed over a win. “Do you have a headache?”

He shrugged. “S’ probably jet lag.”

Compassion she did not want to feel invaded her. Postconcussion syndrome often included headaches. “It’s too soon for jet lag. That’ll hit tomorrow or the next day. You should get out of these bright lights and away from the noise.”

“Not leaving your side. Bride’s orders.”

Amelia stifled a frustrated growl over Candace’s blatant matchmaking. She would chew out her meddling friend later for ditching her shift early, because there was no doubt what this was—a handoff.

Amelia nodded toward the exit. “Let’s walk outside. The fresh air might help your head. If it doesn’t, I have acetaminophen in my room.”

His lips quirked. “Inviting me to your room already?”

Smacking him wouldn’t improve his headache, so she restrained the impulse. Barely. “You can wait in the hall.”

“First let’s find a quiet restaurant somewhere,” he said. “I could eat.”

Hope kicked in her chest. Ditching him couldn’t be as easy as passing him back to Candace, could it? “Why don’t you join the others? I heard the food’s good.”

“No point in staying in the casino. I don’t gamble either.”

Which was an odd thing to say given his occupation was a huge gamble with his life.

Within moments he’d handed a message and a big tip to a casino employee to inform Candace, Stacy and Madeline that he and Amelia were leaving. He guided her out of the building with a warm hand on her waist that she couldn’t outrun no matter how fast she toddled on her heels.

The cool night air enveloped her. She struggled with her wrap. Toby lifted the filmy fabric. His fingertips brushed her nape and then he smoothed his palms across her shoulders and down her arms in a wide, warm nerve-tingling swath. She silently cursed her telling shiver and hustled down the sidewalk.

Twisting to dislodge the hand at her waist, she glanced back toward the postcard view of the building. “The casino is my favorite landmark in all of Monaco, especially when it’s all lit up like this. It looks like a giant wedding cake.”

A line of expensive cars circled the Place Du Casino, the kind of cars she’d only seen in movie magazines and on her long-term male teenage patients’ hot-rod calendars. She shifted her gaze to the man walking so close beside her that their shoulders and hands bumped. Not surprisingly the Ferraris and Lamborghinis and other overpriced and overpowered toys held his attention.

His gaze caught hers. “Nice wheels.”

“Testosterone, tires, trouble. Those three T’s are the bane of the burn unit.”

“Is that why you hate drivers?”

“I don’t hate drivers,” she answered quickly—too quickly, if his skeptical expression was an indication.

“Sugar, you were the frost queen to every driver who visited Vincent in the hospital.”

“I was not.”

One arched golden eyebrow argued silently.

“Okay, so I don’t see the point in needlessly risking your life for sport. It’s just…stupid.”

His chuckle surprised her. She’d insulted him and his profession. Why would he laugh? “So that’s why you’re playing hard to get.”

“I am not playing at anything.”

He took her elbow and guided her past the fountains and sculptures of Casino Square and across the street. The warmth of his firm grip weakened her knees.

“Most women want me because I’m fast on the track and slow in the sack. But not you, Amelia. Since the driver thing doesn’t flip your toggle switch, then it must be me that starts your engine. So what’s the draw? My buff bod or my Southern charm?”

The teasing twinkle in his eyes made her pulse skip. A laugh gurgled from her throat before she could block it. “It’s certainly not your humility.”

“It’s only ego if you can’t deliver the goods. I can.”

“Oh, puh-lease.”

He pulled her to a stop on the sidewalk beneath an iron lamppost. His gaze locked on hers and his big body loomed above her. “I did. And I will.”

The intent look in his eyes stole her breath. He was going to kiss her if she didn’t move fast, but her muscles seemed sluggish. Toby tempted her to ignore every last vestige of common sense and self-preservation.

Last time she’d fallen into bed with him looking for comfort, but instead of solace she’d found passion—passion far beyond anything she’d shared with Neal. And her body’s betrayal had alarmed her. If she could feel so much for a man she didn’t love and wasn’t even sure she liked, how devastated would she be if she let herself come to care about him and then had to live through his self-destructive behavior?

She’d be her mother all over again.

She had to get rid of Toby Haynes. The sooner, the better.

He lifted his hand toward her face. Amelia ducked out of reach at the last possible second. Her brain thanked her. Her body did not. Her skin tingled and her br**sts ached with the need to be touched. “Maybe we should go back to the hotel.”

A salacious smile slanted his lips. “Now you’re talking.”

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Emilie Rose's Novels
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» The Playboy's Passionate Pursuit (Monte Carlo Affairs #3)
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» His High-Stakes Holiday Seduction (The Hightower Affairs #3)
» Bedding The Secret Heiress (The Hightower Affairs #2)
» More Than a Millionaire (The Hightower Affairs #1)
» Wed by Deception (The Payback Affairs #3)