He couldn’t help laughing. He nodded to her restless fingers. “You do it without even trying. And, sugar, you slay me. Every time.”
Her gaze dropped to her lap. She flattened her hand and then looked at the bulge behind his zipper. Her eyes widened and her lips parted. She ducked her head and focused on finishing her pastry with the intensity of a brain surgeon at work.
How could a woman be so totally unaware of her appeal? And why did this scrawny little gal turn him on with zero effort when others couldn’t do so with a bag full of tricks?
He’d find out. And once he did, like any magic trick, she wouldn’t impress him once he knew the secret.
Toby Haynes was her worst nightmare.
An adrenaline junkie.
Times three.
It wasn’t enough for him to drive at breakneck speeds. He enabled others to do so, too.
She couldn’t get back to her suite fast enough and hustled down the carpeted hall with one goal in mind—putting a wall between her and her tormentor. She just couldn’t figure him out. Why her? And what was up with this morning?
The staggering opulence of the villa and the Churchill Suite at Hôtel de Paris—the places Toby had chosen as possible settings for the luncheon and bridal shower—had set her romantic heart aflutter, but what rattled the most was how effortlessly Toby had fit into both places. He’d strolled into each venue wearing his faded jeans, battered boots and what felt like a silk shirt and looked right at home, whereas she’d been afraid to touch anything for fear of breaking something.
She stopped outside her door and scowled up at him. “You never had any intention of having a keg party, did you?”
His smile turned wicked and she knew she’d been had. Again. During those months visiting Vincent in the hospital, Toby had apparently relished getting a rise out of her. He’d provoked her at every opportunity.
“Is your good-ole-boy shtick just an act?”
“I grew up dirt-poor and barely made it through high school. Don’t let a little spit shine fool you.” He plucked her key card from her hand and opened her door. And then he put her key in his front pocket.
“Give me my key.”
“Later. Let’s hit the pool.” He forced her into the suite by the simple act of moving forward. She could either hold her ground and end up plastered against him or get out of the way. A tiny reckless part of her wanted the former. Of course, she ignored that annoying, foolish voice and moved.
He closed the door, sealing them into the suite. All four bedroom doors stood open.
“Hello? Anybody here?” she called out. Silence greeted her and her heart sank. Her suitemates were out. So much for her plan to turn Toby over to one of the wedding party. She faced him. “I have things to do this afternoon.”
“What could be more interesting than spending time with the best man?”
“I’d like to go sightseeing. Alone.”
“I’ll set something up. Tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to go swimming.” Lovely. Now she sounded like a fractious child.
She hadn’t visited the pool and rooftop garden yet, and while she’d like to, she’d prefer to save that experience for later, when Toby wasn’t in the building. Or the principality. Wearing a swimsuit seemed half-dressed—and half-dressed was almost nak*d. And nak*d was not something she wanted to be around tempta—ahem—Toby.
“Not much point in having a private pool and hot tub if we never use ’em. And the sign says Clothing Optional.” His eyebrows waggled.
Her jaw dropped open. She snapped it closed. He could not be serious. “Not interested.”
He checked his watch—an expensive-looking ultrathin gold piece. “Lunch will be served on the patio poolside.”
She folded her arms and stubbornly shook her head.
A muscle twitched in his jaw and his unblinking stare pinned her to the carpet. “I’m not supposed to swim alone.”
Her molars clicked together on that blatantly manipulative statement even though he looked as though he’d rather eat worms than admit it. Duty sucked and Candace would pay dearly for this. Amelia wasn’t sure how yet, but her friend would definitely pay.
“I will have lunch with you because I’m hungry and I’ll sit in the garden while you swim with your trunks on. I have to deal with nak*d men at work all the time. I shouldn’t have to suffer them on my vacation.”
Wait. That didn’t sound quite right.
And watching Toby’s buff body wouldn’t exactly be an arduous chore. Unfortunately. Keeping her common sense and hormones separated would be the real challenge. She needed to build a mental Wall of China between the two warring factions of her brain.
“Spoilsport.” He winked. “But I’ll make you a deal. I’ll wear my suit if you’ll wear yours.”
She bit back a frustrated growl and barely resisted the urge to stomp her feet like the spoiled daddy’s princess she’d been before her father’s injury. “You are a master manipulator.”
That smile—the toe-curling one she detested—slid across his lips again. “I’m a master of many things. As you well know. Making you sing, for one. How many orgasms did you have that night? A record-breaking number, didn’t you say?”
Seeds of her mother’s infamous temper cracked open inside her, and tendrils of fury sprouted, shooting for an outlet—her mouth. Her teen years had been filled with hurtful words shouted through the house, and it frightened her that she wanted—no, needed—to bellow and throw things at Toby. But she wouldn’t. She had more control than that. But just in case, she turned on her heel, stomped into her bedroom and shut the door.
A knock sounded before she could lock herself in the bathroom. “If you’re not by the pool in twenty minutes, I’m coming back and hauling you out. With or without your suit.”
She threw her sandal at the door and then stared aghast and pressed her hands against her cheeks. She never had tantrums. Ever.
Toby Haynes brought out the worst in her, and that was why, no matter what he said or did, she could not afford to get involved with him again.
But how could she avoid certain disaster?
Focus on his injury.
Treat him like a patient.
You never have sex with your patients.
Amelia had ditched him again.
Ticked off, frustrated and determined to track her down, Toby exited her empty suite just as the elevator chimed.
Amelia stepped out of the cubicle and scowled. “Were you in my room?”
“Yep. Went to get you. Said I would.” He took in the filmy black fabric covering her to midthigh, her bare legs, the sparkly sandals on her feet and the shopping bag in her hand. She’d changed into her swimsuit. Score one for the Haynes team. “Where have you been?”
“I had to buy sunscreen and get a new key since mine was stolen.”
“Borrowed.” He pushed open the door to the pool area and the sharp tang of chlorine filled his nose. “Water’s waiting.”
But Amelia didn’t move. She tilted her head, sending her hair gliding across her shoulders. His gut clenched in memory of the caress of those silky strands.
Great. Now he had a hair fetish to go with his AWOL equilibrium and a ban from the track.
“You thought I’d stood you up, didn’t you?”
He refused to reply.
“Not used to women saying no, Toby?”
No, he wasn’t. In fact, he received more offers each season than an entire football team could handle—and he was usually the one who said no thanks.
“I want to swim. I may be sidelined from racing, but I still need to stay in shape.” And according to the doctor, he needed a babysitter to do it. That irked the hell out of him, but if he wanted to make up lost ground when he returned to the track, he’d need to have his A-game ready. No slacking off in his training schedule. His balance issues meant most of his favorite sports were out of the question. Temporarily. He had to stick to swimming and working out in the hotel gym with a trainer.
Amelia’s gaze, more green than gold at the moment, coasted over him, lingering on his bare legs. Every cell in his body sparked to life. She slipped past him though the door. He deliberately crowded her, savoring her gasp, her flowery scent and the brush of her body against his.
“You work out?” Her voice sounded a tad breathless. Good.
“Every day. Driving’s more than just turning the wheel. A guy needs stamina—which I’m sure you recall is good other places besides the racetrack. What about you? You gonna be able to keep up with me, sugar? Here in the pool, I mean. We both know how well you handle me in other places.”
She took off across the flagstones like a driver putting the hammer down in a qualifying race against the clock and called over her shoulder, “I can swim. How is your head? Any pain?”
“I’m fine. Looks like we have the pool to ourselves.” Excellent.
She stopped ten yards away beside the deep end and faced him. “Does the bright light bother you? Are you having any other problems, like a decreased sense of smell?”
Her nurse voice clued him in, but still he asked, “Why?”
“Those, along with a compromised sense of taste, are common side effects of a concussion.”
“I’m fine. But if you want to play doctor, I’m more than willing.”
After giving him a disgusted eye roll, she turned a full circle to inspect the area. “This is beautiful. You’d never know we’re on top of a building. It’s more like an oasis, and with those tented double loungers I almost expect to see a sheikh stroll past.”
Toby scanned what he hoped would be a setting for seduction to see what put that dreamy, awed note in her voice. Citrus trees and flowering plants overflowed from giant pots around the patio. The retractable roof had been opened to let in the sunlight. Despite being surrounded by four walls—walls you couldn’t see because of the dense foliage—a gentle breeze rustled the leaves and stirred the air. Probably a well-concealed fan. It didn’t do much to cool his overheated skin.
“Sheikh fantasies trip your trigger?”
Her nose lifted. “My fantasies are none of your business.”
He loved it when she got snippy, because in the sack she was anything but uptight. He liked the contrast of the prim-and-proper nurse and the sensualist lover. “Wrong, sugar. Making your fantasies come true is my sole ambition.”
He peeled off his shirt and tossed it on a lounger and then kicked off his leather flip-flops and rubbed his hands together in anticipation of caressing Amelia’s pale, smooth skin. “Take off your top and let me help you with that sunscreen.”
She stilled, and then a slow, smug little smile curved her lips as she deposited her bag in a chair, then reached into it and withdrew an aerosol can. “No, thanks. I bought the spray-on kind.”
Sneaky. But he could get around that, especially since he knew she wanted to get her hands on him. Even now she checked out his pecs and abs and a flush darkened her cheekbones. His n**ples and groin tightened.
“Then you can rub in mine. I love the feel of your hands on me.” Hell, he craved it. He’d lost count of the times he’d woken up hard in the past months from dreaming about her touch. Not even other women had blunted his need.