“What did she say?”
“She wanted money. What else?”
“I’m sorry.”
The server placed their drinks and antipasto on the table and then left.
Toby nudged her foot beneath the table and winked. That invitation-to-sin smile slanted his mouth. “Hey, you’re sitting across from NASCAR’s sexiest driver. Lose the long face before you ruin my reputation. Unless you want to blow this joint and head back to my suite….”
The playboy had returned. That wasn’t disappointment weighting her stomach, was it? Toby was a lot easier to resist when he was trying to get her nak*d than when he was being nice.
And then something clicked. She’d asked about his mother and opened a door—a door he clearly wasn’t ready to let her pass through. “Do you act like a jerk to keep people at a distance?”
His head snapped back and his nostrils flared, confirming the accuracy of her statement. Something flashed in his eyes but passed so quickly she couldn’t identify it. And then his expression turned salacious. “So we’re gonna play head doctor? My couch or yours, sugar?”
She tried to rally her exasperation but failed. The damage had already been done. She’d had a peek past the charming facade Toby Haynes wore like armor and seen vulnerability. Seeing his pain made her want to help him.
For the first time in her life she cursed her compassionate nature. And she hoped it wouldn’t get her into trouble.
Safety lay on the opposite side of that door.
Conflicting emotions tumbled in Amelia’s head and agitated her stomach. She turned outside her suite with a quick but cool thanks-for-dinner-and-good-night hovering on her lips, but those words froze at Toby’s closer-than-expected proximity. Her spine thumped into the jamb as she jumped back. He’d invaded her space while she’d been busy formulating a plan to escape unscathed.
Toby lifted a hand and leaned closer, but he only planted his palm on the wall beside her head. Scant inches separated their bodies, and his breath swept softly over her overheated face. But he didn’t touch her. His gaze held hers, slid slowly to her lips and then returned to stare intently into her eyes for a dozen heart-pounding moments.
Would her five-minute punishment be a long kiss good-night?
She didn’t want him to kiss her. His kisses muddled her thinking and made her act rashly. And yet she couldn’t seem to persuade her leaden limbs to move her out of his way.
Her mouth dried. She swallowed.
His scent, a lethal combination of musky male and cologne, teased her nostrils. Warmth radiated from him, permeating the thin fabric of her dress.
Just do it. Make me pay already.
She wanted it over. The kiss. The embrace. This stupid fascination. The madness.
He reached past her with his other arm. She closed her eyes and steeled herself for the impact of his hand on her waist and his lips on hers, but instead of the heat and strength of him pulling her into his arms, her sluggish brain registered the hum and click of the electronic door lock. Her lids flickered open. Her key cut into her palm. That meant he must have used his—the one he’d stolen earlier.
He pushed the door open an inch and then shifted his leg to plant his shoe in the gap. The movement pressed the inside of his thigh against the outside of her hip. Hot. Hard. She vaguely registered the quiet cadence of the television coming from the sitting room. At least one of her suitemates was in.
He lifted her hand and wrapped her fingers around the knob. “Hold on.”
And then he stroked a finger along her jaw and down her neck to trace the shoulder strap of her dress. Back to front. Scapula to clavicle. His slightly roughened skin raised goose bumps on her arms and shoulders, and her heart nearly battered a hole through her ribs.
“Be ready at nine tomorrow, sweet Amelia.” Lowering his hand, Toby eased back and then he turned on his heel, strolled down the hall and disappeared into his own room. His door clicked shut behind him.
Her lungs emptied in a dizzying gush and her fingers contracted on cold metal. She sagged against the wall.
He hadn’t kissed her.
She wasn’t disappointed.
No. Uh-uh. She wasn’t. Not even a little bit.
Just because she’d seen a less jerklike side of Toby today and she’d actually enjoyed his company for once didn’t mean she liked him or wanted him to kiss her. Not tonight. Not ever again.
Liar.
She sucked in a sharp breath and plunged into the suite. Candace sat on the sofa surrounded by a rainbow of fabric samples.
“He knows,” Amelia blurted. “Toby knows Vincent asked us to watch him. And he knows you’ve dumped him on me. His words. Not mine.”
Candace’s wily smile made Amelia’s skin prickle. “I always thought Toby was smarter than he let on. That man can play good ole boy better than any Oscar-winning actor when it suits him. But he’s smarter than that. If he weren’t, Vincent wouldn’t invest twenty-million bucks in his race teams every year.”
“Twenty million?” Amelia squeaked. At Candace’s nod, Amelia’s purse slipped from her fingers and bounced on the coffee table. Toby lived in an affluent world she couldn’t even begin to imagine. “One of you needs to take a turn with him tomorrow.”
“We’re all tied up. You’re the only one free.”
Amelia’s temper stirred. “You have no intention of taking a turn, do you?”
“I’m busy. I have a wedding to plan.”
“I’m your maid of honor. I’m supposed to be helping you.”
“You are helping me by watching Toby. Vincent loves him like a brother. I can’t let anything happen to him. And you’re the one most qualified to ensure that it doesn’t.”
“Not fair. Madeline is a physician’s assistant. She’s had more training than me.”
“Madeline has embarked on a holiday affair with her tour guide. Amelia, you know her ex did a hatchet job on her self-esteem. She needs this time to heal.”
Unfortunately Amelia knew and agreed. Madeline’s exfiancé, a doctor who’d worked at the hospital with them, had publicly humiliated her friend and destroyed Madeline’s confidence when he walked out of their six-year engagement. Madeline deserved whatever happiness she could find.
The fight drained out of Amelia and an ice block of dread crystallized in her stomach. “I know she needs a boost right now. But, Candace, Toby’s just like—”
She stopped. Just like my father.
This should be the happiest and most exciting time of Candace’s life. If Amelia dumped her pitiful family history on her friend, she could ruin that. Could she live with being a wet blanket?
“I’m pregnant,” Candace confessed before Amelia could make up her mind.
“What?”
“It’s a secret. Please don’t mention it to anyone. I’m avoiding Toby because I’m afraid he’ll figure it out and tell Vincent before I can. I want to tell Vincent he’s going to be a father in person, and that means not telling anyone until after I can do that. Can I count on you to keep my secret, Amelia?”
“But Vincent won’t be here for weeks. He’s tied up at the new hotel.”
“Right. It’s going to be hard keeping this quiet. I haven’t been sick much, but I do sleep a lot. And—gag me—I am craving sardines. Eeew. It’s like eating cat food, but I can’t seem to get enough.”
Amelia forced a smile. As happy as she was for her friend, she could feel a rising tide of panic. She’d been saddled with a man who could totally wreck her plan for a peaceful life, a man who’d already made her do impulsive and intoxicating things she regretted. A man who made her want to do those things again.
“Nobody will hear your news from me. Congratulations.”
Candace stood and hugged her. “You’re the best.”
“That’s what friends are for. But I will need some relief from Toby.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
But Amelia suspected whatever Candace arranged wouldn’t be enough. She was on her own and in serious trouble.
Five
Toby Haynes had the machismo, charisma or whatever it was that sucked all the oxygen out of a room the moment he entered. The small confines of the car only intensified that effect.“Are you crazy?” Amelia whispered as Toby folded himself into the passenger seat. “We can’t just take a six-hundred-thousand-dollar vehicle and leave the country.”
“It’s insured. And the dealer knows where we’re headed. He even recommended his brother’s bistro for lunch. Work for you?”
She tightened her already white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. “I can’t think about food. My stomach is tied in knots. This car costs almost as much as I make in a decade.”
“I’ve got you covered. Just enjoy the drive.”
She wanted to. Impractical as it may be, she’d fallen in love with the adorable sports car on sight. The smell. The bold cobalt paint. The way the leather seats cradled her body like a spooning lover.
Don’t go there.
The total absurdity of the price made sitting behind the wheel feel more like fantasy than reality. Forget Cinderella and her fancy pumpkin coach. This was a ride to be envied. Too bad Amelia had always been and always would be the sensible-sedan type when it came to actually purchasing a vehicle. And she never would have dared to test-drive a car she couldn’t afford.
Toby leaned across her. His shoulder pressed hers and his springy hair brushed her chin. The clean tang of his shampoo combined with his nearness to make her head spin. He grabbed her seat belt and strapped her in and then turned his head. Scant inches separated their mouths.
Her breath caught and her skin tingled. “But—”
“Sugar, if you’re as crazy about celebrities as Candace says you are, then you know you want to see Cannes.”
“Well, yes, but…” She wanted to match her handprints to the ones in Allée des Stars, the French version of Grauman’s Chinese Theater, where celebrities who’d attended the famous Cannes Film Festival had left handprints in concrete. But she’d planned to travel by train. Alone. Without the temptation of a man and a car she couldn’t afford. And darn Candace for revealing her plans. “It’s an electric car. What if the battery dies?”
“It’s less than forty miles. We’ll make it.” He sat back and fastened his seat belt. “Quit making excuses and drive.”
She bit her lip and wrinkled her nose. “You’re not going to let me weasel out of this, are you?”
His eyes twinkled and his teeth flashed in a wolfish smile. “Not a chance. Let’s go.”
Part of her wanted to do as he suggested and live a little, but her sensible side kept her foot on the brake. “They drive fast in Europe.”
“A hundred and thirty kilometers per hour sounds fast, but it’s only eighty-one miles per hour. You can’t tell me you’ve never driven eighty on an interstate.” His palm spread over her bare knee and squeezed, sending shock waves of sensation through her. “Amelia, I have every confidence you can handle this car as well as you handle me. C’mon, take me for a ride. You know you want to.”