If he was ever cleared.
“Why don’t you go home?”
“You’re just trying to get rid of me because I make you hot.”
A smile flickered across her mouth and her cheeks pinked in the milky moonlight. “Maybe.”
“I’m supposed to be watching the wedding party. Even though we both know that’s bull.”
“Vincent asked Franco—Stacy’s…um…boyfriend—to watch over us, too, so it’s not like we wouldn’t have someone to turn to if problems cropped up. You could go home for a few days, reassure your teammates and then come back. Vincent would never have to know.”
The idea sounded plausible. Doable. “I don’t lie to my friends. I’ll run it by him. If he agrees, I’ll go.” He needed to go.
He curved his hands over her smooth shoulders, savoring the warm satin of her skin. “While I’m gone, do you think you can dig up some of your father’s courage and find the guts to admit you want me instead of blowing hot and cold?”
She stiffened. “I don’t want to want you. I’d give anything not to want you.”
That hit hard and low. “A driver’s not good enough for you?”
She winced at the harsh tone of his voice. “It’s not you, Toby. It’s me. I don’t like who I am when I’m with you.”
“A sex goddess who blows my—” he cocked an eyebrow “—mind?”
She blinked, blushed and then shook her head. “An impractical, impulsive, out-of-control stranger.”
“We’ve covered that. I told you bed’s the one place it’s good to lose control. And I like losing it with you.” He tucked a windblown strand of hair behind her ear and then cupped her cheek. The hitch in her breath sent him flashing back to the sounds she’d made hours ago when he’d been deep inside her, but something soft and warm in her expression warned him to paint the boundaries. “What’s wrong with a little sex between friends?”
Her eyes widened. “Friends? Is that what we are?”
If not friends, then what? He had nothing more to offer. “I like you, Amelia. But neither one of us wants this to end at the altar. You in my bed in Monaco—that’s what I want. What we both want. You’re the one who laid those ground rules. And I guarantee you will not get stuck with me.”
She tilted her head back and bit her lip. A string of emotions—caution, worry, desire—chased across her face before she blinked them away and met his gaze. “Okay. We’ll have Monaco.”
She needed an intervention, Amelia decided Sunday night.
Because she’d lost her mind.
There was absolutely no other way to explain why she’d agreed to Toby’s risky proposition.
As soon as she’d agreed to his terms Friday night, he’d whisked her back to the hotel and into his suite, where he’d made lo—ahem—had sex with her for hours. Amazing, lost-count-of-how-many-cli**xes-she’d-had sex.
By the time she’d awoken Saturday morning, Toby had already left the hotel. She’d run her hand over his empty pillow and wished he didn’t have a self-destructive streak a mile wide. Sure, he claimed he didn’t take unnecessary chances and she’d seen a few hints of rational behavior. But she’d also seen the yearning in his eyes when he talked about getting back in his race car. And it had only been weeks since his last crash.
Amelia knew from experience that daredevils never changed their ways. She’d had too many run-ins with frequent flyers—the patients who swore they’d never repeat the risky feat that had landed them in the hospital only to have them return later. She didn’t trust mere words. Seeing was believing.
The scary part was that for one foolish moment this morning she’d wanted to change Toby, to ask him to take up a safer occupation. But for years she’d watched her mother try—and fail—to change her father.
A relationship with a man like Toby was akin to walking a high wire without a net. Sooner or later she’d fall and the landing would be painful. Probably crippling.
Getting involved with him was complicated on so many levels. Besides her dysfunctional family, there was Neal. She’d already buried one man she loved. She couldn’t handle burying another. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself love Toby. She could be his “friend” for her remaining time in Monaco, but that was where she absolutely had to draw the line.
And since she couldn’t count on Candace or Madeline to be voices of reason, she’d decided to launch her own intervention.
A tap on her bedroom door yielded Madeline. “Are you sure you don’t want to go with Stacy and me to Le Texan? I’ve heard everybody who’s anybody hits their Alamo Bar for margaritas.”
The chance to do more celebrity watching tempted her, but Amelia had more important plans. One way or another she was going to cure herself of this ridiculous crush she had on Toby Haynes. And a crush is all it is.
“No, but thanks for asking. You two have fun. I’m going to kick back, watch some TV and catch up on sleep.”
A valid excuse since they’d been keeping late hours and Toby had kept her awake most of Friday night.
Stacy joined Madeline and asked, “You’re sure?”
“I’m good here. I might even try one of those decadent desserts the chef specializes in. Have fun.”
“Okay, then. G’night.”
Amelia wiped her damp palms on her jeans and reached for the remote. Assignment one: witness every hair-raising lap and crash of today’s NASCAR race. Assignment two: bury herself in Internet research and bombard her brain with race wreck and fatality statistics. Assignment three: a clean, swift break.
It didn’t take long to find an American sports network broadcasting the race live. Her stomach knotted and her pulse quickened as she watched the pace car circle the Michigan race track.
Toby was there. Somewhere. In the crowd. He might not be driving one of those cars today, but he would be as soon as he could be.
And she was going to sit through this race if it killed her, because she needed to remind herself what he did for a living.
Toby Haynes risked his life for sport.
“Hey, buddy, switch?”
Amelia’s heart and feet faltered at the sound of a familiar deep Southern drawl. She stepped on Prince Dominic’s toes, winced an apology and jerked to a halt in the middle of La Salle Des Étoiles, the location of Le Bal de L’Été, a charity ball held in the Monte Carlo Sporting Club.
Toby, with Madeline as his partner, stood beside them. The other dancers flowed past their little quartet.
Dominic released Amelia and bowed. “Certainly. Thank you for the dance, Amelia.”
“Um…you’re welcome, Your Highness.”
Madeline, looking none too happy over the exchange, paired up with Prince Dominic. The irony of the situation tweaked Amelia’s funny bone. Madeline, the one who’d sworn just days ago that she wouldn’t fall for the magic of Monaco, had discovered her vacation lover was an incognito prince. A real prince with a crown, a kingdom and the whole shebang.
With more than a little reluctance Amelia moved stiffly into Toby’s arms. Anger simmered beneath the surface. She didn’t want to dance with him and kept as wide a distance as possible between their bodies, but there was no denying the pulse-accelerating effect of his warm hands resting on her waist and enclosing her fingers. She numbly followed his lead.
His silvery-blue gaze rolled across her bare shoulders, down her yellow tulle dress and back up to her face and upswept hair. “You look good.”
Amelia glared at him, but her body tingled as a result of his thorough scrutiny, and her breath caught at the hunger in his eyes when their gazes met. Worse, her own hormones kicked into action.
“Let me guess. This is a booty call?”
His eyes narrowed. “Come again?”
“You could have phoned.” She instantly wanted the bitchy words back. She sounded like a nagging wife, and that was something she’d vowed to never become. But after his big show of “friendship,” Toby hadn’t called or e-mailed once in the seven days since he’d left.
Wasn’t it adolescent of her to have hurt feelings?
For a moment Toby looked as if he had something serious to say and then the playboy facade dropped over him as clearly as the curtain had closed after the play she’d attended with her suitemates Thursday night.
That killer smile curved his lips. And there went her toes, dammit. “Miss me, sugar?”
Yes. Dammit squared. “Your ego astounds me.”
“That’s not the only thing.” A naughty glint lit his eyes and her pulse took off for the races.
She was annoyed with him for not calling and even more irritated with herself for jumping each time the hotel phone rang or the message light flashed.
She hadn’t known if or when he would return until she’d looked up ten minutes ago and spotted him at the entrance of the ballroom, standing beside Vincent Reynard, the groom-to-be. For someone who’d been eager to get rid of Toby two weeks ago, Amelia had been alarmingly happy to see him tonight. And then a bevy of beautiful, fawning females had surrounded him—the same way they had on the race shows she’d watched. At least none of these elegantly gowned women had whipped out a Sharpie and asked him to autograph bare skin the way the race fans had.
She was jealous, she realized with jaw-dropping shock, of the groupies and the ball beauties. She didn’t have the right and didn’t want the right to object to the company Toby kept. No, sir. Uh-uh.
But the overly attentive women raised her hackles.
Clearly her intervention hadn’t worked as well as she’d hoped.
“Excuse me.” She tried to pull away, but his hold tightened. He yanked her against the hard, hot length of his body. The lapels of his tux jacket scraped against her sensitive br**sts, making her gasp as sensation shot straight to her core, and every cell in her body shouted, Welcome home!
That wasn’t good.
“What kind of hello is that for a man who’s flown across an ocean to hold you?” he murmured against her temple.
Her breath hitched and a tingle raced through her. She wrenched free without thinking and then noticed her sudden movement hadn’t left him unsteady. “Your equilibrium has improved. You’ll be returning to the track soon.”
“Hope so. Let’s get out of here.”
“What if I want to stay and dance?”
You’re being contrary, Amelia.
He glanced over the crowd—many of whom were staring back at them since they stood in the middle of the dance floor.
“I can manage a few slow ones while you hunt for famous faces.”
Her temper cooled enough for her to notice his pallor beneath his tan and the strain tightening his lips. “Toby, are you okay?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been poked and prodded, X-rayed and MRI’ed from one end to the other this week. I’ve put out fires, done interviews and personally reassured each HRI team member and every sponsor. Reynard Hotels is only one of dozens we use. What I really need is to get horizontal. Preferably with you beside me.”