‘What right do I have to an opinion?’ She laughed thickly. ‘I’m just the headcase who can’t trust a thing her instincts tell her!’
‘And what are your instincts telling you about me?’
‘They’re telling me that for some reason, known only to you and your new friend my doctor back there, you are about to manipulate me to suit your own purposes!’
‘In what way?’ He wasn’t angry, just curious—which only managed to infuriate her further, because she saw analysis in every question he asked her—just like the doctor.
‘I tell you what.’ At last she turned to lance him with a look. ‘I’ll make a deal with you. For every answer I give you, I get one back.’
He studied the glint of challenge in her eyes for a long moment; while she sat there, wishing he was as ugly as sin because it would make it so much easier to keep him at a distance then. But he wasn’t ugly, he was beautiful, and her throat closed up on a block of tears because she wanted so much to reach out and touch him.
Touch him, taste him, lose herself in him so she didn’t have to think, fight, worry whether or not he was a man she could place her trust in when she couldn’t even trust herself to know what was right.
‘Okay,’ he quietly agreed. ‘Ask.’
It wasn’t the answer she had been expecting. It threw her into turmoil. Sucking in a tense breath, she held onto it as panic began to build with enough power to burst through her skin. Then she said, ‘No.’ She breathed out like a deflating balloon.
‘Because you don’t want to know the answers or because you don’t feel ready to know?’
‘Because I’m sick and tired of the whole stupid subject!’ she cried, filling with hot, pressured air again. ‘It’s boring! You’re boring! I’ve lost my memory, okay?’ she tossed tightly at him. ‘I don’t know you, and for all I do know you could be some raving sex maniac I had to run away from or get devoured!’
He laughed! He had the outright gall to laugh out loud. ‘If there are any sex-mad fiends lurking in this car then they’re sitting in the other seat to mine,’ he said dryly.
‘That’s an absolute lie!’ She gasped, going prickly hot all over at the very suggestion that she could be like that!
For an answer he leaned across the gap separating them and kissed her.
She ignited like brushwood as all those angry emotions running riot inside her swiftly converted themselves into something else entirely, and before she knew it her hand was claiming the back of his head in her urgency to keep his mouth joined with hers.
It was she who compelled their lips to open, she who hungrily deepened the kiss. And it was she who groaned with agonising pleasure when he let her do it all.
And it was also she who shrivelled up with shame when it had to be him who broke the heated engagement. Point well and truly made.
She was surprised when he said nothing but instead merely repositioned himself in his seat and set them moving with a smoothness that utterly belied the tension still sparking between them.
Sex-mad, she repeated to herself, and shivered. Could her brain be suppressing the shame of being raving sex-mad? Dragging her eyes away from him, she fixed them straight ahead and struggled very hard not to suffocate in a sense of self-loathing.
Bringing the car to a halt outside the main doors, he climbed out then came around to her side of the car to watch her alight. His jaw clenched as she paused to exercise the knee a little before trying to walk on it. But he said not a word, didn’t attempt to offer help, and even Samantha was surprised when she reached out to place her hand on his arm as they began moving.
Hard muscle flexed again. She tried to ignore the effect it had on her. If she had any effect at all on him, then he ignored it too. Neither spoke; they just walked, hand to arm as couples do.
But as they walked through the hotel entrance he stopped, then muttered a couple of rich curses beneath his breath.
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘you aren’t going to like this, and I know I don’t, but there is someone standing at the reception desk we both know.’
‘Who…where?’ she said, hunting the busy foyer at the same time as a shaft of nervous tension straightened her spine.
‘His name is Stefan Reece, and he’s talking to a receptionist right on the end of the desk.’
She saw a tall man with fine blond hair and what looked like an easy smile, chatting pleasantly with the receptionist. Warily she moved a little closer to André’s big frame. He responded by twisting round until he was half blocking her from view.
‘Now, don’t get jumpy,’ he chided. ‘He’s a competitor, that’s all.’ And he named a hotel chain that she instantly recognised, before going on. ‘He’ll be here scouting. We all do it—check out the competition to see if they’re offering a better service than we are offering ourselves. Since he’s already seen us, we can’t avoid him,’ he added with a clip to his voice that said he wished otherwise. ‘But it’s up to you how we deal with this. We can pretend there’s nothing wrong, exchange a few pleasantries, then get the hell away from him before he realises there’s something different about you. Or we can keep to the truth and get into the complications of trying to explain it all.’
Which told her exactly which option he preferred and, frankly, so did she. In fact the very idea of trying to explain she couldn’t remember her own name made her feel distinctly nauseous.
‘He’ll see the limp,’ she said. ‘And the scar…’ Instinctively her hand jerked up to cover the side of her face.
Lifting his hand, André took hold of her hand and firmly lowered it to her side again. ‘Stop it,’ he scolded. ‘The scar is barely noticeable except in your mind.’