“I didn’t know I had a type,” said Demetri, stepping in between Oliver’s wandering eyes and the country-and-western singer that Hugh—who was his friend—had warned him off.
Oliver sidestepped Demetri neatly. “That white dress isn’t just for show. Pure as the lamb, but eyes that promise so much more. Sexy, but innocent enough to drive a man wild with anticipation. The advertisers have been after her in droves since she first went platinum, but she consistently tells them no. I think even Valencia was trying to get her to sell some toothpaste or shampoo or something. She told them no, too.”
“Definitely not my type,” said Demetri with a regretful sigh, but wishing he could change types—for a little while.
Oliver grinned as if he could read his mind. “What a shame. Why, if you were to hook up with someone like her, we’d have sponsors plying us with money left and right. Advertisers love that happily-ever-after fairy-tale world that she sings about.”
“Why don’t you go into advertising?” asked Demetri, because Oliver lived to manipulate the press, always thinking of new and better ways to play games. At twenty-two, Oliver was too young to know that the man who lived by the media, died by the media. Demetri knew it, only he usually didn’t care.
“I hate the pesky buggers, but a man has to survive, and until I get your notoriety, then I’ll content myself with my little machinations.”
“That’s fame, not notoriety,” corrected Demetri.
“You say tomato, I say, how do they say it in Kentucky? Horse pucky. Now, if you took up with a woman like that, it would benefit the team immensely,” said Oliver, nodding back in Elizabeth’s direction.
Demetri shook his head regretfully, his eyes never leaving Elizabeth. “When I look at her, I’m not thinking about a PR opportunity.”
Oliver quirked a golden brow. “Even better.”
Demetri knew Oliver’s bent for trouble, and he felt the need to intervene. Prudent. Sensible. Responsible. “No, Oliver.”
Demetri’s teammate watched Elizabeth, a wicked gleam in his eyes, and he heaved an exaggerated sigh. “If you won’t, then maybe I should,” he said, with just enough lust in his voice to make Demetri look twice.
“Stay away from that one,” warned Demetri.
Oliver only smiled.
Chapter Three
The late-afternoon sun provided a fitting setting for the couple, poking gilded holes through the clouds sending yellow sunbeams playing on the lawn, until it finally settled down low over the horizon. After that, the air turned a little cooler, and people filtered inside the house, where there was plenty of room. The wedding rehearsal was all through, nothing left to be done but have a good time.
A lively band played in the corner, and bubbles frothed from a silver champagne fountain in the center of the room. However, Elizabeth was too nervy to dance or drink. She had thought she had managed to escape the spider’s web, but exactly when she felt most safe, she bumped into a long, hard thigh, and the temperature notched up three hundred degrees. She didn’t even have to turn around. She knew. She hadn’t planned on giving Mr. Demetri Lucas the satisfaction, but then he laughed at her, deep, with a huskiness that was best described as criminally sexy.
Curious as a cat bent on suicide, she turned, not quite managing to stop the moonstruck sigh.
Dang.
“Imagine that,” he said. “Crashing into me again? It’s becoming a habit. Or fate?”
Elizabeth cocked her head, staring up at him, locking her knees so she wouldn’t embarrass herself and swoon. This was silly. He was a man. A mere man. She frowned, at the moment not caring what her stylist said about premature wrinkles. If ever there was a time for forbidding frowns, this was it.
When he grinned at her like that, a momentary flash of teeth, she felt something stop inside her, and she hoped it wasn’t her heart. That would be bad.
For the devil, he sure had a nice mouth. A nice, firm mouth. A kissing mouth, she thought, and then quickly tamped the image back down. None of that, Elizabeth.
If only he wouldn’t look at her, the dark eyes trapping her, hot waves of want spiraling inside her. She’d had men look at her with desire before, but this felt personal. Way too personal. She could feel that look in places that he had no business affecting.
Elizabeth summoned up the forbidding frown once again. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I see someone I need to talk to,” she muttered, completely lacking in manners. She didn’t think he’d mind.
“But not me?” he asked, obviously minding.
She stopped and gave in to temptation, looking her fill, as she’d been wanting to do all night. Not surprisingly, that only made things worse.
Truth be told, this was the most dangerous-looking man she’d ever met in her entire life. The boldness in his dark gaze, the wicked twinkle that said, “what the hell,” better than words ever could. That same devilish twinkle fired her blood, and the phrase “what the hell” tumbled from her own mind, too.
There was danger in him, and she knew it. He was fairly humming with it, like a live wire destined to burn the living daylights out of anyone that dared to touch. But oh, she wanted to touch. Her body ached with that want. Words that she’d never even known were suddenly haunting her lips. Pictures she’d never dreamed of before flashed behind her eyes, tempting her with sins that she’d never ached to commit. It would be easier if she couldn’t see those same pictures of those very same sins reflected in the warm russet depths of his eyes.
Sweet mercy, those were fascinating eyes.
It took her a second to breathe again. “No. Definitely not you,” she answered, trying to put as much certainty as possible in her voice, but it didn’t sound certain enough.
“What a shame,” he said, still watching her with that bold gaze, and something inside her started to melt. Slowly, treacherously…and stupidly.
“Isn’t it, just?” she answered, and without another word— which was a true testament to her fears—she ran.
After that, Demetri had actually planned on leaving her alone. He sat through endless toasts, and didn’t even glance in her direction. It wasn’t easy because one heated look from her had shot straight to his groin, and made him ache ever since. However, trying to be on his best behavior, he had counted and recounted the hundred and one reasons he should stay away. First and foremost, Hugh was his friend. A man he owed a tremendous debt. A man he was here to help—not hurt by tangling with a lamb. He normally didn’t mix with “lambs”; they were too complicated, and Demetri didn’t have time for complicated. His life was too fast, the racing circuit too demanding a mistress.
And then there was that dreamy light in those bright blue eyes that scared the hell out of him.
Everything was going along well, until after dinner, and he saw her dancing with Oliver—the junior driver formerly known as his friend.
Demetri couldn’t help himself.
She’d changed from the virginal white dress she’d worn earlier, and this new one killed off brain cells left and right. It was green, a short jade green silk that was cut low in the front and back, flowing around her hips like water. It was a dress meant to be pulled off inch by luscious inch, and his fingers flexed, greedy and more than up to the task.
As they danced around the floor, Demetri could see she was light on her feet, the green fabric catching the candlelight and reflecting its glow. He tried to tell himself that of course she could dance well, every move was probably professionally choreographed. Somehow it didn’t help. All he wanted to do was touch her, and see if she was real, or some vision that had stepped out of his boyhood fantasies. And