Chapter Two

      By the time she finally woke, Max had dressed, phoned his grandfather to check all was well at the vineyard, and glanced through the evening papers. He breathed a sigh of relief to see Westerwald’s grief hadn’t made the US press. The death of an unknown European Archduke was already old news and Max’s anonymity was still safe.

      Phoenix padded into the living room, rubbing her eyes, blonde, sun-streaked hair rumpled. Her hair was darker underneath, he noticed, and curlier where the strands touched her collar bone.

      “What time is it?”

      He folded the paper and set it aside. “Lunchtime. Shall we go out?”

      “I’d rather not.” She began to collect her clothes that still lay scattered across the floor, a vivid reminder of the passion that had overtaken them the night before.

      “Perfect. I’m sure we can find a way to make staying in very pleasurable.”

      “I meant I’d rather not spend the afternoon with you.”

      He’d known exactly what she meant, but he wasn’t having it. “You don’t perhaps want to spend a few waking hours with me to find out why you liked me enough to marry me?”

      She bit her lip, sorely tempted but not yet giving in. He could only imagine how galling it was to have lost a huge chunk of time. Possibly even more galling than having the woman of your dreams not remember you. Worse, not remember falling in love with you.

      He wasn’t used to either situation. He’d left Westerwald and made a new life in the States precisely because women had a terrible habit of falling in love with him. The trail of broken hearts he’d left behind had embarrassed his father’s staid ministers.

      Westerwald didn’t handle embarrassment well. They preferred their royals dutiful and dull, and Max had never had an inclination to be much of either.

      The States had been kinder to him. No-one here had expected him to be anyone but himself and no-one expected him to fall in love at first sight. Least of all himself.

      He poured all his infamous charm into a smile. “At least give me this afternoon. I’ll even pay. Sky’s the limit. If there was anything you ever wanted to do in Las Vegas, this is your chance.”

      Phoenix clutched her clothes to her chest. “One afternoon but I get to choose how we spend it?” She paused, looking down at the slender fingers fisted around her clothes. “Deal. But you’ll need to take this back.”

      She slid the ring off her finger and handed it to him, careful not to touch him. Max took the ring, keeping his victory smile to himself. An afternoon was all he’d need to remind her of what was so special between them. He’d have his ring back on her finger soon enough. And this time it would be a proper ring, with the most elegant diamond he could find.

      This wasn’t exactly the quality, getting-to-know-you afternoon he’d had in mind. Max pressed his foot down on the gas as the vehicle beneath him skidded sideways on the soft sand. He yanked at the steering wheel, only just missing the makeshift barrier by inches. There was no time for relief, though, as he hurtled towards the next corner. Phoenix’s dune buggy was already two car lengths ahead, with the chequered flag visible in the distance.

      He put his foot flat on the pedal but it wasn’t enough. Phoenix’s buggy careened over the finishing line a few yards ahead of his.

      When he climbed out the vehicle, adrenaline still pumping, heart racing, and swept Phoenix off her feet, she laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

      Her heart hammered against his chest, her full, round breasts pressed against him. Her pupils were wide and black as sin, swallowing the softer chocolate brown of her irises. She swallowed nervously, but didn’t push him away.

      His lips met hers in a crushing, possessive kiss, no less urgent on her part than on his. She tasted of excitement and passion, and he responded by pouring everything of himself into that kiss.

      When they finally broke apart, she ran light fingers through his hair. “Now if you drove the way you kissed, you might have beaten me.”

      “Oh?” he asked, reluctantly letting her slide from his grasp to stand on her own feet. But he kept an arm loosely around her waist. It was good to have her back in his arms again, where she belonged.

      “All or nothing. As if you had nothing to lose.”

      “Don’t you have anything to lose?”

      “Nothing.”

      Nothing to lose and no responsibility. There’d been times in his life he’d have given anything not to feel responsible for other people. But there was a flip side to being responsible. “But then you have nothing to live for either,” he pointed out.

      She shrugged. “Tell me you didn’t feel alive sliding down that hill at a hundred miles an hour.” Her face glowed with exhilaration, but he was sure her feverish flush had more to do with the kiss than the dune buggy race.

      “Where did you learn to drive like that?”

      “I had an ex-boyfriend who raced motorbikes. He bought me my first bike and taught me how to ride.”

      He forced his jaw to unclench. The afternoon was too short to spoil with talk of the other men in her life. And of course there had been other men in her life, and he better just get used to that idea. “So what’s next? The zip-line in Fremont Street or the Stratosphere bungee?”

      Though he’d rather not do either. Right now he’d much rather take his bride back to his hotel room and make love to her.

      “Been there, done that. I need a shower.” She shook her head to prove the point, scattering sand. They were both dusty and sweaty from the race.

      “Fantastic idea.” He still had his arm wrapped around her waist. He slid his hand further down, to hook in her jeans pocket. From her sudden, sharp intake of breath he knew she hadn’t found the intimacy of his touch undesirable. Quite the contrary.

      The first time he kissed her yesterday, they’d stood exactly like this. Admittedly, they’d both been cleaner then. And less sober.

      Dragging in a shaky breath, Phoenix swatted his hand away and pulled out of his embrace. “Separate showers.” She sent him a glare frosty enough to scare a normal man. “And no champagne.”

      Max forced a laugh and grudgingly stepped away. “Suit yourself.”

      So they headed back to his hotel and showered. Separately.

      He was waiting when she emerged from the bathroom, fresher and sparklier than before, with all traces of both the strenuous afternoon and last night’s revels gone, and for a moment he was sure her memory had returned.