was all but daring him to betray her confidence. What was it she’d said when he’d murmured into her ear that he had to know her name?
Cinderella!
That was what she’d told him her name was as she kicked off first one then her second kitten heel.
“I disappear at midnight if the Prince isn’t charming.”
Again, a smile teased at the corners of his lips, but holding her in suspense was far more fun than confessing that she’d all but branded herself into his mind’s eye and ruined casual flings for him forever.
“So you two know each other from that event? Were you one of the donor angels, Amanda?” Dr. Menzies prompted.
Amanda. So that was her name.
She was angelic, all right... But he didn’t want her on top of a Christmas tree to be admired from afar... If she were his woman he’d keep her close and warm.
“No. No...” Matthew shook his head, watching the fury build in her eyes. “I’m afraid I can’t quite place you.”
He dragged his top teeth across his lower lip, pleased to see twin streaks of red bloom on her cheeks.
Of course it was a total lie.
The image came to him as vividly as if she’d been taking a luxurious postcoital stretch on the massive bed they’d shared only an hour ago. Peaches and cream skin. The softest he’d ever touched. Blond hair fanned out like a halo on the pillow.
What they’d done that night hadn’t been anything close to angelic. Heavenly, perhaps. But no angel would have sanctioned the charged sexual atmosphere that had lasted until well after the party had ended down in the hotel ballroom.
“Well, if it was an SoS event you definitely would have been there. And if Amanda says she was there too...”
Matthew looked across at the perplexed Dr. Menzies, almost startled to see him there.
Of course he’d been there. He wasn’t just the founder of SoS—he was its reluctant poster boy. If he didn’t turn up at the ten-grand-a-head soirées, pockets didn’t open. Tickets didn’t sell. And if stuffing himself into a penguin suit and making chitchat all night made sure soldiers got the help they needed—it was the least he could do.
When a person was willing to give up their life for their country the payback needed to be genuine. Especially if they felt there wasn’t anything for them when they came back home.
“I’m surprised you’re a contender for this job,” Amanda said.
Matthew shrugged and offered her a half smile. “And why would you think that?”
“Wouldn’t your energies be better placed on the new wing?”
“On the contrary.” He heard his smooth tones, but knew that heat singed every word coming out of his mouth. “I think you’ll find there are medical professionals far better suited to that sort of work than myself. Like at the Sussex facility—we make sure we put in proper staff so that it ticks along quite happily without me.”
Amanda’s lips parted as if she were about to say something else, then she clearly thought better of it. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t about SoS. It looked personal.
“Well, goodness me. I didn’t realize you were attached to the cause, Amanda?”
Dr. Menzies was beginning to look a bit desperate in his efforts to keep the conversation rolling as neither Amanda nor Matthew seemed willing participants.
“I’m not. My parents were hosting the event. I’m afraid I didn’t add much to the evening’s luster.”
Matthew suppressed a wicked smile. Of course she had.
Twenty minutes in, one glass of champagne down, and all he’d had eyes for was the blond in the periwinkle-blue gown who looked as if a blowtorch wouldn’t melt her. She hadn’t just been cool, she’d been entirely uninterested. As if she’d handed her heart in at the coat check along with her handbag.
No. That wasn’t it, exactly.
She’d looked as if she was hoping against all hope to forget about something. A longing he’d all but put a patent on since Charlie had died. Nine years and about three days before, to be exact. Not that he’d been chalking up each day since then on the walls of a memory that refused to release its stranglehold on him.
As Dr. Menzies began another halfhearted icebreaker about the weather Matthew allowed himself another slow head-to-toe scan of the Ice Queen’s petite form. Her curves were shown off to maximum effect in the body-hugging power suit, forcing him to relive that night once more.
There was no forgetting the moment she’d slid the length of him, her body glowing with exertion, and ultimately thrown back her head to moan with pleasure as the two of them had joined together in a heated mutual climax. They had been a perfect match.
And now she was the competition. Wasn’t life funny? And not in the ha-ha kind of way.
“Oh, I love this time of year. I’m always waiting with bated breath for predictions of a white Christmas.”
Amanda was replying enthusiastically to Dr. Menzies stumbling comment—something about hoping the weather hadn’t been too cold for her to get to the hospital.
He tuned in when the conversation turned medical.
“Ice and snow present so many different types of injuries in the A&E than in summer. Seasonal challenges. They can catch a person off guard.”
She threw the final part of her comment in his direction. It was an unusual take on the holiday season he hadn’t thought of. ’Tis the season to be allergic to holly...
She was no pushover. Nor was she going to let him take the job out from under her nose. She was meeting him hit for hit. Strike for strike.
Good. He loved a challenge. Especially when it had once come in a five-foot-three package of curves and bare skin and a fabric so diaphanous he hadn’t had to do much imagining to guess what lay beneath the billows of material following in her cool-as-a-cucumber wake as they’d left everyone else at the ball to their tuxedos and champagne banter.
She’d been anything but icy when he’d run his fingers underneath the length of the barely-there straps criss-crossing her back. Not right off the bat, of course. When one was the guest of honor at a charity event it paid to be discreet. He’d waited until the music had changed and a slow number had come on. Music more evocative of what they might be doing in bed than the feelings they would need to accompany it.
From the moment he’d crossed the room and taken her hand in his he’d known they would end up in bed together. And when all that had remained of the most erotic evening he’d ever spent with a woman was a soft indent in the pillow next to his, he’d deemed it the perfect one-night stand. He had thought there couldn’t be a single woman on earth who could beat the combination of smoldering heat and pure, naked desire the pair of them had shared. A part of him had been almost sad he wasn’t going to get to know her. “Sorry—manners,” Dr. Menzies spluttered, shifting position so that the three of them stood in a circle. “Amanda Wakehurst...” his mentor
