Something to Prove Read online

  Was that it—her sister had wanted her to stay in Italy with her and had tried matchmaking as a way to make that happen? “It’s my fault it didn’t work out with Marco. I’ll try harder next time, Jeannie, I promise.”

  “I was talking about Brody,” Jeannie said miserably. “We saw you dancing with him after the bouquet toss. It was the happiest you’ve looked since you got here.”

  Her sister seemed so distraught, Amanda couldn’t help wanting to wipe the concern from her face. “It was just a fling, and now it’s over.” She tried to laugh it off, but it came out strangled. “One of his many flings, I am sure.”

  Jeannie shook her head. “Massimo says he isn’t like that.” Her big eyes blinked up at Amanda. “He thinks Brody’s a bigger workaholic than you are.”

  Amanda faked a smile. “See? Then if I ever bump into him again, there’ll be no awkwardness between us.” She glanced toward the men’s room. “The last time I saw him, he was going off with Dad somewhere, probably to argue with him over racing strategy. I just wish I knew what happened between those two.”

  Jeannie fiddled with the lace on her sleeve. “I didn’t want to say this before, but you’ve finished writing your profile, so…”

  “What, Jeannie? Tell me.”

  Jeannie hesitated. “I wasn’t there—this was before my time on the circuit—but Dad told me that Brody got in trouble once and Dad bailed him out. That’s probably why he’s having so much trouble dealing with you being Dad’s daughter.”

  Amanda’s stomach dropped. Her instincts had been right. Brody was hiding something. “What kind of trouble?” she asked quietly.

  Jeannie’s gaze slid away. “I wasn’t there when Brody skied and I don’t know him so I really can’t say. You should ask him yourself, Mandy.”

  “Will you ask Massimo for me?”

  Jeannie looked up. “Are you sure this isn’t serious between you two?”

  If it was, Brody wouldn’t have left her standing alone for so long. He would have come back to her. But Amanda didn’t feel like explaining everything to Jeannie, so she just shook her head. “I’m sure. I’m driving to an airport hotel tonight and catching a flight home first thing in the morning.”

  “And he’s racing in Europe all season.”

  “Exactly.” Amanda hoisted her carry-on and tossed the strap over her shoulder. This made her more determined to get on with it. “Have you seen my ride? Because I really do need to get going.”

  “He’s with Massimo in the sales office arranging for more hotel rooms. I’ll wait here while you go and find him.”

  STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER.

  Amanda thought her father had let her go? Hardly. She was wrong, and he had the proof.

  Brody stalked toward the lobby in a foul mood. All he could do was hope he made it through Alto Baglio before the dirt came out. MacArthur didn’t know he only really cared about that one race, so maybe that fact would save him.

  Then again, maybe not. Like the snake he was, who could predict when or how MacArthur would strike?

  This has to stop. He gripped his RV keys and strode down the hotel corridor, looking for Amanda to explain what he could. But he had to be careful. Because he’d take no phone number from her, no email address and certainly no last kiss.

  He couldn’t. After MacArthur had left, he’d stayed in the men’s room and splashed cold water on his face to literally make himself numb. This really was the end of his and Amanda’s weekend.

  When he arrived in the front lobby, the first person he saw was Jeannie Coletti, still wearing her wedding dress and sitting alone in a chair. On her lap she held a tray of small goblets filled with cream-colored liquid that looked too thick to be milk.

  “Hi, Brody.” She held the tray forward. “Thanks for coming to the reception. Will you drink a toast to Massimo and me?”

  He eyed the liquid in the goblets. It looked like a protein-powder shake.

  “It’s my mother-in-law’s famous almond-amaretto nightcap,” Jeannie explained, nodding to the tray. “Almonds are good luck in the Italian tradition. You drink it to one hundred years of happiness. Per cent’anni, you say.”

  One hundred years. He wouldn’t have one more minute with Amanda. He suddenly felt sad.

  She offered him a goblet.

  “No, thanks, I’ll pass on the drink.”

  She blinked up at him. “You’re not going to toast us?”

  He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Massimo’s wife seemed like a good egg. He wished the two of them all the happiness. “Per cent’anni, Jeannie.”

  She smiled wistfully. “Thank you, Brody.”

  “No, thank you.” Because inadvertently, by offering him the drink, she’d hinted at the answer to one very big question for him. She didn’t seem to know what her father had done to him, and so, likely, neither did Amanda.

  He stepped back and studied Amanda’s sister. She was solid and strong, a born downhiller, but to him she lacked Amanda’s appeal. “Have you seen your sister?”

  She shook her head sadly. “Please don’t ask me about her. I was wrong to get in the middle of it.”

  His heart sank. “Did she leave already?”

  Jeannie hesitated, glancing over his head. He turned and followed her gaze.

  Amanda strode from the direction of the front desk, wheeling a red suitcase. She was dressed in jeans and a wool coat with a laptop case swung over her shoulder.

  He straightened. Even now, he was drawn to her.

  Get over it, he told himself. You’ve got way too much at risk.

  He squared his shoulders and prepared to have his guts ripped out. But he’d survive, he always had. In childhood, there had always been a next town over the horizon.

  His folded his arms and faced her. “Do you have a ride out of town?”

  She lifted her chin. She knew the score. “Yes, Brody, I do.”

  “Someone who will get you to the airport safely?”

  She raised a brow at him and crossed her arms.

  And then, strutting down the hallway toward her, calling out “A-man-da!” and hauling the red overnight bag that obviously matched Amanda’s suitcase, was the second-to-last last guy Brody wanted to see. The irrepressible Marco.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AMANDA STARED AT BRODY. He wasn’t going to make their parting easy for either of them. Well, she ached, too. She didn’t want to leave him, or Jeannie, but something more important drove her, something she didn’t quite understand and didn’t want to examine too closely.

  She adjusted her carry-on bag and tried not to look at him, his arms rigid at his side, his gorgeous mouth flat-lined. “I’m ready,” she said to Marco. “We should get on our way before the weather gets any worse.”

  Then she strode over to Jeannie and gave her the hardest hug she could. “I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered. “I really don’t.”

  “Me, neither,” Jeannie whispered back. “But what I really want to know is, do you always have two guys chasing after you?”

  “Until yesterday, I hadn’t so much as kissed a man in over two years. Do not be jealous of me.”

  “Wow, Amanda, that’s rough,” Jeannie breathed. Then she grinned. “It never rains but it pours, Mom always said.”

  Amanda laughed in spite of her mood. She glanced back at Brody, who was watching Marco like a hawk. Marco seemed perfectly normal and good-natured, sipping a glass of Jeannie’s mother-in-law’s killer amaretto concoction and toasting Massimo. “Per cent’anni!”

  “How much has he had to drink tonight?” Brody quizzed Massimo.

  Amanda squinted and looked more closely at Marco. Maybe he was wobbling a bit. And at Brody’s question, Marco smacked his lips and staggered up to him. “You are leaving tonight for the next stop on your World Cup tour, yes?”

  “Snow’s coming down hard,” Brody said pointedly to Marco. “Roads will be treacherous. Are you okay to drive, slick?”

  Amanda put her hand over her mouth to
cover her laughter. This is not funny.

  “The lady asks me for her favor,” Marco insisted. “I am an excellent driver.” He rose on the balls of his feet as if Brody had insulted his manhood.

  “This is interesting,” Jeannie whispered. “Look at the two of them fighting over you.”

  She was looking. A muscle twitched on Brody’s jaw, and although he didn’t say a word to Marco, the challenge was clear.

  “All right, standoff is over,” Amanda said, pulling at her luggage. “Goodbye, Jeannie.” She gave her sister one last hug, basking in the homey, vanilla scent of her perfume. “I’ll call you when I get to New York. You, too, Massimo. Take good care of my sister.”

  “Yes, I will,” Massimo said, kissing her on both cheeks. “Goodbye, sister Amanda.”

  “Drive safely.” Jeannie waved her off, her smile determinedly bright as she watched Marco hustle for Amanda’s luggage.

  Amanda picked up her laptop bag and followed behind him. For the short time she’d talked with Massimo’s friend, he’d seemed like a good guy. They even had shared tastes—he’d looked with interest at the book she’d chosen to read on the plane—but chemistry? It just wasn’t there for her. And once Marco got past his competing-with-Brody fixation, he’d see clearly that it wasn’t there for him, either.

  Unlike with her and Brody. Every time Amanda saw him, she couldn’t help remembering how it felt to lie in bed with him.

  The flush crept over her until she felt as heated as Jeannie’s almond-amaretto surprise. She and Brody naked was a visual she didn’t need right now.

  Shaking it off, she clung to her bags and strode past the porter into the twilight.

  Except…it was no longer twilight. Full darkness had descended.

  She stepped onto the sidewalk and nearly slid backward off her boot heels. The snow was slippery. And…abundant. At least two inches covered the roads like a blanket. She wiped her gloved hands over her hair, dusted with a cap of fat snowflakes.

  Okay, so the snow was more plentiful than she’d realized. While she’d been picking up bridal bouquets and dancing with Brody, Mother Nature had been deciding to laugh at the weather forecasts. One to two inches? They were past that and heading for three to four…

  Marco struggled beside her with her suitcase, the wheels of which didn’t turn so easily in the thick snow. “My car waits,” he said, pointing to a black, late-model Mercedes which was idling by the valet stand.

  “Thank you. I appreciate you warming the engine for us.” She picked her way over to it, gingerly now, because there was no way she wanted to fall on her butt under Brody’s watchful stare.

  And he was staring. Somehow, he’d materialized at the valet stand, jiggling his RV keys in his suit-jacket pocket and peering at the snowfall.

  Marco tugged harder on her suitcase, awkwardly attempting to drag it through the snow to his open automobile trunk. Amanda realized with a sinking heart that he was inadvertently telling Brody that he didn’t have the strength to lift it easily.

  And sure enough, in one smooth motion Brody took over, elevating her suitcase in one hand and then depositing it in Marco’s trunk. “What route are you taking to the airport?” he quizzed Marco, his arms crossed and his hip leaning against the side of the car.

  Marco swallowed.

  Please don’t answer him, she silently ordered.

  “We, ah, drive to town first…”

  Stop. Do not proceed. Speak no further.

  “…where I keep an apartment…”

  Brody’s jaw clamped shut. His gaze swung to Amanda.

  “Oh, for goodness sake, Brody. Marco lives beside the office where I’m picking up my rental car.”

  “Rental car office?” Brody exclaimed. “Why isn’t he driving you to the airport?”

  Marco tilted his head and smiled angelically at her. Or, he was attempting to smile angelically.

  “Because I’m perfectly capable of driving myself to the airport,” she said hotly to Brody.

  “You’re planning to drive in this storm?” Brody demanded.

  She crossed her arms. Now his interference was personal. He was criticizing her driving skills. “This is nothing. I grew up in New Hampshire, remember? The day I passed my driver’s test we were in the middle of a blizzard.”

  “The airport is almost a hundred kilometers through a series of mountain passes, Amanda,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “And? You were going to drive to Alto Baglio, which is several hundred kilometers through several mountain passes, as I recall.”

  Yeah, smarty pants. I’ve been on the World Cup tour, too. Once, with her mother, the year Brody was gone, following along after her father those last, desperate weeks when her mother was still trying to cobble things together with him.

  Without a word, Brody unloaded her suitcase. Then he spun on the heel of his dress loafers and trudged through two inches of unplowed snow in the parking lot, carrying her regulation fifty pounds of suitcase by its handle.

  “Where are you going?” She had no choice but to run after him. Or rather, tiptoe after him. Two-inch-heeled booties didn’t have the best of traction on icy mountain snow. “I didn’t say you could drive me to the rental car office!”

  “I’m taking you to the airport. It’s on my way.”

  “Brody, do not presume to order me!”

  He stopped in his tracks, his suit glistening with snowflakes. Those blue eyes were churning with thought. “You’re right,” he said finally. “You do have a choice. You can drive by yourself in the mountains during a snowstorm, which, since you’ve lived in snow country, you should know is a dangerous, stupid undertaking, or you can drive with me in my motor home where at least we can look out for each other if we get stuck.”

  Was this some kind of trick? Was he being reasonable just to throw her off guard?

  She paused, her shoulder aching, and adjusted her laptop strap to a more comfortable angle. What if she turned around and walked in the other direction? That would show Brody the importance of her need to make her own decisions. But did she want to leave her suitcase? Was there anything in there more important than clothes, and shoes and toiletries?

  Well, she would like to have a clean change of underwear in the morning. And she needed her mouth guard for sleeping. She had a bad tooth-grinding problem. It would cost hundreds of dollars on a dental plan she didn’t have anymore—thanks, Paradigm, for the cost-cutting—to replace it.

  She sighed. “Fine,” she called after his retreating back. “But I’m driving.”

  He snorted. And she heard him, because it turned out that snowfall wasn’t quite the damper of sound he assumed it was.

  “Amanda!” Marco pulled beside her in his warmed-up Mercedes. “You are cold. Please come inside.”

  She leaned into the passenger window he’d opened for her, feeling the welcoming blast of the heating vents. “As much as I’d like to go with you and rent my own car, Brody’s probably right. It’s not such a good idea. Thank you for offering me a ride to town, though, and for going out of your way to help me.”

  Marco slowly nodded. He seemed resigned to her decision. “Would you like for me to drive you to Brody’s camper?”

  She smiled at him. “That’s kind of you. But under the circumstances, I’ll pass. Goodbye, Marco. Take care.”

  He waved goodbye to her, and then after he’d driven away, she gritted her teeth and followed Brody across the parking lot, wondering if she’d made a huge mistake in yielding so easily to his will.

  So when they both got to the RV, she stepped in front of Brody and said, “You touch that steering wheel, buster, and I’m calling my father directly. And don’t think I won’t do it.”

  THAT WAS A LOW BLOW, bringing her father into it. If Amanda had any idea of the hell she was threatening him with, Brody would have turned on his heel and dumped her suitcase into the first snowbank he saw.

  But she didn’t. And he knew she’d been upset when he’d left her to confront her f
ather, though he couldn’t tell her why he’d left. Harrison’s accusations to the contrary, he did have a shred of self-preservation left in him.

  Bottom line, he’d cut her some slack. He opened the door to the motor home and heaved her suitcase inside. He turned, but she was blocking the door, her hands on her hips.

  “Sleep in the back,” she snapped. “I know you haven’t slept since I left your room this morning. At least I had a three-hour nap.”

  At the reminder of the sex they’d shared, her body naked beneath his, he got an immediate hard-on. Great. “Amanda—”

  “I said relax, Brody.”

  Easy for her to say—she could concentrate on driving.

  She opened her bag and pulled out a container of bottled water and tossed it at him. And because it was factory-sealed, he pulled it open and drank. “Thanks,” he said grudgingly. He looked at the snow that drifted over his windshield and roof, making the motor home resemble an igloo.

  “Look, we’re adults,” she continued, as if he didn’t know that. “I know this whole thing sucks. I know there’s too much baggage between my father and you, and my father and me, and I know our lives are never going to mesh, even if we wish they could.”

  She didn’t know the half of it, but she was pretty much on the money. He took another pull from the water bottle and didn’t say anything.

  She propped her hands on her hips again. “Do you think we can coexist peacefully for one more hour?” she asked, exasperated and still angry with him. “Just one more hour, and then we’ll never have to see each other again?”

  He stared at her. Was she planning to drive the same way she made love, full of passion and fire? “In this snow, the trip will take from two to three hours.”

  She blinked. “Fine. Two to three hours, then.”

  He searched for any sign of doubt in her face, but she looked confident of her snow-driving abilities. She’d have made a great ski racer if she’d put her mind to it. Equal parts reckless, ambitious and crazy. He shook his head.

  She crossed her arms. “After we get to the airport, we’ll part ways. You’ll go back to your life, and I’ll go back to mine. Are we understood, Brody?”