Brazen

The past week came back to him in flashes of truth. She'd come to him that first night in the storeroom and played up to him until he'd asked her to stay. She hadn't jumped right into his bed, but teased and flirted until his control hung by a thread. The sex had been incredible, beyond his wildest imaginings. Yet his every attempt at emotional intimacy was met by her turning his attention back to their physical relationship. Even on the day they'd shared their dreams, she'd tried to pull away. Yet she'd finally bared her soul. Or so he'd thought.

But a woman who knew all along she was engaged to another man wasn't capable of sharing anything. Least of all her heart. She'd merely seen Mac as a better prospect and had gone after it.

Why marry a staid, conservative… dull type if she had a raging inferno waiting for her instead? Hell, the passion and fire between them burned so strong it nearly consumed them both, Mac couldn't deny that truth. He doubted Samantha could, either. So she'd told him what he wanted to hear. 'I love you,' being the words he had in mind.

If she'd been after sex alone, she wouldn't have whispered those three little words before her abrupt departure. But a woman with an agenda, one who'd strung him along, who'd whetted his appetite and curiosity from day one, who'd fed him every fantasy he wanted to hear… That woman probably sensed he was awake and whispered sweet nothings in his ear, wanting him to react accordingly.

And he had.

He ignored his thudding heart. He ignored the warning words in his brain telling him something was wrong. That his Samantha didn't have it in her to lead him on, to hurt him on purpose. Because despite all he'd viewed in the years since opening The Resort, he'd fallen for the very act he'd tried so hard to avoid.

Samantha epitomized every woman who walked into this hotel. The only difference was her ability to fool him. He didn't want to believe, but he couldn't discount what he'd seen. Mac had twenty-twenty vision.

He also had no trouble hearing, and she'd asked for him by name. She knew. For how long?

'Joe?'

'Yes, sir?' The kid looked as if he wanted to back off and comfort him all at the same time. The thought made Mac want to throw up. It also made him mad as hell. He didn't need anyone's sympathy.

'In your dealings with Sam… Ms. Reed, did you happen to discuss this hotel?'

The clerk paused in thought. 'Yes, sir.'

Hope sprang to life inside him. 'And you told her I owned the place?'

Joe frowned. 'Let me think. No, sir. She joked a little and I wasn't sure whether I'd blown things at first, but I believe her exact words were, I know Mr. Mackenzie's status here as well as you.'

'I see.' And he did, only too well.

'Should I… um, cancel your plans?'

'No.' Mac slapped his hand on the desk. 'Leave everything as is.' Why go to the trouble of changing things now?

To think he'd spent a week feeling guilty when his lie of omission paled in comparison to Samantha's. No, he wouldn't change his plans. He wanted the satisfaction of seeing her face when she walked into a room full of flowers.

He wanted her to think she'd gotten everything she'd calculated and planned for.

And most of all, he wanted to see her expression when he yanked everything out from under her.

Because only then would she know how it felt to be taken for a soaring ride and then dropped hard to the ground. And because one small part of his heart wanted to hear her explanation. Even though it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference.

* * *

Her feet ached from standing in pumps that weren't made for the shape of the human foot. As soon as Sam made it to her room, these shoes were going in the trash. So was this outfit that looked like she'd rifled through her mother's closet, playing dress up.

Which in a sense she had. Tom preferred she dressed classy and sedate. Though he liked his women young and beautiful, he appreciated presentation. He wanted other men to envy him, not because he'd picked up someone who dressed to attract attention, but because he'd chosen the finest. Beauty speaks for itself, he'd said, and half her wardrobe had been acquired in the last six months to accommodate him and fulfill her end of the bargain.

Which had finally come to an end.

She stepped off the elevator and pulled her cream-colored pumps, bought to match her cream-colored dress, off her feet. Padding down the hall in stocking feet felt nothing short of heaven. Similar to the way she'd felt leaving Tom behind in the hotel bar.

She'd wanted privacy. He'd preferred the bar. She'd explained what she had to say was better done in private. He'd insisted she looked too beautiful to waste on an empty room. Finally Sam had given in and found a corner where they could be alone. She couldn't help it if he insisted on being dumped in public.

He'd taken the news gracefully. She knew he would. Tom was nothing if not civilized, and he'd never make a scene. But he had quietly reminded her that her father's reputation was on the line. To which she'd just as quietly asked him why he needed to pay for a wife when other women would line up to do the honors. The thought had silenced him for a while, and Sam could only hope he'd keep quiet at the country club regarding her father's financial state. Which, as Tom also reminded her, wouldn't be improving any time soon. No installments of money would be forthcoming to pay his debts.

She'd known that as well, and thanks to her dad's phone call earlier, he did, too. She'd been paged and had rushed to a private pay phone to return the call. Funny, but her father had sounded almost relieved. Maybe she'd underestimated him. She'd promised him they'd find a different solution and they'd talk when she got home, but her father hadn't hung up without telling her he loved her. A swell of emotion clogged her throat on hearing those words. She didn't have to sacrifice her life to gain his love.

Old patterns, Sam thought. He'd cajoled her into marriage and she'd agreed without fuss. He must have known she would. He also must have sensed her unhappiness. She should have taken control and ended things sooner. Everyone would have been better off.

Except that she'd have never met Mac. Never enjoyed this once-in-a-lifetime week. Though she wouldn't have her happily ever after, she'd treasure the time they'd shared. But she still had to face him once more. He'd lied and so had she. Sam couldn't plan the rest of her life without confronting the man she loved.

And she did have a life to plan since Tom's parting shot left her immediately unemployed. Also not a surprise. She'd reached her room, and she was dying to change out of this awful dress. Grabbing her shoes with one hand, she opened her door with the other. The suite was dark except for a dim light shining in the bedroom. She didn't remember turning the lamps off in the sitting area, but maybe housekeeping had been in.

She dropped her pumps and made her way through the dark suite toward the bedroom, unzipping the back of her dress and shimmying out of it as she walked. The silk pooled at her feet and she kicked it aside. Freedom had never felt so good. As she reached the bedroom, she hit the light switch on the wall.

The sound of a sharply drawn breath startled her and she whirled around, belatedly realizing she had nothing on her to use against an intruder.

'Damned if I didn't underestimate you again.' She thought he muttered something about underwear, but she couldn't be sure.

'Mac.' She exhaled a sigh of relief. At the sight of him, she forgot everything except her racing, pounding heart and the sheer joy of being in the same room with him again. She started a forward leap into his arms, but the hard look on his face stopped her midstride.

Suddenly she felt vulnerable and alone, two things she'd never felt with him before, and she wrapped her arms around herself to cover what little she could.

'You were expecting someone else?' he asked.

She studied his face, puzzled by the harsh tone, and said the first thing that came to mind. 'You shaved.'

He raised a hand to where his mustache had been. 'I had my reasons.'

'I see.' She didn't. Not at all, but a sense of foreboding chilled her. She didn't recognize the stranger now standing in front of her. And the lack of a mustache wasn't the only thing that separated him from the bartender she'd known.