Brazen

without it. For now.

The innocent or the seductress. Which woman was his Samantha? He couldn't think of her as Sam any more than he should be thinking of her as his. But he liked the contradictions in her character and wanted her to stick around.

After suffering the attentions of too many fortune hunting women, he was intrigued by her honest responses. But before he seduced her he had to be sure.

'I was trying to suggest you take a shower.' He backed off, walking toward the door.

'Mac, wait.'

He turned.

'I'm sorry. I'm new at this… I guess you can tell, what with me jumping to conclusions and rambling and…'

He stepped back inside the small room, effectively silencing her with his presence. Walking toward her he stood close enough to temptation to make himself sweat… without the aid of the steam-filled bathroom. Unable to help himself, he reached forward and took a lock of ebony hair, wrapping the satin strands around his finger as he spoke.

The pulse at the base of her throat worked overtime. 'New at what?' he asked.

'This. Whatever's happening between us.' She gestured to them both.

'Is there something between us?' After her vehement rejection, he needed to know what she wanted before pursuing anything further.

Her violet gaze met his. Honesty and sincerity shimmered in their depths. 'You know there is.'

He admired the strength it took for her to admit there was something brewing, even though the pull between them was too strong to ignore.

'And what are we going to do about it?' He unraveled her hair from his finger and ran the fine ends over the skin beneath her jaw. 'Sam?' He breathed her name, suddenly finding it important to respect this woman's wishes.

A tremor shook her body and she sighed softly. 'I don't know.' She leaned forward, until they were separated by a fraction of air.

Body language was telling and Mac had his answer. He wanted to close the distance between them. He needed to taste her lips and learn her secrets, and he had a hunch this intriguing woman had many. But her answer wasn't good enough.

He looked into her soft eyes. She wanted him, but there were things she needed more. Like a shower and some time to herself.

'You think about it… and let me know.' He straightened and dropped her hair, letting his fingers graze her shoulder as he did. 'The rental place is sending out a replacement car. In the meantime, I'll leave your suitcases in the next room. Come on downstairs once you're cleaned up.'

She smiled. 'Thanks. You're a nice guy, Mac.'

He groaned. He wasn't nice, he was horny. Which made him wonder what it was about this woman that had him acting so noble. He had no doubt that with some soft words and coaxing hands, he could have been inside her body.

Instead he was headed downstairs to a bar full of customers, a bunch of nosy old men and one major problem, he discovered when he hit the bottom step.

'What do you mean, Theresa's waiting to talk to me?' Mac looked over Zee's shoulder to where his one-and- only cocktail waitress sat nervously shredding a paper napkin to bits. 'Shouldn't she be working?'

'She's served a few glasses while you were upstairs. Broke a few, too,' Zee muttered.

'Why the slippery fingers?'

'She didn't like Hardy's hand on her rump.' The old man's cackle filled his ears, but his expression quickly sobered. 'Her Mama broke her hip coming out of the tub and her mind's not on work.'

Mac muttered a curse, knowing he couldn't keep Theresa here when she was needed at home. Even if this was one of the busiest nights. 'I'll talk to her. Anything else I should know?'

'Hardy's behind the bar watering down the drinks. Earl's downing more than he's serving, and the sexy lady's luggage is in the corner,' Zee informed him.

'And what are you doing?'

'Checking IDs at the door. Less than a C-cup means no entry.' The old man grinned.

'Come on, Zee. You know we can't discriminate. On Ladies' Night, it's illegal. If they even have a cup size, let 'em in free.'

His chuckle pleased Mac. Better than seeing the old guy moping and depressed, Mac thought. He loved the man who'd treated him as well as he treated his own son.

'Want me to take the lady her bags?'

'No, thanks, I can handle it.' Mac didn't trust Zee not to sneak a peak, so he brought Samantha's luggage upstairs on his own. Not that he wasn't tempted to catch a glimpse himself, but the large crowd and an obligation to his friend had him running down the back stairs to work. If Samantha was a typical woman when it came to getting ready, he wouldn't be seeing her for a while.

Since he definitely needed some time to get his libido under control, he didn't mind. He'd given the lady time to decide. It didn't matter that his body protested with throbbing intensity. Nice guys lived uncomfortably by their word… and they didn't get lucky, either. Resettling his cap on his head, Mac rounded the corner of the bar and got to work.

Not fifteen minutes later, the woman who'd caused his aroused state walked back into the bar. He should have known. There was nothing typical about his Samantha.

* * *

She grabbed the first cushioned bar stool she could find, not an easy task on Ladies' Night, and propped her arms on the bar. Beneath her elbows, pennies, Abe Lincoln-side up, stared at her from under the scratched glass. Sam-she decided the name fit and she intended to keep it-was enchanted by the timeworn ambience of the bar.

Used to frequenting places like Lincoln Center and upscale restaurants in New York, she appreciated the chance to kick back and relax in a comfortable setting. Relaxing was a relative term, since Mac stood not a few feet away at the end of the bar, engrossed in conversation with a young woman. Judging by the white apron tied around her waist, the woman was his cocktail waitress and she didn't look happy.

Although Sam couldn't hear their conversation, it was obviously serious. Mac shook his head, then made his way to the cash register and handed money to the woman, who tried to push the cash back into his hands. Mac refused. The young woman then threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight.

Whatever had transpired between them was obviously business, and yet the twisting in Sam's stomach when the other woman touched Mac couldn't be ignored. Feeling like an outsider, not to mention a jealous female-and not liking either-Sam shrugged and turned her attention away. Seconds later, Mac returned to the center of the bar.

He immediately began hustling between customers, serving liquor to smiling females. Sam could drink in his quick, sure movements all night. He was a study in masculine grace, if there was such a thing, easily grabbing glasses and tipping bottles as if he'd been doing this all his life. For all she knew, he had been.

Not for the first time, she realized she knew nothing about this man, except he set her body on fire with a sizzling look and, on some level, she trusted him. She'd be a fool to sleep with him otherwise.

She knew Mac could provide passion. His touch set off heated sparks and his voice shook her soul. If she wanted fun, excitement and hot nights in bed, she'd fallen into the right bar. Think about it… and let me know. Yearning mixed with trepidation. All she had to do was push her fears aside long enough to make the first move. The thought of Tom and a lifetime of single beds or separate rooms if she could manage it, clinched her decision.

'Hey, honey. Can I buy you a drink?'

She recognized one of the old men who'd cornered her when she first came in. 'Sure.'

'Hey, Mac,' the old guy yelled across the crowded bar. 'Two shots of tequila… and don't forget the