“He said what?”
“He said he’d strip naked, Ms. Wilde, and I’m telling you here and now that must not happen! We have a bar mitzvah going on in the west wing, lots of little children running around. If one of them—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Sam said. “I understand your predicament.”
“Is there a chance he’s joking?”
The woman looked so hopeful that Sam hated to dash her spirits.
“Oh, he’d do it,” Sam said. “Have no doubt about that.”
“Please, Ms. Wilde,” the woman said, “I’m begging you. We can’t have a naked man in the lobby.”
Martie and Trask waltzed by. They looked like the couple on top of the wedding cake. Blissfully happy.
She couldn’t let Duncan Stewart ruin their day. Not even if seeing him again might ruin hers.
“Sammy!” Estelle called after her. “Where are you going? They’ll be cutting the cake any time.”
“Two minutes, Estelle. I’ll be back before they finish dancing.”
She followed the hotel executive through the long carpeted hallway that led to the enormous formal lobby. Built in the eighties during the oil boom, the lobby was pure Texas, a hymn to marble and gilt and glorious all-American excess. She wondered how it must look to his Scottish eyes and then she berated herself for entertaining the thought.
Who cared how it looked to him? He wasn’t going to be in town long enough for it to matter.
“He was here a second ago,” the hotel executive said, glancing around the wide expanse of open space.
“Don’t worry,” Sam said. “You go about your business. I’ll wait here for him.”
“If you’re sure—”
“I’m positive. This won’t take long.”
The woman didn’t need any encouragement. She turned and fled to the safety of her office.
Sam considered following her. It would serve him right. Let him strip and do the Highland fling, for all she cared. He wasn’t her responsibility. If they hauled him off to jail, buck naked and in handcuffs, she wouldn’t lift a finger to help him.
Unfortunately, that was when she made her fatal mistake and turned to look at him.
He was standing to the left of the enormous front door, partially shielded by a mirrored column. He wasn’t wearing a kilt, but he might as well have been. When she looked at him, she saw the rugged beauty of the Highlands, the mountains and the rivers, those crystalline lakes, the sense that all things were possible.
Which was exactly why she couldn’t turn away from him now. If she was ever going to put that interlude behind her, she’d have to go face-to-face with the man she’d shared it with.
DUNCAN HEARD the sound of her high heels clicking against the marble floor before he saw her. A quick, staccato tattoo that sounded anything but welcoming.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
He stepped out of the shadows to face her. His memory of her beauty fell far short of the reality. The face of an angel, the body of a temptress. All he could do was stare at her in awe.
“I’m waiting,” she said, her voice cold as the marble all around them. “Did you come all this way to stare at me?”
Nothing had prepared him for the sight of her. His memory hadn’t come close to doing her justice.
“You are magnificent, Samantha,” he said by way of tribute. “A goddess.”
He noted the blush that stained her cheeks. The goddess was human.
“Thank you,” she said. “If. that’s all you came here to say, I’ll return to my sister’s wedding.”
He reached for her hand but she snatched it out of his grasp.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned, her cornflower blue eyes flashing a warning. “You have no right to touch me.”
“Lassie, I—”
“My name is Samantha,” she snapped. “What’s yours?”
The barb was well-aimed and well-deserved. He would not deny that fact. “I won’t go before I’ve said my piece, Samantha.”
“There’s nothing you can say that could possibly interest me.” She said it as if she meant it.
“Not even that I’m here to collect my money?”
“Money?” She stared at him in obvious disbelief. “What money?”
“My ten thousand dollars.” He paused for effect. “American.”
She opened her mouth to say something then stopped. The red in her cheeks grew brighter. “I hope you’re joking.”
“I never joke.”
“Well, you can’t possibly be serious about this.”
“The agreement was ten thousand dollars American for a flight to Loch Glenraven. We landed on her shores.”
“Excuse me,” she said, “we crashed on her shores.”
“A difference in semantics, not location.”
“We were almost killed.”
“But we are still alive.”
“I refuse to continue this ridiculous conversation.”
“I’ll take cash or a personal check.”
“I wouldn’t give you a plug nickel,” she shot back. “Not if you were starving to death.”
She wheeled and started to walk away, but he stepped in front of her.
“I should have told you who I am, lassie. I would not hurt you for the world.”
“You’re still not getting the money.”
“You judge me too harshly.”
“I don’t judge you harshly enough. If you had any consideration whatsoever for my feelings, you wouldn’t be here on my sister’s wedding day.”
“I did not know this was your sister’s wedding day.”
“Well, someone must have told you something, Mr. Stewart. How else could you find me?” Her words were measured, but he noted that her face had drained of color.
“One of your neighbors told me where I could find you,” he said, feeling the edges of his quick temper begin to fray. “The particulars were of little interest to me.”
“And there’s one of many differences between us,” she said. She passed a hand across her forehead. “These particulars are of great interest to me. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
She turned once again, took two steps away from him, then stopped.
“Lass?” He moved toward her. “Is something wrong?”
“N-nothing. I’m just a little light-headed.” She lowered her head, and he saw the quick rise and fall of her
