* * *

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.

But she hadn't really known him, that little voice in her head reminded her. His masculine scent was the same, so was the effect it had on her body. Sex, she told herself, was apparently all that they'd had.

Her thudding heart made that statement a lie.

Reaching out, he toyed with the lace strap of her bra, his fingers idly playing with the material while his calloused hands whispered along her skin. She trembled beneath his touch, but his hands felt as cold as his voice had sounded.

"I thought maybe the sexy lingerie, the underwear that doesn't cover a thing, the tousled hair falling over your shoulders… was in preparation."

"For?"

"A seduction. You're good at that." His darkened eyes told her he remembered, too. But he played with her and she didn't appreciate the game.

"Of whom?" she snapped.

"That's what I'd like to know." Releasing her bra strap, he walked toward the window that overlooked the patio of greenery she'd admired earlier in the day.

As she watched him go, she looked around her for the first time. Multicolored bouquets with flowers she couldn't name decorated the room along with matching balloons in reds, pinks, whites and a variety of other shades. Her heart kicked into high gear, and hope blossomed like the flowers surrounding her.

She felt light-headed and dizzy. On the edge of a precipice, on the verge of getting all she wanted. Maybe. Was he upset she hadn't noticed his romantic efforts? Embarrassed he'd gone to the trouble? Maybe this was his way of apologizing for misleading her, and if so, she'd forgive readily. Once she leveled with him, perhaps they could start over.

She hoped with all her heart they could begin anew.

Ignoring her near-naked state-she'd stopped being embarrassed around him sometime after the first couple of incidents-she walked to where he stood and touched the rigid line of his back. "Mac."

He stiffened further.

"I'm sorry I didn't notice sooner. I had a lot on my mind, but… it's so beautiful. And you did all this for me?"

"Yes."

"Thank you." She wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling the ripple of muscles against her skin for a brief second before he jerked away.

"Don't," he muttered.

"I don't understand." Fear slowly replaced hope.

"No, I don't suppose you would. I bought this for you, too." Turning, he opened a small jeweler's box.

A large diamond ring glistened brightly against the black velvet lining. "Mac, it's beautiful…"

"And even larger than this." He pulled her hand roughly out in front of her. Her silver-and-turquoise ring hovered between them.

She met his gaze. Confusion sparked his eyes, then dark anger followed.

Not understanding his reaction, she glanced down at his ring. She'd put it back on as soon as she'd left the bar. She'd wanted something of the Mac she'd known, even if he had turned out to be someone different than the man she'd believed him to be. "I love this ring," she said. "I thought you did, too." She lifted her gaze back to his.

"You're good, Sammy Jo. Better than I even imagined." He snapped the box closed and shoved it into his front pants pocket. "Tell me something. Would you have said yes?"

"Of course, but…"

"Of course. One question, then. What would you have done with fiancé number one?"

11

Her legs went weak, and Sam lowered herself into the nearest chair. She twisted her fingers together as she started to speak. "I wanted to tell you. I was planning on telling you tonight, after…" Needing to gather her thoughts, she let her voice trail off.

"After…?" he prompted.

"After I ended things with Tom, and I did. Just now in the lounge. It's over, not that it ever was anything to begin with, but it was… necessary."

"And now it's not."

"No."

Mac stormed over to where she sat, bracing his arms on either side of the chair. A vein throbbed in his temple, and she noticed the tight clench of his jaw. Sam had never seen him this angry, not even when the guy in the bar had attempted to maul her in public. She swallowed hard, afraid that by waiting this long, she'd passed the point of no return. That he wouldn't listen to her explanation.

But he'd omitted things, too, so he should understand. "I should have told you, but Tom… the engagement is no longer necessary because…"

"I'm rich, too," he spat. "And with me, you not only get the money, but you get someone close to your own age and fantastic sex as well. Well, good for you, Sammy Jo. You nearly pulled it off." He slowly clapped his hands in applause.

Sam stared in shock and dismay. Each word hit her like an arrow to her heart. The pain was raw and acute. Then as the ugly reality of his words sunk in, furious anger followed. How could he think so little of her when she'd given more of herself to him than anyone on this earth? Especially when he'd been less than honest himself.