She exhaled loudly. "Yes. But that doesn't work for me."

He smiled, enjoying this woman, if not yet understanding her. "Mind if I ask why not?"

"I'm on vacation, and I'd like to forget the people who call me that… at least for this week."

A runaway like himself. He understood the need to escape from life, work and the people who occupied those other worlds. Family gave Mac the best alternative, but they weren't close enough to offer a quick reprieve. Courtesy of her husband's job, his sister's family lived a couple of hours away, and with the birth of his first nephew, Mac's mother had moved out of the hotel to be closer to Kate. With his only family miles away-including a new baby he didn't see nearly often enough-Mac understood his recent restlessness. In fact, it was almost as if he was itching to settle down himself.

Short of that, Bear's place was his best and closest means of escape. He glanced at the woman whose hand he still held, wondering how far she'd run. And from what. "And after the week's up?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I go back to my life."

"To being Samantha."

"That's right." She pulled her hand back and hugged her arms around the fluffy towel. "I haven't had a vacation in years. So I thought I'd take a little time for myself before I go to a conference next weekend."

"Name someone who isn't in town for a conference. Arizona has become the convention capital Florida used to be." Which was why he was so successful.

His father had purchased desert land dirt cheap in the mid-1950s. After the older man's death, Mac had sold a small portion for much more than he'd ever imagined, and expanded the small bed-and-breakfast inn that had been his family's livelihood. By catering to the vacationer and the conference-goer, The Resort had become a gold mine. And the once-middle-income Mackenzies, Mac, his mother and sister, had become millionaires.

A fact he had no intention of revealing to Samantha until he got to know her better. "Okay, Sam." She nodded her approval. "Now that we have that behind us, we can move on." On impulse, he raised her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss on her wrist. Her pulse fluttered wildly beneath his lips.

She jerked her hand free. "No, we can't. I just met you and I'm not about to hop into your bed." She didn't speak with much conviction, nor did she seem to realize the leap she'd made.

"That's good, because I don't remember inviting you," he said with a hearty laugh. "But trust me. When I do… you'll know it."

"Oh…" She stared at him, wide-eyed and embarrassed.

Mac had never seen such mixed signals. Earlier, she'd appraised his body as if it were meat in the deli case. She wore sexy underwear he'd never seen anywhere but in a catalog, sensual clothing that invited seduction, yet she was holding on to that towel with a death grip. He deliberately tuned out the memory of what she looked like 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.