Mac didn't know how he knew this to be true. He just did. Losing Samantha before he got to know her wasn't an option. For now, he would take care of her and give her time to confide in him. Even if he had to sit on his hands and pray, he'd damn well do his best not to muddy the waters with sex. At least not yet.

Her eyelashes fluttered against her soft skin and she murmured to herself in her sleep. A bad dream? Mac pressed a kiss to her forehead, ignoring the throbbing in his groin brought on by even that innocent touch. Because more than he wanted her, he wished he could make whatever she was running from go away.

He wasn't anybody's white knight, and he didn't normally look for the nearest damsel in distress to rescue. But he wanted to protect this woman. He wanted to take care of Samantha. Mac didn't question why. He had a week to find out.


* * *

When his internal clock woke him early the next morning, he realized he hadn't slept much at all. How could he with Samantha's small but firm body tucked into his and her hand wrapped around a morning erection that had nothing to do with the time of day and everything to do with the woman beside him?

Good intentions aside, he'd gone to bed wanting her and awakened wanting her even more. Last night's erotic episode after closing stayed with him. He could still recall her moist heat against his fingertips and could easily envision his body sliding into hers. The soft noises coming from beside him told him she slept soundly, which put off the inevitable test of his resolve.

With a groan, he rolled over and dragged himself out of bed. He couldn't help but glance back once more. She'd rolled to his side of the bed and wrapped herself around a pillow. His pillow. And damned if she didn't look like she belonged there. Mac shook his head. A cold shower would take care of his problem at least temporarily. It would also clear his mind to face the start of his week with Samantha.


* * *

Sam waited until she heard the bathroom door closing behind Mac before flipping onto her back and opening her eyes. An arousing masculine scent filled her nostrils at the same time the sound of running water reached her ears. Mac's scent, Mac's shower. The same Mac she'd avoided this morning after awakening with her hand wrapped around his… his… She couldn't even think the word, let alone utter it aloud.

She forced herself to sit up and glanced around the room. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, and the candles she'd lit earlier had burned or been snuffed out. She glanced at a small bedside clock. The gleaming digital numbers told her she'd slept past her normal 7:00 a.m. wake-up time. Long past. Apparently bartenders had to alter their internal clocks to conform to late hours. She'd have to adjust, at least for the week. While she was with Mac.

She took another look around and cringed. She'd fallen asleep before he'd come up last night, and as a result, she'd awakened to face a failed seduction attempt. Mortified, she hadn't been able to make the first move, other than the unconscious one. Given the fact that she'd felt him pulsing against her palm, hard, warm and very male, she'd counted on him to act first. Obviously he had other plans.

She ought to be grateful she'd slept through making a complete fool of herself. Sam tossed the covers off. If she was dressed and out of the apartment before he finished his shower, she'd give herself some time to think. Her mind always worked better when she was outdoors, and with the fresh air and open spaces Arizona offered, she'd probably figure out how to handle a man like Mac in no time.

Bending down, she pulled out a cream-and-peach-flowered sundress and laid it out on the bed. She tipped her head to the side. The shower still pulsed in the background. So did the beat of music she no longer had to strain to hear.

The refrain sounded throughout the bedroom and she couldn't suppress a grin. So he liked music when he showered, she mused. She now knew one more thing about Mac. The thought pleased her. So did the fact that they shared the same taste in music. Her hips swayed to the country-and-western beat as she pulled her shirt over her head and shook her hair out behind her.

The jarring sound of a door opening startled her from the easy rhythm of the music. Unthinking, she whirled toward the sound, only to find herself facing Mac, bare-chested with a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing more.

"You've got rhythm," he said with a grin.

She felt burning heat rise to her cheeks. Water dripped over his bronzed skin. Her fingertips itched to follow the same path. "The shower's still running," she said inanely.

"Forgot my razor. It's new." He stepped toward the wooden dresser at the same time she made a dive for her clothes. The man was destined to see her at her worst, she thought, struggling to pull the soft cotton over her exposed breasts.

Clothed, but nowhere near composed, she turned back toward him. He studied her with an inscrutable expression, but there was one thing she couldn't mistake-the burning desire in his gaze.

She swallowed hard, then forced a smile. "Have everything you need?" she asked, careful to keep her gaze at eye level. Away from the towel that rode low on his hips, revealing a tan line and a swell of passion she couldn't mistake.

"Not nearly," he muttered.

She licked her lips, not knowing how to answer that.

"As long as you're up, I thought I'd take you out, get you a decent breakfast. There's nothing good in the refrigerator downstairs," he said.

She blinked, stunned by the absurd intimacy of the situation. She and Mac were sharing a morning routine and comfortable conversation while they were both barely dressed. They were strangers, for heaven's sake.

Her mind and her heart shouted in denial. They might have met only yesterday, but she and Mac were far from strangers. She felt too comfortable in his presence, too safe in his arms. The realization shook her composure.

She didn't know if she could get food into her nervous stomach, but a trip away from the bar and these close quarters seemed like an excellent idea.


* * *

She wasn't wearing a bra. Not unless she put one on when he'd gone downstairs to give her a minute or two of privacy. Mac gripped the steering wheel, his fists clenched as hard and as tight as his body. This morning's shock still hadn't worn off. He'd stepped out to find Samantha half-naked, her body bracketed by sunlight, her dark hair falling against the white skin of her back. And then when she'd turned around… all his good intentions had nearly been shot to hell right then and there.

When his choices had come down to tossing her onto the bed or tossing her onto the bed, he knew he was in trouble. Breakfast in a restaurant, sitting across from each other in a decent-size booth, had seemed like a good way to take the edge off the escalating sexual tension between them. He'd been wrong.

She'd sat across from him wearing the dress she'd grabbed for earlier, and all he could think of was her full breasts as they'd looked before she'd managed to run for cover. Even now, as he drove through the countryside, he couldn't think of anything else. She'd asked him to detour and show her the sights on their way back to the bar. That, too, had seemed like a good idea at the time. But considering his current train of thought, he wasn't sure Arizona 's rock formations would take his mind off Samantha.

He needed to give her space. He wanted all the time her week with him would allow, but there was no way he could continue to keep his hands to himself if she tempted him at every turn. Even her graceful hand movements aroused him.

"Mac, stop!"

He slammed on the brakes, nearly sending them into a skid. He didn't know if he was more on edge from inhaling her scent in the confines of the small car, or from thinking about her incredible body and what he'd like to do with it. The car screeched to a halt and he shoved the gear shift to Park. Luckily, they'd hopped onto a back road that was rarely used.

He darted a worried glance at Samantha.

"You stopped. I didn't think you'd take me literally."

"When someone screams in a car, I figure they're either going to be sick or they have to…" He shook his head. "Never mind. What's the emergency?"

Looking sheepish, she asked, "What's the little village over there?" She pointed to the scenic cluster of shops and stores in the distance. A panoramic picture of arches and rooftops painted in a variety of pinks, greens and light browns rose against the blue sky.

"That's a small place called Cave Cove. A tourist trap with Indian dolls, T-shirts, turquoise jewelry and other southwestern stuff you easterners like to bring home." Despite the commercialism, the place brought money into the town's economy and provided jobs for the locals. Mac wasn't a shopper himself, but his sister and mother always picked up unique pieces in the small stores during each of their monthly visits.

He shifted gears, intending to continue toward their destination, when her warm hand on his arm stopped him.

"Could we go there first?"

"If you want a mall, there's an upscale place back in Scottsdale." Which he hated, but for her, he'd force himself to endure it.

"A large indoor mall? Air-conditioned so I can freeze?" She rubbed her arms at the thought. "Expensive shops and obnoxious sales help? No, thanks. I get my fill of that back home."

He'd just bet she did. From what he'd seen of her clothing so far, everything had designer tags or labels, similar to the type of things the shops stocked at The Resort. No doubt she frequented similar upscale places in whatever state she did her shopping.