She appeared regal, cool and aloof, all words he'd used regarding other women who frequented this hotel, but none he'd ever thought to use about the woman who'd spent the week in his bed. Until now. Mac would bet The Resort she wasn't wearing sexy lace underwear beneath that dress.
"Excuse me."
A deep male voice sounded from behind her as an older man came up by her side. Mac drew the line at eavesdropping and snooping even in his own hotel, but he couldn't leave without calling attention to himself, so he waited.
"Yes, sir?" Joe asked.
"My fiancée is expecting a call from her father. Please have her paged at the cocktail party in the Western Ballroom if the call comes through."
"My pleasure, sir."
Mac stifled a chuckle. At least Joe kissed up to the guests as well.
"And your fiancée's name?"
The man laughed, a rumble from deep in his throat. "Why, this young lady here," he said with pride.
Mac expected him to pull a woman from behind him. Instead he reached for Samantha's hand and rested their hands on the counter.
Mac's gut twisted painfully. He'd been in barroom fights in his youth, but this punch to his stomach was much more brutal and infinitely more severe.
"But… but…" Joe stuttered and shot his boss a confused look. Mac placed his fingers over his lips, indicating the clerk shouldn't give him away, and nodded that Joe should go along. After all, the older man knew what he was talking about.
His Samantha had an extremely large diamond on the third finger of her left hand. The same finger that had once held Mac's silver ring. The token of his affection. Token being the operative word.
What did she need with his tin ring when she had that huge bauble hidden away? For that matter, what did she need with a penniless worker when she had a rich man waiting? He now understood why she'd dodged personal questions and avoided his attempts to get closer.
Mac studied the other man, wishing he could criticize, but the guy was well-dressed and not the potbellied aging gigolo he often saw with the younger women here. The only thing Mac could jump on was age, which brought one of two choices to mind.
Had Samantha amused herself with Mac, the bartender, enjoying a fun-filled week of sex before settling down with the rich but older catch? Or had she pegged Ryan Mackenzie within minutes of entering The Hungry Bear and set her sights on his wealth immediately? Lord knows Zee had a big-enough mouth, and Mac hadn't exactly sworn the older man to secrecy.
He didn't know which possibility was worse.
They started to walk away when Samantha turned back to the desk. "Joe?"
"Yes, Miss Reed?"
"Has Mr. Mackenzie returned yet?"
The younger man opened and closed his mouth while Mac held his breath until Joe responded, "No, not yet." The kid just earned himself a raise, Mac thought.
"Thank you," she murmured.
Watching the couple walk away, he clenched his hands into tight fists. He had his answer.
The past week came back to him in flashes of truth. She'd come to him that first night in the storeroom and played up to him until he'd asked her to stay. She hadn't jumped right into his bed, but teased and flirted until his control hung by a thread. The sex had been incredible, beyond his wildest imaginings. Yet his every attempt at emotional intimacy was met by her turning his attention back to their physical relationship. Even on the day they'd shared their dreams, she'd tried to pull away. Yet she'd finally bared her soul. Or so he'd thought.
But a woman who knew all along she was engaged to another man wasn't capable of sharing anything. Least of all her heart. She'd merely seen Mac as a better prospect and had gone after it.
Why marry a staid, conservative… dull type if she had a raging inferno waiting for her instead? Hell, the passion and fire between them burned so strong it nearly consumed them both, Mac couldn't deny that truth. He doubted Samantha could, either. So she'd told him what he wanted to hear. "I love you," being the words he had in mind.
If she'd been after sex alone, she wouldn't have whispered those three little words before her abrupt departure. But a woman with an agenda, one who'd strung him along, who'd whetted his appetite and curiosity from day one, who'd fed him every fantasy he wanted to hear… That woman probably sensed he was awake and whispered sweet nothings in his ear, wanting him to react accordingly.
And he had.
He ignored his thudding heart. He ignored the warning words in his brain telling him something was wrong. That his Samantha didn't have it in her to lead him on, to hurt him on purpose. Because despite all he'd viewed in the years since opening The Resort, he'd fallen for the very act he'd tried so hard to avoid.
Samantha epitomized every woman who walked into this hotel. The only difference was her ability to fool him. He didn't want to believe, but he couldn't discount what he'd seen. Mac had twenty-twenty vision.
He also had no trouble hearing, and she'd asked for him by name. She knew. For how long?
"Joe?"
"Yes, sir?" The kid looked as if he wanted to back off and comfort him all at the same time. The thought made Mac want to throw up. It also made him mad as hell. He didn't need anyone's sympathy.
"In your dealings with Sam… Ms. Reed, did you happen to discuss this hotel?"
The clerk paused in thought. "Yes, sir."
Hope sprang to life inside him. "And you told her I owned the place?"
Joe frowned. "Let me think. No, sir. She joked a little and I wasn't sure whether I'd blown things at first, but I believe her exact words were, I know Mr. Mackenzie's status here as well as you."
"I see." And he did, only too well.
"Should I… um, cancel your plans?"
"No." Mac slapped his hand on the desk. "Leave everything as is." Why go to the trouble of changing things now?
To think he'd spent a week feeling guilty when his lie of omission paled in comparison to Samantha's. No, he wouldn't change his plans. He wanted the satisfaction of seeing her face when she walked into a room full of flowers.
He wanted her to think she'd gotten everything she'd calculated and planned for.
And most of all, he wanted to see her expression when he yanked everything out from under her.
Because only then would she know how it felt to be taken for a soaring ride and then dropped hard to the ground. And because one small part of his heart wanted to hear her explanation. Even though it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference.
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.