Brazen

1

The car was dead. Samantha Reed climbed out of what the rental company had called their best midsize luxury vehicle without bothering to try the ignition one last time. That final grinding sound had made things perfectly clear. Although she disliked abandoning the car in the desert, she had no choice. Reliable Rentals would just have to send a tow truck for their useless automobile. Too bad no one would be sending a search-and-rescue squad for the driver, she thought.

Drawing in a deep breath of dry air combined with dust, she took one last look behind her. The vehicle looked an awful lot more comfortable than she felt at the moment, but it obviously had no intention of moving any time soon. She had no choice. The Arizona sun had begun dipping below the distant mountains, and if she waited around much longer, she'd be hiking in the dark. Not that she wanted to hike at all. She certainly wasn't dressed for a jaunt through the desert.

What was that saying about the best-laid plans? She grabbed her purse, left her luggage and gave one last tug on the hem of her newly acquired tiered silk skirt. A skirt she'd bought for its coolness and comfort in the dry desert heat. Of course, she hadn't counted on a prolonged excursion while wearing it. This outfit had been a mistake. She hoped she wouldn't say the same for the upcoming week.

If all she had to look forward to was a marriage as dry as this godforsaken desert, she intended to cram a lifetime's worth of fun, lust, passion and excitement into the time she had left. Next weekend, she'd meet her fiancé at a seminar on risk management and financial gain at one of Arizona 's exclusive resorts, but first she'd take some calculated risks of her own. She deserved that much, considering she was sacrificing her life, giving up her future happiness, for her father. Years of compliance and acting like the obedient daughter had brought her to this, to the brink of marriage to a man she didn't love. A man nearly fifteen years her senior. A man she scarcely knew.

She got out of the car, wobbled on the heels of her seventies-style shoes and was forced to smooth down her layered miniskirt once more. There may not be another car in sight, but she'd be damned if she'd moon the Arizona wildlife. She glanced over her shoulder at the wide expanse of emptiness behind her. It couldn't be any worse than what her future held.

In one month, she'd kiss her dreams of happily ever after goodbye. But she wanted-no, she needed-some memories to keep her warm on the cold nights ahead. She would never experience what her parents had shared, an all-encompassing love… even to the exclusion of their only daughter. But she could experience passion before she gave up her life on the marital altar. Only now, when it was too late to change things, did Samantha realize she'd spent the past twenty-nine years on a mission-to please her parents and win their love. A futile exercise. They loved her in their own way. It just hadn't been enough for Samantha. And in her search for more, she'd given everything she had in return.

When she'd promised her dying mother that she'd look out for her father, she'd been drawn into her family circle for the first time. Her mother had reached out to her, and she'd given her word freely and unconditionally. She just hadn't counted on how much one promise would change her life. Her stockbroker father had hit a downward turn. As a grieving widower, he'd begun to neglect his business, then to compensate, he'd advised risky ventures for his clients in the hopes of quick gain before he lost their business for good. Things hadn't panned out. To make matters worse, he'd invested personal capital as well. He'd spiraled into debt so deep it threatened his future. And because Samantha had it in her power to fix things, she would.

Tom, her new boss, courtesy of a business buyout, and her father's country club friend, had offered a solution. More like a bribe, Samantha thought. Marriage to Tom would enable her father to pay his creditors, the IRS being the main one, without having to declare bankruptcy. Whether he was capable of starting over again was another question entirely. She'd offered him her savings, but even a financial planner who made more than a decent living couldn't put a dent in his delinquent debts. Not so for a man who bought and sold companies on a whim. Tom's offer had been hard to turn down.

She might not care if the Reeds were the laughingstock of the country club set, but her father would. He had little left, and the club provided his only outlet for socialization since her mother's death. Without it, he'd retreat, living in seclusion and depression. Samantha didn't call that living, and she wouldn't place her already-lonely father in such a position. Not if she could help it. And as Tom, the wealthy wheeler-dealer had informed her, she could.

He'd provide enough money to bail out her father in exchange for a wife, a hostess and a trophy on his arm. Any good-looking woman would fill those needs, but Samantha possessed one extra quality. She understood his business and knew how to deal with both his clients and his competitors. She saved him the time and effort of dating and disqualifying the empty-headed women who lined up to be the wife of a rich entrepreneur. His words, not hers.

With her last hours of freedom flying by, her dreams had come down to a hastily conceived plan to indulge in an erotic interlude with a sexy stranger. She'd even dipped into her savings to help the cause. She'd splurged on everything, including the rental car that lay still behind her. She shot the vehicle a disgusted look. If she wanted to have a no-strings, purely sensual affair with the most desirable man she could find, she had to reach her destination first.

Shielding her eyes with her hand, she glanced down the long stretch of highway. If she could even call Bloody Basin Road a highway to begin with. She'd driven south on a road named Golden Guts after leaving the rental place outside the airport and decided she preferred New York State's numerical monikers to the grizzly images conjured up out West. Which way now, she wondered. If she remembered correctly, there had been a ranch-style establishment back a mile or so…

A slight breeze picked up as she lost track of the sun. Goose bumps prickled on her bare arms, legs and back, and she shivered. Lengthening her stride, she trudged on, forcing down the swell of regret and guilt that threatened each time she thought about her plan. Once she married Tom, she'd be the faithful wife he expected, but she wasn't married yet. This week would have to substitute for the honeymoon she'd never have.

Some beginning she'd made. Frustrated with the slow pace and afraid she'd twist an ankle, fall on the side of the highway and be mistaken for roadkill, she pulled off her shoes before continuing. The pace picked up and so did the pain. Small rocks lodged in the soles of her feet as she walked.

By the time she saw lights in the distance, darkness had fallen. Her feet were raw, her throat parched and tears probably stained her cheeks. Desperate didn't begin to cover how she was feeling. At this point, she'd give her body to the first man who offered her a place to sit, a shoulder to cry on and a cold drink. Not necessarily in that order.

"Hey, Mac, slumming again?"

Ryan Mackenzie wiped down the glass top of the old wooden bar with a damp rag. "You know I can't stay away from here," he told the table of old men who frequented The Hungry Bear.

"I can't believe you'd prefer this joint to that fancy spa you own."

Mac glanced at the scarred paneled walls, the crooked pictures, the pool table in the corner and the dartboard in the back. He inhaled and smelled a mixture of nachos, tobacco and beer. "Believe it."

"Give him a break," the tallest of the men said to his friends. "He might have money now, but a boy don't lose his roots."

"And mine are embedded in the same land as you, Zee." Mac recalled the small ranch-style house he'd grown up in and the almost identical house next door. He and his sister, Kate, had been just as comfortable in either one, due mainly to the warmth and humor of the older man in the corner.

Zee grinned. "Your soil is just richer now, Mackenzie."

The boys all chuckled at that.

"So what are you doing here? Lady troubles?" one of the trio asked him.

"Not me. Bear's got troubles," Mac said, talking about Zee's son, Mac's best friend and owner of the tavern. Mac picked up a damp glass and began drying. "You know he's off chasing after his woman. I'm playing bartender in his place."

"Hope he gets her this time. Your drinks suck." A round of cackles and hoots of laughter followed that remark.

"Whiskey'll cost you double after that," Mac muttered.

"Definitely a woman," the last of the men said. Mac ignored him. It would take a special kind of woman to get him down, and Mac had yet to meet his match. He glanced at Zee, recalling the older man's happy marriage, one that mirrored the kind his parents had had. Not for the first time, Mac wondered if watching them had given him an idealized perception of what family life should be. Few relationships could live up to the standards he'd seen growing up, and even fewer women respected those same down-to-earth values both families had lived by.

Still, he couldn't deny the fact that hotel life was lonely as hell and beginning to wear thin. Laughter from the corner of the bar drew his attention and he glanced at his watch. Soon enough, the younger crowd would come in and take over. Judging by the increasing noise and the older men's rowdy remarks, it couldn't happen too soon. Mac spent enough time at Bear's bar to know the men were biding their time. Thursday was Ladies' Night, and the eighty-year-old set got a thrill out of watching the younger beauties. They got pretty wild, too, and Mac was grateful he'd be spared wet T-shirt night during this shift.

"If I were you, I'd grab me one of them spa bunnies at that place you own, instead of serving up drinks to old geezers like us."

"You're not me, Earl." Those spa bunnies wanted nothing more than a chance to catch some sun and a rich husband. And the ones who already had a husband came to The Resort for a quick fling and whatever else they could get from the guy they earmarked as a sucker.

Not only was Mac tired of watching the routine, he was tired of being the target. Which made his occasional stint as Bear's substitute the perfect escape.

"Another round, Mac," Zee called.

He threw a glance their way. "You aren't halfway through the first." The old men liked their whiskey the way they liked their women. At a distance.

He watched as Zee pushed aside the red-and-white checked curtain to look out the window. The decor could use some updating, Mac thought. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if Bear finally got his lady after all. At least one of the two neighborhood boys would settle down.

"Looks like we got us a live one." Zee clapped his hands with glee. "Coming up the stairs now."

Mac knew Zee well enough to see past the jokes. The old man had been a father figure to the Mackenzie kids, Mac and his sister, since their own dad had died almost twelve years before. So Mac understood the loneliness that prompted Zee to act a little crazy in his search of fun, and the intelligence and humor that lay behind his penetrating gaze.

But that didn't mean he'd let him harass an unsuspecting customer. "Leave 'em alone, boys."

"You're no fun, Mackenzie," They spoke in chorus, just as the door opened wide and the sorriest sight Mac had ever seen stumbled through.

She was a lady… beneath the layers of desert grime. Black hair tumbled over her shoulders in wild disarray. Her shoes, heels from the looks of them, dangled from her fingertips as she limped inside the bar on long, shapely legs and bare feet.

A quick glance and years of experience told him her skirt was designer, silk and displayed an enticing amount of bare skin. She looked lost and alone in the door frame, with Bear's prize possession, a life-size moose head hanging above her own.

Before he could see any more, the three old men had surrounded her. Mac looked at the ceiling and rolled his eyes, then made his way around the bar. "For God's sake, give the lady some air," he shouted.

The men scattered. And Mac got a firsthand look at the white tank top clinging to her round breasts with exact precision. Thanks to the cold night air, her nipples puckered against the otherwise loose fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination. He had the insane desire to cup his hands over her breasts and warm the lady himself.

He'd gone too damn long without sex if this bedraggled female turned him on. She stared from him to the group in the corner.

"They don't mean any harm." He gestured to the three men ogling her without shame. He knew how they felt.

"Thanks just the same," she said in a husky voice that he'd like to think was sexy by design, but since she'd obviously taken a long hike in the dry desert, she'd probably swallowed more than her share of dust. "My car broke down," she explained.

"Have a seat and I'll get you something cold to drink," he said. "For your throat. Then you can pour your heart out to a friendly bartender." After which maybe he could find a sweatshirt behind the bar to warm her up and cover her considerable charms. Before he acted on impulse rather than common sense.

She lifted her gaze to his and obviously caught him staring at her chest. A pink flush rose to her cheeks, and she not-so-discreetly crossed her arms in front of her, blocking his view. Her awkward smile disarmed him at the same time he noticed her eyes. The impact sent a jolt of awareness sizzling through him. He'd never seen such an arresting color before, a unique combination of violet and indigo framed by dark lashes and pale skin. Skin marred only by streaks of mascara and what had to be dried tears.

He found himself touched by the sight because this woman was real. Dirty, disheveled and so unlike the women who came to his resort to "rejuvenate" on a regular basis. In his world, a place far removed from the down-to-earth town of his youth, women viewed cosmetic and surgical artifice as the means to keeping their men. Natural beauty like this was too rare.

For once, he looked out and saw someone in need of more than a loaded wallet. "I've got pretty broad shoulders," he said when she remained silent.

"I can see that." Without warning, a smile caught the corners of her mouth and a sparkle settled in those eyes, which now openly appraised him from the top of his black baseball cap to the toes of his running shoes.

Since Bear never required a dress code for employees or patrons of his small establishment, Mac always dressed comfortably. Very comfortably. Mac knew he looked grungy and liked it. Apparently, so did she. He liked that even more.

"I've been walking for a while, and that seat you mentioned does sound awfully good." She did a poor job of fluttering her lashes over makeup-smeared eyes. Damned if he wasn't intrigued… and more than a little turned on. She took a step forward, yelped in what he assumed was pain and collapsed, sagging against him for support.

"I've had women throw themselves at me before, but never like this."

"Maybe because they haven't hiked over a mile in the desert on bare feet," she retorted.

Mac muttered a curse and swung her into his arms.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" She sounded outraged at his chivalry.

"Helping you out, unless you'd like to attempt that step again…" He lowered his hands as if to lower her back down onto the floor.

Soft hands curled around his neck, holding on with an iron grip. She was stronger than she looked.

"Ready to admit you need help?"

She nodded, then settled her body into his, so he felt the soft curve of her breast pressing into his chest and her firm behind nestling against his stomach. If he squirmed, he'd drop her, but ignoring the lingering sensations was damn near impossible.

She tipped her head back and sighed. "My hero."

"Oh, brother." Her hair brushed against his cheek. The scent of peaches clung to her skin despite her trek through the desert. His effort to block out the surge of sexual awareness that shot through him failed dismally.

Mac deposited her in the nearest chair, then lifted her foot for inspection. He ran a finger along the cut and bruised arch. Her startled gaze met his.

"I have antiseptic and gauze upstairs," he said in a husky voice. Or at least, he knew Bear did. His friend had broken up many late-night brawls, and Mac had often hung around to help clean the place, and his pal, up afterward.

"Upstairs?" she squeaked. Then she quickly cleared her throat and started over. "Upstairs where? A room? An apartment? What?" Her curiosity seemed to overtake her initial doubts and she peppered him with questions, growing more confident with each.

"An apartment," he said, amused.

"With a shower?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Shower and tub, why?"

"Curiosity. And you live there?" she asked, now wide-eyed.

"Yeah." For the week, or as long as it took Bear to win his lady back. For reasons he didn't want to inspect too closely, Mac decided against telling her that he was only helping out. It had been a long time since he'd been known and liked as plain Mac, separate and apart from Ryan Mackenzie, owner of The Resort.

He'd be the first to admit his own mistakes contributed to the problem. Wealth had come to the Mackenzies when Mac had been too brash and arrogant to understand how people, namely women, would react. A single, rich resort owner was a prime catch, and he'd stupidly made himself a target for gold diggers and fortune hunters alike.

Taking care of his mother and younger sister had forced him to realize his mistakes and grow up fast. The females in his family had relied on him for financial security and emotional backing. He couldn't afford to let them down, and after his initial lapse in judgment, he hadn't. Mac had trained himself to be wary, which was why he remained silent now.

This woman's vulnerability appealed to him, and he wanted a fresh read, a chance to be liked as an ordinary guy with no preconceived notions getting in the way.

He glanced over. She sat fiddling with the top layer of her skirt. "Do you live alone?" she asked, this time without meeting his gaze.

"Completely."

"Oh. Oh. Good." A blush made its way through the dirt and makeup that stained her cheeks.

From embarrassed to brazen and back again, he thought. "Good?"

"For my feet." She forced herself to stand on her own. "And my dignity. Do you think I could wash up?" she asked.

He nodded. "While you're at it, I'll send a tow for the car and I'll have one of the boys pick up your suitcases."

"The boys?"

"They surrounded you when you first came in. Now they're eyeballing you from across the room."

She grinned. "Oh, those boys. They drive?"

"Not legally."

Her laughter filled the room and a few other places inside him he'd thought were frozen for good. "About those suitcases," she said. "How do you know I have any?"

"Sweetheart…" His gaze trailed over her shapely body and white skin. "Everything about you screams tourist."

He reached out to help her walk, but she shook her head.

"I can do this."

"Okay, but I'm right behind you if you need any help. Up those stairs." He pointed to the darkened hallway in the corner, and she headed off in that direction, unsteady on her feet. "One of you boys watch the bar," he called to the group of regulars that Bear trusted as much as he did his best friend.

Mac stared at her retreating back, watched as she climbed the stairs, leaving him on the step below. Her silken skirt ended midthigh, which wasn't a problem when they were on the same level. But he hadn't anticipated the view once she hit the middle of the stairs. Nor had he realized how sexy and feminine her undergarments would be. As the short skirt flounced behind her, a hint of lace teased and tormented his already-active libido. Heat rolled over him in a huge wave. He broke into a sweat.

And to think, he'd almost refused to help Bear because he had a number of huge conventions arriving throughout the week. He was glad he'd delegated to his staff, entrusting the numerous doctors, lawyers and financiers to his employees. He wouldn't have missed this for anything.

As he followed his sexy, straggly visitor upstairs, he realized he'd seen more of her than he'd seen of any other woman in a long while. And he didn't even know her name.

She'd found her man. Too bad she had no idea what to do with him. Samantha closed the bathroom door behind her and stripped off her skirt, shaking the residual dust into the tub. Who'd have guessed the first man she laid eyes on, the first man under eighty, she amended, would be the one?

Her questions hadn't exactly been subtle, but with those dark, deep-set eyes staring into hers, and that mustache lifting over a sensual grin, she'd barely been able to pull herself together enough to think clearly.

She pictured him waiting on the other side of the door, and her pulse pounded in a combination of anticipation and apprehension. There was no question the dark-haired, gorgeous stranger suited her perfectly. A bartender in an off-the-beaten-path tavern, he was a man she could thoroughly enjoy and then never see again. As long as she could work up the nerve.

Samantha located the towels he said would be on a shelf over the toilet, and hung one over a hook on the wall. She glanced around the room. Small but with all the proper amenities and stark in a masculine sort of way. No frills. Just a toothbrush and a bottle of aftershave lay on top of the vanity. She picked up the black bottle and brought the nozzle near her nose. One illicit sniff of musk and she was no longer alone. His scent surrounded her. He surrounded her.

She'd never been with a man wearing a mustache and wondered what kind of stimulation it would add to an intense sexual experience? She shut her eyes. Her senses soared and her imagination took over. Soft lips, warm breath and an erotic rush of sensation playing over her already-sensitized skin. Firm yet gentle lips nibbling their way up her legs, the rasp of whiskers along her thigh. She cupped her breasts and felt as if his hands had settled over the tight fabric, as if his fingers plucked and pulled, bringing her nipples to life.

She opened her eyes to find herself standing alone in the unfamiliar bathroom, thoroughly aroused and completely appalled. She had never done anything like this before, had never even felt anything like this before. Without meeting her gaze in the mirror, she removed her hands from her chest and focused her attention on turning on the shower instead.

Her hands trembled, hindering the process. How could she want one man so badly? A man she barely knew. She didn't know the answer to that question any more than she knew how she'd find the nerve to go through with this seduction. Coming up with her plan from the safety of her apartment had been easy. Contemplating her bleak future had carried her resolve through the long plane ride out here. But now, faced with a sexy, masculine stranger in the flesh…

Samantha trembled. All she had left was this week. She hadn't planned her life this way, nor would this be the choice she'd make if her father's future weren't at stake. But it was. And if her life came down to this one week, she'd better make the most of it. Her chance waited just outside the door.

If she wanted to find a way into his arms, she'd best start by cleaning herself up. But first, she needed to get a drink to soothe her parched throat, she thought, reaching for a nearby glass and filling it with water. That decided, she felt more confident. In a few hours, if she was lucky, she'd discover… how to scare the poor man half to death. Samantha caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror and gasped, dropping the glass into the sink. With her dirt-streaked cheeks, tearstains and tangled mass of hair, how could she have considered seducing him? Whatever made her think he'd be interested?

Without warning, the door burst open and she had company. "What the hell was that?"

Her grab for the towel came too late because her fantasy lover stood in the door frame staring at her practically naked body. Okay, he'd seen her shirt before, but the sexy underwear, her one concession to femininity beneath the tailored suits she wore to work, left her midriff completely exposed. She glanced down. The small triangular scrap of material between her legs showed more than she wanted him to see at the present time.

"Well?"

She didn't answer. She couldn't. Not if her life depended on it. She was more concerned with covering herself. She tried to remove the towel from the hook on the wall, but the shaking of her hands hindered the attempt.

She turned to gain better leverage and heard his sharp intake of breath.

"Those things ought to be outlawed."

Her hands went to her behind, covered only by flimsy lace with scalloped edging, and at that moment, Samantha discovered she wasn't as brave as she'd planned to be. She was mortified.

How could she even think she could seduce a man? Nothing showed like inexperience, and though she'd had relationships before, she'd never tackled a one-night stand. After the impression she'd made, she wouldn't be doing so tonight.

She'd blown her chance and devastated her ego. Not bad for a night's work.

He brushed past her. A powerful dose of his masculine scent overwhelmed her like an aphrodisiac. As if she needed more than just a look to arouse her beyond belief.

He yanked the towel off the hook, making the maneuver look easy. "Cover yourself," he growled.

Startled by his tone, she turned to look at him. His eyes had darkened, the smoky gray transformed into deep charcoal. Color highlighted his cheekbones and those firm-looking lips were pulled into a tight line.

"Now." He shook the towel before her eyes. "Or I won't be responsible for my actions."

"Yes, sir." Her gaze slipped to his waist and the telltale bulge in his tight jeans. Pure female pleasure stirred inside her. Her technique might need work, but she hadn't botched things after all. Her doubts scattered, along with her short bout of self-pity. This man wanted her, and she refused to question her good fortune.

Taking her time, she accepted the towel, wrapping the soft terry around her body until she could tuck the free end between her breasts. "Done," she said, with what she hoped was a flirtatious smile.

A hoarse groan escaped her companion. "Time's up," he muttered.

Samantha swallowed hard. "It is?" To her chagrin, her voice trembled when she spoke. "You mean, now?"

She'd given him the location of her car and the keys, and she'd hoped to have clean clothes in which to seduce him. Her plans hadn't included his take-charge personality. The differences between fantasy and reality came back to haunt her again. She wasn't ready.

She'd have preferred a little get-to-know-you time first. She'd have liked a shower. Obviously, he had no need for such prerequisites, and nervousness once again replaced her prior certainty.

Yet when he held out his hand, she placed hers inside the large, warm palm. Touching him provided a sensual pleasure she couldn't have imagined. If she allowed herself to think about what was to come, she'd pass out on the tile floor. His long fingers wrapped around her smaller hand. Fingers she had no doubt could bring great pleasure.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well, what?" He couldn't possibly expect her to make the first move. She licked her lips, uncomfortably aware of the small bathroom space and his overpowering presence.

"Can we get on with this before the room becomes a sauna?"

Apparently the man wasn't into preliminaries. Samantha hoped he liked to bask in the afterglow, because the way things were going, this wasn't going to be the slow, sensual experience she'd envisioned.

"I don't think…"

"Oh, for God's sake. You don't want to go first, I will. My name's Mac," he said, shaking her hand with a determined grip. "What's yours?"