Rescued By The Marine

“I think she looks lovely,” Walter insisted. “Considering she usually wears pants and a lab coat or she’s out at a construction site in muddy coveralls, I think she’s very dressed up for the occasion.”

“You’re right, dear. Of course. It is a pretty dress.” Joyce’s agreeing smile quickly disappeared. “Could you at least put in your contact lenses? Your glasses will reflect the lights when the photographers take pictures.” She made a shooing motion with her lacquered fingernails before latching onto Walter’s arm again. “Go upstairs and fix yourself. I’ll see if I can find Kyle while your father talks to the lieutenant governor.” She tilted her face to her father’s. “That’s why I came looking for you—to tell you she and her husband are arriving.”

“Better not keep them waiting.” Her father shrugged his big shoulders. Maybe he didn’t enjoy these big command performances any more than Samantha did. “I’ll see you in the spotlight at eight.”

Samantha managed to summon a smile. “I’ll be there, Dad.”

“Excuse me, sir.” A big man with dark hair and a perfectly shaped handlebar mustache walked up behind her father. Dante Pellegrino’s muscular bulk was accentuated by the holster and gun he wore underneath his suit jacket. The chief of Midas Group security rarely changed his expression from stoic disinterest, so it was hard to tell when there was an emergency and when he was simply relaying information. “Ma’am. Miss Eddington.” He acknowledged Samantha and her stepmother. “Walter? A moment?”

“Is this necessary, Dante?” Joyce asked. “We have a schedule to maintain. Walter is greeting guests until seven forty-five, and then he goes to the podium to make a welcome speech.”

“I’m afraid so, ma’am. Something unexpected has come up.”

“Very well.” Not one wisp of Joyce’s silvering blond hair moved as she swung her gaze around, scanning the guests through the open suite of rooms. “I’ll stall the lieutenant governor for a few minutes.” Even though he was twice her size, she pointed a warning finger at the security chief. “Don’t keep him long.”

“No, ma’am.”

As Joyce bustled away in another swish of stiff satin, Dante whispered in her father’s ear. Samantha waited expectantly, wondering if something was happening that would compound her father’s worries about this evening’s success.

Walter’s expression hardened to his time-to-do-business face. “Make sure one of your men stays with Sammie. She’s going upstairs for a few minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Samantha tugged on her father’s sleeve when he would have pulled away. “Is everything okay?”

“Nothing your old dad can’t handle. Don’t be late. I want tonight to be all about you.” He kissed her forehead and strode away to handle whatever situation Dante had whispered to him.

Either her father didn’t think she could understand the problem, or he simply didn’t want to worry her. Maybe Dante would be more forthcoming.

She tipped her chin to meet his dark gaze. “What is it?”

He chewed once on the gum that seemed to be perennially in his teeth. Maybe the man had given up smoking, or used the subtle action as a stress-reducing ritual. But since her father had hired his firm a couple of years earlier, she’d never once seen him without the sticky wad in the side of his mouth. “Storm’s coming up. There’ll be more rain tonight. Snow higher up in the mountains.”

She arched a confused brow. “You talked to Dad about the weather?”

“It changes plans.”

“What plans?”

“Weather like this brings unexpected guests.”

Samantha curved her lips into a wry smile. “We are a hotel.”

“One that’s not open for business yet.” Dante gave her a look that lacked any emotion—or any real explanation—as he tapped the radio on his wrist and summoned one of the bodyguards who worked for his security team. “Filly Number One is on the move. Metz? You’re up.” The bodyguard typically assigned to watch her at public events must have responded in the hearing device wired to the security chief’s ear. “Copy that. Pellegrino out.”

“Having unexpected guests show up for a party is a security issue?”

“It is tonight.” His mustache danced atop his lip as he shifted his gum from one cheek to the other. “It’s my job to make sure everything goes as planned. If you’re not at that podium at eight o’clock, I’ll come get you myself.”

Was that a threat? Or just a reminder that she was a commodity in Dante Pellegrino’s eyes? Protecting her was no different from guarding the diamond jewelry Joyce and her father were wearing tonight. Grumbling a curse under her breath, Samantha turned and left as quickly as her toe-pinching shoes would let her.

Filly. Although it was a word she was familiar with—she was Number One and Taylor was Number Two when it came to coded security team communications—the nickname only added to her anxiety. She felt like prize livestock tonight, being paraded around for a group of wealthy investors, high-powered executives and gossipy reporters looking for a sensational headline. Joyce was probably hoping that marrying Samantha off would allow her to shift the spotlight over to her own daughter and maybe snag the interest of one of the wealthy guests here tonight to send a son or nephew to come court Taylor. Samantha might have had her fill of socializing, but Taylor would relish all the attention. And she was welcome to it.

Samantha wasn’t good enough for her stepmother. She was invisible to the guests. Her father worried too much about her. And she might as well be a horse in the family’s stable as far as the security chief was concerned.

“I am so taking a private honeymoon with Kyle,” she muttered, hurrying her steps to the trio of elevators. She didn’t think her numb toes could handle the staircase up to the mezzanine floor. Even if Kyle wasn’t in their room primping for his big moment in front of the cameras, Samantha needed the time away from the people and noise to give herself a pep talk and get her extrovert on. If she was lucky, Kyle would be in the room. A few private words and a kiss would go a long way toward reassuring her that she was making the right choice in saying yes to his proposal.

The bodyguard Pellegrino had summoned appeared in the hallway behind her. Brandon Metz might be the closest thing she had to a friend here tonight. Even though he was part of the elite security team her father had hired to safeguard the family and top executives at the company two years ago, Brandon was usually assigned to her at public events. Although sworn to be discreet, he knew her embarrassing idiosyncrasies. He knew she’d rather be almost anywhere else than dressing up and giving a speech in front of a microphone and flashing cameras.

Samantha pushed the elevator call button as Brandon’s long strides quickly ate up the hallway behind her. “Samantha?” he called to her as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. “What’s the hurry?”

If she could get in and close the door before he caught up to her, he’d be forced to take the stairs up to the next floor to keep an eye on her. She darted inside and pushed the button, eagerly anticipating a whole fifteen seconds or so of peace and quiet.

But Brandon caught the door and stepped into the elevator with her. “Didn’t you hear me?”

She sagged against the back railing. “Sorry. I just needed a break.”

His golden-brown eyes narrowed in a reprimand that she probably deserved. “I know you’re crawling out of your skin dancing through hoops for your family tonight. But it’s my job to keep you in my line of sight at all times.” Ironically, he turned his back on her, facing the front of the elevator while he spoke into his radio. “Filly One is secure. Heading to mezzanine.” He glanced over his shoulder to question her. “The anniversary of your mom’s death getting to you?”

“A little,” Samantha confessed. Although the grief wasn’t as intense as it had been growing up, she still felt the hole in her life that the woman who loved her unconditionally was supposed to fill. But if she started down the trail of all the landmark events in her life her mother had missed, and would miss, then she’d become the weepy little girl pushing her way through a crowd of reporters, asking them where her mother had gone. She was years past allowing herself to be that vulnerable again. A tart tone of sarcasm was one of the defensive tools she’d developed as she’d grown up. “I have to go fix myself so I’m up to my stepmother’s standards and don’t embarrass my father when the paparazzi start flashing pictures.”

Brandon chuckled and finished his report as the elevator stopped. “Will keep you posted when she moves again. Yes, I know the timeline,” he groused. “Metz out.” He held the door and checked the hallway before ushering her out ahead of him and following her to the room she shared with Kyle. “And here I thought you were skipping out on the party to go have a rendezvous with Loverboy.”

“I wish.” She slipped her hand beneath the hem of her skirt to pull her key card from the leg of her shapewear. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Kyle the last half hour or so, have you?”

“He’s not my assignment.”

She slid the card into the lock and opened the door to the faint garble of muffled voices. Maybe Kyle had come up here to catch the market report on the news or listen to one of his motivational podcasts. If he’d abandoned her to watch television or psych himself up for tonight’s show, she’d be angry, but at least she’d have an explanation for his disappearance. Samantha nodded to the settee and chairs where the private hallway opened onto a dramatic picture window above the lodge’s front entrance. “Relax if you want. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

He nodded toward the closest chair and side table with its fake potted fern. “I’ll give you five minutes. After that, I’ll come knockin’.” With a lopsided grin, he pulled his cell phone from his suit jacket pocket and retreated into the hallway. She heard him calling someone with another Filly One update while she locked the door.

Samantha’s deep exhale buzzed her lips as she sagged wearily against the door for a moment. The voices she’d heard had gone silent, so no television. No Kyle, either. She eyed his polished shoes that had been kicked off onto the carpet, and his suit jacket tossed in a lump on the rumpled bedspread beside her purse. Samantha peeked around the corner to knock on the bathroom door. Rumpled was not a typical state for her fiancé. Had he spilled something on him and come up to change? Was he not feeling well? “Kyle? Are you okay?”

The bathroom was empty, and the light was off. The inkling of concern that he might be ill faded. Samantha flipped on the light switch and studied her reflection in the vanity mirror, adjusting her glasses on her pale face before digging through her cosmetics bag to dust on another layer of blush. She was going to have to reach down deep inside her to find the strength and grace to make this evening the success her father wanted it to be.

Once she was sufficiently convinced there was nothing she could do to transform herself into the beauty of the family, Samantha set out her contact lenses and saline solution. But she quickly put her glasses back on when a more proactive way to improve her evening hit her. She returned to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, giving her squished toes a break, and pulled her cell phone from her purse. It would be more efficient to text Kyle and ask his whereabouts than to wander around the ski lodge in hopes of running into him, or trust that he was simply going to show up in the right place at the right time to propose.

After she hit Send, a buzz answered from Kyle’s jacket.

Samantha frowned. Even more unusual than Kyle tossing his clothes about was his not having his cell with him. She tugged his jacket into her lap. A black velvet ring box fell from the folds of wool. An unexpected twinge of feminine anticipation made her catch her lip between her teeth as she opened the box. The large marquise diamond surrounded by a double halo of emeralds and tiny seed diamonds was much too gaudy for her tastes. She’d never be able to wear this in the lab or out in the field when she was working. She snapped the box shut, trying not to feel too disappointed by his impractical choice. Why hadn’t Kyle bought the simple solitaire she’d shown him?

Since her curiosity had gotten her this far, she didn’t hesitate to pull out the folded slip of paper she found in his jacket pocket when she tucked the ring box back inside. This was probably some sappy poem or crib notes he planned to use when he proposed, instead of honest, heartfelt words.

Samantha’s jaw dropped open and her breath rushed out as her whole future closed in on her in one humiliating, suffocating moment. She read the names and numbers on the paper. This wasn’t even a stupid poem. It was a receipt for the ring. More expensive than she’d imagined. Charged to her stepmother Joyce’s account.

“Why would she buy my engagement ring?” If Kyle didn’t have the money for that shiny eyesore, then he should have purchased something smaller, more tasteful—a gift from the heart she would have treasured. Had he asked her stepmother to visit the jeweler for him because he’d been away on business so much lately and didn’t have time to shop?

She crumpled the receipt in her fist. Maybe this wasn’t about the money or time. Were her father and Joyce that worried about her? She was going through most of this for them. Did they think they were doing all this for her? How much of this whole engagement was for the benefit of public relations and the family name? Was any of this marriage bargain real?

Samantha pulled out the velvet box again and squeezed it in her fist. She was sorely tempted to track Kyle down and shove this ring and whatever bargain he thought he’d made with Joyce and her father down his throat.

The whole bed rattled when something thumped against the wall, startling Samantha from her vengeful thoughts. The interruption gave her a moment to temper her emotions, a moment to think more rationally about her discovery. Maybe her own doubts about this engagement were feeding her suspicion of Kyle.

But then she heard the giggle.

Chapter Two

A moment of cold dread was quickly erased by the angry understanding that followed. She should have trusted her instincts. It wasn’t the pomp and circumstance of the evening that made her break out in stress hives. It was the idea of marrying Kyle.

When another thump against the wall made her jump, Samantha went to investigate. The door on her side that could be opened to turn the neighboring rooms into one large suite was unlocked and slightly ajar—as was the connecting door into the next room.

She’d like to go back to that whole television-or podcast-watching theory. But Samantha knew better as she pushed the second door open and entered the room that mirrored her own. Though still hushed, she could distinguish the voices and giggles and breathy moans now. She turned past the desk to the closet door, wishing her hearing was as lousy as her myopic vision.

A woman laughed from inside the closet. “Stop shushing me. You said no one could hear us in here.”

Oh, how she wished she didn’t recognize that voice.

“Just do it, baby. Do it now.” Betrayal drove a stake through her heart at Kyle’s gasping reply. “Stop talking and...”

Samantha whipped the door open to see Kyle leaning against the closet wall and her stepsister, Taylor, kneeling in front of his unzipped pants.

Oh, hell. Oh, double hell.

Kyle swore.

Samantha watched her stepsister tumble onto her bottom as Kyle pushed off the wall. She backed away, shaking her head.

Taylor’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Samantha? Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I never meant to—”

“Screw my boyfriend?” Seriously? Were those tears? “Or just get caught doing it?”

Kyle made a token effort to button his shirt as he stepped out of the closet. “I can explain.”

“So can I.” Fortunately, he was in a condition that made it difficult for him to hurry after her as Samantha headed to the connecting doors. “Apparently, you lost track of the time. And which sister you’re proposing to.”

Kyle grabbed her wrist and tugged her around to face him. “Baby, you know I’m committed to you.” He captured her by the shoulders, his handsome blue eyes searching hers. Hadn’t he just called Taylor baby? Real special endearment, jackass. “To us. I will see this thing through to the end. I just needed to get this out of my system before we settle down.”

“This? You mean having sex with my sister?” Samantha twisted in his grasp, and his hold on her tightened painfully.

Taylor scrambled to her feet to follow them, tugging her dress down to her knees. “Out of your system? What does that mean? You said—”

“Shut. Up.”

When Kyle turned to dismiss her stepsister, Samantha finally put those three-inch heels to good use and stomped on his stockinged foot, freeing herself. He cursed her and the pain, and stumbled into Taylor. While he teetered off balance, Samantha shoved him back inside the closet, knocking Taylor in with him. The two traitors were falling to the floor, pulling coats and hangers down with them, as she hurled the ring box at them and slammed the door. Tuning out both demands and apologies, she wedged the desk chair beneath the doorknob. Blind with rage and hurt and even a little self-loathing that she hadn’t seen this coming, Samantha marched back to her own room and locked the connecting door behind her. She just wanted to escape. If she’d needed a reprieve from the social event downstairs, then dealing with this kind of humiliation demanded nothing less than utter and lengthy solitude.

But she wasn’t going to find that here. She spared a moment to pull the luggage rack with her suitcase in front of the door to block the exit, further trapping the two on the other side before grabbing her purse and pulling her checkered trench coat from her own closet.

The argument from the next room continued, mixed with knocks against the walls and periodic swearing. “You said you were with the wrong sister. That you wanted me. Was that just a line to get me to—?”

“Shut up, Taylor.” The doorknob rattled. He pounded on the wall between them. “Samantha, open this door. We need to talk. You’re being a child.”

And you’re being a bastard.

“I love you,” he insisted, in the most rote, carefully practiced and insincere tone she could imagine. “I’ve told you that countless times.”

“If only you meant it any one of those times,” she muttered before slipping into her black-and-white coat and exiting into the hallway.

She barely noticed Brandon springing to his feet. She hated that her eyes were gritty with tears, hated that she cared enough to hurt like this. But her brain seemed to function, even when her emotions couldn’t get their act together. Although Kyle couldn’t get to her through the room they’d shared, he’d be able to reach her through Taylor’s door. No sense risking that he’d be able to break out of the closet and chase after her. She knocked over the side table, spilling it and the silk fern in front of Taylor’s door.

“Um, trouble in Happy Couple Land?” Brandon dodged to one side as she dragged the leather chair in front of the door, building a bigger barricade. “Your mother asked me to remind you—”

“Stepmother, Brandon. Joyce is my stepmother. My real mother died.” And apparently, so had any chance at a relationship. After swiping at the tears that clouded her glasses, Samantha booked it down the hallway toward the elevators, leaving the banging and swearing and shouting behind. “Tell Joyce and Dad something came up. I’m leaving.”

Brandon stayed right with her. “What did that lowlife do? Is he cheating on you again?”

Samantha stopped in her tracks. “Again? You knew he...? This isn’t the first...?” So much for protecting her. She tore her gaze away from the bodyguard’s pitying brown eyes and punched the elevator button. Be angry, not hurt. “I knew something wasn’t right between us. I was trying so hard to make it work. I’m such an idiot.”

“Where are you going? I can’t let you leave on your own. Especially when you’re like this.”

“Like what? Awake to reality? Standing up for myself? Saving what little dignity I have left?” The strain of the evening intensified the rash on her torso. Ignoring the habitual urge to scratch, she dug into her purse. “Fine. Then you’re coming with me. Here are my keys.” She stepped into the elevator, handing them to the confused bodyguard. “Bring my car around back by the kitchen entrance. I’ll meet you there. I’m not walking through that lobby and facing all those people again.”

“Pellegrino will want to know your destination. He doesn’t like changing plans when security is already in place. The rain is pouring—”

“I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t care if I get wet. I just have to get out of here.” She jerked at the crash of splintering wood from down the hallway and punched the first-floor button. “Now.”

Brandon grabbed the door to stop the elevator from closing. “What do I tell Pellegrino and your father?”

“Tell them I’m not feeling well. Tell them I’m flying to the moon. I don’t care.”

“Samantha!” Kyle’s shout reached her through the makeshift barriers she’d put up. The closet door was down.

Brandon pulled back his jacket, resting his hand on the gun holstered there. “You want me to stop him?”

At last someone was on her side. But she needed him to do what she needed him to do. “Either get the car right now, or I’m leaving on my own.”

He nodded and ran toward the stairs, allowing the doors to close. “I’ll meet you under the parking canopy at the kitchen’s delivery entrance in back.” She could hear him reporting in as the elevator dropped toward the first floor. “This is Metz. Be advised that Filly One is...”

Without even a glance toward the lobby, Samantha hurried toward the kitchen area by one of the lodge’s service corridors. With the catering staff out working the party, there was only the chef and her assistant in the kitchen when Samantha pushed her way through the swinging metal door. Ignoring their curious looks and offers to help, she quickened her steps toward the walk-in refrigerator and storage pantry near the back entrance. When the door crashed open behind her and the assistant squeaked in startled surprise, Samantha ran as fast as her aching feet and starched dress allowed.

“Samantha! You have to talk to me.”

Kyle hadn’t stopped to put on his shoes, and his stockinged feet made no noise as he raced up behind her. She yelped when he grabbed her and spun her around, backing her into a stainless-steel worktable, pinning her there with his hips and hands. His chiseled cheekbones were flushed with exertion, his perfect white teeth clenched as he panted in her face. “I thought you were an adult. Running away is what a child does. You owe it to me to listen.”

“I owe you?” His fingers clamped down tightly enough to bruise her skin when she shoved at his chest. “Let go of me.”

“Clear the room,” he ordered the catering staff. When they were too stunned by the argument to budge, he shoved a tray of hors d’oeuvres onto the floor. “Get out!”

Samantha wished she could leave with them as the door swung shut on their backsides. Dishes and pans rattled on the steel table as she squirmed in Kyle’s grasp. “You need to let me go.”

He released her arms to grab either side of her face, pulling at the pins that held her long hair in place and pinching her scalp, forcing her to look up at him. “You and I are getting married. We have an agreement. Your family likes me.”

“Some more than others, apparently.”

“Don’t get snarky with me. Yes, I screwed up. You have to forgive me.”

“Says who?”

“You think there aren’t things I would change about you?” he challenged.

How was this her fault? She blinked back the tears that stung her eyes and fought through her emotions to find the words she needed to say. “I’m not the one who’s cheating.”