Rescued By The Marine. Julie Miller

bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. “You can’t even see the mountains it’s so dark.”

      Samantha crossed to the windows, drawing her finger through the condensation beading there. “You have to admit the rain is cooling things off.”

      Joyce shook her head, as if the scientific fact made no sense to her. “What do you mean, you lost track of Kyle?” Joyce moved past her husband to straighten the turned-up hem on the embroidered sheer overlay on Samantha’s navy blue cocktail dress. “And where are your shoes?” Samantha adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and spied the strappy three-inch heels she’d discarded to climb onto the new resort lodge’s furniture. She slipped her feet back into the tan patent leather and fastened the ankle straps, cringing at the sore spots screaming a protest on each of her little toes. “This absentminded professor shtick was cute when you were a teenager, but now it’s getting old.”

      Shtick? Once the wedding was done, Samantha had every intention of becoming a real professor at a reputable university. She’d already earned her PhD. Or, at least she would once she finished her dissertation on the mechanics of waste management design in alpine geographies. If more nights like this one didn’t keep her away from her computers and schematic drawings.

      “Joyce,” Walter chided, joining them. “Ease back on the throttle a bit. This is a big night for Sammie.”

      “Of course it is. It’s a big night for all of us.” She batted Samantha’s fingers away from her torso when she tried to scratch again. “I’ve planned everything down to the last minute, from the guest list to the schedule of events to Samantha’s dress.” A line that could be a dimple or a frown the Botox had missed appeared beside Joyce’s mouth. “Why aren’t you wearing the red dress Taylor and I picked out for you? She has better fashion sense than both of us put together. It’s more photogenic.”

      For one thing, Taylor was built like a petite fashion model while Samantha was a feminine version of her father’s sturdy build. For another, her adopted stepsister’s fashion sense reflected the fact that she could wear anything and look like a million bucks, while Samantha was lucky she’d found heels to match her dress. And finally, “Taylor did help me pick this out.”

      Joyce waved her hand in front of the embroidered flowers covering the A-line dress. “This one is so busy. It’s very sweet, but I’m afraid you look more like a girl going to her first communion rather than a woman who’s about to get married.”

      “I like this dress.” Couldn’t say the same for the three-inch heels of her shoes that chafed her ankles and squeezed all sensation out of her little toes. “Blues and grays are my favorite colors.”

      “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