Rescued By The Marine. Julie Miller
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being the heir he’d hoped for to take over the Midas Group and run the family business one day. Still, Walter Eddington loved her anyway. He was her daddy, the first man she’d loved. And even at twenty-nine, she was his little girl.
“Come down from there.” He held out his broad, calloused hand. She took it and smiled as he helped her down from her perch. He dropped a kiss to her cheek, just below the rim of her glasses. “This is supposed to be your party. I realize we’re combining business with pleasure by scheduling the grand opening of the new lodge with your engagement announcement to Kyle. But you know how much I want to change the press’s perception of you as some kind of eccentric recluse who never recovered from your mother’s murder. Hiding out from our guests doesn’t help change that image.”
“I’m not a recluse. My mind just gets occupied with other things.” Too many other things. Like the guilt she felt at putting that worry dimple between his silvering eyebrows.
“I know that,” he assured her. “But the last time your picture was on TV and in all the papers, you were only seven. You were so brave. So sad.” He captured both hands and backed up to skim his gaze from the loose bun at the nape of her neck to the unpolished wiggle of her bare toes on the woven throw rug in front of the fireplace. He smiled. “You look pretty tonight. All grown up. A woman of the world.”
His eyes, the same shade of green as her own, turned wistful. He was losing himself in the past until Samantha squeezed his hands, bringing him back into the present with her. “I miss Mom, too. Tonight of all nights, especially.”
Walter nodded, pulling her into his barrel chest and capturing her in one of the bear hugs she’d always loved before he set her back on her feet. He chucked her lightly beneath the chin. “I know you take after my side of the family, but...” He brushed aside a rebellious lock of dark blond hair that had caught in her glasses and tucked it behind her ear. “I see your mother in you tonight. How I wish Michelle could be here to share this with us.”
Samantha reached up to straighten the knot of his tie and smooth his lapels, the tender ministrations more of a comfort than a need. “Me, too.”
“It’s been twenty-two years tonight since that bastard murdered...” Muttering a curse, he blinked away the moisture that glistened in his eyes and pulled something from his pocket. “I want to show you something.”
Samantha lit up when she saw the familiar engraved locket on a silver chain that dangled from his fingers. “Mom’s necklace. The one you gave her when you got married.”
“It’ll be yours one day. But tonight, I’m carrying it for luck. That everything goes smoothly, and that Kyle makes you as happy as she and I were. Even if it was for too short a time. I wanted you to know she’s with us.”
She rubbed her fingertips across the locket’s etched surface the way she had as a curious child when it had hung around her mother’s neck. Then Walter drew it up to his lips and kissed the heirloom before tucking it back into his pocket. “Don’t tell Joyce.”
“Don’t tell Joyce what?” Samantha’s stepmother appeared behind her father in a swish of pale pink satin. “The party’s in the other room, you two.” She pointed to the lobby behind them. “Where all the guests are.”
With a wink that said he’d cover for Samantha, Walter caught his second wife’s hand and kissed her fingers before linking her arm through his. “You’ll need to speak to the staging crew, dear. Sammie had to repair this clock. It wasn’t working. You know I love the beautiful things you selected to decorate the new lodge. But I expect things to do their job, too.”
“Of course I will, dear,” Joyce assured him. “I want everything to be perfect tonight.”
“I opened it up and cleaned the batteries,” Samantha explained.
“Cleaned them with what?” She suspected her stepmother was frowning, although her face revealed little evidence of emotion, one way or another. When Samantha showed her the dirty cocktail napkin, Joyce snatched it from her hand and tossed it into the fireplace.
Unlike Samantha, Joyce knew how to work a room and make a business deal as well as Walter did. His successes were hers and vice versa. Samantha had never quite fit into the family equation the same way after her father had remarried and adopted Joyce’s daughter, Taylor. “You are the guest of honor, not maintenance personnel. Are you forgetting that I told the press photographers to be in position at eight? After your father gives his welcoming speech, Kyle will go down on one knee and propose. Just like we rehearsed.”
Because nothing says romance like a staged proposal. Samantha scratched at the rash itching beneath the stays of her dress. True, she’d been seeing Kyle Grazer longer than any other man she’d dated—not that there were many names on that list. Being the socially awkward, plain-Jane daughter of a wealthy man like Walter Eddington made it pretty near impossible to trust any man who claimed to be interested in her. But Kyle had persisted. They’d become friends after Joyce had introduced them. Then, her father had offered him a job as an executive in the company, and they’d become something more.
So what if she didn’t get the topsy-turvy stomach turbulence she’d expected when she fell in love? Logically, they were good for each other. He helped bring Samantha out of her shell, and she offered him a quiet refuge from the heartache of a girlfriend who’d dumped him and the pain of a father who’d raised him with a harsh, unsympathetic hand. Besides, Kyle was immeasurably patient with her inexperience. He praised her efforts to learn more about kissing and seduction, and promised their lovemaking would improve as she developed more confidence in her relationship skills.
Besides, Grazers came from money. Kyle’s father owned a chain of hotels on the East Coast, so she knew he wasn’t with her just to get a part of her father’s fortune. And her father had assured her more than once that the expected merger of companies that would follow the announcement of their engagement would be negated on the spot if he thought for one moment that Kyle wouldn’t take care of her and make her happy. Even if there was something she couldn’t quite put her finger on that kept her relationship from being everything she’d hoped for, Samantha was happy. Wasn’t she?
She rubbed her hand over the hives she’d lived with since her father had asked her to make the engagement a public event and schedule it for tonight—the anniversary of her mother’s murder. “I want to create a positive memory for you,” he’d said. “Make this a happy day instead of the anniversary of a nightmare.”
For the company, for her father, for her future—Samantha had every intention of saying yes when Kyle proposed in front of the cameras tonight. This would no longer be the day her mother had been kidnapped and murdered. It would be the day Samantha Eddington got engaged and gave her dad a reason to smile. Now if she could just make the hives go away.
“I didn’t forget about the time,” Samantha answered, explaining why she’d wandered into the anteroom to fix a broken clock. “Tonight’s a big night and I’m understandably nervous. I ran out of small talk after I lost track of Kyle. And the lobby was so crowded, I was getting overheated, so I came out here to check the time, look out the windows and cool off.”
“Look out the windows at what? It’s pouring down rain out there.” Joyce pointed to the 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