Dark Paradise

“I have a built-in tan,” Samantha said, feeling conspicuously overdressed and far too conscious of her long-limbed body. A direct contrast to the people around her, who never seemed self-conscious about anything.

Sharon sauntered up to Lucas and made a production of ru

“Sam is modest,” she said, her amusement as cool as the cube she’d presented Lucas with. “Isn’t that sweet, Ben?”

Uma rolled over onto her side, her glassy eyes bright with amazement as she fixed them on Samantha. “So are you really like an Indian, or what?”

“Part,” Samantha murmured.

“The kind from A Passage to India or the kind from Dances with Wolves?”

“The kind from Montana. My mother is Cheye

“The singer? How cool!”

Sharon breathed an impatient sigh. “Jesus, Uma, are you ever not on something?”

The actress slid a pair of sunglasses down from the top of her head to the tip of her pixie nose. She sent Sharon a look over the frames and smiled slyly. “Are you ever not a bitch?”

Something like embarrassment crawled over Samantha’s skin as raw dislike charged the air between the two women. She ducked her head down, hiding behind her curtain of dark hair. Mr. Van Dellen’s words rang in her ears-You’re not one of them…

“Reisa is setting out a light snack,” Bryce a

“Join me,” Sharon countered, holding his gaze. “We have business to discuss.”

“In a minute.” Bryce dismissed her and started to turn back toward Samantha.

Sharon touched his arm, wanting to drag him away. Business always came first with him-unless he was smitten. “Bryce-”

“I said later,” he said sharply.

Sharon bared her teeth at him and glided away with no outward sign of the hurt or the uneasiness that churned inside her. Lucas followed with Uma tagging after him, a finger hooked in the back of his swim trunks and a towel slung over her shoulders to cover her token breasts.

“Have you worked up an appetite yet?” Bryce gri

Samantha’s lips twisted in a wry little smile as she swung her endless legs over the side of the chaise and sat up. Mona Lisa in Montana, Bryce thought. If she ever realized the power she could wield over men with those secret, amused smiles, she could be formidable. An irresistible challenge. Of course, she was that already; she just didn’t know it. The irony only made her more desirable.

“This isn’t considered work where I’m from,” she said, swinging her hair back over her shoulder.

Bryce eased himself down on the chaise to sit beside her. He nodded toward Fabian. Oversize pecs glistening with baby oil, the blond male model appeared in deepest concentration as he tilted his sun reflector to direct the maximum rays to the underside of his lantern jaw. “Don’t tell him that. He’ll make a million doing a calendar if he keeps his tan even.”

Uncertain whether or not he was teasing, Samantha gave him a look that managed to combine skepticism and puzzlement. Bryce reached up and stroked the back of his hand down her cheek, then tipped her chin up. “You could make a million too, if you wanted.”

She laughed. “Me? I don’t think so.”

He frowned a little. “You could do anything, sweetheart. No limits-”

“-But the sky,” she finished. “There’s a lot of sky in Montana.”

“And plenty of opportunities elsewhere. You’re a beautiful young woman, Samantha. You could be the toast of L.A. or New York. All you have to do is believe in yourself.”

“I can’t go to L.A. I have a husband.”

“Not in evidence,” Bryce said, not bothering to disguise the disapproval in his voice. She flinched, almost imperceptibly. He pressed harder on the nerve he’d struck, without remorse or pity. “He treats you like a second-class citizen. No, it’s worse than that. He doesn’t treat you like anything at all.”

Samantha bit her lip and looked away from him, fixing her gaze on the glazed lapis tile that bordered the pool so he couldn’t see the tears fill her eyes. Bryce slipped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a compassionate squeeze, pressing a phantom kiss to her hair.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that it makes me angry to see the way he ignores you.”

It amazed him a little that he felt so strongly about the girl, when she had been nothing more than a chess piece a week before. He sat there beside her with his arm around her and wanted good things for her. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Years. Never. His focus had always been ruthlessly on himself. Now he broadened the scope a little to include Samantha. He could have everything he wanted-the power, the land, Samantha-and give her things too-opportunities, fame-and watch her blossom and know that he was responsible. Heady stuff, playing the part of a magnanimous god. He thought he just might grow to like it.

“You can have so much more than he’s giving you,” he murmured, pushing a little harder, reminding her that Will Rafferty was giving her nothing but heartache.

Samantha looked away to the shaded patio tables on the other side of the pool. Uma was devouring a small mountain of fresh fruit. Across the table from her, Ben Lucas dunked a strawberry in a glass of champagne, popped it in his mouth, and flashed a smile. Sharon sat at a separate table, ignoring the others, ignoring the food, paging idly through Cosmopolitan.

“I don’t think your cousin likes me very much,” Samantha said softly.

“Sharon?” Bryce shrugged, tightening his arm around Samantha. “Sharon doesn’t like anyone. She’s very… territorial. And that’s one of her better qualities.”

“Sounds like you don’t like her very much.”

He thought about that for a moment and sighed, stroking his hand absently up and down her arm. “I’m tired of her theatrics, I suppose. But we have a long history, Sharon and I. And she is, after all, family.”

Loyalty would appeal to Samantha, he thought, make him look kind and good when he was generally neither of those things. And it was easier to explain than the truth. The truth would shock her, repulse her. She was too naive, had led far too sheltered a life up here in the mountains, where people still believed in quaint concepts like morality.

The French doors to the house swung open and Reisa, his housekeeper, trundled out. The woman had the body of an oil drum and a face with the shape and expression of a frying pan, but she could cook and she spoke little English, two essential requirements for the job. Marilee Je

“Marilee!” he called, rising from the chaise and drawing Samantha up with him. He herded the girl around the end of the pool to meet his newest guest.

Mari tried to muster a smile, a monumental task after spending two hours in the company of Sheriff Qui

Bryce showed no outward signs of having received a distress call from a buddy. If he knew anything about the judge’s demise, then he was as cold-blooded as the lizards that had given up their hides for his belt. He graced her with his brilliant smile. The sun shone down like a benediction on his high forehead.