She moved to stand by the window that looked down on the pool and pressed her forehead against the glass. The underwater lights had been turned on, but there was no sign of any of Bryce’s guests. She wondered if they were gathered downstairs, wondered if she could somehow slip past them and leave the house without being seen.

She didn’t belong here. She didn’t feel as if she belonged anywhere, but she knew she didn’t belong here. Bryce wouldn’t want her here anyway, not after what Will had done. And she couldn’t bear the thought of facing the rest of them-Ben Lucas and Uma Kimball and Sharon. Especially Sharon. Just the thought of Sharon’s possible comments regarding the afternoon were enough to make her feel ill.

No. Cinderella’s time at the ball was up.

Dry sobs croaked in her throat as she took off the clothes Bryce had bought for her and hung them in the wardrobe. She removed the remaining earring and the necklace and bracelets, then went into the bathroom and scrubbed off the makeup and the lingering traces of perfume. She plaited her hair in its serviceable braid and secured the end with a rubber band from her purse. She pulled on her old jeans, but stopped short of putting on the white oxford shirt.

It belonged to Will. She rubbed the soft, worn collar between her fingertips, bunched the fabric in her hands, and brought it up to her face. She imagined she could still smell his scent on it, could still feel the warmth of his body in the fibers. But she knew she couldn’t. Will was gone from her life. The shirt may have belonged to him, but she didn’t belong to him anymore. He didn’t want her. Had never wanted her.

Her heart breaking, she folded the shirt and put it in a dresser drawer, trading it for a white silk T-shirt-the plainest thing she could take.

She straightened the bed covers and tidied the bath, wanting to leave as few traces of her existence as possible. She would just slip out of the house and out of the lives of the people in the house and go back to what was left of her own life. A shabby house and a rusty car and a puppy.

She would have to borrow a car. Or maybe she could hitch a ride with one of the hands-

“Samantha?” Bryce’s voice sounded outside the door to the sitting area of the suite.

She froze in her tracks on her way to the door, her heart bumping up against the base of her throat. She didn’t want to see him, didn’t think she could face him. Maybe if she didn’t answer him again-

“Samantha, I know you’re awake. I heard you moving around. Open the door, sweetheart. I’ve brought you some dinner. We’ll talk.”

“I-I don’t know what to say,” she mumbled.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said gently. “You can just eat and I’ll talk for both of us. How’s that?”

Too kind, she thought, biting her lip.

“Samantha?”

“All right.”

Dreading the moment, she opened the door. Bryce stood with a tray in his hands. The only visible signs of his fight with Will were a bruise and cut on his chin and raw spots on the knuckles of his right hand. His lower lip was split and puffy. He took in her attire in one long, speculative look and hummed a little.

“I thought I would just go,” she admitted, turning the lamp on the dresser to low. Just enough light so Bryce could see what he was doing, not enough to spotlight her raw eyes and puffy face.

He set the tray down on the small round table near the window and busied his hands, uncovering the plate and pouring two glasses from a bottle of chardonnay. He had anticipated this reaction. The humiliation would be far too heavy for Samantha’s fragile ego to bear. Rafferty would have to pay for this. Long and painfully. He had held a perfect wild rose in his grasp and crushed her with his carelessness. He deserved to be ruined.

“Why do you think you should do that, honey?” he asked gently.

Samantha stared at him with a weird feeling of having just awakened from a dream. His tone of voice was calm and unaffected, as if nothing at all had happened. “Well… with what happened this afternoon and all… I just thought…”

He turned to her and gave her his warmest, most understanding smile. Fatherly, he thought. Kind. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Will is my husband-”

“Will is a fool. He didn’t have any right to come here. He didn’t have any right to say those things to you.”

Samantha swallowed the knot of guilt in her throat. “I’m his wife.”

“He doesn’t deserve you.” He tilted his head as he came toward her, reading the emotions in her clear, dark eyes as easily as he would a grade-school primer. Gently he tugged her fingers out of the pockets of her jeans and curled his bony hands around them. “He doesn’t own you.”

He doesn’t want you.

She couldn’t be a wife to a man who refused to be a husband. She wasn’t a wife. She didn’t have anyone. She didn’t have anything.

A fresh wave of tears filled her eyes, and her mouth began to tremble.

Bryce smiled to himself as he drew her against him and wrapped his arms around her. “He doesn’t deserve your tears, Samantha. He had a diamond and he threw it away. That’s his loss, not yours.”

She pressed her face down on his shoulder and sobbed as if the world were going to end. He supposed her world was ending, shattering like a cheap Christmas ornament. Like an egg breaking to allow her to emerge into a newer, larger, better world. His world. He liked the analogy. She was a beautiful baby bird in the lush paradise that was his world. And he would guide her and flaunt her. She would be more, have more, than she had ever dreamed. And she would be his.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” Samantha stammered, trying to draw back from him. She had been raised not to cry in front of people. This was just another humiliation-crying on Evan Bryce for the second time in the scant few days she’d known him. “I n-never d-do this,” she said by way of apology. “I-I n-never cry on p-people.”

Bryce let her move back just enough so he could reach up between them and brush the tears from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. The gentle smile curved his wide mouth again and he held her eyes with his. “I’m honored, then,” he murmured. “You feel comfortable with me. You trust me. That means a lot to me-to be your friend. I want only the best for you, Samantha.”

She looked into his bright eyes, eyes shining with kind lights, and felt something like desperation claw inside her. She was nothing, she had nothing. He wanted the best for her. He liked her. He thought of her as his friend.

“I need a friend,” she whispered.

“I’m here.” He drew her slowly into his arms again and held her close, stroking a hand over her hair. His other hand rubbed up and down her back in a hypnotic rhythm. “I’m here,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. “I’ll be anything you need.”

She slipped her arms around him and he rocked her in a lazy, languid slow dance, pressing her closer still. Outside, the world had faded away to black. Time took on a dreamlike quality, surreal and dim. Samantha let herself float on it. She anchored herself to her only friend and let her mind drift in the mist.

She didn’t have anyone, anything in the world, except this kind man who held her.

His lips pressed against her temple, grazed her ear.

I’ll be anything you need, Samantha…

I’ll give you anything…

I love you…

She soaked in the whispered words like a dry sponge. She wondered if he’d even said them or if she had only wanted so badly to hear them from someone, anyone at all. She might have been dreaming. She’d thought so before.

“I love you,” he whispered, and kissed her cheek and the corner of her mouth. His erection poked against her belly, and she felt her body quicken and twitch in response.

“We can’t,” she whispered, but she made no move to pull away. Drifting, drifting still on the fog, in the dream.