She knew that no matter how much she’d changed and despite the fact that he’d noticed those changes, he’d still look at her and remember the frizzy hair, freckles, bottle-bottom glasses and scrawny body. Sadly, to him, no matter how many improvements she made physically, he’d always look at her and see an ugly duckling, not the swan she’d managed to turn herself into.
He’d always see a friend, not a potential lover.
Samantha stared glumly at her reflection and a pang of regret pricked her heart, but she determinedly squelched the sentiment. There would be no regrets on this trip. This trip was going to be the most memorable week of her life and she wasn’t about to let a little thing like unrequited lust—or love, as the case may be—get in the way.
After all, she had bigger fish to fry. Her lips quirked with perverse humor.
But first she’d need to eat some.
3
SHE CAUGHT HANK KICKING a pile of dirty clothes against the wall when she came out of the bathroom. He looked up and those bright eyes glittered with sheepish humor. “I made a foot of space available in the closet, and those top two drawers in the dresser are ready.” He passed a hand over his face. “I really hate what happened about your room. Things have been crazy around here since Gladys left. Tina will eventually get it.” His voice sounded more grim than hopeful, making Samantha’s lips twitch. “But between her frequent screwups and this Belle of the Beach contest, I’ve been stretched pretty thin.”
Samantha waved off his concern. “Don’t worry about it.” She conjured a playful grin. “I’m sure I’ll be perfectly comfortable in your bed.”
Of course, she’d be more comfortable if he were in it with her, but that wasn’t a likely scenario so she needed to put the idea out of her head. If she didn’t, she might as well kiss that orgasm goodbye. She cast a glance at the smallish couch and tried to imagine Hank’s big muscular frame sprawled over it. She winced. “But I don’t know how comfortable you’ll be.”
Hank grinned, slouched casually against the bedpost. “I’ll consider it penance for screwing up your reservation.”
“With that sort of logic, I should have gotten Tina’s bed.”
Hank grunted. “Trust me, if she lived in the house, she’d be giving up her bed ten times over.”
Samantha winced. “That bad, eh?”
He nodded, blew out a breath. “That bad.”
“If she’s so horrible, then why do you keep her?”
“She’s Gladys’s granddaughter.”
“Oh,” Samantha said knowingly. That explained it. Hank adored Gladys. He’d never do anything that might hurt her, even if it meant he paid the price for it. In this case, literally. An inept desk clerk in his line of work could be devastating. Still… “She didn’t train her before she left?”
“She tried.” Hank lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “Said that no amount of training would be better than on-the-job experience.”
Translation: Tina didn’t get it and Gladys had given up. Poor Hank, Samantha thought, not envying his predicament. “So what’s the deal with this Belle of the Beach contest?” she asked after a moment. “I saw a flyer next to the front desk.”
Hank crossed his arms over his chest, rolled his eyes and snorted. “It’s hell.”
“Surely it’s not that bad. Business certainly seems to be booming.”
Hank blew out a heavy breath, rubbed a hand over his face. “It is, and it’s all due to the pageant. Nevertheless, I wish that Mayor Flannagin could have come up with another way to boost the end-season besides this.” He rolled his eyes. “Hell, anything but this.”
“Funny,” Samantha said. She arched a brow and regarded him with amusement. “I would have thought that a bunch of gorgeous women on your sand would have been right up your alley.”
He flashed a smile, unwittingly kicking her pulse into overdrive. “Me, too, but it’s not.” His altogether-too-hot gaze did a lengthy sweep over her body, causing a tornado of tingles in her belly. “You should enter.”
A nervous flutter winged through her chest. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nah,” she hedged. “I’m not the beauty pageant type.”
“You might be surprised,” Hank told her. “Besides, this is no ordinary pageant.” His amused gaze tangled with hers. “‘There’s more to being a Belle than just a pretty face.”’
Samantha grinned, recognizing the line from the flyer. “Is that right?”
“That’s right,” he told her, warming to his subject. “The official contest kicks off tomorrow and secret judges will be milling around grading contestants on personality, charm, grace and graciousness. The final contestants will compete in Redneck Jeopardy. And there’s no swimsuit competition. Instead Belle contestants will have a fried chicken and iced tea cook off.”
“What?”
He nodded and poked his tongue in his cheek. “You heard me,” he repeated, laughing. “Hell, every southern belle should know how to fry chicken and make iced tea.”
“That is so sexist,” Samantha replied, appalled.
A deep, wholly sexy laugh rumbled up his throat. “Take it up with Mayor Flannagin. This was his brainchild.”
Smiling, Samantha shook her head. “Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable.” Still, she wasn’t surprised. This was exactly the sort of thing she could expect from her little hometown. It was as exasperating as it was endearing.
“Yeah, well, an unbelievable prize package goes to the winner. An all-expenses-paid trip for two to the Bahamas, a fully loaded SUV and ten grand in cash.” The corner of his mouth tucked into a grin. “Hard to beat that. The contest committee decided to keep the entry fee minimal in order to increase participation.” He shrugged lazily. “More entries, more tourists. More tourists, more money.”
Made sense, she supposed. Still, a fried chicken and iced tea contest? Please.
Hank pushed away from the bedpost. “There are entry forms at the front desk and registration ends today,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You should enter. What have you got to lose?”
To her absolute amazement, she found herself seriously considering it. She might not be the most gorgeous woman here, but she was definitely intelligent, had a pretty good personality, considered herself charming and gracious. Anticipation hummed along her nerves as the idea gained momentum. As for talent, she was no Mariah Carey, but could sing a decent ballad. And, thanks to her mother, she could fry one helluva chicken. She certainly wouldn’t be a shoo-in, Samantha thought consideringly, but she had a shot. She definitely had a shot.
Furthermore, she could use a new car, had always wanted to travel and she could definitely use the cash. If she added ten grand to her nest egg, she could go ahead and move back home. Could be close to Hank. It would be tight, but she could still do it. Her insides grew jittery with cautiously hopeful excitement.
Hank was right. What did she have to lose?
Samantha bit her lip, looked up and her gaze bumped into his. “Forms are at the front desk?”
“Yeah.”
“I think I’ll change into my suit, grab a bite to eat out by the pool and look it over.”
He nodded, seemingly pleased. “Good.” He paused. “It’s great to have you back, Sam. You, uh, look fantastic,” he added, looking somewhat uncomfortable. And no wonder—he’d never had cause to issue a compliment before.
Her