Goddess Rising (18 page)

“You want to know why I’m here with Chris?” she asked tightly, stepping back.

Wes didn’t let go of her. “You know I do,” he responded with a little frown as she pushed him away.

“We aced our paper—you want to know what our paper was about?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Lie detection,” she answered, snatching her hat from his hand. Sam stuffed it back on her head as she turned and stalked off the dance floor.

Wes reached for her in the crowd, but she slipped away, weaving through the other dancers as she headed for the door. Sam wasn’t entirely sure where she was going, and she hadn’t planned on walking out without Chris, but she had to escape what felt like stifling proximity with the one person who had the ability to agitate the hell out of her and make her feel turned on at the same time.

“Samantha!” he shouted after her. “
Sam!”

Wes caught up with her just outside of the bar. He snagged her wrist, and she countered the move, neatly stepping out of his grasp as she knocked his hand away.

“Stop running away from me,” Wes said to her, frustration and tequila making his voice loud.

“Back off, Wes,” she warned, moving away from the curious onlookers around the door. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing right now, and you need to back off and give me some space.”

Wes reached for her again. “Listen, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but—”

“Back off!” Sam countered, yanking her arm back. She saw people were looking on curiously and lowered her voice. “I don’t know what the hell you’re into, Wes, but you’re the one who set up an elaborate proposition built around honesty, and you’ve been lying to me through your teeth from the get-go—admit it!”

Wes’s brows snapped together. She watched anger and defensiveness chase themselves across his face.

“Don’t you dare lie to me again—” Sam uttered. “I don’t want to hear any more bull crap coming out of your mouth, Wesley Elliott.”

Wes released a harsh laugh. “I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t, aren’t I?”

Sam said nothing.

“If I play by my own rules, you won’t like what you hear. And if I don’t, you walk.” He shook his head, blowing out a frustrated sigh. “You’re with the better guy, anyway, Samantha.”

“That’s why I like hanging out with him,” Sam agreed, though her anger didn’t abate. If anything, she felt her incendiary frustration rise at the idea of Wes walking out of her life just as easily as he’d walked in. And that conflicting emotion confused the shit out of her.

“Doesn’t matter anyway, does it, Wes?” she taunted. “Easy come, easy go, right?” She began to stalk off but Wes grabbed her shoulders. He pivoted in a quick side step and had them both around the darkened corner of the bar, away from prying eyes in under two seconds.

Sam looked up at him in shock when he pushed her against the wall, one hand by her head as he pressed close to her. Sam felt utterly surrounded, her heart beating fast now for an entirely different reason.

“If you’re going to leave either way, I might as well do what I’ve been wanting to do since I laid eyes on you,” he muttered, spearing his fingers into her hair as he knocked her cowboy hat to the ground.

“
What are you—?”
Sam sputtered before he cut her off with his mouth.

Wes’s kiss was stunning. Sam had never experienced such white-hot, electric chemistry before in her life—not with anyone. Not even close.

If anything, her previous embraces with a handful of boys over the years had felt lightly heady, as if she’d downed champagne too fast.
But this
—Wes shifted ever-so-slightly, finding that perfect, unexpected alignment as he pressed her harder against the wall, coaxing her leg up with a hot palm on her thigh.

Sam moaned like a wanton as he tasted deeply, slowing everything down, eroding her balance. In a flash of a second, Wes had overcome any fleeting doubt or momentary hesitation she may have been experiencing. Sam tilted her head back as their kiss became more urgent, their movement against each other more relentless. Her hand curved over the nape of his neck, tangled with the silky hair there so she could bring him closer.

Wes tasted unbelievably good, and his skin—
God
, he was like a furnace under her roving hands, muscles taut, hard everywhere. They kissed until the desperate, needy ache took her places she hadn’t gone before, made her aware that being with Wes was intrinsically and wholly different from anything she’d ever known. And Sam understood—in that intoxicating, primordial moment of desire-made-flesh—that if she slept with him, he’d take her in a direction she wasn’t entirely certain she was ready to go. And he’d take
everything
. She was certain of it.

Trembling, Samantha pushed him back. But Wes remained determined, drawing her closer, coming back in for more. Sam managed to turn her head just long enough to gasp out, “Stop, Wes.
I can’t
. We shouldn’t do this.”

The arm around her tightened, his hand sliding higher on her leg as he caught his breath, forehead pressed against hers.

“Jesus, you’re even more amazing than I could have imagined,” he panted, like he’d just run a race. “I thought I could let you walk away, but—”

“Your roommate is right inside,” Sam reminded him, pushing Wes back, though he resisted, the hard panel of his chest fitted against her like a barrier and a vise all at once. His hands dropped, squeezing her bottom so her hips hitched against him. Wes pressed into her, and Sam sucked in a tight breath, the full-on pressure of him galvanic.

“You don’t want Chris,” he whispered into her ear before he dragged his mouth down her neck, his hands keeping her right where he wanted her. “You don’t want anyone but me, Samantha. Just like I don’t want anyone but you.”

Her remaining resistance began to unravel, an inarticulate sound of pleasure coming out of her mouth. Wes’s mouth roved over her throat, his hips pressing against her in insistent, delicious circles—perfectly timed to drive her absolutely, breathtakingly nuts.

His mouth was the best thing she’d ever felt. But his words seared through the euphoric haze. Wes was right. She didn’t want Chris, but Sam was certain she didn’t want to be lied to either, and Wes was never quite what he seemed. Her eyes snapped open as he nipped her ear, soothing the little hurt with a lick.

“You implied we’d be honest with each other, Wes,” she told him, trying not to shudder.

“I’ve never been more honest about anything in my life,” he answered, pushing against her again, making her feel him. “I’ve never wanted anyone in the world as badly as I want you
right now
.”

“I won’t be one of your mindless hussies, Wes,” she responded, pushing him back half-heartedly.

“Never asked you to be,” he replied, moving in to kiss her again. “You think I don’t know you’re completely different from anyone I’ve been with in the past?”

“I can’t do this,” Sam uttered, stumbling away. “I
won’t
do this.”

“And why not?” Wes demanded, snagging her arm even as he bent down to pick up her discarded hat. “If you’re so interested in telling the truth, do you really think it’s better to go back in there and lead Chris on? You think it’s better to lie to yourself when you’d rather be with me?”

“I never said I didn’t like Chris.”

Wes guffawed. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. While you’re on your high horse, Samantha, take a good hard look at the fact that Chris is already half in love with you! You’re lying to him just by
being
here!”

“I am not!” she denied hotly.

“You are too!” Wes insisted. “The sooner you admit you’d rather be with me, the better it’ll be for everyone involved.”

“Oh, we’re
involved
now?!” Sam asked incredulously, tequila and emotion making her reckless. She swiped her hat from him for the second time that night. “So I let you kiss me?
So what?
How many hundreds of girls have you kissed, Wesley Elliott? I’m just one in a long line of many!”

“I have never in my life felt anything like
that
before,” Wes argued, pointing at the place they’d been hot and heavy. “I may have been around the block a few times, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know a good thing when I see it.”

“Been around the block?” Sam uttered in exasperated amazement. “Wes, you’re the freaking king of the damn block! You’ve been with so many girls, you can’t even remember their damn names!”

He didn’t even bother to deny it as he advanced on her. “You’re proving my point for me, Samantha. What you and I have is completely different—something altogether new for me.”

“Stop it, Wes,” she warned.

“Name one good reason why I should?” he asked, coming for her, his golden eyes heated.

“You’re a liar.”

He lifted a brow. “Seems to me that you are too.”

“You’re up to no good,” Sam argued, backing up a quick couple of steps.

“Trust me,
it’ll be good,
” he assured her cockily, his lips still damp and red from their kiss. “Better than good. You and I will light the bed on fire,” he promised, stepping toward her.

They stared at each other for a long moment, each breathing heavily, both riled up. It would be so easy to close up the distance and jump into his arms again, but she wouldn’t do that to Chris, and frankly, she was afraid to do that to herself. Sam knew now firsthand that his laid-back, easy-going demeanor was just a façade. Wesley Elliott was incendiary and wild, and he came on like a tornado when he wanted something. He made her feel completely out of control—an emotion she’d fought hard all her life to avoid. Getting any deeper with him would only lead to bad luck, trouble, and heartache. She
knew
it—knew it to her core.

“You’re wilder than an acre of snakes, Wesley Elliott, and just as complicated.” Sam jammed her hat back onto her head. “And if there’s anything I don’t need, it’s complications.”

He smiled slowly, amused. “Maybe you need a little complication, Sammy. Makes things a helluva lot more fun, darlin.’ You ever thought about that?”

Sam turned on her heel and moved back toward Dukes front doors, determined to get away. And just as she reached out to pull open the handle, Chris stumbled out.

September—Sunday Morning

Wes and Chris’s Apartment, Texas A&M

S A M A N T H A

S
he woke up
slowly, pleasantly wrapped in soft sheets, surrounded by Wes’s delicious scent—

What the hell… ?

Sam snapped upright, eyes wide as she came fully awake. She looked around an empty bedroom she couldn’t quite recall. Gingerly, she lifted the sheet she was under. Tank top and underwear intact. Sam exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She tried to recall where she was as she glanced around, spotting her skirt, boots, and hat neatly placed on an old desk covered in photography equipment.

Memories from the night before returned in pulses as she rubbed her temples, trying to piece them together. Sam recalled Chris stumbling out of the bar, followed by a throng of football players, big and burly and playful, shouting out their invitation to another bar. She remembered Chris throwing his arm around her shoulder, eyes soft and pleading as she listened to the hoots and hollers from a group of players who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer as she tried to beg off and return to the relative safety of her apartment.

But ultimately, Sam allowed herself to be convinced, partially out of guilt for kissing Wes and partially because it felt selfish to deny Chris one night out of a long season to let loose a little with his fellow football brethren. She also liked the safety in numbers. Liked the idea of several brawny guys between her and Wes.

The same Wes who smiled and laughed along. The same Wes who clapped Chris on the back like he hadn’t just nearly taken advantage of Sam against a bar wall right under his nose. The jerk.

But who was she kidding?

Sam ran her fingers through her tangled hair in disgust. She’d very nearly let him. She’d been right there, enjoying every second of it, fingers curled around him like she didn’t know how to let go.

Sam recalled Chris doing round after round of shots with his football buddies at Dixie’s. Had a fuzzy recollection of Wes slipping behind the bar and serving more drinks while she played a drunken game of pool with a few cadets she knew. Sam vaguely recalled stumbling toward Chris’s truck, and Wes, somehow sober, driving them both home as they sang along to the radio, loud and off-tune.

Sam groaned, mortified.

Then there’d been a brief memory of helping Chris into the bathroom. Him chucking up most of what he’d drunk in the last couple hours, moaning, telling them to let him die alone, before he locked them both out of the bathroom. She recalled sitting outside the door with Wes, listening to Chris through the wood while they stared at each other, neither acknowledging the elephant in the room.

Sam covered her face with her hands.

She must have fallen asleep there in the hall. It was the last thing she could recall and a testament to how much she’d drunk herself that Wes had managed to get her into his room without her waking.