Goddess Rising (53 page)

October—A Couple Hours Later

Wyatt Ranch, Texas

S A M A N T H A

Sam crossed the
grass toward her father’s study, looking for Wes. She had a good buzz going from her talk with Uncle Grant and more than a little moonshine running through her system—and she wanted to make love to Wes like her life depended on it.

She was surprised to find Travis alone in the library, sitting next to the fire, a glass of whisky in hand as he read a book. He looked relaxed and at home, his shirt sleeves rolled up over tan forearms, legs crossed like he’d been sitting there for a spell. Sam cleared her throat and Travis looked up, surprised.

“Well, hello there.” He smiled, looking pleased to see her. “You looking for your dad?”

“Wes, actually.”

Travis shook his head, grinning. “Lucky bastard.”

“Not yet,” she responded with a naughty grin. It had to be the moonshine talking. Normally, the very idea of saying that out loud would have had her blushing something fierce. Sam rounded the armchair across from him and plopped down. “What are you reading?” she asked, tucking her legs under her.

Travis closed the book, his thumb holding his place as he showed her the cover. “
The Aeneid.
”

“One of my father’s favorites,” she commented, nodding with approval. “And in the original Latin. Impressive.”

“Catholic school,” Travis responded by way of explanation. “Figured I’d try to decipher how much of that Latin class I could actually remember.” He lifted the tumbler in his hand. “Figured if this whisky didn’t put me to sleep, trying to recall derivatives would.”

“That’s a reasonable plan,” she agreed. “Latin’s better than a sedative every time.” She laughed a little, grinning at him. She felt loose-limbed and a little uninhibited—definitely a result of ole Gus’s hooch.

Travis considered her with a bemused look. “You’re a little bit lit, aren’t you?”

Sam held up her thumb and index finger. “Just a teensy-weensy bit. What gave me away?”

“You seem a little…ah,” Travis seemed to search for the word, “friendlier to me now than you were earlier.”

Sam waved her hand airily. “Don’t take it personally.”

“You not being friendly earlier or your being friendly now?” Travis clarified, his pale blue eyes lit with good humor.

“Either,” Sam responded blithely. “I was under the influence both times.”

“Of what?” he asked.

“Nice use of the Latin.”

“Not bad for a nineteen-year-old neophyte you thought you’d school in the ways of the big, bad world of petroleum, huh?” she teased.

“I’d say I was definitely the one who got schooled,” Travis admitted. He nodded toward the whisky decanter sitting beside him. “You want to add fuel to the fire?”

Sam glanced out the French doors. “I shouldn’t.”

“But you want to, don’t you?” Travis poured her a measure before she could deny it.

Sam accepted the crystal glass and took a delicious sip, sighing. Fine Scottish malt sure beat the shit out of moonshine.

Travis settled back in his seat again, considering her with those gorgeous blue eyes of his. They reminded her of ice chips—bright with intelligence and something else—like a frozen fire.

“So you’ll never like me for the sole reason I work for your father?” Travis asked after a moment.

Sam smiled. “I like you just fine, Travis. Besides, what does it matter if I like you or not?”

“Maybe I have a delicate ego.”

Sam scoffed. “Doubt that.”

“Maybe I’d like us to be friends,” he suggested.

“We’re sharing a dram as we speak,” Sam pointed out, taking another warm sip.

“Maybe I’d like us to be allies. If I stick around—which I have every intention of doing,” Travis added meaningfully, “I’d rather have a good relationship with the heir apparent to Wyatt Petroleum. In all likelihood, my future boss.”

“Don’t hold your breath on that one,” Sam responded frankly.

“And why not?” he asked her.

“Well, I’ve got to finish college, for one, and then I’ve got at least four years of active duty to serve, for another,” Sam replied. “And if I’m very lucky, I’ll figure out what I want to do with my life sometime between now and then, so I’d say you’re safe from me for at least that long,” she finished with a shrug.

“And if I don’t want to be safe from you?” he murmured, leaning toward her, the firelight playing against the handsome angles of his face.

She was definitely tipsy, but she knew a come-on when she saw one. She waited a tic before she responded. “Travis, you strike me as a clever, ambitious guy. So let me assure you that trying to get close to me won’t do you any good.”

“I doubt that,” he answered easily. “But if you’ll indulge a guy’s curiosity—why is that?”

“Three reasons: because I’m bound and determined to avoid this business, my dad and I barely get along, and I’m in love with a photographer named Wesley Elliott.” Sam tipped her glass, finishing her whisky. “I wish you luck making it through
The Aeneid
Lord knows you’re going to need it,” she teased, pushing herself up from the comfy chair. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“Oh, I will,” she answered with a brazen smile.

Sam stole across the garden separating the main house from the guest cottage, too buzzed to care if she got caught. She knocked once on the door but didn’t hear an answer. Wondering if Wes was asleep already, Sam opened the door tentatively. When she heard no sounds in the cottage, she moved through the cozy sitting room, approaching the bedroom quietly.

Wes lay on his back, arms behind his head. He was still in his jeans, but he’d stripped off his shoes and his shirt. If he’d heard her, he didn’t indicate it, looking lost in thought, his eyes on the ceiling, watching the fan overhead make lazy rotations.

Sam knocked gently at the open door, startling him. Wes looked surprised to see her as she padded toward the bed. She sank down on the edge, feeling a little wobbly from the drink. He lifted a hand to slide it down the leg beside him. He squeezed the sensitive place over her knee with just enough pressure to turn her on, and Sam leaned in, kissing him.

Wes tasted like toothpaste and smelled like heaven, the scent from his warm skin intoxicating. He made her want to strip off her clothes and curl up right beside him. Sam smiled giddily, like she’d won a prize.

“You been hittin’ the sauce, Sammy?” he asked teasingly, tugging a little at her thick braid.

She flushed. “Uncle Grant’s truth serum.”

“You taste like good liquor, and you look a little naughty,” Wes told her with a slow grin. “Two of my favorite things.”

He pulled her in for another kiss, and Sam went willingly, reveling in the way he maneuvered her over him, the heat from his body shooting a little zing of exhilaration through her. Sam tugged at her sweater, struggling with the mechanics of the movement without breaking the kiss. She jerked her arm out of the sleeve too hard and nearly fell off the bed. Wes snatched her up just in time, laughing a little against her neck.

“Whoa there, nelly,” he teased. “How much have you had?”

Sam giggled, half in, half out of her thick-knit cardigan. “I might be
slightly
drunk.”

“Slightly?” Wes lifted a brow.

The room spun a little. “Okay, maybe more than slightly.”

“Come here, darlin’,” Wes murmured, bringing her down beside him on the bed. They lay there for a while, Sam waiting for the room to stop spinning while Wes stretched out beside her, stroking her arm.

“What were you thinking about when I came in?” she asked, tracing a finger along the bristles lining his jaw.

“Nothing much.”

Sam wasn’t sure if it was the inflection in his words or the half-second he stopped stroking her arm—but she knew he was holding back.

She raised herself up on her elbow. “I thought we didn’t lie to each other,” she mumured, running her finger over his lips.

Wes caught her hand and kissed it. He didn’t say anything for a moment, maybe thinking she’d forget. Sam nuzzled his cheek, his jaw, nipped his ear lobe.

“You can talk to me, you know. You can tell me anything,” she told him, mimicking his words from the morning.

Wes released a slow sigh. Closed his eyes. “It’s stupid.”

“What is?”

“What’s in my mind,” he admitted, looking troubled. “I know it’s stupid, but I’m letting it get to me.”

“What’s getting to you?” she asked, having a hard time tracking the conversation, owing to the alcohol and the relaxation stealing over her body.

Wes sighed again, clearly reticent. “Just something Travis said.”

Sam looked at him in askance.

“At dinner, he said we were on divergent paths,” Wes reminded her.

Sam looked at him, puzzled. “What do you care what he thinks?”

“He’s not wrong,” Wes pointed out.

“Doesn’t make him right either. What does he know about it?” she replied, snuggling into him. When Wes said nothing, Sam kissed his shoulder. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this to you of all people, but you’re worrying too much, Wes.”

“Am I?” he murmured into the darkness after a long pause.

Sam closed her eyes, fighting sleep.

“Am I, Sammy?” he asked again.

“You’re worrying over nothing, Wes.” She wrapped an arm around his waist, marveling in how good he felt, how right.

“I don’t think I am, Sammy,” he murmured, holding her close. “I look at a guy like Travis, and I can’t help but think he’s just trying to get my goat. But he’s not all wrong, is he?”

“Why are you letting some little thing he said get you all worked up, baby?” she asked, feeling the pleasure of her buzz wilt toward fatigue. The weight of the day started to take its toll, and Wes’s frame of mind wasn’t helping.

Wes must have seen it in her face, because he wrapped an arm around her as he kissed her. “I’m sorry. I told you it’s stupid.”

“He’s just trying to curry a little favor is all,” Sam murmured on a yawn. “No harm, no foul.”

Wes returned her gaze with a look of amused disbelief. “Your dad’s boy thinks he’s got a chance with you, Sammy. He wants what’s mine.”

“I barely know him.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Wes countered. “We know what we want the moment we see it.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry,” she assured him. “I’m
with
you.” She yawned widely, fighting to stay awake. “It’s been kind of an emotional rollercoaster the past twenty-four hours,” she admitted. “I know I came in here going strong, but can you do me a favor and just hold me for a little bit?”

“I’ll hold you all you want, Sammy,” Wes whispered into her hair.

“Just don’t let go, okay?” Sam asked, closing her eyes as the room spun a little bit. “Just don’t let go.”

*

October—Early Sunday Morning

Wyatt Ranch, Texas

W E S L E Y

Wes stayed awake
long after Sam had fallen asleep in his arms. He released her braid and stroked her hair loose, careful not to wake her as he continued to think about the future. He thought about the patient, almost insightful, look in Travis’s eye as he watched Sam during dinner, surreptitious enough not to be noticed, except by him.

Wes didn’t like him one iota. Maybe because he recognized a guy like Travis was everything he was not. And in his heart of hearts, Wes knew that Travis was exactly the kind of guy Sam should probably be with. Calm and collected, vetted and approved of—an almost certain part of her future—and clearly part of Robert Wyatt’s plans.

Robert may have been a polite host for the duration of Wes’s visit, but he could see Robert’s assessment of him clear as day. He didn’t think Wes had staying power, so his hospitality was merely conciliatory, like tolerating a necessary evil, maybe even finding a little amusement in it, just to pass the time.

Wes held Samantha for a long time, listening to the nighttime lullaby of crickets and katydids outside, trying hard not to dwell too hard on his dilemma. Because every time Wes imagined it, all he could see was his future blended into the background of Sam’s certain meteoric rise. And the very man he was struggling to become, faded into obscurity behind the blaze of her incandescence. Whatever Sam chose to do, she’d be a certain star. And whomever she chose to be with while she rose to glory would need to have the self-possession and equanimity to handle that eventuality.

“I love you, Sammy,” Wes whispered into the darkness, though he just wasn’t sure which one of them he was trying to convince that the love they shared was enough…