Goddess Rising (68 page)

“Please, Rita,” Wes breathed, resting his swirling head against the wall, trying to keep his thoughts straight. His tongue felt thick. He probably shouldn’t have had the last four or five shots… He was sort of amazed he was still standing. “Is she in Houston?”

Rita heaved an irritated sigh.

“Tell me, Rita.”

“You’re the hot-shot-wannabe journalist—you figure it out,” Rita snapped. “I probably shouldn’t have even confirmed that, but I figure if it’s not now, it’s next week when she gets back. At least you two can get through your drama before classes restart.”

“Thank you, Rita,” Wes told her sincerely. “I mean it—
thank you.
”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

As Wes hung up, the room moved from swaying to full-on Tilt-A-Whirl. He groped for the wall, saw the men’s room and managed to stumble his way in just before he hurled half of the bottle back up. He was sitting on the floor by the sink when Ryke walked in a few minutes later.

“You do what needed to be done?” he asked, handing Wes a cold bottle of water, completely unsurprised by Wes’s state of ridiculousness.

“I need to sober up,” Wes told him between gulps. “I’ve got to get to Houston.”

Ryke patted his shoulder. “Come on—I’ll get you home first. You can sleep this shit off and get to her after you stop reeking of liquor and desperation.”

“I just need to figure out
where
she is in Houston,” Wes mumbled as Ryke helped him up off the floor.

“Well, her dad’s got a big ole’ skyscraper named after him,” Ryke pointed out. “Why don’t you start there?”

October—Friday Night

Teotihuacan Mexican Cafe, Houston, Texas

S A M A N T H A

S
he probably shouldn’t
have said yes to Travis when he’d asked her to dinner, hindsight twenty-twenty. But she liked spending time with him, and the ugly truth was, Sam needed a little pick-me-up after the debacle with Wes had leveled her self-esteem like a fallen pine. Besides, he’d been raving about his favorite Tex-Mex joint the last time she’d seen him, and Sam was never one to turn down a good meal.

Travis picked her up at Wyatt Towers and took her to Teotihuacan, just about the pinkest building she’d ever seen, housing what felt like a friendly neighborhood restaurant—not at all the kind of chic eatery she’d imagined a guy like Travis gravitating toward, with his typically razor-sharp office duds and classy timepiece. But Travis simply rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt as he ordered a pitcher of margaritas.

“I won’t drink much, so if you need me to be your designated driver, I’m all over it,” Sam told him, impressed by the size of the margarita pitcher.

“I keep forgetting we’re not the same age.” Travis grinned sheepishly. “You’re nothing like the college girls I remember,” he admitted.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Sam replied, brow raised as she perused the menu.

“Absolutely as it was intended,” Travis responded.

“So besides your obvious fondness for outrageous pink buildings, tell me why you love this place,” Sam asked, trying to decide on what she wanted.

“Simple,” Travis replied with a grin. “Because this place serves the
best
trifecta of fajitas, enchiladas, and margaritas in Houston.”

“All the major food groups,” Sam said with a laugh.

“Exactly.”

“I’ve got to admit, I was surprised when we walked in,” she confessed, glancing around. “I figured you’d try to impress me with a trendy new restaurant that serves an artfully presented piece of meat the size of a domino.”

Travis looked at her a moment, his azure gaze amused. “You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who’s impressed by
chichi
show-offs. And besides, I lost all hope trying to impress you the moment I opened my big mouth the day we flew to the rig.”

“True,” Sam drawled. “But you’re not the first guy who tried to take me to school—doubt you’ll be the last.”

Travis caught and held her gaze with an easy smile, and Sam felt herself doing all right for the first time in weeks. Things were finally on better footing with her dad, and the painful constriction around her heart since Wes had left her started to feel like it was easing up a bit. Sam found herself telling Travis about her day at the Kennedy Center. Professor Hammond’s husband had come through with flying colors, introducing her to a cadre of military and civilian experts who worked closely with the Naval Intelligence Office. Their work was a fascinating combination of psychological and behavioral profiling, analysis, and targeted operational planning in military theaters all over the world.

“Sounds like you had one hell of a day,” Travis remarked as he dipped a tortilla chip into the homemade guacamole.

“Sure was.” Sam smiled ruefully. “I’ve been monopolizing the conversation since we got here. Tell me about the best thing that’s happened to you all week.”

“Getting to have dinner with you,” Travis replied smoothly. “That makes it just about the best day I’ve had in ages.”

“Anybody ever tell you you’re sort of shameless?” she teased.

Travis’s pale blue eyes glinted with humor. “I’m really only shameless with you, Samantha.”

“And why is that?” she asked, considering him. Travis was smart, handsome, and clearly accustomed to getting what he wanted. She doubted he needed to lay it on as thick with any woman as he did with her. “You know I’m not the keys to the Wyatt kingdom, right?” she pointed out, wanting to state the obvious just to get it out of the way. “My father’s firmly in that seat for the duration, so chumming up to me isn’t nearly the political capital you might think it’d be.”

“So you keep telling me.” Travis returned her steady gaze. “You’re not really aware of your appeal, are you?”

Samantha shrugged. “You mean besides the boss’s daughter?”

“To be clear, I’m definitely not thinking about your father when I look at you,” Travis answered with a grimace. “In fact, I think we should put a moratorium on discussing anything related to your dad and petroleum for the rest of the evening.”

Sam smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

Travis took the liberty of ordering all his favorites at her urging, including a spectacular snapper
al cilantro
, shrimp enchiladas, and the classic carnitas the local restaurant was also known for.

“I have to admit, I was surprised you agreed to have dinner with me,” Travis told her at one point. “I’m guessing Wesley is either in the doghouse or out of the picture for you to finally take me up on my offer.”

A sharp pang hit her hard, but Sam hid it behind a casual sip of her margarita. “He’s free to do as he likes. As am I.”

“That’s very adult of you two,” Travis observed. “If you were my girlfriend, I’d beat the living hell out of anyone who tried to kiss you.”

Sam blinked, confused. “Who’s trying to kiss me—?”

Travis caught her chin gently before Sam fully registered what was happening. Had she not been surprised by the bold move, she probably wouldn’t have allowed it. Travis’s mouth brushed slowly over hers before he pressed in, coaxing her mouth open so he could taste her. It felt startlingly good, and he was clearly an adroit kisser, but Sam drew back anyway, a strange, almost ticklish aversion making her cheeks flush.

“You’re pretty ballsy,” she commented, breathless.

“No guy gets what he wants standing on the sidelines,” Travis replied with a little smile. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, like Wes used to do, and Sam suddenly realized that no matter how good-looking, funny, and smart Travis was, she still wanted Wes, like an addict who gets a taste of the good stuff, only to be teased later by an ersatz substitute.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since the day we met,” Travis confessed, his mouth curved. “You turned me sideways from the start, Samantha, and I think I’ve been a little bit obsessed with kissing you ever since.”

And I’m obsessed with a photographer who’s stuck in my head like a sad song on repeat…

Sam pushed back thoughts of Wes as the waiter delivered their dishes, listening as Travis regaled her with stories of growing up the youngest in a family full of sisters, confessing to a profound love of New Orleans jazz, and a deep-seated desire to try skydiving if it weren’t for the fact that it required him to jump out of a perfectly good plane.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Sam said as she bit into a succulent grilled shrimp seasoned with just enough spice to give it a kick.

“Everyone says that until they’ve hit the earth at terminal velocity,” Travis pointed out amicably.

“I’m sure there are fail-safes.”

Travis leveled her a look. “Falling that hard and that fast can never be safe, Samantha. I reckon that’s why we’re all so fascinated with it. Gravity always wins, but for that sweet set of weightless seconds, you might actually believe you’re flying.”

Her thoughts unwittingly returned to Wes. That’s exactly how it’d felt with Wes after all. Falling hard and fast, aware of the tremendous risk, but uncaring because it felt so seductively good those few exhilarating seconds. She longed for the rush, wished, despite the pain, she could experience the best parts of it all over again.

Sam wondered briefly if she’d be able to replicate that potent weightlessness with Travis, if only for a moment. She watched him run his fingers through his mink-brown hair, imagining the strands were as soft and silky as they looked. Sam considered kissing him again—wondering whether it would help her get past Wes, as Rita had suggested.

“What are you doing in town for the rest of the weekend?” Travis asked as he poured them both another margarita.

“No plans really. I thought I’d do some shopping, maybe hit the spa.” Sam shrugged lightly. “After getting punched and kicked the past few weeks, I’m ready for someone to be nice to me.”

“Now a spa day sounds more like the girls I know,” Travis teased. “Though not the punching and kicking part.”

“Yeah, well, I’m generally pretty low maintenance, but I like to treat myself to something extravagant every now and then,” she admitted.

“I don’t know any low-maintenance women,” Travis confessed.

“Maybe that’s why you like me so much,” Sam flirted, surprising herself.

“Among the many reasons…” Travis smiled confidingly, like they were sharing a secret.

They did justice to their meal, but unfortunately not to their margaritas, and Travis drove her back to Wyatt Towers with the practiced ease of a guy who made the commute daily. Sam sat back in his car, enjoying the quiet luxury of her surroundings and the pleasure of his company. They chatted inconsequentially about this and that with the familiarity of longtime friends.

Travis leaned toward her after he pulled up to Wyatt Towers, taking her face into his hand.

“I didn’t ask the first time, but I will ask the second,” he murmured, his pale blue eyes mesmeric. “May I kiss you, Samantha?”

And she let him with a brief nod, because she was curious, and perhaps feeling like he might do some justice to the hollow feeling, and because tonight she felt better than she had in ages in Travis’s warm and easy company.

He tasted warm and delicious and a little salty from the margarita. Just like before, Travis proved again he was a talented and masterful kisser, his lips coaxing and gentle. And just like before, Sam felt that reluctant skittishness as his long fingers moved to her neck, bringing her closer. When she resisted, Travis drew back, misinterpreting her hesitation.

“Can I come up?” he asked, his voice husky in the cool quiet of the car.

Sam stared at him in the shadows, and Travis looked back at her in warm bemusement, his handsome face patient, as if he understood it was a big precipice for her, though he was still hoping she’d say yes.

As she looked into his eyes, Sam was suddenly aware of her power over him, a seductive prerogative over someone older, worldlier, and considerably more experienced than she was. It was heady, like the first time she’d ever sat behind the wheel of her Mustang, and Sam wondered if she was up for it—if she’d be able to give herself over to anyone besides Wes.

But she didn’t say yes. Not after the seconds rolled by, and not after she found her mouth unable to form the words. Her hands remained still, locked in her lap. But he knew a roadblock when he saw one. Even if she didn’t fully recognize it within herself.

“You’re not as free of Wes as you’d like to believe, are you?” he asked gently, stroking her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

Sam exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“No,” she answered honestly, arriving to the realization. “I guess I’m not.”

“Well, then he’ll be relieved to know that,” Travis said, his eyes tracking over her shoulder as he nodded toward the entrance of her father’s building.

Sam followed his gaze to see Wes step out from the glass doors. She saw him push his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched, his expression hidden in the darkness. Her hand was on the car door before she realized it.