Crazy Ever After

Chapter Eleven

“And remember the time in high school when Jason White dumped you for that slut Phoebe Garmon and you wrote all over the bathroom wall at Hannigan’s that he had a tiny little penis?”

Samara grinned at her friends Gia, Bailey and Liz, sitting with her around a small table in a trendy downtown eatery. They’d just finished dinner and a couple of bottles of wine amid a raft of reminiscence and a lot of laughter.

“He was so furious about that!”

“But it was hilarious! He deserved it.”

“So are you staying here permanently, then?” Gia posed the question to Samara, both hands clasped around the wineglass on the white tablecloth in front of her.

Samara didn’t know how to answer that question. The reality of her father being gone still hadn’t totally sunk in, and she’d been so busy fighting with Travis about who was going to run the company, it now hit her like a Pacific Ocean breaker that, if she was going to move back to Portland, her life had just completely changed.

“I guess I am.”

“That’s so great!” Liz lifted her glass of wine. “We’re so happy to have you back, Samara. Truly, this has been so much fun tonight.”

“You’re going to miss San Francisco,” Bailey said. “Portland’s nothing like that.”

“No,” Samara agreed slowly. “It’s different.”

“There must be so much to do there,” Liz said.

Samara smiled at her friends. There must be, she thought ruefully, but she’d never taken advantage of even a fraction of everything the city had to offer because she’d been so immersed in her school and then work. She hadn’t made any close friends, feeling emotionally numb and detached after she’d taken off from Portland, and had only dated sporadically, for the same reason. At least partly. The other part—Travis. There’d never been another man who’d attracted her or interested her in the same hot and hungry way Travis had.

“You’ll have to come to Pilates class with us,” Bailey said. “We go every Wednesday. It’s the most awesome workout.”

“Sure,” Samara said. “Sounds good.”

Bailey turned to Gia. “You know who you should introduce her to?”

Gia lifted a brow and shot an amused glance at Samara. “Who?”

“Brent’s brother.”

Samara opened her mouth to speak, but Liz beat her to it.

“Yes! He’d be perfect for her!”

“I don’t think so,” Samara began, turning her wine glass stem between her fingers.

“Why not? If you’re going to stay here—”

“Is he a funeral director too?” Samara asked.

“What’s wrong with being a funeral director?” Gia frowned.

“Nothing! Nothing at all. Just asking.”

“Well, he’s not. He’s an accountant.”

“Oooh. Exciting.”

Gia frowned again. “He’s a nice guy.”

Samara sat back in her chair and looked at the three faces of her friends, trying to do what they thought was a good deed, and her heart swelled with affection for them. Something she hadn’t felt for a long, long time. She smiled. “Thanks, you guys, but seriously, I’m going to be too busy to date for the next while. I have a ton of stuff to learn about the business. Travis gave me a whole whack of reports and financial data to go over, and....well, there are some problems at the company I need to figure out and try to come up with solutions.”

“Travis.” Gia gave Samara a look from beneath her lashes. “Travis Murray.”

“Yes.”

“He’s the guy you had—”

“Would you look at the time!” Samara tapped her watch and pushed her chair back. “I need to get home and start looking at some of that stuff. It’s been so nice to see you all again...”

“Sit.” Gia held up her hand.

Gia knew about the crush she’d had on Travis all those years ago, but even she didn’t know the truth about what had happened. Liz and Bailey knew nothing and were looking with wide-eyed glances from Gia to Samara and back again.

Samara subsided into her chair. “Gia...”

“Is he married?”

“No.”

“I thought he moved away too.”

“Yes. To Los Angeles. He’s back now too, to deal with things—”

“So you two will be working together?”

“Yes.” Samara saw the wheels turning in Gia’s head. “That was a long time ago, Gia.”

“What was?” Bailey leaned forward. “Who is this guy?”

Samara waited for Gia to spill it all, her tummy tight. She swallowed. “He’s my dad’s business partner,” she managed to say. She held Gia’s gaze and willed her to keep that embarrassing secret to herself.

Gia’s eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head. Oh-oh. If she’d wanted Gia to get that idea out of her head, she’d handled this all wrong. Now Gia knew there was more to it than just a teenage crush.

To Samara’s intense relief, Gia dropped the subject, but Samara knew it wasn’t dead and gone and she’d hear more about it from her friend.

As they all hugged goodbye on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, Samara’s chest grew warm and achy. As much as she hated to admit it, she’d missed having friends and missed the history she shared with these women, the laughter and tears and experiences that had bonded them together. She’d had nothing like that in San Francisco, just some casual work acquaintances, and only now did she realize how much she’d missed their friendship.

“Call me,” Gia whispered in her ear as they hugged. “If you want to talk, I’m here.”

Samara pulled back and gave her friend a hesitant smile. It had been so long since she’d shared personal things with a girlfriend. “I will,” she whispered back.

When she walked into the house a short while later, Travis was sitting on the couch in the den with his laptop on the coffee table in front of him. He wore a pair of cargo shorts and a snug short-sleeved T-shirt that hugged his well-muscled chest and arms, his blond hair sticking up in all directions as if he’d been running his hands through it.

He looked up at her. “Hi. Have fun with your friends?”

“Yes.” The warm relaxation she’d felt earlier disappeared, replaced with tingling tightness at seeing Travis. “It was great to catch up with them.”

“Good.” He smiled.

She paused. “I’m going upstairs now to do some work.”

He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost ten o’clock. You’re going to do work now?”

“Sure.” She didn’t want him to think she was slacking off the very first evening he’d shared the financials with her. “I have a lot to get caught up on.”

“It’s okay to take a night off and have fun,” he said, his voice gentle.

The softness of his tone annoyed her. He wasn’t her parent or guardian or anyone who could give her permission to take a night off. What she did with her time was up to her. In her head she knew her annoyance was unreasonable, especially since she’d just wanted to impress him with her work ethic.

Dinner with her girlfriends had helped take her mind off the anger she’d felt at how Travis for keeping information from her before having that meeting. And how he’d wanted to have the meeting anyway. Now it rushed back to her, and she frowned at him. “Sure,” she said. “It’s all right for me when you’re the one who knows all about the business and will use that to take over. You just don’t want me to succeed, do you?”

He rose to his feet, his height and width imposing even though he stood across the room from her. He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his shorts, shoulders raised, and regarded her with narrowed eyes. “That is not what I intended,” he snapped. “I gave you what you wanted. We postponed the meeting so you can get up to speed. And still, you’re acting like a spoiled child.”

Her eyes flew open wide, and her lips parted. He’d called her spoiled once before! What the hell? “What! Spoiled?”

He gave a jerky nod and moved toward her. His jaw tight, mouth firm, he stared at her. “You are the most stubborn, ungrateful little brat I’ve ever met.”

He stood close enough that she could see the dark golden stubble on his chin, the tiny mole on his left cheekbone, and each strand of hair in his thick, dark blond eyebrows. Her body quivered with anger and frustration and—dammit—arousal. Her hands tightened even more, short nails biting into her palms.

“Christ only knows why I—” His mouth snapped closed on his words, and he glared at her, blue eyes dark and flashing.

Why he what?

Sparks whipped around them, sparkling and stinging.

“Grow up, Samara,” he bit out.

That was so not fair, except, once again she’d come across differently than she’d intended. In trying to hide her fear and worry about how the company was really doing, she’d once again come across as petulant and sulky.

“I am grown up.” The feelings racing through her were far from childish, and she knew it was so, so bad, but her body ached to feel him, and without conscious thought, she stepped forward. At the same time, he too took a step, yanked his hands out of his pockets and reached for her.

His hand fisted in her long hair and pulled her head back. Sharp sensations cascaded from her scalp down over her entire body. Then they were kissing, mouths devouring each other, hot and wet and wicked. She pressed herself against him, her aching breasts flattened to his hard chest, her pelvis to his, where she felt the hard bulge beneath his shorts. Everything inside her dissolved into hot liquid, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Tongues met, sliding, licking, tasting. She whimpered. He groaned. His hand slid across her back, pulling her closer, then lowered to the curve of her butt. Pleasure vibrated through her, fiery and electric.

She wanted to cry with frustration and confusion, cursing her body for wanting him even when she was trying so hard to be mad at him. “I don’t want this,” she moaned.

“I know.” He kissed her once more and she opened for him, helpless, letting his tongue slide into her mouth.

“This isn’t going to help.” She nipped at his bottom lip. “It’ll just make things worse.”

“I know,” he said again. He dragged his mouth away from hers and pressed his rough cheek to her face. “You are the most irritating, frustrating female,” he muttered. “Once again, I can’t do anything right. I thought I’d be making you happy by postponing the meeting, but no, you just suspect me of having ulterior motives.”

Her chest ached at the confusion in his voice, and she had a sudden inexplicable, crazy urge to tell him she wasn’t mad at him, that she was grateful he’d given her extra time as she’d asked before they had that meeting. A crazy urge to make him feel better.

The words trembled on her lips, but her damn stubbornness prevented her from saying them, and she closed her eyes and held on to him, their chests rising and falling in unison.

He took her face in both hands, cupping it, holding her away from him to look at her. Meeting his gaze was excruciating. She felt naked, exposed, vulnerable. Her lips trembled, and she blinked rapidly.

“Samara. Jesus, you make me crazy.” Travis’s own eyes closed briefly. “Christ, Parker would have my ass for this.”

She blinked again. What did that mean? But then Travis was kissing her again, holding her face with gentle but firm hands, tipping her head for the best, deepest angle, turning her body liquid all over again.

She set her hands on his waist, loving the warm, solid feel of him beneath the soft cotton T-shirt, and kissed him back, the room fading out to black around them. She felt like she was spinning in a slow vortex of sensation.

She sucked in a long deep breath. That kiss had weakened her knees and weakened her resolve to keep things businesslike between them. So many years of wanting him. And he wanted her too. “Let’s go upstairs.”

He looked down at her, his eyes searching hers. “I have to ask,” he groaned. “Will you regret this tomorrow?”

“Oh, for god’s sake!” She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him against her. “Would you just do it!” She kissed him hard on the mouth, and Travis’s mind went utterly blank. “You can’t do this to me again!” She shoved at his chest then yanked him back. “You humiliated me once before by rejecting me like this.”

Fucking hell. Talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place. And he was definitely hard. Oh man. If he rejected her now, she was going to be hurt all over again. But if he didn’t reject her...Christ. What the hell was he supposed to do?

A feeling of déjà vu swept over him, a flash of Samara standing before him in the gazebo, mouth swollen from kissing him. This was exactly how he’d felt then—couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could barely see straight.

He tried to think it through, like a business decision, using logic and strategic thinking, but with his heart banging in his chest and his ears buzzing, it seemed impossible. Then she moved against him. And he gave up. Gave in. He wanted her too.

The relief of not having to fight with his conscience anymore made him lightheaded. “I want you,” Travis whispered against her lips. “God help me, but I want you.”

“Yes.”

Their eyes met and held, and this time, she kept her gaze steady and focused on him. Then she turned away from him, finding his hand with hers, clasping their fingers together, and she led the way up the stairs to her room.

Lord help him, he knew this wasn’t the way to look after Samara. His dick throbbed, his balls torturously tight. She got him so twisted up inside he didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

At the door of her room, he paused. “Be right back,” he said. After a hasty trip to his own room for a couple of condoms, he followed her into her room, in the back of his mind knowing he shouldn’t. He should be the one strong enough to resist, the mature one, the responsible one.

But fiery lust torched away those thoughts and left him a blazing inferno of desire.

“We have to be quiet,” he whispered, one last vestige of sanity hanging on. “Your mother’s in her room.”

She nodded, her fingers at the button of his shorts already, and he thought he was going to explode. His insides burned with the need to take her, possess her, dominate her, because, Jesus, she drove him fucking crazy.

He reached for her even as she began to sink to her knees in front of him, and he hauled her back up. She tried to swat his hands away. “No,” she whispered, pushing against his arms, trying to get back to his shorts.

They tussled there for a moment, her trying to get to his cock, him trying to get her on her back on the bed, and the frenzy of hunger and excitement built in him to a fever pitch. “Samara.” His voice was a hiss. “Stop.”

“I want to—”

“Shhh.” Christ, no. It was not going to play out like that. She was seducing him and while it was a relief to not have to fight his urgent lust for her, and while he was glad he knew she wanted this with a desperation that matched his own, he wanted her to know that he wanted her that much too.

They both wanted it. Right now, right here, hard and fast and unbearably hot. But he wanted no doubt in Samara’s mind, wanted it absolutely, unequivocally clear to her that he was doing this of his own free will.

Their hands grabbed at each other, and finally, he just used his strength and held both her hands behind her back with one of his, took her knees out from under her with one leg and sent her to the mattress. He fell on top of her, his weight holding her in place, their hands still trapped behind her back. She made a noise, and he shushed her again, putting his other hand over her mouth.

She lay there, wide-eyed and panting, his hand covering her mouth, their hearts pounding against each other. “Be quiet.” The words squeezed out between his teeth. She gave a jerky nod, and he removed his hand and replaced it with his mouth, taking hers in a hot, hard, demanding kiss.

She kissed him back, and her body quivered beneath his. She was just as turned on as he was, and although he’d never even dreamt that he’d be so turned on by a little domination, the flames shooting up inside him told him he was. Unbearably, agonizingly aroused. It was her. She got him so wound up he couldn’t think, could only feel.

His body burned for her, and he let his weight sink into hers, pressing her into the soft mattress. With his free hand, he cupped her breast through her dress and squeezed. A small moan sounded in her throat. It was okay. Only he could hear that.

He kissed her until they were both gasping for breath. He released her hands and dragged his out from beneath her then pulled the straps of the cotton dress she wore down her shoulders to free her breasts. His dick surged at the sight of them, perfect round mounds of softness, tipped with sharp little nipples that begged to be sucked.

So he did.

Shifting his body, he lowered his head and took one nipple in his mouth. He ran his tongue over it, loving the velvety texture of her skin, the sweet warm taste of her. He sucked then sucked harder, bringing a gasp from her, and her fingers slid into his hair and tightened. He scraped his teeth across the puckered tip, and she writhed beneath him, yanking on his hair.

“Yes.” The word was a breath, feather light, barely audible. “Oh, yesssss.”

He moved to the other breast, using his fingers to tease the damp one he’d left, and played there until the need spearing his balls was almost unbearable.

He kissed his way down her tummy, pushing the dress as he went, hoping like hell it would go over her hips. It did, the stretchy top giving way and leaving her beneath him in only a pair of gold lace boy shorts, almost the same color as her pale golden skin.

“Are you wet, Samara?” He murmured the words against the sensitive flesh just above the lace.

“Oh, god. Yes.”

“Let me see.” He slipped his fingers beneath lace to satiny flesh. Her pussy radiated heat, and he longed to pause there, just holding her, so sweet and tiny and soft, pulsing against him, but he was desperate to be inside her. He slipped his fingers into the folds and found silky moisture, oh god, so much moisture. She was ready.

He stripped the panties off over smooth, slender thighs, tossing them who knew where, and fumbled at his shorts to get his cock out. Not even bothering to take his clothes off, he pulled a condom out of his pocket, rolled it on, moved over her, and thrust into her hard.

She made another choked noise, this one louder, and he hissed, “Sorry.”

She covered her own mouth this time, parting her thighs to let him in as he pushed into her, her other hand gripping his biceps.

“Ah, fuck, Samara.” He tried to whisper the words because he couldn’t hold them in. “You feel so good. So goddamn good, hot and tight and wet around me.”

She just blinked up at him, swallowed, and met his thrusts with her own hips lifting as he pounded into her hard, fast, desperate. Small whimpery noises escaped both of them as they tried to be quiet as they fought for release. Bodies straining together, their soft sounds of desperation mingled with the slap of flesh against flesh.

Travis swallowed the harsh groan that rose to his lips as sensation sizzled from the base of his spine outward to his toes and fingers and his brain. He labored for breath, gritting his teeth. Then he went still, holding her hips as heat exploded and rushed through his body, and he poured himself into her in long hard jets. His head went back, jaw aching, eyes closed as he emptied himself into her body.

His need had been so urgent, so overpowering, he only vaguely realized he hadn’t made sure she came too, but then she did, rippling and pulsing around him. Her tiny whimpers filled the silent room, her fingers digging into him, and he managed to tear his eyes open and watch her face as she came, hips lifting against his.

He held himself in place, his chest burning, body tight, giving her the pressure she needed to push against. When she stilled, he collapsed over her then shifted to the side and tugged her with him. His hand went to her head, cupped the back of it, and pulled her face against his chest.

“Jesus,” he gasped. “Jesus, Samara.”

Her head moved in what might have been a nod, their harsh breathing the only sound. Sweat dampened his face and his T-shirt. He was still dressed. Hell.

He got rid of the condom, climbed back into bed with her, and pulled her into his arms. There was no stopping the tsunami of emotions that raged between them. Whatever the hell those emotions were, there were so many. He wasn’t even sure if he could name them all—good ones, bad ones, confusing ones.

He stroked a hand down her bare back, loving the sweep of smooth skin and how it curved into her delectable ass. This wasn’t how it should be. He’d wanted to take his time with her. Explore her. Taste her. Inhale her.

He hadn’t even taken his clothes off, for fuck’s sake.

He’d been brutal, hard, fast and selfish. He might even have hurt her.

He should leave. Go to his own room. His heart thudded against his ribs, waiting for her to push herself away from him, to kick him out.

“That was insane,” she mumbled against him.

In more ways than one. His gut seized with guilt. Again. What the fuck was he doing here? Guilt slammed into him like an ocean wave on a bad surfing day, in spite of himself. What the fuck had they just done?