Crazy Ever After

Chapter Eight

The funeral was a blur of people—family she hadn’t seen in years, old friends, business associates, as well as total strangers—hugging and kissing her with whispered condolences. When Travis got up to deliver the eulogy, she watched and listened, mesmerized by his quiet confidence and strong presence as he looked out at the overflowing cathedral and spoke about her father.

He talked about how Parker had lived his life and the way he’d believed it was important to give back not only to the community in which he lived and conducted business, but also to the global community. He’d accomplished this with his commitment to improving the lives of poor farmers in developing countries. When he talked about how Parker had loved his family, her throat started to tighten, but when Travis specifically mentioned how much Parker had loved her, her heart softened and emotion swelled up in her. She bent her head and let her hair fall forward, feeling the eyes of everyone in the cathedral on her. Travis seemed to have intimate knowledge of Parker’s feelings for her, making her wonder how much they’d talked about her and what exactly had been said. It was painfully moving to hear how proud her father was of her, and the way Travis spoke the words made her almost think that Travis shared those feelings.

Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked rapidly as she listened to him talk.

After the service, Samara, her mother, Travis, and some other family members traveled to the mausoleum. There were no remains of Parker’s body, and his memory was marked only by a small plaque on the elegant marble structure.

The party at the house followed that, and again in a haze of emotion, she greeted guests, accepted hugs of sympathy, and took the drink someone pressed into her hand. She chatted and made small talk with people she barely knew, trying to be a hostess as best she could in her fog of sadness and grief.

All the while she was hyperaware of Travis doing the same, mingling with guests easily, standing out in the crowd, his broad shoulders clad an expensive-looking dark suit.

“Your father would have loved this.” Samara turned to see Paulette, looking sad but approving. She gave her a hug.

“Thanks for coming,” Samara said for about the hundredth time.

“A celebration of his life is so appropriate,” Paulette murmured. “He wouldn’t have wanted a lot of wailing and crying.”

Samara smiled. “That’s true.” She paused. “Paulette, I want to know more about what Dad was working on in Matagalpa. Are there files somewhere?”

“Um...well, yes, there are. But don’t worry. Travis will take care of it.”

Samara wanted to scream. Travis, Travis, Travis! “I want to know about it, though,” she said, trying to sound pleasant even though she wanted to grind her teeth.

Paulette patted her hand. “Well, I’m sure Travis can tell you anything you want to know.”

Yeah, right. Travis seemed determined to keep her out of things. But she nodded, forced a smile, and moved on to another group of business associates.

The party went on into the evening, with her father’s closest friends among the last to leave. They’d taken advantage of the generous open bar and were reminiscing about her father, all sitting in the den shouting with laughter at the stories they shared. Travis was right in there with them, and Samara went over to the bar and set down her empty wine glass, watching them with poignant amusement.

She could just picture her dad in the thick of things too, telling stories, Lagavulin flowing freely, and having everyone laughing uproariously. One of his favorite things to do. With a shrug, she picked up a bottle of Pinot Gris and poured another glass, lifting it in a silent toast to her father.

Exhausted from the efforts of socializing through her grief, she wandered outside onto the patio. She closed the door but could still hear bursts of laughter as she sank down onto the low stone wall where Travis had sat just the other night. Remembering the embrace they’d shared that night and the overwhelming attraction he still had for her made her shiver.

“You should have a jacket or something on.”

Travis’s voice startled her. She hadn’t heard him come out.

“I’m fine.”

“It’s cool out here.”

Her bare arms did tighten up into tiny goose bumps, but it wasn’t from the cold. She set her glass down and rubbed her arms. Travis shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

She wanted to shrug right back out of it, but it was warm from his body and smelled like him. She closed her eyes, breathing in slowly through her nose, absorbing his scent, dark, smoky, earthy, like dark Arabica coffee mingled with warm ambergris and musk.

He undid the buttons of his cuffs and rolled back each sleeve twice, revealing his strong wrists and forearms sprinkled with golden hairs. Then he did the same at his throat, undoing the top button and tugging his tie loose. In seconds he’d gone from impeccable businessman to laid-back and sexy.

“Everything went fine today,” he commented, sitting on the wall, turning his body to face her. She picked up the wine glass that sat between them.

“Yes.” She sighed. “It was fine.”

“You look exhausted.”

She smiled wryly. “Thanks. I can always count on you to keep my ego in check.”

He ran a hand through his hair and was that much closer to the youthful surfer-dude he’d been back when she’d first met him. His gold hair stuck up in all directions, appealingly tousled. “I don’t mean you don’t look good. Jesus.” He shook his head. “You look gorgeous as always. I’m just saying.” He tipped his head as he looked at her.

Her stomach swooped at hearing him say she was gorgeous. “I am tired,” she admitted, peering down at her wine glass. She couldn’t look at him anymore or she might jump onto his lap. “It’s exhausting. Thanks for doing the eulogy. It was...” She paused, unable to find the right words. She didn’t want to admit how much his words had meant to her. “...good.”

He gave a short laugh. “And likewise, my ego is firmly put in place by you.”

She lifted her eyes, surprised. He was smiling, eyes glinting. She’d always liked how he didn’t take himself too seriously, and the flash of humor made her relax minutely. Godfrey, he was sexy. Her body wanted to lean in closer, and she tightened every muscle she could. An urgent yearning for him burned low inside her.

“Are you seriously going to stay here?” he asked.

She held his gaze. “Yes.” Then she said, “What about you? You’re not going back to Los Angeles?”

“No.”

He too held her gaze. She lifted her chin. He lifted his. Sparks damn near flashed between them

She stood to face him, but as she did so, one of her spiky Jimmy Choo heels slipped on the rough stone patio.

Travis reached out and caught her arm. “Whoa.” His hand was big and warm on her bare arm, and his jacket slid off her shoulders to the patio. Startled by the rush of pleasure she felt at his touch, she wrenched her arm away from him and almost lost her balance again. Wine sloshed in her glass.

Suddenly on his feet, Travis made a grab for the glass and for her at the same time, his big hard body crowding her. “Samara.”

He held her by her upper arm, his grip tight. His mouth pressed into a tight line, he took the wine glass and poured the contents into a plant. He set the goblet down on the table and took hold of her other arm.

“Let go of me,” she muttered, her face so close to his she could see the glints of gold whiskers in the faint light from the house.

“Are you okay?”

She was not okay. She was a wreck. She was strung out, her emotions a twisted knot of confusion, fear and frustration. And she was hot. “I’m fine,” she said through her teeth, trying to pull away from him. His hands tightened, and she shifted against his hard body. Heat radiated off him in waves.

The voices inside had disappeared. Had the party finally ended? Then faintly, the sound of voices, car doors slamming, and engines starting drifted on the evening breeze from the front of the house.

“I should be saying good night to the guests,” she choked out.

“Your mother will do it.”

They stood like that, bodies touching, faces close, staring at each other for long, stretched-out moments. Samara’s heart was pattering so fast she couldn’t tell one beat from the next. Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed with difficulty, licking her lips without conscious thought.

Travis’s eyes went to her mouth, and hot liquid pooled down deep inside her between her legs. Her breasts swelled, her nipples tingled, and her lips parted as she watched his eyes darken, still fixed on her mouth.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” he muttered. He gave her body a hard little jerk, bringing her right up against him, and it felt so good to press her aching breasts against his hardness. She felt his arousal against her and wanted to feel it lower, deeper. Involuntarily her hips arched against him, and he groaned.

He shouldn’t have come out here. Travis knew he should keep his distance from her. The sparks that flew between them got out of control so easily, igniting into a goddamn wildfire. But he’d been worried about her, about the grief and fatigue that had shadowed her face. She still looked too thin, fragile, like she could snap, but yet, in his arms, she felt just right—delicate but strong, soft but resilient.

A shadow fell in the light that spilled through the French doors from the den. He couldn’t tell who it was.

He maneuvered Samara backward, still grasping her arms, deeper into the shadows up against the house. He pressed her body against the cool smooth stucco, pinning her there with his hips.

She mumbled some sort of protest—of course—at his movements. “What—”

“Someone was at the door,” he whispered, setting his forehead against hers. He felt her indrawn breath and her breasts pressed against him. Then he had to taste her, and he found her mouth with his. Her small mouth opened under his, and he groaned. He held her up against the wall, pressed his throbbing erection against her, and released her arms to take her face in his palms. He tilted her head so he could deepen the kiss.

Her hands slid over his shoulders then into his hair. He couldn’t stop. She tasted so sweet, felt so right, smelled like heaven. His mouth devoured hers, and he swept his hands from her face down over her shoulders, skimmed over full breasts and narrow waist until he reached the flare of her hips to grip her sweet little ass. He lifted her against him, filling his hands with lush firm curves, sensation pouring through his veins like electricity sizzling along wires.

Her honey-velvet tongue swept against his as she opened wider, and he hardened even more. He gasped into her mouth and shared her breath then leaned his forehead against hers as he panted. Then the silky fabric of her dress slipped under his fingers, and he urgently needed to feel her skin. His fingers dug at the dress, tugging it higher and higher until at last firm, warm flesh met his fingertips. He stroked the backs of her thighs, the hot crease where they met her buttocks, and she writhed and moaned and arched into him.

He thrust a thigh between her legs, the dress now up around her waist, and she moved against him, riding his thigh, and he knew what she was seeking. Christ, he wanted it too, sweet release from this exquisite torturous longing. His skin buzzed as he kept his thigh against the damp heat between her legs.

“Christ, Samara, you make me crazy.”

She moaned again, and her head thunked back against the wall. He took the opportunity to bury his face in her neck and inhale the exotic vanilla and spice scent of her, the feminine scent of her arousal inflaming his senses. He kissed her soft skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses, licked her there to taste her, and sucked gently.

She was still riding his leg, making little whimpers of need, her hands still tugging on his hair. “Oh god!” she cried softly, and her body went tight against his then twitched hard. Twitched again. Jesus, she was coming. He kept the pressure of his leg firm, caught her mouth again with his, and swallowed her cries of pleasure, almost losing it himself.

“Oh, god,” she moaned, long moments later, burying her face against his neck. “Oh god, I can’t believe I did that.”

He slid one hand from beneath her bottom and cradled her head, holding her against him as her body continued to quiver in twitchy little spasms. “Samara,” he whispered. “Christ, Samara.” He couldn’t believe it either.

They stayed like that for long, throbbing, panting moments. He wanted to finish, wanted to take her upstairs and roll into her bed with her, wanted to do everything to her and make her come again every way he knew how. He was thick and hot inside his pants, so hard he hurt, and if he moved, if he even breathed, he was done.

The chirruping noise of a cricket nearby registered faintly in his fuzzy brain. A light went out in a window above them, which he knew was the hall. Dayna was going to bed. Luckily her room was at the front of the house. He moved back from Samara, and she smoothed her dress down over hips and thighs. Still leaning against the wall, her eyes closed, she lifted her hands, covered her face and rolled her body over the wall so that her forehead pressed to the stucco. Her slender ribcage rose and fell with the quick rhythm of her breathing. He set his hands on her hips, moved up behind her again.

“Don’t,” she said in a choked voice.

He bit his top lip. Was she embarrassed by what had just happened? Should he apologize? He closed his eyes, afraid to say the wrong thing. Knowing Samara, anything he said at this point was bound to be the wrong thing.

“I have to go in,” she choked out. She slipped beneath his arms, dashed across the patio, yanked open the door and disappeared into the house.

After successfully avoiding Travis most of the weekend, Samara arrived early Monday morning at the Cedar Mill Coffee Company offices, dressed in a suit and heels and ready to kick some butt. She came to a halt in the area outside her father’s office where Travis leaned against Paulette’s desk. Damn. He’d beat her there.

“Good morning,” he said, straightening.

He looked, as usual, delicious in his dark dress pants and crisp gray shirt. Heat flashed beneath her skin as she remembered the night of the funeral and what he’d done to her out on the patio. Godfrey, she’d thought about it all weekend as she’d sneaked around the house making sure she didn’t run into him. She’d wavered between hot embarrassment and melting arousal ever since.

She ignored him and smiled at Paulette. “Good morning.”

Paulette’s gaze flicked back and forth between them.

“Let’s go into my office,” Travis suggested.

“Your office?” She glared at him. It wasn’t his office. It was her father’s. Now it would be hers. But she turned on one spiky heel and marched in there. He followed and shut the door behind them.

“This isn’t your office,” she began heatedly. “My father has been gone just over a week. I think you could at least show some respect by finding another office...”

“Samara, I have another office. I use it when I’m in town. That’s the office I was talking about.” His voice was silky smooth. “You’re the one who came in here.”

She remained standing, arms crossed, foot tapping on the thick carpet, lips pressed together.”Oh.”

“Samara, have a seat. We have to talk.”

“You’re not getting rid of me,” she told him, advancing across the room to the chair behind the desk.

A frown creased his brow. “I’m not trying to get rid of you. But we have to talk about the management structure of the company. It’s not just up to us. You have to be realistic here. You have to think of the big picture—what’s best for the company.”

“I can do that.” She blinked at him. “My father built this company, and I intend to run it the way he would have wanted.”

Travis’s lips compressed, and he sighed again. “That’s great. But he didn’t build this company alone. He and I did it together, and you have to recognize that.”

“I do.” Anxiety gnawed at her stomach. She was intelligent, educated and knowledgeable about the coffee business. She’d grown up talking about the coffee business and had worked hard since college to learn more. But deep down inside, a tiny niggling doubt squirmed around inside her. “So what do we have to do? Let’s start planning. We should put together a proposal and take it to the board and the shareholders. Right?”

He stared at her. A muscle ticked in his jaw, his mouth a straight line of grimness. “I suppose that would be a start. We’ll need to include others—Simon, Alex, Hank, Daniel.”

Hell. The more people involved in the decision, the less control she felt she had, although, she apparently had no control over this. Travis would make the decision. She felt helpless, like she was slamming herself up against the brick wall of his assured confidence and implacable will.

If it came down to a vote—and it appeared likely it would—she needed her mother on her side. She had no doubt Travis would get the other shareholders onside with his taking over, but her mother....

Who was she kidding? She dropped her eyes and swiveled in the chair, clutching the armrests. She and her mother were barely on speaking terms; whereas, her mother and Travis were...well, she honestly didn’t know the current status of their relationship, but at the very least they were...friends. She sucked her top lip in between her teeth as she considered this problem. And what to do about it.

She swiveled back to face Travis. “Well, let’s get started then. I’ll ask Paulette to set up a meeting for all of us, and we can talk about how to move forward.”

“All right.” His agreement made her blink. “In the meantime, though, there are some issues that I need to deal with. We do have to continue with business as usual, so as not to alarm our stakeholders and partners.”

“Of course. What can I do?”

His face tightened even more, if that was possible. “Perhaps you could work on the newsletter—the message to staff about your father’s passing and how we’re working on a succession plan. Reassure everyone. I’m sure you can handle that.”

She blew out a burst of air from between pursed lips. “Yeah, I think I can handle that.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll do it, but I’m telling you, Travis, you can’t shut me out. I intend to do whatever I have to make sure my father’s company survives. Not just survives—thrives. I have ideas, too, for growing this business. The first thing I plan to work on is whatever project he had going on in Matagalpa.” Samara frowned. “What was he doing in Matagalpa, anyway? We haven’t done any business there for years.”

“I don’t know exactly what Parker was doing there. Now that he’s gone, it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

Travis frowned. “I said— I don’t even know exactly what he was doing there.”

“Well, we’ll have to find out. Dad would have wanted someone to finish it.”

Travis gave her a look from narrowed eyes beneath lowered brows, and she frowned. “What? Just because I work in a regional office doesn’t mean I don’t know anything. I know a lot about the supply end of the business from school and from when we were in Matagalpa and Brazil.”

“I don’t think we should be concerned about whatever Parker was doing there.”

Samara tipped her head. “How can we not be?” She still didn’t get why Travis was brushing it off.

“Don’t worry about it, Samara. It’ll be my problem to deal with.”

Her body tightened, her fingers gripping the armrests of her chair. His patronizing attitude sparked a flash of anger and resentment in her. “It’s not just your problem. I own half this company, remember? It’s my problem too, and I’m going to find out more about it.”

“No.”

She stared at him. “What do you mean no?”

“I told you before, Samara, that project is done. We’re not going to move forward with it.”

“You don’t even know what it was all about.”

“All the more reason not to move forward.”

Her body tightened, and heat simmered inside her. “That doesn’t even make sense. What if he was working on something really important? I’m going to review all the work my father did on it, and then we’ll make a decision about whether to move forward. It’s not just your decision.”

She threw his words back at him, and he flinched only slightly, a tiny flicker of his eyes and the tick of his jaw muscle letting her know how frustrated and angry he was. A shimmer of delight slid through her, and the corners of her mouth twitched.

“Fine,” he bit out, standing. “You go right ahead.”

He walked out of the office.

An hour later, Samara pushed her bangs back and sighed. She’d gone through every folder and file in her father’s computer and found very little about the trip to Matagalpa and what her father had been doing there.

She finally gave up and went to ask Paulette.

“You said my father had files on Matagalpa,” she said. “Do you know where they are?”

Paulette nodded. “Yes. They should be in the file drawer behind his desk.”

Stupid. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She returned to the office and slid open the deep, wide drawer. Rows of files hung neatly from suspension rods. Again she suspected this was Paulette’s work. She ran her fingertips over them until—yes, thank you, Paulette, for alphabetical filing—she found the Matagalpa file. Eagerly she pulled it out, swiveled her chair to the desk and opened it.

Once again she was disappointed. The file had few papers, only some correspondence between her father and a man named Javier Alvarez in Matagalpa discussing his upcoming visit and their telephone calls, but no details.

She sat there, drumming her fingers on the desk. Then she reached for the phone and called the number for Javier Alvarez. After long moments of ringing, she hung up. Damn.

She drew in a long, slow breath. She was going to have to ask Travis.

She was sitting there, stomach tight, teeth clenched, when Travis appeared in the door. He stopped and looked at her, and she sat up straighter. Why was he looking at her like that? Was her hair all wacky? She put a hand up to smooth it.

“What?” she asked.

One brow lifted. “We’ve set up a meeting with everyone for tomorrow afternoon. One o’clock in the boardroom.”

She blinked. “Oh. Okay. Great.”

“It’s just a planning meeting,” he told her. “No final decisions will be made. There’ll likely need to be a vote.”

She licked her lips and sank back into her chair when Travis’s eyes dropped to her mouth. Her lungs tightened, and it was hard to breathe. She tried to focus on business.

“I’ve been going through some files,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Looking for information on the project in Matagalpa. But I can’t find much.”

He stood there, looking back at her, face impassive.

“Do you have any ideas where else there might be information?”

He blew out a long breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Check his emails,” he finally said.

“I did already.”

He gave her a look from beneath lowered brows.

“What?” she asked. “I did nothing wrong. But I didn’t see any emails about it.”

“They could be in a separate folder.”

Shit. She hadn’t thought about that. She rolled her lips in then gave a short nod. “Thanks.”