“Yes! More fun! Wills and funerals, I can hardly wait.”
Dayna bent her head to hide her smile with a faint shake of her head.
“I’d so rather be at the office,” Samara continued.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You have enough to worry about here. I’ll take care of things there.”
“I want to handle things.”
He looked at her sitting around the corner of the table from him. Again tonight she was just playing with her food. She was slim to begin with—she couldn’t afford to lose any weight. “You need to eat,” he told her, nodding at her plate.
She blinked. “I am eating.”
He laughed. “No, you’re not. You’re pushing that food around on your plate, just like you did last night.”
She laid her knife and fork on the plate, rested her hands on her lap and gave him a heated you-can’t-tell-me-what-to-do look up through her long eyelashes.
“You’re too skinny,” he added, and her eyes widened.
“I am not skinny!”
He raked his gaze over her. She looked hot as hell, but it was better to insult her than to let on how goddamn gorgeous he thought she was. Her cheeks grew pink under his appraisal. He shrugged. “You look skinny to me.”
Her lips pressed together, and her eyes flashed gold sparks. “Well, thanks so much. Good thing I don’t give a shit what you think.”
“Samara!” Dayna’s eyes moved back and forth between them, her mouth open. “That was rude!”
Samara brushed her long bangs aside. “I’m being rude? I’m not the one making rude comments about how bad I look.”
Travis sighed and opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could, Samara rose from the table and tossed her napkin down. “You know, since I don’t seem to have much appetite, there’s not much point in me sitting here.” She left the room.
Travis met Dayna’s gaze and grimaced. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have pushed her buttons.”
Dayna looked back at him searchingly. “No, you shouldn’t have,” she agreed, her voice soft. “You know how contrary she can be. And she’s not exactly in a good place right now. This isn’t a good time for any of us.”
Dayna’s patience and understanding made him feel like shit. “I know.” He looked down at his plate, his appetite gone too. “I’ll go talk to her. After dinner.”
Dayna nodded slowly, still looking at him quizzically. So much for the avuncular keeping-his-distance plan.
Chapter Six
Samara stalked through the den and outside onto the patio, far enough away from the kitchen that they couldn’t see her, a string of curses trying to escape her mouth. Damn him!
Why did he get to her so much? Why did he refuse to see that she was an adult now who could help with the business? Why had his comment about how skinny she was hurt so much? Why wasn’t she over him? This was ridiculous!
She couldn’t stay here. Not with them.
She sank down onto the wicker swing, leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The thick cushion absorbed her weight, far nicer than the one that had been there when she was a child. She gave a gentle push with both feet and started rocking, the movement rhythmic and calming. The cool night air brushed over her bare skin with a touch of dampness. The quiet and peace settled around her, the only noise a faint squeak of the swing and a distant chirruping of crickets. After a few moments, her heart rate had slowed, and her breathing evened out. She sighed.
Her father was gone, and she couldn’t get him back. Planning his funeral made it all more real. Being here with her mother and Travis was driving her crazy. For all these years she’d carried this hurt around inside her. She’d hoped, with all the time that had passed, it would be easier, but it wasn’t.
She looked up at the sky. The setting sun brushed the clouds with peach and rose, the sky shades of lilac. She would just have to go stay at a hotel. She’d deal with the funeral arrangements, get this ordeal over with, and then get the hell back to San Francisco.
In the den, a dark figure appeared at the doors then stepped outside. Travis.
His face was somber, his mouth a straight slash, his square jaw tense.
“Hey,” he said, hands in the pockets of the jeans he’d changed into, shoulders raised. Mother of Godfrey, the man looked good in a pair of jeans. His T-shirt clung to his wide shoulders, muscled chest and flat stomach, just meeting the low-slung, softly faded jeans.
She turned her head away from him.
He walked across the patio to the low stone wall that ran along one edge. Big clay pots overflowing with flowers sat beside it. The landscape lights in the garden began to glow as dusk approached. He sat down on the wall, one foot hooked around the back of the other leg so that he faced her.
“I came to find you to apologize,” he said, his voice low and velvet-rough.
She looked at him.
“I shouldn’t have been so antagonistic,” he said. “I’m sorry. I know you’re going through a rough time.”
She opened her mouth to dispute that then closed it, realizing how ridiculous that was. She was working on that stupid tendency she had to argue, but he seemed to bring that out in her. His sympathy, or whatever it was he was expressing, grated on her, irritating her like nails on a chalkboard. She didn’t want his sympathy. Not now, and not seven years ago when he’d humiliated and hurt her. That was the last thing she wanted from him.
“I’m going to go stay at a hotel,” she said.
He stared at her then rolled his eyes. “Oh, Christ, here we go again.”
“What? Why would I stay here?” She sat up straight on the swing seat. “You and my mother are both treating me like a child. Telling me to eat my dinner because I’m too skinny, for god’s sake.”
“Maybe because you’re acting like a child.”
“I am not!” She glared at him, breathing fast. “You...you...” For once in her life, she was speechless. “If I’m acting like a child, you’re acting like an arrogant, bossy prick.”
They stared at each other through the twilight, the air charged with an electric energy that shimmered between them.
“Don’t hold back, Samara,” he murmured suddenly, his mouth kicking up at one corner. “Tell me how you really feel about me.”
Her own lips quivered with reluctant amusement, and then she fell back into the swing, setting it in motion again. She blew out a long breath. She hated being like this. They had sounded like two children bickering. Why were she and Travis always at odds? Why couldn’t she act like a mature adult around him?
“Look. I know we have some...history...” Travis began.
Samara’s heart leaped at him bringing that up. That was the last thing she wanted to talk to him about. But maybe it was best to take control of this discussion. “History? Oh yes. You mean the time I humiliated myself by coming on to you. When you rejected me and made me feel like a speck of dirt on the floor.”
Travis shifted on the stone wall and set both feet on the patio. “Um...yeah.” He coughed. “Samara, you were only seventeen years old—way too young for me.”
She looked at him now across the patio through the dusky light, the remembered pain just as acute as it had been then. “So you said.” Though she knew that hadn’t been the only reason. “Forget it. It’s not that big a deal. Really. I had a little crush on you, just a silly teenage thing.” She waved a hand, forcing a smile. “It was a long time ago.”
“Then why are you still so pissed off at me?
She stared back at him, then her gaze slid away. “I’m not.”
“Bullshit.” Travis almost laughed but didn’t want to hurt her feelings again. “Jesus, Samara, since you’ve walked in here, you’ve practically bitten off both our heads, mine and your mother’s. I have no idea what happened between you and her, but hell, I know what happened between us, and you’re clearly still mad at me.”