She just had to keep telling herself that too.
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.