“No. He was only fifty-two years old. Who would have thought he was going to die?” Dayna’s voice choked a little bit. She paused, her fingers tightening on her fork. “I know he hates...I mean, he hated organ music. And he said once that he wanted a big party.”
Samara’s mouth dropped open, and she snapped it shut. “A party?”
Dayna nodded. “You know what he was like.”
“I can see him not wanting tea and dainties in the church basement after the service,” Travis said. “More like a few bottles of Lagavulin and some dirty jokes.”
Dayna’s lips curved into a reluctant smile. “True.”
“But...” Samara hesitated. “Okay, fine. Obviously, it has to be what he would have wanted.”
Dayna nodded. “We can have the party here. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I called the funeral home. The woman I spoke to was very nice.”
“The funeral director is a woman?”
“Yes.”
“Is it Gia?”
Dayna’s eyes widened. “Why, yes. Gia Stephenson. How did you know?”
Samara smiled wryly. “That’s Gia Rizzuto. She married Brent Stephenson. I knew they owned a funeral home.”
“Oh, I remember Gia. You two were such good friends.”
“A long time ago.”
“Well. It will be nice for you to see her again, even if not under the best circumstances.”
Travis watched as their eyes met and connected, but Samara looked quickly away, blinking.
Travis licked his lips, flicking his eyes to Samara and back to Dayna. Why wouldn’t Samara just give in and let her mother comfort her, let them comfort each other? Ah hell, Parker. You weren’t supposed to do this. Pain lanced through him at the thought that Parker was really gone.
After dinner, they had coffee and dessert on the patio, but again he was the only one who even tried to eat the huge piece of strawberry shortcake. The late spring day was cooling off as the sun sank low in the sky. The trees of the woods were vivid shades of green and richly textured in the late evening sun. A squirrel sat high in a nearby tree, chattering agitatedly at something they couldn’t see. The fresh scent of cedar and pine drifted on the evening breeze.
It was like being in the country here. So unlike Los Angeles, his home for the last seven years. He lived near the beach, which was great for him with his love of surfing and sailing, but L.A. was a big city with pollution, crowded freeways and lots of concrete. This was quiet and serene, almost pastoral.
“You must be tired, sweetie,” Dayna said to Samara. “You should go up to bed. Ava has gotten your room ready.”
Samara nodded slowly and rose to her feet. “I am tired. I still can’t believe...” She looked at Travis. “I guess I’ll see you at the funeral...”
He shook his head. “Oh, I’ll likely see you in the morning.”
“Travis is staying here too,” Dayna put in.
Samara looked at him, then at her mother. “How nice,” she said, her voice flat. “Well, good night then.” She gave them her back and stalked inside, closing the French door with a bang.
What the hell was her problem?
Chapter Four
He was staying there? In her parents’ house?
Samara hurried up the stairs to the privacy of her bedroom. She’d said she was tired and she was, but even so, once in bed she lay wide awake in the darkness. Her body was tired but her mind remained active, churning over everything that had happened that day, starting with that phone call from Travis.
Seeing him again. All those memories flooding back, the ones she’d locked away in the very back of her mind. She turned her face into the pillow, her chest aching, remembering all those intense teenage feelings she’d had for him. Remembering that night just after her high school graduation, the night she’d done the stupidest thing in her life, and how wounded she’d been.
She’d had a crush on Travis for so long. Every boy she dated was just that...a boy. She’d compared everyone to Travis—his athletic body, lean and muscled from the surfing, sailing, and climbing he did on weekends, his maturity, his willingness to get into deep discussions about things like fair trade and conditions in developing countries and how to take market share away from Starbucks. The magnetic attraction his easy smile and sparkling blue eyes held for her. Nobody even came close to appealing to her like Travis did.
Sure he was older than her. He was her father’s friend and business associate, and maybe that made him seem a little forbidden, a little dangerous. She was honest enough with herself to question whether that increased the attraction for her, and she didn’t know the answer. She only knew she wanted him so badly and truly felt like she was falling in love with him.
There were moments where she was convinced he wanted her too. Like at the dinner table when she’d look up at him and he’d be staring at her with such focused intensity she immediately became hot and disoriented. Or at the company golf tournament when they’d golfed on the same team, when she’d sunk a putt to birdie the ninth hole and he’d grabbed her in an exuberant hug that had lasted just a little too long, awareness surging between them. Maybe if those things had never happened, she never would have let herself think there could really be something between them.
That evening just after graduation, she’d taken Travis out to show him the new gazebo they’d had built in the yard. She’d led the way down the stone path through the woods, the late evening sun casting long dappled shadows through the lacy leaves of the trees. They’d been all alone in the tranquil grounds. Travis had been quiet—tense.
She took his hand in hers as they walked and she chatted away. When they arrived at the gazebo, all decorated with Victorian gingerbread, she led him inside. In the dim light, she turned to face him, still holding his hand. They stared at each other wordlessly for a long, stretched-out moment, and her heart had thudded so hard it made her breathless. Then she tugged on his hand, moving them closer together, her breasts brushing his chest.
She was the first to admit she’d been aggressive that night. It seemed like the perfect opportunity, and who knew when she’d have another one? So, she’d boldly gone up on her toes, wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
He’d kissed her back. When he closed his hands on her waist and opened his mouth over hers, she’d started shaking with excitement and lust. Finally, finally they were together! And it was delicious. Better than she’d imagined in all her feverish fantasies alone in her bedroom. She pressed her aching breasts against his hard body, threading her fingers through his shaggy hair to pull his head closer.
His hands tightened on her and she could feel how hot he was, almost damp, how his body was shaking too. Triumph and exhilaration sparked through her veins. The kiss went on and on. He tipped his head to deepen it, licking into her mouth to find her tongue.
She was dizzy, hot, beyond thinking as she responded to the hormones and lust that drove her, kissing him back, open-mouthed, hungry, desperate for him.
Then he’d closed his eyes and turned his head away from her seeking mouth. “Christ, Sam,” he muttered, jaw tight, nostrils flaring.
“What?” she murmured. “I know you want me too, Travis.” She kissed his jaw, the growth of whiskers there thrillingly rough and masculine.
His hands were hard on her waist as he set her away from him, turned, then covered his face with his hand. She stood there, open-mouthed.
“Travis? What?”
“Samara. We can’t do this.”
“Why...why not?” Her voice came out high and shaky.
“You’re seventeen.”
“Eighteen.”
“Not yet, you aren’t. You’re just a kid.”
Her heart cracked a bit, making her gasp, and her stomach turned over. “I’m not a kid.” She wanted to argue, to protest, to beg. She laid a hand on his shoulder and tried to get in his face. “Travis. Please.” Her body still ached for him, but she was starting to feel a burn of humiliation. Heat seared her cheeks.