Goddess Rising Page 13

  Wes’s brows snapped together. She watched anger and defensiveness chase themselves across his face.

  “Don’t you dare lie to me again—” Sam uttered. “I don’t want to hear any more bull crap coming out of your mouth, Wesley Elliott.”

  Wes released a harsh laugh. “I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t, aren’t I?”

  Sam said nothing.

  “If I play by my own rules, you won’t like what you hear. And if I don’t, you walk.” He shook his head, blowing out a frustrated sigh. “You’re with the better guy, anyway, Samantha.”

  “That’s why I like hanging out with him,” Sam agreed, though her anger didn’t abate. If anything, she felt her incendiary frustration rise at the idea of Wes walking out of her life just as easily as he’d walked in. And that conflicting emotion confused the shit out of her.

  “Doesn’t matter anyway, does it, Wes?” she taunted. “Easy come, easy go, right?” She began to stalk off but Wes grabbed her shoulders. He pivoted in a quick side step and had them both around the darkened corner of the bar, away from prying eyes in under two seconds.

  Sam looked up at him in shock when he pushed her against the wall, one hand by her head as he pressed close to her. Sam felt utterly surrounded, her heart beating fast now for an entirely different reason.

  “If you’re going to leave either way, I might as well do what I’ve been wanting to do since I laid eyes on you,” he muttered, spearing his fingers into her hair as he knocked her cowboy hat to the ground.

  “What are you—?” Sam sputtered before he cut her off with his mouth.

  Wes’s kiss was stunning. Sam had never experienced such white-hot, electric chemistry before in her life—not with anyone. Not even close.

  If anything, her previous embraces with a handful of boys over the years had felt lightly heady, as if she’d downed champagne too fast. But this—Wes shifted ever-so-slightly, finding that perfect, unexpected alignment as he pressed her harder against the wall, coaxing her leg up with a hot palm on her thigh.

  Sam moaned like a wanton as he tasted deeply, slowing everything down, eroding her balance. In a flash of a second, Wes had overcome any fleeting doubt or momentary hesitation she may have been experiencing. Sam tilted her head back as their kiss became more urgent, their movement against each other more relentless. Her hand curved over the nape of his neck, tangled with the silky hair there so she could bring him closer.

  Wes tasted unbelievably good, and his skin—God, he was like a furnace under her roving hands, muscles taut, hard everywhere. They kissed until the desperate, needy ache took her places she hadn’t gone before, made her aware that being with Wes was intrinsically and wholly different from anything she’d ever known. And Sam understood—in that intoxicating, primordial moment of desire-made-flesh—that if she slept with him, he’d take her in a direction she wasn’t entirely certain she was ready to go. And he’d take everything. She was certain of it.

  Trembling, Samantha pushed him back. But Wes remained determined, drawing her closer, coming back in for more. Sam managed to turn her head just long enough to gasp out, “Stop, Wes. I can’t. We shouldn’t do this.”

  The arm around her tightened, his hand sliding higher on her leg as he caught his breath, forehead pressed against hers.

  “Jesus, you’re even more amazing than I could have imagined,” he panted, like he’d just run a race. “I thought I could let you walk away, but—”

  “Your roommate is right inside,” Sam reminded him, pushing Wes back, though he resisted, the hard panel of his chest fitted against her like a barrier and a vise all at once. His hands dropped, squeezing her bottom so her hips hitched against him. Wes pressed into her, and Sam sucked in a tight breath, the full-on pressure of him galvanic.

  “You don’t want Chris,” he whispered into her ear before he dragged his mouth down her neck, his hands keeping her right where he wanted her. “You don’t want anyone but me, Samantha. Just like I don’t want anyone but you.”

  Her remaining resistance began to unravel, an inarticulate sound of pleasure coming out of her mouth. Wes’s mouth roved over her throat, his hips pressing against her in insistent, delicious circles—perfectly timed to drive her absolutely, breathtakingly nuts.

  His mouth was the best thing she’d ever felt. But his words seared through the euphoric haze. Wes was right. She didn’t want Chris, but Sam was certain she didn’t want to be lied to either, and Wes was never quite what he seemed. Her eyes snapped open as he nipped her ear, soothing the little hurt with a lick.

  “You implied we’d be honest with each other, Wes,” she told him, trying not to shudder.

  “I’ve never been more honest about anything in my life,” he answered, pushing against her again, making her feel him. “I’ve never wanted anyone in the world as badly as I want you right now.”

  “I won’t be one of your mindless hussies, Wes,” she responded, pushing him back half-heartedly.

  “Never asked you to be,” he replied, moving in to kiss her again. “You think I don’t know you’re completely different from anyone I’ve been with in the past?”

  “I can’t do this,” Sam uttered, stumbling away. “I won’t do this.”

  “And why not?” Wes demanded, snagging her arm even as he bent down to pick up her discarded hat. “If you’re so interested in telling the truth, do you really think it’s better to go back in there and lead Chris on? You think it’s better to lie to yourself when you’d rather be with me?”

  “I never said I didn’t like Chris.”

  Wes guffawed. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. While you’re on your high horse, Samantha, take a good hard look at the fact that Chris is already half in love with you! You’re lying to him just by being here!”

  “I am not!” she denied hotly.

  “You are too!” Wes insisted. “The sooner you admit you’d rather be with me, the better it’ll be for everyone involved.”

  “Oh, we’re involved now?!” Sam asked incredulously, tequila and emotion making her reckless. She swiped her hat from him for the second time that night. “So I let you kiss me? So what? How many hundreds of girls have you kissed, Wesley Elliott? I’m just one in a long line of many!”

  “I have never in my life felt anything like that before,” Wes argued, pointing at the place they’d been hot and heavy. “I may have been around the block a few times, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know a good thing when I see it.”

  “Been around the block?” Sam uttered in exasperated amazement. “Wes, you’re the freaking king of the damn block! You’ve been with so many girls, you can’t even remember their damn names!”

  He didn’t even bother to deny it as he advanced on her. “You’re proving my point for me, Samantha. What you and I have is completely different—something altogether new for me.”

  “Stop it, Wes,” she warned.

  “Name one good reason why I should?” he asked, coming for her, his golden eyes heated.

  “You’re a liar.”

  He lifted a brow. “Seems to me that you are too.”

  “You’re up to no good,” Sam argued, backing up a quick couple of steps.

  “Trust me, it’ll be good,” he assured her cockily, his lips still damp and red from their kiss. “Better than good. You and I will light the bed on fire,” he promised, stepping toward her.

  They stared at each other for a long moment, each breathing heavily, both riled up. It would be so easy to close up the distance and jump into his arms again, but she wouldn’t do that to Chris, and frankly, she was afraid to do that to herself. Sam knew now firsthand that his laid-back, easy-going demeanor was just a façade. Wesley Elliott was incendiary and wild, and he came on like a tornado when he wanted something. He made her feel completely out of control—an emotion she’d fought hard all her life to avoid. Getting any deeper with him would only lead to bad luck, trouble, and heartache. She knew it—knew it to her core.

  “You’re wilder than a
n acre of snakes, Wesley Elliott, and just as complicated.” Sam jammed her hat back onto her head. “And if there’s anything I don’t need, it’s complications.”

  He smiled slowly, amused. “Maybe you need a little complication, Sammy. Makes things a helluva lot more fun, darlin.’ You ever thought about that?”

  Sam turned on her heel and moved back toward Dukes front doors, determined to get away. And just as she reached out to pull open the handle, Chris stumbled out.

  Chapter 10

  September—Sunday Morning

  Wes and Chris’s Apartment, Texas A&M

  S A M A N T H A

  She woke up slowly, pleasantly wrapped in soft sheets, surrounded by Wes’s delicious scent—

  What the hell… ?

  Sam snapped upright, eyes wide as she came fully awake. She looked around an empty bedroom she couldn’t quite recall. Gingerly, she lifted the sheet she was under. Tank top and underwear intact. Sam exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She tried to recall where she was as she glanced around, spotting her skirt, boots, and hat neatly placed on an old desk covered in photography equipment.

  Memories from the night before returned in pulses as she rubbed her temples, trying to piece them together. Sam recalled Chris stumbling out of the bar, followed by a throng of football players, big and burly and playful, shouting out their invitation to another bar. She remembered Chris throwing his arm around her shoulder, eyes soft and pleading as she listened to the hoots and hollers from a group of players who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer as she tried to beg off and return to the relative safety of her apartment.

  But ultimately, Sam allowed herself to be convinced, partially out of guilt for kissing Wes and partially because it felt selfish to deny Chris one night out of a long season to let loose a little with his fellow football brethren. She also liked the safety in numbers. Liked the idea of several brawny guys between her and Wes.

  The same Wes who smiled and laughed along. The same Wes who clapped Chris on the back like he hadn’t just nearly taken advantage of Sam against a bar wall right under his nose. The jerk.

  But who was she kidding?

  Sam ran her fingers through her tangled hair in disgust. She’d very nearly let him. She’d been right there, enjoying every second of it, fingers curled around him like she didn’t know how to let go.

  Sam recalled Chris doing round after round of shots with his football buddies at Dixie’s. Had a fuzzy recollection of Wes slipping behind the bar and serving more drinks while she played a drunken game of pool with a few cadets she knew. Sam vaguely recalled stumbling toward Chris’s truck, and Wes, somehow sober, driving them both home as they sang along to the radio, loud and off-tune.

  Sam groaned, mortified.

  Then there’d been a brief memory of helping Chris into the bathroom. Him chucking up most of what he’d drunk in the last couple hours, moaning, telling them to let him die alone, before he locked them both out of the bathroom. She recalled sitting outside the door with Wes, listening to Chris through the wood while they stared at each other, neither acknowledging the elephant in the room.

  Sam covered her face with her hands.

  She must have fallen asleep there in the hall. It was the last thing she could recall and a testament to how much she’d drunk herself that Wes had managed to get her into his room without her waking.

  His room.

  Sam dropped her hands, looking around slowly. Several large photos hung on plain white walls—some landscapes, others abstract. She guessed they weren’t his work, but she could see why he liked them. Sam noticed a few books stacked on his dresser and on the floor.

  A biography of Robert Capa caught her eye. Blood and Champagne. Fitting title for one of the greatest war photojournalists and lotharios who’d ever lived. Sam wondered briefly if that’s what Wes wanted to do—travel to war-torn countries, report on what folks could only imagine, romancing a new woman at each port of call.

  Near his alarm clock, an old globe chock full of plastic pins caught her eye. Sam ran her fingers over the colorful pinheads as she spun the globe. He had dozens of countries dotted. She wondered if he did this in the mornings when he shut off his alarm—imagining the places he’d go see one day. She wondered what the different colors meant.

  Her fingers dropped to the pillow beside hers. No indent there. She’d slept in his bed alone.

  Sam wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed, but she didn’t examine it too closely. Her head throbbed too much. She stood slowly, tucked herself into her jean skirt, blanching a little as she realized in the light of day how short it was. Sam paused in front of his closet, feeling like she’d already crossed a line by taking over his personal space. What was one more infraction at this point?

  Sam pulled out one of Wes’s henleys, slipping it over her tank top and tucking in the front a little so it wouldn’t swamp her like a dress. She breathed in the scent of clean laundry and Wes, closing her eyes again just before she opened the door to his bedroom, squaring herself to face the humiliating music.

  She slipped out into the hallway, listening for sounds in their apartment. She was surprised to find the bathroom clean and unoccupied. Chris must have managed to drag himself to his own bedroom sometime during the night. Sam washed her face quickly, tying her hair back in a loose knot.

  She’d just made it into the living room when the front door opened and Wes walked in with an armful of groceries and a couple hot coffees.

  “You’re awake,” he noted, a pleased smile lighting his face. He looked irritatingly good and not the least bit hungover as he set the groceries down, handing her one of the coffees. His eyes ran down her torso. “I like you in my clothes.”

  Samantha thanked him quietly, gulping down that first sip with a little moan of relief.

  “How did you sleep?” he asked, amused.

  “Like a rock,” Sam admitted. “You shouldn’t have let me take over your room. I’d have been fine on the couch.”

  His high-wattage smile fell just short of nefarious. “I’ve been dreaming of having you in my bed since I saw you. Figured I’d take advantage.”

  “You weren’t in there with me, and you and I both know it,” she responded finally, clutching the coffee.

  “A guy can hope.” Wes shrugged in his easy-going manner, moving into the kitchen. “Figured I’d whip up some breakfast.”

  “You’re irritatingly good humored in the morning,” Sam observed, sitting down on a kitchen stool across from him.

  “Yeah, well, I stopped drinking after the first couple rounds at Dukes.” Wes smiled over his shoulder as he unloaded the groceries. “And for such a big guy, Chris is a real lightweight. He doesn’t drink often, because of football, so I knew he’d be hurting today.”

  Sam watched him move around the kitchen. “You cook?”

  “You surprised?” he asked, amused.

  “In my experience, men aren’t particularly self-sufficient. My father and Uncle Grant would live on beef jerky and Coors if my Aunt Hannah didn’t keep them fed.”

  Wes laughed outright. “Does anyone really need anything else?”

  Sam smiled a little. “Spoken like a true guy.”

  “How do you like your bacon?” he asked instead, working the skillet.

  “Crispy,” she replied, grateful to be taken care of, considering how low she felt.

  Wes made her a lovely breakfast, cutting up fruit fast and even, like he’d put in a fair bit of time in a kitchen. He served her pancakes, bacon, and more coffee at the kitchen table, the sunlight spilling through the window and warming her up.

  “Should we wake Chris?” she asked after a while, wallowing a little in residual guilt.

  “Let him sleep. Poor guy’s usually up at the crack of dawn for workouts,” Wes replied as he dug in across from her.

  “Did he put himself to bed?”

  “Nah,” Wes shook his head. “I got him in there after I tossed him in the shower.”
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  Sam’s brows rose. “You had to nursemaid both of us?” she asked. “That’s hardly fair.”

  Wes shrugged, unconcerned. “You’re remarkably easy to manage when you’re hammered. Once you’re past wild and angry, anyway.”

  Sam colored. Mortification—table for one, please. She fiddled with her fork a moment before taking a little breath. “Let me get my groveling out of the way. I don’t usually behave so badly,” she admitted, having difficulty meeting his eyes.

  “Come on now, Sammy—” Wes replied, covering her fidgeting hand. “Where’s the fun in being buttoned up all the time?”

  “I’m grateful, really,” she confessed, looking up at him. “But don’t take my gratitude to mean anything more than that. I still don’t condone you groping me outside of Dukes right under Chris’s nose.”

  “Really?” Wes replied lightly, his eyes sparkling. “Because you were moaning pretty loudly otherwise.”

  Sam wanted to slam her head into her hand, but she settled for hiding her embarrassment behind a quick sip of hot coffee.

  “You didn’t take advantage of me last night, and we both know you could have,” she acknowledged quietly after a moment, and his expression changed.

  “Sammy, when you and I get together—it’s not going to be with you drunk out of your mind. Because I want you to be wide awake to remember every single second of it,” he emphasized seriously, drawing out the words.

  “We’re not getting together.”

  He laughed lightly, like she amused the hell out of him as he popped a strawberry into his mouth. “Sure we are, darlin’. Resistance is futile,” he added with a wink.

  Sam laughed in spite of herself. “You’re so damn cocky.”

  “With reason,” he answered. “I came by my mad skills with the ladies honestly.”

  “Don’t need to remind me.”