Goddess Rising Read online

  “I’ll take the long way home,” he told her.

  Wes rode out past the campus to a lonely highway dotted with the occasional vapor light, flying up and over sloped roads that curved to nowhere through seemingly endless pastures. It was a near-to-perfect night for a long, late ride, and nothing felt better than the cool, dark air rushing past his face and body, not to mention the press of a warm girl against his back. But not just any girl. Samantha. The muse of his dreams. A girl he might have only imagined had she not been wrapped around him.

  Wes would have laughed at that notion just a few months back. But that was before he’d taken the picture. Before he knew better. Before he realized there were some things worth holding onto and making adjustments for.

  They rode the country lanes around the university for a good couple of hours, well into the deep of the night before he turned around and took her back to campus. By then, Sam was snuggled up against his back, her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. When Wes finally pulled into the parking lot of her apartment, his muse was soft, sleepy, and warm.

  “Let’s get you to bed, darlin’,” he murmured, helping her off the bike and slipping an arm around her. “You got any roommates we’re going to wake up at three o’clock in the morning?” he asked. She shook her head as she led him up to her place.

  “It’s already three?” she asked, fumbling with her keys.

  “Here, let me help you,” Wes offered, taking the keys and opening her door. Her apartment was small but beautifully appointed, everything clearly high quality. Wes startled when he caught sight of three photographs lining one wall.

  “You bought my pictures?” he asked, indicating the triptych he’d sold in the student show hung neatly along her living room wall. They were black and white landscape shots he’d taken separately in different parts of Texas, but their textures and lighting made them look familial somehow, and Wes’d grouped them together on a whim.

  Sam blinked sleepily at the wall as she shrugged off her jacket, a brief look of embarrassment skittering across her face in the dim light.

  “Uh…well, I saw them at the student center, and I thought they were pretty…” She trailed off, clearly discomfited that he’d caught her privately enjoying his work, her cheeks pink like she’d been caught admiring erotic nudes rather than stark and artsy landscapes.

  A warm feeling of pleasure curled through him. “I’d have given them to you, you know.” Wes reached out to push her hair back over her shoulder as their eyes met. “All you had to do was ask.”

  “You’re really talented,” she told him sincerely, though the blush stayed on her cheeks. “You deserve to get paid for your work. And besides,” she shrugged lightly, “they’ll be worth a lot one day. It’s a sound investment.”

  “You think so?”

  Sam’s answering smile was soft, her dark eyes hypnotic. “I’d bet my bike on it.”

  Wes brushed a tendril of hair back, gently tucking it behind her ear. He leaned forward and kissed her, taking her surprised gasp into his mouth like she’d just whispered a secret. He didn’t wait for permission, didn’t pull back at her obvious shock. Instead, he stepped closer, tilting her up to meet his mouth, teasing and tempting her with brief, tantalizing tastes. The kisses were tender and succulent and divine—and though Wes realized he was absolutely taking advantage, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Or didn’t want to. Because he’d been recalling their kiss since the night at Dukes, when he’d pushed her against that rough stucco wall and nearly done all the delicious, filthy good things to her he’d wanted to. Though the timing hadn’t been right then—not by a long shot.

  Samantha’s mouth was just as hot and sweet as he’d remembered. Better, in fact. Insanely good—almost too good. Wes couldn’t believe his outrageous fortune that she wasn’t fighting him off. She surprised him by pressing closer, her arms sliding up and over his shoulders as he caught and stroked her tongue, the taste of her as luscious and heady as the finest red wine.

  Wes dropped his hands low, gripping her waist hard, his thumbs finding the soft, fine skin under her shirt. Samantha was so incredibly enticing—and oh-so-addictive. Just a handful of kisses and he could barely fight the undertow. It was impossible to be near her without touching her. He was fooling himself thinking he could pull off the let’s-just-be-friends shtick.

  Wes pulled back enough to kiss a rough path down her neck, even as he pulled her shirt up. Sam raised her arms, aware of what he wanted and not resisting for once. She was fragrant and warm and lovely—and all for him, seemingly as caught up as he was in this wicked, private moment.

  Wes tossed her shirt across the room, marveling at her. She wore a simple white bra, a scrap of a thing, and he couldn’t resist bending to one breast. Sam drew in a sharp breath as he suckled her through the lace, tongue gliding over the barest exposure like a fine candy before he succumbed, pushing the lace down and taking her into his mouth with a firm, wet tug.

  “Jesus, Wes—” she gasped, her head falling back as her hands tightened around his hair, pliant and groaning with each damp articulation of the suckle and thrum.

  Wes backed her up until she was against the kitchen table. He straightened, pushing her back onto the surface, taking her mouth again in an aggressive, erotic kiss. He bit her lip as he pressed against her, tilting her hips up to meet him.

  “Fuck, Sammy, I’ve never wanted anything so much—” he panted, yanking at her jeans’ zipper, prying them open to shift a hand down her front, desperate to reach the hot, humid heat of her.

  He touched her. Fingers skating over the tender bud, making her gasp and squirm.

  I want you right-the-hell now. He felt hot and achy all over. Never in his life had he wanted someone so badly. Never.

  “Wes—” she gasped as he slipped a finger inside her folds. Samantha stiffened against him, her hands squeezing his shoulders hard.

  Too hard.

  Wes lifted his head, searching her face as her eyes squeezed shut, her body tense like a drawn bow.

  “Sammy?” he whispered, confused by her sudden anxiety.

  *

  September—Sunday, Early Morning

  Sam’s Apartment, Texas A&M

  S A M A N T H A

  “What am I doing?” she whispered to herself, unsure if she wanted to push him back or bring him closer. “What are we doing?”

  “Thought it was fairly obvious,” he murmured, breathless as he rested his head against hers.

  Sam held totally still for a moment, wedged against Wes and the table, his hand down her pants in the most intimate way anyone had ever touched her. He curled his fingers ever so slightly, and she nearly jumped against him, the sensation unbearably tantalizing. Sam throbbed and thrummed in ways she’d never experienced, blood pounding hot in her ears like a drumbeat.

  Wes trailed kisses to her ear, nipped her lobe. “You want this to happen as much as I do, don’t you?”

  Did she? Was she ready for this?

  Sam recognized, even through her daze, that she was at the precipice. The point of no return with a guy she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust.

  Were they doing this? Was she really doing this?

  She took her blustering indecision as the tell her body was intent on resisting. Sam sat up, pushing Wes back as she tried vainly to get it together.

  Wes blinked at her. “Sammy? What are you—”

  “I’m not ready,” she said in a rush, scooting away from him and off the table. “I’m not doing this with you—”

  “What just happened?” he asked, bewildered.

  “I’m not ready, Wes!” Sam repeated, adamant, her voice a little high from emotion and embarrassment. She felt shaky as she zipped her jeans hastily. “I got carried away—we got carried away.”

  He stepped toward her, his hands coming up to her arms, but Sam shrugged him off, hugging herself instead, arms wrapped around her ribs and waist, trying to calm down.

  “Sammy, what’s going on with you? Wh
at just happened?” he asked, disconcerted. “One minute you’re as hot as lightning, and the next second you’re freaking out—”

  “I’m not going there with you, Wes—”

  “Why not?” He blinked. “Did I do something?”

  “What’s changed, Wes?” Sam countered, skittish as she backed up a couple quick steps. “So we’re attracted to each other—so what? You’re still you, and I’m still me.”

  “Attracted?” he parroted. Wes looked equal parts irritated, sexy, and completely at a loss. “That’s not attraction, Sammy. That’s a five-alarm fire,” he told her. “If you think this kind of chemistry is the norm, then you’re a helluva lot more experienced with this than I am.”

  But she wasn’t. Not even close. Truth was, she was just a girl still. A girl who felt anxious and uncertain and shy and inept when it came to sex and boys who looked like… well—Wes. She’d never gotten farther than first base with anyone. And if Sam was honest with herself, she’d never really been compelled to go there—never been faced with a guy as blisteringly hot or as fluent with women as she was with languages.

  Sam was way out of her depth with Wes. It wasn’t even a contest. And that kind of imbalance scared the absolute shit out of her. Almost as much as how intensely he made her feel. She couldn’t afford to lose that kind of control. She couldn’t afford to have someone exert that kind of supremacy over her—no matter how magnetic he was.

  Sam moved to the door, opening it with shaking hands as she pulled up the strap to her bra. “You need to go, Wes. Please.”

  He stared at her hard, like she was a mathematical theorem he was close to solving, and Sam looked away, afraid of what he might see in her face. She could feel him debating his options, wondering if he should continue to press her for reasons or negotiate some kind of détente.

  But in the end, Wes respected her wishes, moving slowly toward the door she held, half-hiding behind it given her state of undress. He stopped in the doorway, so close Sam held her breath.

  “Look at me.”

  Sam held still, eyes on the floor.

  “Please look at me, Sammy,” he repeated, his voice soft, nearly gentle.

  Samantha lifted her chin, her eyes clashing with his. She wondered if he read the uncertainty there…and the pure, aching want raging against her decision to stay on her side of the fence.

  “I’m not sure what’s going on with you,” he started, clearly troubled. “But know this: You may not feel all the way safe with me, and maybe you shouldn’t. But you are,” he promised her quietly. “I don’t want to hurt you, Sammy.”

  But you will, she thought. If I let you in, you will.

  Sam released a long, shaky breath. “You’re a fast ride, Wes. Being with you—” she rubbed her brow. “It’s like catching the tail of a comet. But what’s going to happen when it’s over, Wes? Where do I stand when the moment’s burnt out and you’re gone?”

  Wes touched her chin, his eyes glowing in the darkness. “Maybe you’re the comet, Sammy. You think of that?” He leaned forward, but instead of going for her mouth, he nuzzled her ear. “I’d take a moment with you and whatever it is we’ve got over a month with someone else,” he whispered.

  Sam took a shuddering breath, pulling away. “This isn’t part of my plan, Wes. I’m not going to be sidetracked by whatever this is,” she said, gesturing between them.

  “That’s just an excuse, darlin’—and you know it.”

  Sam’s chin came up. “Please go.” Her hand tightened on the knob, even as she tried to retain some kind of composure, despite the fact that she was standing there half-naked.

  Wes caressed her cheek one last time before stepping back. “One of these days, you’re going to let go with me, Sammy.”

  That was exactly what she was afraid of.

  “Sleep tight, darlin’,” he whispered, disappearing out her door.

  *

  September—Sunday, Late Morning

  Sam’s Apartment, Texas A&M

  S A M A N T H A

  “Sammy! Open up!”

  Sam groaned, rolling over and stuffing her head under her pillow.

  “Jaina, I know you’re in there! And unless you’ve got one or both of those hot boys in there with you, you’d better open up!”

  “Go away!”

  Sam heard Rita cackle through the door. “I made you cof-fee,” she sing-songed.

  And that did it. If Sam was a sucker for anything, it was a powerful cup of joe, and she liked nothing better than the kind Rita made, espresso strong enough to scent an entire room. She even added a dollop of condensed milk at the bottom—just enough to deliver a sugar rush into the system along with the jolt of caffeine.

  Padding out to her living room in her sleep shirt and boy shorts, Sam swung open the door to find Rita leaning indolently against the frame, her smile just shy of nefarious.

  “You naughty, naughty bitch, mija,” Rita purred, pushing in. “I’d be jealous if I wasn’t so damn proud of you.” She handed Sam a travel mug.

  “What are you talking about?” Sam mumbled, unscrewing the lid to sniff the contents. Heaven. Pure heaven.

  “Not one, but two on the line. El que no tranza no avanza,”10 Rita clucked as she sat down on Sam’s sofa. “You’ve been holding out on me,” she said, wagging her finger.

  “How do you figure?” Sam asked before taking that first hot, delicious sip.

  “You’ve got one guy following you around ROTC under the guise of being a reporter, when really, he’s a lovesick fool—that one’s totally obvious.” Rita tucked her legs under her. “And then you’ve got his roommate basically being your fake boyfriend when all he really wants is to be the real thing. It’d be diabolical if they didn’t both know what was going on, but seriously—I’m impressed.”

  Sam plopped down across from her. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but it’s gotten way messier than that,” she replied, wry.

  “How so?”

  “I nearly crossed the Rubicon with Wes last night.”

  Rita shot her a confused look. “Er… what?”

  Sam took another sip of coffee, recalling what had nearly happened just a few hours ago. “I know I have no business getting mixed up with Wes,” Sam admitted, rubbing her forehead absently. “There are a hundred good reasons not to, but damn if I don’t find excuses to be close to him, even when I know he’s no good for me.”

  Rita laughed softly. “Honey—welcome to what women have been telling themselves for hundreds of years.”

  Sam dropped her head back, staring unseeing up at her ceiling. She could recall in painstaking detail the scent and feel of Wes last night, not ten feet away from where she was sitting right now.

  “Truth is, I’m not ready for a guy like Wes,” Sam admitted. “He’s a damn handful and probably far more trouble than he’s worth—”

  “But—?” Rita prompted, stopping her mid-list.

  “—But I want him,” Sam confessed finally, admitting the truth. “My brain knows better. But that doesn’t seem to change the way I feel.” Sam sipped her coffee, troubled. “I’ve never been so damn conflicted before. It’s making me an indecisive mess.”

  Rita laughed, clearly amused. “Jaina, men have been making women feel that way since Adam. This is just the first time you’ve ever come up against it is all.”

  “I know, I know—I just—” Sam heaved a sigh, looking out the window at the sunlight filtering through the blinds. “I just don’t have much experience with this.”

  “Wait,” Rita sat up, looking sharply at her. “I always thought you just weren’t interested in any of the idiots making a play for you, but—what do you mean by ‘don’t have much experience’?”

  “You know I’ve dated,” Sam hedged, not meeting her friend’s eyes. “I mean, a little. I guess as much as a girl in my town could, with my dad’s reputation and my Uncle Grant brandishing weapons with a posse of roughnecks in the background.”

  Sam supposed that wasn’t entirely fair
. Her father and Uncle Grant had never prohibited her from going out on dates. Lord knew that her Aunt Hannah had encouraged it, thrilled at the prospect of homecoming dances and prom—those rare occasions she could transform Sam from tomboy to debutante.

  But Sam had never wanted to do more with the boys she’d grown up with, and the older she’d gotten, the more aware she’d become of her position, clear that her untouched status made her a prize to be won rather than a girl to be cherished, as corny as that sounded. She’d heard the snotty things girls at school said about her, had gotten wind of the nasty things guys wanted to do with her given the chance. And so she’d just avoided it, playing it safe because it was easier than becoming a notch on someone’s bedpost.

  And, at A&M, Sam had continued to avoid guys, figuring the kind of casual hook-up sex everyone seemed to be having wasn’t worth the effort or the potential for humiliation—not with the kind of goals she had in mind. She was already seen as a self-entitled rich girl. She didn’t want to add slutty to the list of adjectives that followed her relentlessly, shadowing everything she did.

  “That’s what you meant by crossing the Rubicon?” Rita asked, poking her shoulder. “You’ve never—”

  “No,” Sam answered flatly, cutting her off at the pass. “I’ve never—no.”

  “Whoa.” Rita leaned back, brows up in surprise. “Neta wey?”11

  “Es la neta.”12 Sam ducked her head, trying to hide her flaming cheeks behind a sip of coffee.

  “Shit,” Rita shook her head. “I think I was barely out of my quinceañera dress before my first time on the merry-go-round.”

  “We can’t all be shameless hussies,” Sam replied, smirking.

  “Ha!” Rita tossed a pillow at her. “I’m shocked to hear that you’re actually a closet prude, jaina.”

  “I’m not a prude—” I’m just not ready. I’m so far out of my league here—

  Rita sensed her sudden reticence. “What is it?”