Goddess Rising Read online

  Wes Elliott wasn’t just trouble. He was an alluring, seductive operator who could—and probably had—gotten everything he ever wanted, women included. He was unapologetically, head-snappingly handsome despite being a little rough around the edges. He reminded her a little of the good-looking cowboys her Uncle Grant had occasionally employed during the busier seasons—charming rascals who were oftentimes more trouble than they were worth—the kinds of guys who never stayed around when the best of the action was through, always looking for the next thing.

  “We only just met,” Wes told the reporter as he smiled at Sam. “But I’m hoping to win this one over,” he added in a confiding tone. “She’s my muse, after all. And a real thunderbolt.” Wes squeezed her hand.

  “So what’s this thunderbolt’s name?” the reporter asked, annoyance flashing briefly before her expression smoothed. She stared Sam down with the eyes of a woman unused to not getting a man’s undivided attention.

  “I’d rather not say,” Sam answered quickly, cutting Wes off at the pass. “I’m not interested in any additional attention, and remaining unnamed is my preference. Now if you don’t mind, I actually need to excuse myself,” she finished, pulling her hand from Wes’s grip. “Congratulations again on the win. It was nice meeting you, Wesley Elliott.”

  Sam stood quickly, but Wes was faster.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, snagging her elbow as she turned to go.

  “I haven’t seen my brother in a few weeks,” Sam said in a low voice, so the reporter couldn’t hear. “I really want to spend some time with him before he has to leave. We’ve only got a few hours.” She met Wes’s eyes. “And I don’t mean to be rude, but I’d appreciate it if you would stay here and talk to this reporter. I know my dad invited you but—”

  “You think I’m going to let you leave just after I finally met you?” Wes asked, incredulous.

  The reporter watched on in obvious interest.

  “Look. I apologize if you received some mixed signals, but I’m not looking to get involved with anyone—”

  “Are we talking about a barbeque or an arranged marriage here?”

  “We’re talking about neither,” Sam answered quickly. “Please don’t let me keep you.” She pulled away, moving backward in a quick two-step even as Wes advanced.

  “You’re not keeping me,” Wes replied, slipping his hand around the small of her waist as he drew her toward him. “Not yet, anyway,” he murmured, close to her ear.

  Sam breathed his scent in, imagining for a split second that his skin would taste a little spicy if she touched her lips to it—her eyes popped open. Holy shit.

  Wesley Elliott was bold as brass and astonishingly provocative without even really trying. Sam might not be very experienced, but she knew better than to play with fire. And Wes burned bright. Bright and hot. Too hot.

  Sam snapped back, eyes wide as she stared at him with a mixture of embarrassment and self-recrimination.

  “I have to go,” she insisted.

  His amber eyes glittered. “I’ll find you again, Samantha Wyatt,” he murmured, releasing her gently.

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” she told him honestly.

  “And why’s that?” he asked, his slow smile utterly disarming.

  “Like I said, I’m not looking for anything—”

  Wes leaned toward her. “Good thing you’re not the one who will be doing the looking.” He glanced over her shoulder to where her father and brother were waiting. “Send your dad my regards. Tell him I got tied up. Wouldn’t want him to think I’m standing him up, after all. I’d like to stay on his good side while I’m chasing after his daughter.”

  “You’re either deaf or you’ve got a big set of balls, Wesley Elliott,” she replied tartly.

  “Probably a bit of both,” he admitted with an amused expression. “My mama always said I had selective hearing. And as for the other thing… Well, guess you’ll just have to wait and find out.”

  Dear Lord. Sam flushed. “That’s my cue to go.”

  The reporter tapped Wes on the shoulder. “Are we continuing with this interview, Wes, or should I move on?”

  “He’s all yours,” Sam replied, neatly stepping away.

  She didn’t look back as she left him, though she could have sworn she heard his soft chuckle.

  Chapter 6

  September—An Hour Later

  Wes and Chris’s Apartment, Texas A&M

  W E S L E Y

  Chris looked up from the kitchen table where he was studying as Wes strolled in, whistling a little ditty.

  “You’re in a good mood,” Chris muttered around the pen in his mouth. “Interview with the paper go well?”

  “Hmmm?” Wes dropped his keys on the counter, opening the fridge to reach for a beer, completely distracted.

  “Wasn’t the interview with The Statesman today?”

  Wes nodded as he popped the cap off the Shiner Bock. “Want one?”

  “Nah, working on this psych paper. Gotta keep a clear head so I can nail it.”

  Wes leaned against the counter as he took a deep pull. Samantha Wyatt. Gorgeous, but not in an overt way like so many of the girls he knew. Smart, but not snotty about it. Quick on the draw with a dry sass. Damn, he liked her.

  And she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

  Wes smiled to himself. Was it wrong if that made him like her all the more? He didn’t realize he was daydreaming until Chris pulled the pen out of his mouth and chucked it at him.

  “Hey, you!” Chris called out. “Ground control to Major Tom. I’ve been talking to you for like two minutes, and you’re just standing there like an idiot.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “What gives? Did you win some big money with the award too?”

  He had actually. A couple thousand bucks. Enough to cover photography supplies for a while, maybe pay off Ryke what he owed him for his portion of the fake IDs.

  “A bit,” he shrugged.

  “Congrats, man!” Chris grinned. “That why you’re so happy?”

  “Nah.” Wes shook his head. “Met a girl.”

  Chris’s brows furrowed. “How’s that unusual? You rotate girls like shirts.”

  “Yeah, well, not this one,” he admitted, shaking his head. “This girl shut me down so fast, I didn’t know if I was coming or going.”

  Chris’s brows shot up in surprise. “…And you liked that?”

  “Yeah.” Wes sipped his beer, smiling. “Yeah, I guess I kind of did.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” Chris barked out a laugh. “Hell—it’s frozen over.”

  Wes shrugged. “Threw me for a loop is all.”

  “Dude, we’ve been roommates for going on two years now.” Chris crossed his arms behind his head. “And never once have I seen you thrown for a loop by a chick.”

  “She’s the one in my photo,” Wes explained. “My muse.”

  Chris frowned. “But you can’t even see her face.”

  “It’s her. I’d know her anywhere.”

  “Figures the one girl you’ve been fascinated with the past few weeks won’t come near you.”

  “Oh, she came near me all right,” Wes replied, recalling the silky feel of her skin, her jasmine scent on the air like a whisper. “Just need to figure out how to keep her around for longer next time.”

  “Sounds like she knows better,” Chris teased, turning back to his laptop. “I got to get this paper done. I’ve got a meeting with Sam tomorrow to review what we’ve both written so far,” he explained as his fingers moved quickly over the keys.

  Wes crossed the room to sit down across from him, propping his legs on the table. “Thought you said this partner of yours was a girl.”

  Chris nodded. “Sam’s short for Samantha.”

  Wes felt his entire body stiffen.

  No. No way.

  Sensing his sudden tension, Chris glanced up. “What is it?”

  What were the odds? A&M was big. There were probably plenty of Samanthas… righ
t?

  Wes shifted back. “Her name wouldn’t happen to be Samantha Wyatt, would it?”

  Chris blinked at him in surprise. “Yeah. How do you know her?”

  Wes slowly straightened, setting his beer on the table. “Shit,” he muttered, pushing his hair back with both hands.

  “Shit what?” Chris asked, befuddled. “Do you have class with her too?”

  Wes grabbed the back of his neck. “Shee-it,” he said again, drawing it out as it hit him.

  “Use your words, man,” Chris admonished.

  Wes looked at his friend square in the eye. “She’s the muse. Sam’s the girl I just met.”

  Chris paused a moment before the implication hit him. “Oh hell no, man!” he exclaimed, expression darkening. “You know I’ve got a thing for her—”

  “I know—” Wes shook his head. “I just didn’t realize it was the same girl.”

  “You are not going after her, Wes. She’s a good girl. And smart,” Chris pointed out, his face flushing with anger. “She’s not even your type!”

  Wes grimaced. “What does that mean?”

  “This girl has style, class, brains—”

  “The fuck you saying, Chris?” Wes asked, irritated. “That I only go out with brainless, slutty bimbos?”

  “Hey, you said it.”

  “No, you implied it,” Wes countered.

  “Look, I saw her first,” Chris pointed out stubbornly. “I told you about her, and I’m the one busting my ass to get a date with her,” he argued, gesturing at all the books spread out across the table. “You think I ever had to work this hard to get a good grade? Or to impress a girl?”

  “Are you calling dibs?” Wes asked, incredulous. “You do realize we’re talking about a human being and not a piece of pizza, right?”

  “What the hell do you know about her, anyway?” Chris retorted. “Besides the fact that she saw you coming a mile away and wasn’t havin’ it? Sam’s worth far more than your typical hit it and quit it.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Wes replied calmly. “And that’s not what I’m interested in with her. I recognize she’s different. I know she’s not the kind of girl you trifle with.”

  “Well, I care about her,” Chris said, mulish.

  “You barely know her,” Wes pointed out. “Besides, if you want to get technical, I saw her first. I took that photograph in August while you were still wrapping up football training.”

  “So besides the fact that Sam shot you down, what do you actually like about her, Wes?” Chris challenged. “You probably can’t even tell me five things about her besides what she looks like.”

  Wes sat back, turning the beer bottle as he considered the question. Was he just enamored with the idea of her? The story he’d built inside his mind of who she might be, what she might be like from the moment he’d taken the picture of her? Truth was, Wes wasn’t certain why he was so smitten with Samantha. He didn’t know exactly what it was about her that had him so transfixed. But he wanted to know more. A lot more.

  “Well—what do you like about her so much?” Wes countered.

  “Oh, no,” Chris shook his head. “I’m not giving you insider baseball on this girl. You may be one of my closest friends, but you’re the competition now. But I will tell you this, Wes. If you go after Sam and hurt her, I’ll hurt you back,” he promised. “I don’t like the idea of a girl coming between us, but if there ever was one, she’s it.”

  Wes frowned. “What makes you think I’m going to hurt her? Just because I haven’t wanted to have a serious relationship in the past doesn’t mean I’m incapable of one.”

  Chris scoffed. “You may know how to get a girl in the sack—hell, you’re the undisputed king of flings—but you don’t know the first damn thing about anything longer than a quick roll in the hay, Wes. Sam deserves way better than that, so back off.” He glared. “I mean it.”

  He’d never seen Chris, so typically laid-back and easy-going, look so serious off the football field. But Wes also had a healthy aversion to being told what to do. “I don’t see why we’re haggling over Samantha like she’s a bone. Why don’t we both go after her and see what happens?” he suggested with a shrug. “Let the lady decide what she wants to do. Unless you’re scared she’s as interested in me as I am in her.”

  “Oh, please,” Chris guffawed. “If I heard you rightly, she already turned you down flat.” He picked up one of the psychology books next to him. “And I already have something in the cooker.”

  “You got some good talk, Chris,” Wes retorted. “But not nearly enough game for a girl like Sam.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Wes,” Chris replied, shaking his head. “Girls like Sam don’t go for game—they go for good guys with real intentions. And you and I both know you’re the guy who bails before anything gets real.”

  Wes opened his mouth to retort, but Chris was already in the bathroom, slamming the door shut as he turned on the shower.

  He leaned against the wall, feeling irritated and unsure. Because Chris was right. What do I know about real? He’d never stuck around long enough for it to get there, and maybe he preferred it that way.

  Or maybe he’d just never met a girl who made him want to take things any further than chasing what felt good—until it didn’t.

  Wes put down his unfinished beer and fished his keys out, figuring he’d go for a ride and think it through, or give himself enough miles to stop thinking altogether. Either way, Chris would cool off, and he’d figure out what to do about the quandary of Samantha. Because for the first time in his young life, Wes actually wanted to know five things about a girl besides what she looked like and what she’d feel like in bed. And he had the distinct feeling it would never be boring with Samantha. Not by a long shot.

  *

  September—Same Time, Across Town

  Fargo’s Pit BBQ, Bryan, Texas

  S A M A N T H A

  Sam watched Ry run around the restaurant, chatting up the other kids who were eating dinner with their families. He was so gregarious, so happy and easy to get along with, other boys and girls readily followed him around as if he were the Pied Piper.

  “How’s he doing in school?” she asked, glancing at their father.

  “Good,” he told her with a smile. “He and Carey started Pop Warner,” a note of pride in his voice. “You should see him dressed up in his helmet and pads. Looks like the world’s skinniest football player.”

  Sam smiled. “How’s Carey?” she asked, referring to Uncle Grant and Aunt Hannah’s son. Carey and Ry were close to the same age and had grown up inseparable.

  “Growing like a weed,” her dad replied, biting into his brisket. “Swear that boy’s going to be taller than me in just a year or two.”

  Sam tracked Ry as he played a video game with a few other kids at a nearby table. “Ry’s growing fast, too,” she murmured, feeling a little sentimental. “Can’t believe he’ll be in high school soon.”

  “He’s gonna be hell on wheels, too,” her father chuckled. “Got a feeling he’ll give me all the heartache you didn’t and then some.”

  “Didn’t have time to give you heartache, Dad,” Sam replied, turning back toward him. “I was too busy taking care of Ry and doing my part on the ranch. Remember?”

  Robert set down his fork as he pushed his brisket away. “I know you didn’t have it easy, Sammy,” he said, meeting her eye. “What with me out traveling or working all the time.”

  “That what we’re calling it?” she replied, frowning. “You falling-down drunk the few times you were home is ‘traveling or working’?”

  Her father shot her a look. “I’m not going to make apologies for how I was after your mama died,” he told her, his tone brooking no argument. “You know I’m sorry for leaving you all those years. But that’s done now. I’ve been back in the saddle since you were sixteen.”

  Years too late. Sam sat back in the booth they shared, considering him. Despite all the hard living, her father
was aging well, his tanned skin supple, dark eyes lined with character. He wore fine wool slacks and a custom shirt rolled up his forearms, skin still dark from summer at the ranch. Despite the obvious wealth, Robert Wyatt looked at home in this no-frills BBQ joint. Nothing like the sad, workaholic, whisky-doused authority figure she’d barely seen when she was Ryland’s age.

  “I find it odd that you’re so active and involved with Ry now, when I was the one doing the raisin’ all those years when he was little,” she pointed out, feeling contentious.

  “Better late than never,” her father replied, wiping his hands as he met her eyes. “I should have been a better father to you, Sammy. I know it and you know it. Can’t go back now, though,” he stated matter-of-factly, his expression frank. “All I can do is try to be better for both of you now.”

  Things had never been easy between them—not since her mother passed giving birth to Ry. But that didn’t mean she loved her father any less. If anything, Sam had worked hard all her life to gain his favor and his attention. Perhaps most importantly—his love. Even now, nearly grown, Sam still craved that approval, despite the fact she tried to buck his influence and make her own way.

  One of life’s terrible ironies, she mused, touching the condensation on the glass as she worked up the courage to confront him. She didn’t want to believe he’d deliberately withheld the letter Sasser said he’d sent to the ranch, the one that informed her she’d made the cut to try out for the Challenge. But anything was possible.

  “You gonna tell me what happened to your face?” Robert asked before she could say anything, gesturing at the bruise on her cheek.

  Sam lifted a hand self-consciously, touching the tender spot. Now or never, she told herself, taking a deep breath.

  “I got it during training exercises for the Ranger Challenge,” she told him flatly, watching her father’s eyes narrow so slightly, she might have missed it. At her mention of the Challenge, a look of impassivity fell over his face like a veil. “You know, it’s the funniest thing,” she continued. “I came back to campus early, ready to beg for a chance to try out, and Colonel Sasser told me I’d already made the cut.”