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
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
Similar Books
