She forced herself to turn and lead him up the stairs, but her skin tingled with awareness, hot and tight, knowing as she climbed the stairs in front of him her butt was at his eye level. Then she had to lead him to her old room. She threw open the door and walked in, unsure of what to expect. If it was exactly the same girly pink teenage room, she was going to be embarrassed.

But no. The bubble gum color was mostly gone. Her eyes moved over walls now painted a soft taupe, the puffy duvet on the bed shades of chocolate, taupe and pink. Assorted matching cushions in various patterns of the same color were piled on the bed, and the armchair had been reupholstered in chocolate brown fabric. The rug she’d loved as a teenager, patterned in various shades of pink and beige, remained. It still looked feminine but also modern and grown up.

Samara hated to admit it, but she liked it.

She walked over to the big window looking out over their property. Behind the house were two acres of lush woods. She stared down at the stone path winding from the patio into the trees, lined with hostas and lilies lovingly planted by her mother years ago. She had so many memories of walking on that path, some of them with Travis.

She turned to face him, again fighting down the hurt and sadness that had resurfaced so unexpectedly, so strongly.

“Thank you,” she told him. He set the suitcase down on the floor but still stood there.

“Thanks for staying here. It means a lot to your mother.”

“You seem very concerned about her,” she said tightly, moving away from the window.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Parker was my business partner, my mentor...” His voice thickened. “He was a friend. She’s a friend too.”

“Right,” she said. “Well, that’s just lovely.”

His mouth flattened, and his eyes narrowed.

“I’m sure my father would be happy that you’re looking out for her,” she continued, unable to stop the sarcastic tone that came out. Travis’s eyes flashed and a nerve started flicking in his jaw, and Samara’s insides trembled.

Travis stared at Samara across her bedroom. Being in this room with her was so not a good idea. He could not believe that after all these years she still had the ability to affect him this way. She was even more beautiful than she’d been as a teenager, now with a sophistication and polish she hadn’t possessed seven years ago, the expensive-looking little suit she wore hugging her slender curves. Much to his embarrassment, she’d caught him staring at her ass, so sweetly displayed in that snug skirt, and that bed right over there gave him even more dirty ideas. Get a grip, man.

“I think your father would have wanted me to look out for both of you,” he murmured finally. His mouth twisted into a wry smile. Yeah, right. If Parker weren’t already dead, he’d be having a stroke over the fact that Travis was standing in Samara’s bedroom alone with her. But for some reason, he felt protective of her, even though she was grown up now, and even though it had been seven years and she was apparently still pissed at him. Still hadn’t gotten over that night. Jesus.

And what the hell was between Samara and Dayna? He knew how Parker had agonized over the rift between them all these years and knew firsthand how hurt Dayna had been by her daughter’s refusal to come home, to barely talk to her. He’d been hard pressed over the years not to call Samara up and ask her what the hell she was doing, cutting herself off from family who cared about her. What the hell could have happened?

“I don’t need looking after.” Her little chin tilted up. “I can look after myself.”

“I’m sure you can,” he murmured.

She stared at him, her huge hazel eyes gleaming with those unusual gold flecks. She was so like her mother in many ways. Although a little taller, she had the same fine bone structure, the same thick, straight auburn hair, a feminine face with high cheekbones, big eyes and a small, full mouth. Samara’s hair hung long down her back, with a swish of bangs she constantly pushed aside, where her mother wore her hair cropped short. Samara’s eyes combined Dayna’s emerald green with a ring of brown and flecks of gold in the unusual irises, surrounded by long thick lashes. Those eyes and that mouth. Ah, hell.

Travis shook his head. Memories assailed him of the guilt he’d experienced for wanting Samara so badly, knowing he couldn’t have her, couldn’t touch her, shouldn’t even think about having her. She’d only been seventeen, not even legal, for Chrissake.

Wanting her had nearly cost him everything important to him in his life.

“We should go back down,” he said abruptly, turning to the door.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” she said. “I’d like to change.” She was likely still wearing what she’d had on when he’d called her at the office that morning.

He nodded and shut the door behind him. He stood there for a long moment, one hand still on her doorknob, the desire to shove back in there and jump her sexy bones almost overpowering.

He rubbed a hand over his face. Jesus. This was insane. Seven years later and he was still a horny kid with a hard-on for her.

He wished he could say he hadn’t even thought of her in the last seven years, but that would be a lie. Soon after that night everything had gone to shit, she’d left for college in San Francisco without even saying good-bye. And then had been the big blow up with Parker when Travis had been banished to Los Angeles.

At the time he’d had his own problems to worry about, and he hadn’t kept in touch much with Dayna. His interactions with Parker had been all about business for a long time, but as they’d gradually rebuilt their relationship, he’d learned that Samara never went home and barely spoke to her mother. Parker had never been able to find out what had happened between Samara and her mother to cause such a huge rift. It had baffled and hurt both of them. It must have been a helluva fight over something. Samara had been headstrong and stubborn and opinionated, but he couldn’t imagine what they could have argued about that would split up a family like that.

Travis shook his head and slowly walked down the stairs. As he returned to the den, he passed the empty dining room. How many times had he sat at that table across from teenage Samara, listening to her drive her father crazy with her quick wit and provocative statements? He remembered laughing, so entertained by their discussions—arguments?—thankful he wasn’t the one who had to deal with her, then wishing he was the one who had to deal with her. He’d shut her up by grabbing and kissing her until she had no breath left.

His gut feeling like a stone, as were other parts of his body, he found Dayna in the den, setting the cups on the tray to go back to the kitchen. She looked lost in thought.

“Hey,” he said.

She looked up and smiled faintly. “Thanks again for being here,” she said. “I know this is hard for you too.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Christ. I can’t believe this.” He rubbed his chin.

“Samara looks so beautiful,” Dayna said softly, almost talking to herself. “So grown up. I can’t believe she’s here. It’s been so long.”

“Yeah.” He gnawed his bottom lip. “And she still seems to be uh...carrying a grudge.”

Dayna sighed, a small crease between her auburn brows. “Her father just died. She’s probably not herself right now.” Her defense of her daughter, even after how badly Samara had hurt her, made Travis smile. “But she’s here.”

“Yeah. She is.”

Dayna’s housekeeper Ava appeared in the French doors. “I’ll take that, hon,” she said, reaching for the tray.

“Thanks, Ava,” Dayna said.

“Dinner is ready whenever you are,” Ava added.

Dayna sighed. “I really don’t feel like eating.”

“You have to eat,” Ava said, her eyes clouding.