Unable to Resist (9 page)

On the grrrrouunnnd
. That sounds funny in my head.

“What?” Mia asks.

Shit, did I say that out loud?

“I dunno.” I slur. The wine has officially taken residence in my system. Oh boy, I’m going to regret this in the morning.

Objects hit the floor upstairs.

“You okay in there, Liv?” The words blend together to make one giant one. I think laying down might be a better idea.

Lurching down the stairs, Liv sing songs, “I’m a genius!”

How is she not falling down the stairs? I would be.

Ever so slowly, I turn my head in her direction. She has two gigantic fans, holding them like trophies.

“I don’t get it,” I confess.

She shushes me, putting her plan into action. Attaching the sheets to the fans, she plugs them into the outlet and the fort comes to life.

My fuzzy brain begins to understand.

Huh. Maybe she is a genius.

We squeal in excitement and climb inside. Lining three pillows up along the “wall” of the fort, we spread out the blankets and lay our heads down next to each other. We snuggle contently, and smile to one another.

With the hum of the two fans, my eyes become heavy.

Just before I succumb to sleep, I let my mind drift to Duane. We had successfully kept my mind free of him for hours. His hazel golden eyes didn’t make an appearance once. But, now that I’m allowing his memory into my mind, I hum in delight.

A snore resonates from the other side of the fort and I curl into the blanket, hoping for a dreamless sleep.

My first thought when I wake up on the floor is ‘shit, I have to drink Liv’s stupid cure-all.’ The second thought is ‘my head might fall off.’ Like, literally roll off of my shoulders.

I look to my left and Mia is spread out. Limbs everywhere, mumbling about how cats don’t like to eat jellybeans. I do a double take.

What the heck is she dreaming about?

Then, I glance to my right and find Liv lying on her stomach quietly snoring.

Rubbing my pounding head, I crawl out of our badass fort, and stretch my sore body. My muscles are stiff and my back might be forever-kinked, but I don’t care. Last night was a great night.

After the movie started, I didn’t think about Duane or our situation once. Although, the alcohol might have helped a bit. Only slightly. Or a lot. Whatever.

I have a slight case of vertigo when I stand up, but I push it aside and make my way to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. In a few moments, the rich scent of coffee beans waft through the loft, helping to clear the fogginess in my head. Resting my head on the countertop, the cold tile feels pleasant on my hot face.

Somewhere upstairs, my phone buzzes.

Dragging my achy-self up the stairs to my room, I unplug it from the charger and look at the number. I have no idea who it is, so I send it to voicemail. Annoyed at having moved from my countertop pillow for nothing, I throw the phone on my bed, strip and go to my bathroom to take a shower.

The hot water cascades over my body, soothing every sore muscle. Who needs Liv’s cure-all? I silently thank God for not making me take that damn sludge. When the water begins to cool, I shut it off and step out. Toweling off, I grab a pair of jean shorts and an Arizona State University tee shirt.

It’s Sunday, which means it’ll be slow in the shop, so I blow-dry my hair, hoping my medusa-like locks will cooperate again today.

Slipping on my black Converse, I hear my phone chime with a voicemail.

Hitting the button, I wait.

“Ann, its Duane,” the voice breaks through.

My heart stops.

The message continues, “Listen, I need you to call me back. I’ll be in the office all day. Call me there or on my cell phone.”

He rattles off numbers, but I’m too stunned to write anything down.

“It’s important,” he persists, and then trails off.

Click. Line dead.

What the hell? I listen to the message again, this time writing his number down. Moving my fingers over the numbers on my phone, I dial his cell.

It rings. Once. Twice. Three times. He’s not going to answer. I’m one ring away from hanging up and trying his office when he comes on the line.

“Ann,” he breathes into the receiver.

Dammit, why does my name have to sound so good coming from his mouth?

“Hey,” I reply, nonchalantly.

Wow, deep Ann.

“Hi,” he pauses, “I’m so glad you called me back. Can you meet me at my office in thirty? Or, shit, maybe earlier if you can.”

It’s Sunday and he’s at the office? I look at the clock. It’s only eight thirty. “Sure, everything okay?”

He huffs. I imagine him rubbing his forehead with his hand like he did when something stressed him out yesterday.

“Yeah, maybe. Look, just get here, and we’ll figure it out.”

Say what?

“O—okay, yeah, I’ll be there soon.”

“I’ll text you the address. If you can, come now. It’s important.”

“Okay, I’ll leave shortly.”

“See you soon.”

“Bye, Duane.”

Click.

I run to my bathroom and check my reflection. I’m as good as I’m going to get at this point.

My phone beeps with a text message. I plug the address into my map app and head out to the living room.

The coffee smells heavenly, so I grab a to-go cup and pour a generous serving of creamer and top it off with coffee. Leaving Liv and Mia a note, I grab my keys and head out the door as quietly as possible.

The air is cool, and the light breeze that ruffles my hair.

Hopping into my red Ford F-150, I roll the windows down, slip on my sunglasses and turn up the radio. The drive to Duane’s office is short. Before the second song can finish, I’m turning off my truck and grabbing my purse to head inside.

The tall, brick building towers over the others surrounding it. It’s modern, yet original. I’ve never really noticed it before in all of my Nashville adventures, but it’s quite breathtaking.

The lobby is quiet when I walk in, and no one is at the reception desk. I look around for someone but it’s Sunday and the building is probably closed to most. The area is wide open, with tons of space for waiting clients. The seating area houses plush leather couches and chairs while warm red and orange colors cover the walls, making it feel welcoming.

My Converse squeak on the shiny concrete below my feet as I walk to the elevator. Duane informed me his office is on the tenth floor, so I step into the elevator, push the button and hold on for dear life. I haven’t mentioned it, I didn’t think I needed to, but I’m slightly afraid of heights.

Alright, alright, I’m really—okay, totally afraid of heights. I hate letting my feet leave the ground. Loathe it, actually. During my ascent to the tenth floor, I noiselessly pray it doesn’t have some sort of malfunction and drop me to the ground.

The bell dings and the doors open.

Thank you, Jesus.

The floor is silent. Evidently, everyone has Sunday off in his office—well, everyone but Duane apparently. All the offices are empty, and I start to think maybe I’m in the wrong place. As I dig in my purse for my phone, it slips off of my shoulder and drops to the floor, scattering all of its contents.

Perfect. Just what I need.

Getting down on my knees, I grab for all of my crap and stuff it into my empty purse. When it’s all picked up, I huff in annoyance and climb to my feet only to be brought face to face with Duane.

With an amused expression, he chuckles. “I think you forgot this.” He holds up a tube of my favorite chapstick.

Tucking a rebellious strand of hair behind my ear, I take the chapstick from him and shove it in my bag. “Thank you, kind sir. My lips are forever in your debt.”

Lame, I know. I look down at my feet. I can’t believe I just said that
.

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

His laugh vibrates all the way through the empty space and he steps forward, taking my waist in his hand. All of the air leaves my lungs, and I concentrate on his skin on mine. I snap my head up. Eyes dilated, and lips slightly parted, I let his breath wash over my face.

This feels so good. Wrong, but so good. I let myself smile.

A car horn outside honks and snaps me back to reality.

Nope, too close. When he touches me like this, it gives me hope—hope for something more. I know I’ll just get my heart stomped on if I keep hoping.

I step back, giving myself some distance from him.

His eyebrows come together in confusion, and then they smooth out.

“So,” I swing my purse on my shoulder, “What’s up?”

“Uhh, there’s been a break in your Dad’s case,” he says in a professional tone.

“What? Really? Already?” I ask, optimistic.

His face lights up at my anticipation and I feel my heart beat a little faster.

“Yeah, I guess my digging did something. They brought in a couple of suspects, and they are questioning them today.” He waits, his eyes dancing.

I step forward, wanting to hug him. That’s really not the smartest thing to do, right? No, it isn’t. Right? I step back.

Keep your hands to yourself, Ann.

“Let’s go to my office,” he says, gesturing toward the corner office.

I nod my head and follow behind him. His dark blue jeans hug him in ways that should be considered illegal. I notice things I shouldn’t. Like the way his ass sways a bit as he walks and how his hair blows just slightly in the air. He finishes off his look with a light blue button up shirt and a black vest. I see a brown sports coat on the back of his chair as we step into his office.

Holy hell, this man can seriously dress a model off of the runway.

He rolls the sleeves up on his shirt and sits down. Propping his expensive looking brown Oxfords on his desk he motions for me to sit. I do as I’m told and look around.

His office faces the entire city; the entire back wall is covered in windows. When I sit down in front of him, he really does look like king of the city. The buildings practically bow to him.

The dark wood desk spans at least seven feet long, but it doesn’t nearly fill the massive room it sits in. There’s a comfortable looking couch on the opposite wall of the windows, and a coffee table that sits in front. What does he need a couch in his office for? God, do I even want to know?

Probably not
.

Amazingly hot man, impressive job—he probably sees a never-ending parade of woman.

I glare at the brown, leather couch long enough to make Duane chuckle and put his feet back on the ground.

I turn to him with a skeptical look. “What are you laughing about?”

He attempts to reign in his amusement, but fails miserably. “Nothing, it’s just—well, you’re staring at that couch like you want to kill it. It’s quite adorable.” He looks into my eyes. “I stay late some nights. Sometimes I crash on it.”

Simple. I’ll buy it. I guess.

I nod my head, and survey the rest of the room. There’s a tiny bar in the corner with bottles of brown liquid meticulously spaced around it.

I could use a shot of whiskey right about now.

“Alright, well from what I understand they have three suspects in custody right now.” He pauses to look at his watch. “They are probably done by now. I should be getting a call soon.”

I nod and soak in the information. “Now what happens?”

He flashes a smile, maybe to lighten the mood, maybe to make my insides feel like they’re melting.

“Hopefully one of the bastards confesses. If not, they’ll dig deeper,” he says, his voice strong—very lawyer-esque, if that’s a thing.

I begin to chew on my bottom lip when his phone rings.

He picks it up. “Duane Rynard.”

God I love his name.

He listens and his eyebrows shoot up as he writes something down on a piece of paper. “Okay, well that’s quite interesting—holy shit.” He shoots a look in my direction. “Alright, I’ll let her know. Thanks. Yeah, I’ll let you know what she says. She’s sitting in front of me right now. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll call you back.”