Unable to Resist (25 page)

That’s going to change. I refuse to live like that anymore. I see the new me in the mirror, and I finally like what I see. My eyes are brighter, my smile is bigger and the weight of my secrets is off of my shoulders. I want it to stay like this, forever.

“I have extra toothbrushes if you want to brush your teeth,” I offer when I open the door.

Duane stands and takes off his white button-up shirt. “Sounds good.”

He takes off his fitted jeans, folds them, and places them neatly on my dresser. My mouth waters at the sight of his naked chest and bare muscular legs as he glides toward me. Just a tiny pair of boxer briefs keep me from seeing his goods, so I quickly turn around and dig into a cabinet to find the toothbrush. I need something to keep my mind off of his—things. I know it’s the right decision to keep my hands and girl parts to myself, but now that Duane is here, in my room, I feel my clock ticking. Tick freaking tock, it’s time to get the cock. Stop waiting around, and get some.

I practically trash the cabinets looking for what turns out to be a tiny, pink toothbrush. I hand it to Duane, who studies it with an entertained glare.

He shrugs his shoulders and looks at me. “Seems appropriate.”

Unwrapping the toothbrush, he waits for me to finish using the toothpaste and takes it from my hand. I begin to brush my teeth when I look up into the mirror to find him staring at me.

A sense of calmness settles in my stomach. It’s so easy to see myself doing this every night, and being completely at peace.

He winks at me and finishes brushing his teeth.

Walking to my bed, we don’t talk about whose side is whose, we just pick a side and climb in. Honestly, I don’t give a crap which side he sleeps on, as long as he’s next to me.

Feeling a little brave, I scoot next to him, and wrap my legs around his. Satisfied, I grab my glasses, and take my eReader out. I hadn’t noticed, but Duane snatched a book off the bedside table and is reading, too. His face is framed with a pair of black-rimmed glasses on his face I hadn’t seen him wear before.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” I say.

He sets the thick book down, and turns to me. “They’re just reading glasses, I see without them fine, but reading small print is difficult.”

“Oh yeah?” I lift an eyebrow up at him. “You weren’t wearing glasses at my house the other day.” Sarcasm evident in my tone.

His face flushes. “Well, I didn’t want to look like a dork.”

My mouth flattens. “You could never look like a dork,” I say, firmly. “Plus, how did you know I’d be your client?”

He looks away. “I didn’t, that’s true, but I guess the moment I saw you I made a conscious decision not to wear my glasses.”

“That’s just silly, Cowboy.”

I grab his face in my hands and get a good look. He looks incredibly handsome. Think sexy teacher, with a hint of badass. Whoa, who would have thought glasses could be such a turn on?

“You look great in glasses. They definitely suit your lawyer look.” I grin, still holding his cheeks.

Duane quirks the side of his mouth, pleased. “My lawyer look?”

I shrug. “You have a few looks I’ve seen so far.”

Duane sits up higher in the bed. “And what looks are those?” He asks.

I shut my eReader down and think for a moment.

“You were dressed like a cowboy the night I met you. Wranglers, a body-hugging flannel, boots and a hat—I love that look. The next day, you came to my house dressed in a full suit. That was also very delicious. Then, you also wear casual outfits like jeans and converse. You’re an anomaly, Duane. I like it.”

He scratches his head and takes his glasses off. “I guess I can’t decide who I want to be.” He gets a serious look on his face, leveling his eyes to mine. “I’ve always been pulled in different directions.” He pauses to give me a look of adventure. “I’ve been thinking about doing something big—something different.” He looks slightly guilty at his admission.

I quickly sit up and trace a cross over my heart with my finger. “Your secrets are safe with me.”

He sighs and brings my hands up to his lips. “You are the only one who really matters when it comes to this. I know it’s fast, but it feels right to include you in my decision.”

I can’t help but feel a little worried. What the hell is he going to tell me?

“Okay.” I gulp and nod, preparing myself for something awful.

“I don’t think I want to be a lawyer anymore,” he says, looking to me with apprehension. “I’ve been doing it, and it just doesn’t fulfill me. We were just talking about what makes you happy, and it got me thinking.” He pauses to swallow, and gauge my reaction a bit. “I have been thinking about giving it up, but I never really had a reason to quit. Then, you happened.” He pats my hand that’s resting next to his thigh on the mattress.

“I don’t understand. How did I manage to change your mind?” I ask, staring into his eyes.

He already seems more at ease, just saying the words out loud.

“I want to be a better man for you. Being a backstabbing, conniving lawyer isn’t who I want to be. I’ve done things I’m not proud of.”

I understand where he’s coming from. There are so many things I’d like to take back in the past years.

“So, what do you want to do?” I take my hand and remove it from under his grasp and place it strongly on his forearm, a sure sign of my encouragement.

He takes his other hand and grazes the top of my hand with his fingers, tracing a circular pattern while he thinks. “I’d really like to work full time on the ranch. Maybe get cows and expand the business. I don’t know, but I need to get away from that negative environment. It’s not a place for a person like me. My heart isn’t in it anymore. I need more from life.”

I can see myself living that life with him. It’s simple. It’s what I want. The rest doesn’t matter.

“I think you should listen to your heart, Duane. I want you to be happy,” I reassure.

He pulls my hand to his chest, just above his heart, and I feel the strong, steady beat. “My heart only knows one thing for sure.”

I look at our hands, a smile playing on my lips. “And, what’s that?”

He puts a finger under my chin and brings my face up to meet his eyes. “That I want you to be mine. I don’t want to share, Red.”

He looks intently at my face for a moment without wavering, confirming the intensity in the room. “I need to hear you say it,” he breathes out, finally.

I suddenly feel incredibly wanted and my confidence level boosts to an all-time high.

“I,” my lips kiss his chest, “am,” I lightly lick his neck, “yours.”

Duane let’s out an animalistic growl and flips me onto my back, thoroughly ending our conversation with hungry kisses.

Sometime later, I’m lying on my side with Duane’s arm wrapped around my middle. He starts talking in his sleep, making me giggle and listen intently. Most of it is inaudible, but what words I do catch make me smile—he sounds tough even in his sleep. I doze off knowing if I have a torturous nightmare, Duane will chase the monsters away.

Thank heavens for a restful sleep. I don’t know if Duane or I could take a nightmare. I’d probably scare the shit out of him with my screaming.

The Arizona sunlight is screaming through the window, and I cover my eyes with a groan.

Images of the make out session I shared with my new boyfriend, my Cowboy, bounce into my mind. I reach for him, but his side of the bed is cold. I make the effort to uncover my eyes. He isn’t there, but I do find a note.

I open the little piece of purple paper, and see Duane’s masculine writing.

Lightheaded, I fold the paper, and lay it on my bedside table. I look at my phone to check the time; it’s only six o’clock, still early. In Arizona, the sun comes up early in September, so I lift myself out of bed and close the curtains. The room darkens and I happily crawl back in bed. Pulling the covers over my head, I drift off easily.

“Dad?” I ask as I enter the doorway to his house. The keys clang on the door when I pull them out of the lock, so I shush them, and drop them into my purse.

The living room’s empty, but a bottle of beer sits on the coffee table, its condensation pooling on the expensive wood. I grumble and put a coaster under it. Dad spent way too much money on it to let it be ruined by water rings.

“Dad,” I call out again.

Still no answer.

My feet guide me to the kitchen, but he isn’t there either. I walk back through the living room, and head for the back of the house. I check all of the bedrooms, but he’s nowhere to be found.

“Weird,” I mutter to myself.

I walk to the central part of the house. His car is still in the garage, and I can smell dinner cooking in the oven. He has to be here somewhere.

I turn to walk back toward the bedrooms, concluding he might be taking a shower, when the basement door creaks, catching my attention. I prepare myself for that scary movie moment, when the murderer hides out in the basement, only to jump out to attack you.

Frozen for a few moments, I walk down the stairs and turn on the lights. The basement seems quiet.

I walk under the stairs, my heart beating so loud I can hear the blood pounding in my ears, but all I find is a bunch of old boxes filled with clothes.

Something scurries across the floor, and I spin around, looking for the culprit.

Nothing.

I’m starting to freak out a bit. My senses are on high alert, and I’ve always been one to trust my gut. And right now, it’s screaming at me.

“You’re getting close,” someone whispers in my ear.

Startled, I whip my head around, but I’m still alone.

“Getting close to what?” I ask to the person-less whisper.

My brain hurts from this game, so I sit down on the floor to think.

Think, Ann.

What do I need to find in here? I’m missing something, I have to be.

And where the hell is Dad?

I know this basement like the back of my hand. There aren’t very many things in here that would look out of place. My eyes search the floor. Nope, everything is as it should be.

I’m a bit desperate at this point, so I do something that seems a bit odd. I lean forward to get on my hands and knees and crawl around the room, looking for some sort of answer.

Nothing comes up in the living room or the bar.

Feeling like an idiot, I get back to my feet and walk to Dad’s office. Shaking my head at myself along the way. “You’re an idiot, Ann,” I say to myself before opening the door to the room. A hint of Dad’s cigar wafts through the cracked door.