LITMIR.BIZ

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then slid it onto the tip of her nose, pointed at him with her other hand. A drunk playing her own game of charades. “Bingo.”

      “Any reason you’re at my house and not your own?”

      “Yep.”

      When she didn’t continue, he sat on the coffee table in front of her. “Want to tell me what that reason is?”

      “Your house is closer,” she said, as if that made all the sense in the world.

      “Closer to where?”

      “To the club.”

      This was getting him nowhere. As a trial attorney with a high win record, he was used to asking questions and getting answers. He was damn good at it, too, if he did say so himself.

      He eyed the woman currently humming a pop tune under her breath. Usually. He was usually good at it.

      “I take it you went out tonight?” he asked.

      He hadn’t realized she was into the club scene. Then again she was young enough that it made perfect sense that she might enjoy spending her Saturday night being jostled by bumping and grinding strangers while lights flashed and the bass pumped.

      He winced infinitesimally. He was thinking like a ninety-year-old man.

      She sighed—the long, drawn-out sigh of the weary and put-upon. “I didn’t want to. Nadine made me.”

      “Nadine?”

      “My cousin. Actually, my other cousins were there, too. Julie and Michelle and Steph,” Daphne said, ticking the names off her fingers. “But Nadine was the ringleader. She decided I needed to go out. They kidnapped me,” she said, attempting to slap the arm of the sofa but missing and almost toppling into his lap. He caught her by her upper arms, helped her back onto the cushion then quickly let go. “They told me we were going out to dinner, that Julie needed a break from the twins but they lied and they... They took me against my will. Can I press charges?”

      “It might be better if we hold off on any discussions about legal ramifications until we’re both sober.”

      She tapped his knee twice, left her hand to settle there. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you? But then they don’t give out law degrees just for being pretty. And when we have our talk about legal ramen...ramekin...whatever, we can discuss a civil suit against my cousins for being liars. For being no-good, rotten lying liars who lie. Don’t believe them,” she said as she suddenly clutched his hand, her voice taking on a desperate quality. “No matter what they say, don’t believe a word of it. Ever.”

      “I won’t.”

      “Promise?”

      “Promise,” he repeated solemnly because it seemed so important to her. Then again, alcohol made even the most mundane things exciting, the most minor issue important.

      “Okay.” She relaxed the death grip she had on him and eased back. “Okay then.”

      “Why don’t we get you some coffee?” he suggested.

      “Oh, I can’t have coffee this late,” she told him, her eyes wide, her gaze earnest. “It’ll keep me up.”

      She was so adorable, he couldn’t help but grin. “How about we try it anyway? See if it sobers you up a bit?” And hopefully, helps her be more clear and concise in her answers as to why she was there.

      She returned his smile. “Okay. But I should help you,” she said when he got to his feet.

      She started to stand and he pressed gently on her shoulders until she sat back on the edge of the sofa. “I’ve got this.” But he realized he was still touching her. The thin straps of her dress were silky, her skin incredibly warm under his palms. The ends of her hair tickled the backs of his fingers and he sprang back, releasing her. Was fervently glad he’d put on jeans as he shoved his traitorous hands into their pockets. “You, uh, just relax. And tell me the rest of your story.”

      “What story?” she asked, still smiling at him.

      Holy hell, this was going to be a long night. “About how your cousins forced you to get drunk.”

      Laughing as if that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard, she fell back against the couch, breasts bouncing, bare legs stretched out. She had a low, throaty laugh, the kind that scraped pleasantly along a man’s nerve endings.

      “Don’t be silly,” she said, still chuckling. “They didn’t force me to get drunk. They forced me to go to the club. After dinner they told me we were going home but instead, we ended up at The District.”

      The District being one of Houston’s most popular dance clubs, less than a mile from here. “I stand corrected. Although I’m a little confused as to why you stayed at the club if you didn’t want to be there.”

      “I was going to leave,” she said as she got unsteadily to her feet, bringing their bodies much too close for Oakes’s comfort, “but then the DJ played ‘Uptown Funk’ and it’s impossible to hear that song and not dance so I had to get on the dance floor.”

      “Right.” He tried to put some distance between them but only managed to collide with the coffee table when he stepped back. He shifted to the right then circled around the sofa. “None of that explains why you came here,” he said as he walked behind the granite-topped island, which separated the kitchen from the living room. “Why you’re not still with your cousins.”

      “It doesn’t?”

      A headache began to form behind his right eye. “No.”

      “Oh.” She flopped back down, crossed her arms on the back of the couch and watched as he opened an upper cabinet for the coffee. “Well, I’m not with my cousins because Julie and Steph went home early—Julie’s husband has to work in the morning and Steph’s youngest has an ear infection. Then Nadine took off in a huff after getting into an argument with her boyfriend via text and the last time I saw Michelle she was dirty dancing with a leggy blonde in a leather miniskirt.”

      Frowning, he measured out coffee beans, dumped them into the grinder. “They shouldn’t have let you drink so much if they were just going to ditch you. One of them should have made sure you got home safely.”

      She laughed again, but didn’t raise her head from her arms. “I’m twenty-three years old, Oakes. I can drink as much as I like. And, anyway, I’m perfectly safe, aren’t I?”

      “Safe,” he pointed out, pouring distilled water into his coffeemaker, “but not home.”

      Still not moving her head, she waved a hand. “I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to see you.”

      His shoulders tensed, his fingers tightened on the plastic bottle. “What do you mean? I thought you just needed to use the bathroom.”

      “Why would I come here in the middle of the night just to use the bathroom?”

      He had no idea and no, it didn’t make sense when she said it like that. But neither did her dropping by his place, drunk, at three in the morning.

      Then again, women were a mystery so what the hell did he know?

      “What did you want to see me about?” he asked, turning on the coffeemaker. When she didn’t answer, he turned to find her eyes closed. “Daphne?” Nothing. “Daphne?” he repeated louder.

      She blinked at him then smiled dreamily. “Hmm?”

      Right. This obviously wasn’t getting him anywhere. “We’ll put your coffee in a travel mug,” he said, pulling one out of a drawer.

      “Okay. Am I going somewhere?”

      “Home.” But that only brought up the issue of him getting her into her apartment—a third-story walk-up across town—and into bed.

      She snuggled back down into her arms, shut her eyes. “Don’t

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