LITMIR.BIZ

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would be even more difficult without her cooperation. Hell. Being a nice guy just didn’t pay some days.

      “Life’s tough that way,” he said, not sure if he was talking to her about doing things she didn’t want to, or himself for his incessant need to always do the right thing.

      He headed toward the hall only to stop at the sound of someone knocking on his front door.

      “If that’s another drunk woman,” he muttered, “I’ll tell her the bathroom’s closed for the night.”

      Daphne stirred. “Did I tell you I didn’t pay the cab driver?”

      He pinched the bridge of his nose. “No,” he managed to say from between clenched teeth, “You failed to mention that.”

      But her head was back down, her eyes shut. Another knock, this time louder.

      “One minute,” Oakes called then hurried into his bedroom for his wallet. Two minutes later he’d paid the understandably irritable cab driver—adding a hefty tip—and shut the door. He leaned his head against the cool wood, gathering his thoughts. The scent of coffee filled the air. He’d dump some into the mug, haul Daphne to her feet and settle her into his car. Forty-minutes—fifty, tops—and he’d be back home and in his bed, trying to forget this ever happened.

      But when he lifted his head and turned, he saw all those hopeful plans go up in smoke. Daphne was asleep. Or, passed out if the sound of her snores was anything to go by. And there was no way in hell he was carrying her.

      Looked like he had himself an overnight guest.

      He locked the door and shut off the porch light, then crossed to the kitchen and turned off the coffeepot before he got a blanket from the linen closet. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t let her stay crumpled up like that, her neck bent at an awkward angle, her legs curled under her. He wiped his tingling palms down the front of his jeans as he studied her, tried to figure out how to make her comfortable with the least amount of touching possible—though any contact seemed inappropriate given her current state.

      Deciding to start at the bottom—and pray like hell the rest of her straightened out of her own accord—he wrapped his fingers around her ankles and slowly swung her legs around.

      She snored on.

      He went to encircle her waist only to yank his hands back when he brushed the silk of her dress. He considered slipping his arms under her, but didn’t want to take the chance of accidentally touching her butt. Not when he’d admired it only a few minutes ago. He could take a hold of her shoulders, but that would bring him close to those amazing breasts, to her open mouth.

      In the end, he settled on taking her by the ankles again, this time gently pulling her until she slid onto her back on the cushions. His plan worked great, except her dress had slid up, showing a great deal more of her bare thighs. Keeping his gaze firmly on her face, he unfolded the blanket over her, tucking one end under her chin, the other over her toes.

      He straightened. It was easier to look at her with all those curves covered. Easier, much easier to remember how young she was with her face relaxed, her mouth open, one hand curled by her cheek.

      Easier to remember all the reasons he shouldn’t want her.

      But he couldn’t stop himself from brushing a loose lock of hair from her forehead, then letting his finger trail ever so slightly over her arched eyebrow before he turned off the light and went to his room. Yanking off his sweatshirt, he tossed it aside then fell facedown on his bed, his feet hanging over the edge. He pulled a pillow over his head, but that did little to help him forget about the woman on his couch. The woman he thought about way too often. The one woman he wanted above anyone else.

      The one woman he could never have.

      * * *

      SOME KNUCKLEHEAD WAS singing along to a Mumford and Sons song. Loudly. And badly.

      Daphne would have covered her ears but really, lifting her arms at what had to be an ungodly hour was just too much effort. She settled for pressing her face into her pillow. It might not mute the sound, but if she kept it there long enough, maybe she’d suffocate. Either way would end her misery.

      The idiot chose that moment to attempt a bit of harmonizing with a particularly high note, causing her back teeth to ache. Talk about freaking torture. Honestly, some people were so rude. Singing this early with no thought or care that other people were trying to sleep.

      Jeesh.

      She snuggled farther into the mattress, but instead of the softness of her sheets, she encountered smooth, cool leather. Shifting her leg to the right, she bumped something hard. She frowned. That wasn’t right. There should be ample empty space in her king-size bed. Of course Cyrus, her golden retriever, took up a great deal of it but that hadn’t been his large, warm body, either.

      Even racking her sleep-laden brain it took her a moment, surely longer than it should have, to figure out she wasn’t at her apartment, wasn’t all cozy and safe in her bedroom. She wasn’t even in a bed.

      As she processed that bit of reality, the events of last night unfolded in her mind, frame by frame, like a movie in slow motion. There was dinner with her cousins at her favorite restaurant, good food and lots of laughs, then that fateful trip to The District, where, despite being irritated that they’d tricked her into a night out, she’d danced and drank. And drank. And drank.

      Squeezing her eyes shut harder, she remembered being hit on by a cute blond physical therapist, then later, by a darkly handsome electrician. When she’d declined to give either of them her phone number, Nadine had gotten on her case about turning down not one, but two potential soul mates, badgering her as only Nadine could until Daphne had blurted out the truth. That she had no interest in getting to know random strangers or taking part in the whole dating scene. Not when she couldn’t stop thinking about one particular man she already considered a friend.

      Oakes.

      While she hadn’t exactly been pining for him all these years, the possibility of them as a couple had never fully disappeared. It was always there, in the back of her mind. In her heart. Like a dream of the future for when they were both single and ready to act on the attraction between them.

      When the time was finally right.

      Last night, with her brain muddied by tequila and her pride stinging with the news of her ex’s upcoming wedding, the timing had seemed perfect.

      So, in the infinite wisdom of the inebriated, Daphne had decided the best course of action was to tell Oakes she’d fallen in love with him six years ago and still was in love with him today.

      She groaned and pulled her knees closer to her chest, curling into a protective ball. Yes, yes, it was all coming back to her now. How very wise she’d felt about her decision. How comfortable with the plan to win over the man she loved with a heartfelt declaration. She’d ridden that wave of alcohol-induced confidence from the club all the way to Oakes’s house, and had let it carry her up to his porch, pushing her into pounding on his door.

      But now she slowly sank with the realization that showing up at his house, stinking drunk, at 3:00 a.m. might not be the best way to convince him that she was not just serious, but, more importantly, sincere.

      For some crazy reason people in her life had a hard time believing she could be either.

      The song changed but the singing continued, Oakes’s usually pleasant baritone ruining “Little Lion Man” for her for life. A cupboard door opened then shut, and the smell of fresh coffee filled the air.

      Ca-rapity crap crap. Once again she’d acted before thinking things through. If she wasn’t careful, that could become a bad habit.

      But she at least had figured out where she was and why her back and shoulders ached, and her left hand was numb. Seemed she’d ended her night by passing out on Oakes’s couch. Great. Mystery solved. And since there was nothing she could do about the events of last night, couldn’t undo them or wish them away, she might as well go back to sleep.

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