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Jesus, what was I thinking this morning?
You weren’t. You obsessed about her scent for an hour before you drifted off with a hard-on, and when you woke up to her on your chest again, you took the opportunity you squandered yesterday.
My conscience is a snarky motherfucker.
Anna doesn’t open the door immediately when I pound on it. I’m not mad at her. I’m mad at myself, but I have no other outlet for it. “Get dressed and grab your shit. Wren found Dani.”
I wait for her in the truck like a total asshole, only climbing out when I see her struggling with all of her bags on the front porch. Honestly, knowing that she won’t be coming back here hits a little differently than I thought it would. Am I sad to see her go? That can’t be it. I didn’t even want her here in the first place. I don’t bring women to the ranch. It’s my sacred place, but it seems to lose a little of its shine when I load all of her things and we drive off the property.
It’s fucking typical that I’ll no longer have the escape from reality I seek the next time I come out here.
I’m angry, pissed at myself for letting my body win out over my mind as I drive back into the city. Anna doesn’t say a word, keeping her focus out her side window for the entire drive. She doesn’t bitch at me for what we did or try to fill the cab of the old pickup with mindless chatter. She doesn’t sigh or reach for the radio, and with each mile, each strung-out minute, I feel more and more like an asshole.
I’m not some teenager who can’t control his cock. It wouldn’t have been pleasant, but I could’ve climbed out of that bed without pressing my mouth to hers. It doesn’t matter that it has been months since I’ve had sex. I’ve gone longer than that before without any problem. I’m not controlled by my sexual urges and desires. In hindsight, I fucked up, but there’s no way to take any of it back now.
She waits for me to open her door but doesn’t look at me as she climbs down. Her focus is on her clasped hands during the elevator ride, but by some miracle she comes alive when she enters the breakroom and sees Flynn. Grinning and greeting him with a quick hello makes my jaw clench, and when she follows me to Wren’s office, the bird pisses me off.
“Hey there, sexy,” the feathered-fucker squawks.
Of all the times I’ve wanted to kill the damn thing, today takes the cake.
That is until Wren stands and wraps Anna in a hug that lasts a few seconds longer than I’m comfortable with. I can’t say a word to either of them. Doing so would raise more questions than just standing here seething until it’s over.
“I found your friend,” Wren tells her when he knows he should be addressing me with this information.
“Where is she?” I snap, finally having enough of being ignored. First Anna on the drive over and now Wren? Hell, even the damn bird didn’t pop off with some bullshit when I entered the room.
“After she wasn’t in West Africa, I went back and tracked her travel for the last couple of years.” Wren falls into his seat, turning the chair to face the computer screens.
I want him to get to the damn point, but I know this is his process, and the guilt I felt when he called rears its ugly head again. If he wants to spend half an hour walking me through his steps, I’m going to let him.
“It’s a lot of damn information because the woman is all over the globe.”
“She does travel a lot,” Anna agrees.
“She’s in the Maldives,” Wren finally says after explaining in frustrating detail all of the places he didn’t find Dani. “She traveled under the name Irina Zappa.”
“Her cousin,” Anna and I say at the same time.
I can feel her eyes snap in my direction, but I keep my focus on Wren’s screen. If I look her way right now, I’m going to tell her that Dani is fine, and it would be in her best interest to just come back home with me. But that’s foolish, right? I can’t have her in my life. The woman probably still hates me. An orgasm isn’t an apology for picking on her and treating her poorly when we were younger, no matter that she gave as good as she got.
“They bear a striking resemblance, honestly.” A photo of Dani and her cousin fills the largest screen, and I can see some similarities, but not enough that this shouldn’t have been caught by TSA when she was traveling.
“The Maldives doesn’t have extradition,” I mutter.
