Impossible To Resist (BWWM Romance Book 1)

by Lacey Legend

  “I’ve got several things to take care of here. Why don’t you do whatever you need to do to prepare for the trip, and I’ll see you tomorrow at seven, alright?” he confirmed, not doing much more than glancing up at her for a moment to acknowledge her.

  She rose up off the sofa and nodded at him with a smile. “I’ll do that. Thank you so much, again. It really means the world to me.” It had taken her breath away to feel him so close to her, but she forced herself not to think of it, and she moved quickly toward the door, opening it and waving to him as she hurried out.

  Connor dropped his head into his hands and groaned when the door was closed. Guilt crashed through him and he sighed in frustration as he stood up and walked over to the windows in his office. He opened two of them; tall graceful old windows that held old glass and were framed in time weathered oak.

  As he gazed out of them, he saw her crossing the lawn in front of the building, and he watched her walk so gracefully, almost gliding, the sun reflecting off her hair and skin. He sighed again and lifted his hand to the window pane, leaning his forehead against it as she got further from him.

  He could not have her. He could not wish to have her, or want her. She was off limits and desiring her was out of the question. He made himself think those thoughts over and over, like a mantra that he was determined to make himself believe. He vowed to respect her and remain committed to his position at the school. He’d never had any kind of romantic or inappropriate feelings for any student before at any time, and he was determined that this anomaly of desire for her was not going to get the better of him.

  He remained at the window, watching her until she vanished from sight, and then he closed the window and told himself that he had to focus with laser beam intensity on the work they would do in the week ahead, and nothing else.

  Chapter2

  Catalina could hardly sleep the night before their trip, for several reasons. First and foremost, she was completely elated to be going for the work. Second to that, and only slightly so, was that after her visit with Connor in his office, she had struggled to keep him out of her thoughts and off her mind.

  Moments that had happened between them kept returning to her; the brush of his arm against hers, the quickened heartbeat when he turned and looked into her eyes, the feel of him in her arms and up against her body when she had hugged him, and so many other brief, fleeting, powerful moments with him that continued to make her breathless when they crossed her mind, over and over, hours after they had passed.

  She didn’t know where the building attraction was coming from, only that she couldn’t let herself feel anything of the kind for him during their upcoming trip. She was going to be alone with him on the trip for four days. She tossed and turned in her bed the night before they were to leave, struggling to keep bold romantic thoughts from developing in her mind.

  Every time she closed her eyes, her mind would lead her to imaginings, such as what it would have been like if she had turned her face toward his and kissed him on the cheek when she was hugging him, wondering if he would have pulled away or turned to kiss her in return.

  Such thoughts gave her a long and restless night, and combined with the excitement of the trip, she was left with very little sleep at all. It was dark and cold when she slipped out of her front door with her suitcase in her hand. Her coat was done up around her, and her face was buried in a thick scarf with only her steel blue eyes peeking out above it.

  She pulled her car away from the curb, waving at her father, Harold, who was standing in the window with a solitary light shining behind him. He waved back at her as he stood there in his old flannel pajamas, watching her leave with a worried look on his worn and tired face.

  He’d knocked on her bedroom door an hour earlier to wake her with a hot breakfast and coffee, but she was already awake. He didn’t say much while she ate, which was his customary manner. He wasn’t a man of many words, but he showed all of his thoughts and feelings through his actions. She knew that he was worried about her; the crease on his forehead between his eyes was deep, and his eyes were downcast much of the morning. She suspected that he hadn’t gotten much sleep, either.

  He’d taken most of her bags out to the car and started it for her so it would be warm when she got into it. She glanced over at the passenger seat and saw a cardboard box filled with food and two thermoses of coffee. She smiled and shook her head. Her father loved her more than just about anyone in the world. He did everything he could to take care of her, and though they didn’t have much, she never went without. She was always his first priority, before himself, before anyone.

  She reached the college campus and parked her car in the student parking area where Connor had asked her to meet him. They were taking his car and leaving hers there so she’d have a way home when the trip was over. It had been one small way he was trying to keep things strictly business between them.

  He was waiting for her when she got there, and it made her heart jump to see him as he stepped out of his car and gave her a wave and a smile. She felt warmth spread through her and she couldn’t stop the smile that formed on her face. Connor loaded her bags into his car and she put the box of food and coffee in the back seat and they both clicked their seatbelts and looked at one another.

  She felt a little nervous as their eyes met. This was it. This was the trip, the first real photojournalism job, and this was four days with Connor. She grinned at him. He reflected her excitement back to her with his own smile and looked her in the eyes.

  “Are you ready to go?” He raised one eyebrow.

  “Definitely! Let’s do this!” she said as she looked out the front windshield.

  He chuckled and drove them out onto the road. “So what’s in the box that you put in the back seat?” he asked a few minutes after they had gotten onto the highway.

  She turned to look over her shoulder at it. “Oh, well, that’s some food and coffee that my dad sent for us. He wanted to make sure that we had enough to eat. He worries. He was up this morning making all of that, and breakfast for me, so I know it will be good and it will be fresh.”

  He glanced over at her and gave her a surprised smile. “Really? That whole box is food?”

  She looked at it. It was a good sized cardboard box, and it was full. “It looks like it. I think we won’t need to stop anywhere to eat for the entire week.” She laughed a little and looked over at him. “There are two thermoses of coffee in there, would you like some?” she asked.

  He raised his eyebrows and drew in a breath. “Yeah, that sounds really good. Thank you. I’ll have to send a thank you note to your dad. That was really thoughtful of him to do for us.”

  Catalina smiled. “That’s my dad. Always taking care of me and my friends.”

  She poured him a hot coffee which he gratefully took, and then settled back into her seat. They’d been driving a short distance with the radio on when she looked out of the side window and smiled.

  “Look! It’s a paint pony. I love those. I think they are so pretty with their brown and white splotchy coats,” she said, lifting her camera up and snapping a few photos of the horse in his field as they drove past it.

  He laughed to himself and covered his mouth with his forefinger as he shook his head.

  “What’s funny?” she asked him curiously, looking over at him and feeling the warmth spread through her once more.

  “Oh, those horses always remind me of a prank I pulled when I was in college.” He laughed a little and took a sip of his coffee.

  “What happened?” she asked, turning a little in her seat and getting more comfortable as she watched him, ready to hear a story. She curled her legs up beneath her and rested her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, her blue gray eyes on him as he spoke.

  “Well, there was a guy in our group who was kind of egotistical, and he thought he was a little better than everyone else. I guess I should ask you if you know who Bev Doolittle is. Do you?” He turned to glance at her.

&nb
sp; She shook her head. “No, I don’t know who she is. Is she a friend of yours?”

  Connor laughed again. “No, but she might be, if she knew this story. Bev is an artist. She was really popular a while back. She did watercolor paintings of Native Americans and animals and mountains and prairies, and almost all of her paintings were in different shades of browns and white.

  “She would create these camouflage pictures of, for example, the side of a mountain, and at first glance, you would see trees and rocks and snow, a creek or waterfall maybe, sometimes a teepee, but when you looked closer, you would see faces of Native Americans and different animals hidden in the pictures; everything from rabbits to wild horses. It was all American frontier scenery. Sometimes the hidden people or animals were obvious, and sometimes you had to study them and look to find everything she had hidden in the picture.”

  Catalina laughed a little. “That sounds fun, but more like a brain game or something for 100kids,” she said lightly, her eyes steady on him, enjoying watching him drive and talk.

  “Oh, I’m sure kids enjoyed them, but they hit the art scene and interest in them from adults caught on like wildfire. Everyone loved Bev Doolittle. She did other pieces that were in multiple colors, but for a while, the bulk of it was done in browns and white. Anyway, so Scott had been going on and on about her work for weeks and he finally bought a print of one of her pieces. Now, keep in mind, this is just a print, it’s not an actual original.” He laughed and shook his head as the memories came back to him.

  “He got the print matted and framed and he hung it up in the condo he’d bought. He put up track lighting on the ceiling so he could shine the lights down on the print, and he wouldn’t let anyone come over until he had the whole thing set up, and then he threw a big party one Friday night so that everyone could come and bask in the glory of his new Bev Doolittle print.” He laughed again, and she could tell that the story was about to get good.

  “We all went, because obnoxious as he was, we were all friends. He stood there in front of that print with a wooden pointer that had a rubber tip on it, and he showed us where each of the hidden people or animals were, and a couple of our friends tried to point some out on their own, but he got so upset and shushed them, telling them not to say anything during his presentation, so we all had to stand there and watch him point out a couple of dozen animals, faces, and people in his print.

  “We were all so fed up with it by the end of the night. He wouldn’t let anyone touch the glass over the print, he insisted that anyone who looked at it after he got done showing us each thing, only use the wooden pointer that he had.” He bit his lip and chuckled.

  “So what happened?” she asked, watching him and knowing that there was more to the story. She loved the personal insight into his life; especially into his college days, which weren’t that far behind him.

  “Well, at the time, he was working as a ski instructor, and he had the party on Friday night, and then he had to leave for the weekend to go to the mountains to teach skiing. Luckily, his girlfriend was just as fed up with his Bev Doolittle obsession as the rest of us were, and she was only too glad to give me the keys to his place when I asked for them.

  “I promised her it wouldn’t be bad, but I did tell her I was pretty sure I could cure him of his elitist art snob attitude. So I went to his condo on Saturday after he left, and I took the Bev Doolittle print down and wrapped it up in an old blanket and slid it underneath his bed.

  “Then I took a Where’s Waldo card and wrote a simple little note in it. ‘Where’s Bev? Love, Waldo’, and I hung the card up on the wall where the print had been, right there under the track lighting.” He was belly laughing at that point, and Catalina loved it. She was laughing right along with him.

  “Oh no! That’s a terrible thing to do! What happened?” she asked in wicked delight.

  He shrugged a little. “Well, he came back from his skiing weekend on Sunday and found Waldo on the wall and lost it. I’ve never heard him so mad. He was ready to call the police and file a report, he was sure his print had been stolen. He called me up, and several of our other friends, and was just sure he’d been robbed.

  “It was so hard to keep a straight face while he was so angry. We tried to tell him that it wasn’t worth calling the police over because it was just a print, not an original, and you’d have thought we’d just shot a puppy. He was so appalled with us. One of our friends started calling it The Precious, after the ring in Tolkien’s stories.

  “Anyway, none of us said anything and he finally found the picture, though it took him two days. He didn’t speak to us for a couple of weeks after that, but he also didn’t go on and on about Bev anymore either, so it worked out well.”

  She laughed with him and shook her head. “I can’t believe you did something like that!” she scolded him in a joking way.

  He shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t always a college professor. There were younger, wilder days, you know.”

  She nodded and turned herself back around, stretching her legs out before her. It had gotten warm in the car and she maneuvered to peel her coat off, revealing the form-fitting sweater dress she was wearing. It was a light lavender cashmere that made no secret of the shapes it covered, but at the same time, offered no direct view of her skin, except where the hem laid just above her knees. She knew that it looked good on her, and she had chosen it specifically for the trip, though she felt a little guilty about it, but not enough to leave the sweater dress at home.

  Connor glanced over at her as she arched her back, pulling her coat off, and he sucked in his breath quietly as his eyes drifted to the soft material hugging her breasts and her legs. He turned his head sharply and looked out of the front windshield, gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands. It was too late though, tightness and heat pulled at his stomach and his groin, and he looked out of the driver’s side window trying to focus on anything that might get her body off of his mind.

  He was quiet, trying to concentrate on the road when she turned to look at him, her eyes seeming to pick up a hint of the lavender color she was wearing. “You might have been mischievous back in your college days, but I think you’ve settled down since then,” she said with a smile at him.

  She wondered why he looked so uncomfortable and she offered to turn the heat down in the car. He nodded and pulled his own coat off, making her hold her breath and bite down on her lower lip as she saw the collared sweater that he was wearing; it clung to his solid torso like a lover. She let her eyes travel along the lines of his chest, shoulders, and arms before turning her face away from him and trying to still the butterflies that danced in her stomach.

  He gave a half-smile. “Well, I wouldn’t call it mischievous; I think that’s being a bit generous. It was more like scandalous, but at least I graduated with enough credibility that I was able to work for a while in the field and then go back and teach what I had learned.”

  She nodded. “I’m glad you did. I’ve learned so much from you, and I learn more every time you start talking about photojournalism, so it’s good that you did what you did, because it’s enabling me to do what I do.”

  He shrugged. “You could have learned all of it from another photojournalism teacher if I hadn’t been there.”

  She shook her head. “No, I learned a lot more than just technique from you, Connor. I’ve had the opportunity to meet a lot of other photojournalists over my time in school, and there isn’t anyone else I would rather have had teaching me, than you. You’re the best, plus you’re my favorite teacher and my advisor, so I’m glad and grateful that you did what you did to get where you are.”

  He felt his cheeks warm slightly and he turned toward her for a moment, smiling. “That’s really sweet, Cat, thank you.” He spoke softly, using the nickname that her friends called her. It was rare that he used it, in fact, he only used it in moments of closeness between the two of them, which had become increasingly often.

  She smiled and looked back out of the window,
and then frowned and blinked. “Oh my gosh, is that snow?” she asked, looking at the countless flurry of white specks around the outside of the car. The flakes had seemed to come out of nowhere, and what was nothing more than a cloudy sky had suddenly and almost instantly become a thick cloud of snowflakes all around them.

  He sat up straight in his seat and looked out around them carefully. “Yeah, that’s a snowstorm. I checked the weather. The weatherman said there was a twenty percent chance of light snowfall.”

  “Twenty percent?” she asked skeptically as she stared at the flakes that were getting fatter and heavier all around them.

  “Well, you know… weathermen are paid whether they are right or not. He could have said any number and we’d still be driving through this.” He pursed his lips and peered at the thickening flurries around them. “I’m sure we’ll just pass through it.” He dropped his speed down a little for safety.