Second Chance

by Gena Showalter

  Her hands fisted. Someone needed to tell him a look like that made promises he couldn’t keep. And dang it, she hated that look almost as much as she loved it. It meant nothing to him but everything to her.

  “Dorothea,” he prompted, “did you run away from me?”

  Lying would lead to complications. How could she be expected to keep falsehoods straight when she could barely remember her name in this man’s presence? Still, there was no way she would admit to her cowardice.

  “What I did or didn’t do doesn’t matter.” As she spoke, she waved her hands through the air to punctuate each word. A bad habit she’d fought most of her life, whenever her emotions got the better of her. “Tell me why you’re here.”

  He closed what little distance separated them, and she backed up another step, then another, determined to remain at arm’s length. It wasn’t long before she smacked into a wall, and crap, he just kept coming until they were only a whisper apart.

  A dark, dangerous whisper…

  Her tremors redoubled as she breathed him in. He smelled like her favorite mix of essential oils: sandalwood, lavender and vanilla. And there was a good reason for that. She made soap as a special gift for the inn’s guests. A mistake, she realized now. She wanted to breathe him in forever.

  “I’m here for you.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth. Out came his tongue, licking away a smear of chocolate. “I want to take you back to the inn and give you that orgasm you asked for—plus a couple more.”

  What! He’s here to pleasure me?

  “I didn’t… I mean…” Wet heat branded her core. “You’re too late? Stop tasting me?” Questions? Really?

  “Mmm. You sure you want me to stop?” His voice deepened to a sensual purr. “Let me assuage my curiosity and find out if you’re this sweet all over. Let me see the exquisite body that haunts my dreams.”

  The—exquisite—body in question experienced a thousand different reactions at once, namely tingling skin, hardening nipples and a quivering belly. Ohhhh! Her blood began to sizzle in her veins.

  Daniel Porter had not just implied he wanted to go down on her…right? She was mistaken?

  “I don’t understand what’s happening,” she said.

  “Tell me you still want one night with me.” He kissed her knuckles, leaving a white-hot ember behind. “This time my answer will be yes.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HAVING BRAVED ENEMY territory in the bright light of day and in the dark of night, Daniel had learned to recognize the signs of impending danger.

  Dorothea was stiff as a board, her hands balled into fists. Tension crackled from her.

  Incoming!

  She beat at his chest. “You…you…prick! Three days ago, I wasn’t worth a pity screw, and now that you’re desperate for sex, you decide to turn on the charm, expecting me to thank you for the scraps you toss my way?”

  He took a moment to admire the pale blue paint on her nails. Adorable.

  He had a feeling he would like her nails even if they were puke green or bowel-movement brown.

  Ever since she’d flashed him, he’d been turned on, unable to turn off.

  Earlier today he’d walked past the inn. Through the window he’d seen her leaning over the reception desk, her pants pulled tight over her ass, and his decision to avoid her had crashed and burned. He would have paid any price to stand behind her, rub against her and hear her purr with satisfaction.

  Throughout the rest of the day, his desire for her had only grown.

  Time had had the opposite effect on her.

  “I’m sorry, Dorothea. I never thought of you as a pity screw, as you put it. You misunderstood, and the blame is mine. First, when I said you aren’t my usual type, I meant you are a Strawberry Valley girl. I’ve avoided locals ever since my dad learned about my friendship with Jessie Kay and started planning our wedding. I won’t disappoint him again. Second, I’m not desperate for sex right now. I’m desperate for you. Since you came to my room, I’ve done nothing but fantasize about your beautiful curves.”

  Her shamrock eyes went wide and her breathing quickened, but she said nothing.

  The past three days had been at times heaven and at others hell. He hadn’t slept, but he hadn’t tossed and turned as he usually did, either. Again and again, his mind had returned to Dorothea Mathis. To her incomparable body and the freckles he wanted to lick. To the eroticism of her movements. To her ability to make him laugh.

  Yes, miracle of miracles, she’d made him laugh. But he hadn’t returned the favor. No, he’d done the opposite.

  He needed to return the favor.

  “To be blunt,” he said, “sex is easily had. I can drive into the city and set up an assembly line of potentials in less than an hour.”

  It was true. No matter where you were, there were always people who craved some kind of connection, even if that connection was nothing but a mirage that lasted a single night. He would have felt sorry for the poor saps—if he hadn’t been one of them.

  “Dating for dummies, by Daniel Porter,” she muttered. “Step one. Don’t bother getting to know the other person, just get naked and screw the first available rando you find.”

  Rando? “The other night I didn’t hear you asking what I like to do in my spare time.”

  She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. Her shoulders stooped. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “I forgive you, Dorothea,” he replied without pause. “Now it’s your turn. Say, I forgive you, Daniel, and I would love to sleep with you. I think you’ll taste better than bacon.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and he tried not to smile.

  Then her sweet lavender scent intensified, as if she was somehow—purposely—attempting to lure him closer, and his good humor fled.

  Want her.

  He planted his hands on the wall, caging her in. Lust threatened to engulf him. Well, well. He’d never enjoyed pinning a woman in place—until now. Light streamed over his shoulder to bathe her delicate features. Tonight, she’d nixed the makeup, and he could have shouted with relief.

  “I’m not sure I believe your apology.” She chewed on her plump bottom lip, an obvious nervous habit, and he had to swallow a groan. “If you wanted to keep your women a secret from your dad, why stay at the inn, where anyone in town could witness your…rendezvous?”

  “His health is fragile. I stay close, especially at night. And I never flaunted the women. I sneaked them in and out.”

  She glowered at him. “I told you I wanted one night, nothing more. No one would have found out about our…whatever, especially your dad.”

  He glowered right back. “For all I knew, you planned to tell everyone in town the next morning.”

  “And you’re certain I’ll keep quiet now?” Her dry tone had edges so rough they could have cut the insides of his ears. “You know me better?”

  “Yes.” Jude’s report had come in about an hour ago. The final nail in the coffin for his control.

  Dorothea had been married to a weatherman who might or might not have cheated on her with a coworker. She had a grand total of zero social media pages, and no one in town or otherwise had ever posted anything about her love life.

  How Daniel interpreted the info: (1) she knew how to keep her relationships private and (2) his dad would never find out if Daniel spent the night with her.

  As soon as realization had struck, he’d rushed to the inn, then followed her trail to the Scratching Post. But in a moment of startling clarity, he’d understood just how deeply his rejection had hurt her. He wasn’t adorable to her. He was going to have to work for her.

  Game on.

  “How do you know me better?” she demanded.

  Admit he’d done a background check on her? Yeah, not gonna hap
pen. She would rage. Well, rage more. “Maybe I had a little sense knocked into me.”

  “Doubtful. As you previously admitted, you like the chase, that’s all, and I’m suddenly a challenge.” She gestured to the door with a trembling hand. “Leave. Please.”

  “Leave…or stay?” He brushed the tip of his nose against hers, and she sucked in a breath. “I know which one gets my vote.”

  Her gaze locked on his mouth. He thought—hoped—desire for him was rising inside her, a tide she couldn’t ignore. Then she flattened her chocolate-smeared hands on his chest and fisted his shirt to shake him.

  “You’re being nice to me, and I don’t like it,” she grated. “Stop.”

  “No, I don’t think I will. My momma told me I could catch more flies with honey.”

  “First, you realize you just likened me to a fly, right? Second, why would you ever want to catch one?” Her nose wrinkled at the sides. “FYI, you can also catch flies with a dead, rotting carcass. Your own, to be exact.”

  A laugh brewed in the back of his throat, astounding him. Clearly Dorothea had a superpower; the ability to amuse him, even while his body burned for hers.

  “I’d rather catch you,” he told her, his voice going low and husky. “Say yes, and I’ll spend the first hour in bed making you come over and over again, doing anything you want. Everything you need. The second hour, I’ll make the first one look like amateur night. By the third, there’s no place on your body I won’t have explored—no place you won’t ache for me.”

  “Hours?” She melted against him only to stop, blink up at him and bare her perfect pearly whites. “Look, I’m going to give you a bit of advice, okay? Most guys get lucky after they get to know the girl, but that isn’t a good strategy for you. Your face attracts us, but your personality repels us. Stay quiet, and you’ll stay lucky.”

  Ouch, that stung—mostly because it was accurate.

  He wrapped his fingers around her wrists and caressed his thumb over her racing pulse, internal wound forgotten as he marveled. Compared to his, her bones were small and delicate. Her skin radiated pure, silken heat.

  “Am I going to get lucky tonight?” he asked.

  Her gaze remained on their hands, where they touched. “No?”

  A question rather than a statement of fact. What sweet progress. “I’ll take your no as a maybe.”

  “Don’t. I—”

  “Too late. Besides, if I were in the habit of giving up easily, I would have died the time I took five slugs to the chest.”

  She gasped. “You almost died?”

  “Multiple times. Kiss my scars and make them better?”

  Now a strangled sound left her. “I… You—” She drew in a deep breath, slowly released it and visibly calmed. “You know what? Let’s never discuss this again. Next time we see each other, let’s pretend we’re strangers.”

  “Counteroffer. Let’s discuss this all night. Next time we see each other, let’s pretend we’re lovers and we’re allergic to our clothing.”

  Her lips pursed. “I’m not playing games with you, Daniel.”

  “Not yet.” He ghosted his knuckles along the curve of her jaw, relishing her softness and warmth. “But soon, I hope.”

  She leaned into him, realized what she’d done and batted his hand away. “Your sudden desire for me—”

  “Trust me, it isn’t sudden.”

  “—is insulting,” she finished. “Wait.” She shook her head, as if she needed to reset her brain and replay his words. “What?”

  Why not tell her about the first time? “I remember driving past your bus stop one morning back in high school. You were watching your feet as you kicked a pebble. The rumble of my truck’s engine drew your attention, and you glanced up, smiled shyly. You even blushed.” Just like now, this moment. “I got hard just looking at you.”

  “You did?” Wonder lit her eyes, the air between them charging with electricity. Then she growled and stomped her foot. “You haven’t changed. You always say the right things, building up a girl’s hopes, then you crush her with disappointment.”

  “Always? Name one other time I’ve crushed your hopes.” And he had changed. Losing loved ones had chipped away at his happiness. Killing enemy soldiers had left a stain on his soul, even though the government had sanctioned his actions.

  “In school you—”

  When she said no more, he prompted, “What?”

  “Never mind. If you want me now,” she said, “you’re going to have to prove it. And I don’t mean with a hard…you know.”

  “You know?” He snickered. “Say it. Tell me what it’s called.”

  “You don’t think I will? Fine.” Up went her chin. “Penis. Penis, penis, penis.”

  He laughed—again—and then she laughed. Their eyes met and they both quieted. Tension mounted quickly. Lightning strikes of sensation shot through him. Perhaps her body acted as a conductor; she jolted as if she’d just been hit.

  “You should go,” she croaked, stepping to the side.

  Leaving held no appeal, but there was a time for war, and a time for retreat. If he continued to push, he’d only orchestrate an ambush—for himself.

  “This isn’t over, Dorothea. We’ll talk soon.”

  “No, I—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips, saying, “Soon.” Then he left the apartment before she could contradict him.

  Outside, cool night air failed to temper the heat of his desire.

  He was used to being turned down by ice queens. At first. In the past, he’d always loved to romance a succinct no into an enthusiastic yes. But Dorothea wasn’t made of ice. She couldn’t be. She smoldered. And yet he suspected turning her no into a yes would be far more satisfying—even if he’d rather have her yes now than later.

  He climbed into his ’79 Chevy pickup and headed into town. Twelve years ago, he and his dad rebuilt the engine. The thing guzzled gasoline like Brock guzzled beer, but it was part of his family.

  Out of habit, or instinct, whatever, he parked in the lot across from the Strawberry Inn. Then he remembered he hadn’t rented a room tonight. Why not jog home and burn off a little excess energy?

  Couldn’t hurt. He exited, popped the bones in his neck and took off.

  By the halfway mark, his heart rate finally spiked for a reason other than desire or even his usual PTSD. Tension seeped from his pores, and his mind cleared of every thought but one. Since his honorable resignation from the military, he’d moved from one woman—or life raft—to another. Should he really drag Dorothea into his crazy?

  He remembered how sweet the chocolate tasted on her soft skin.

  Yes, he really should drag her into his crazy. Wasn’t like she had to stay with him. One night wasn’t a big deal. No harm, no foul. Although…

  Maybe he could convince her to give him two nights? Possibly a week. An aberration from his usual MO, sure, but she was an aberration. Someone he’d known since childhood. He shouldn’t just bang, bail and oh, well. And it wasn’t like she had her hopes and dreams pinned on a commitment. The night she’d come to him, she’d asked for sex, nothing more.

  A wealth of oak and hickory trees replaced the line of buildings. The tops seemed to reach the sky, shielding the golden glow of the moon. He—

  Snap.

  The sound of a breaking limb.

  Daniel dived to the ground, at the same time reaching for his Glock. Over the years, his eyesight had grown accustomed to the dark; he could now pick up details other people missed. Though he expected to see enemy forces marching closer…he saw a dog? He—she?—hobbled out from behind a bush, spotted him and froze, utterly petrified.

  He took a moment to breathe as his too-tight throat loosened. This wasn’t hostile territory. No threat advanced. But someone did need his help.

 
As he stood, the dog bolted, only to whimper and stop.

  Cooing in a gentle voice, hoping to soothe the animal, he closed the distance. A Chihuahua. He/she cowered and peed in the grass.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, little guy…girl?” Daniel used the flashlight app on his phone. Girl. Both of her back legs were mangled but scabbed. She’d been attacked, probably days ago.

  What had gotten her? Coyotes ran rampant out here. So did shit humans willing to use innocent animals as bait in a dogfight.

  Rage scalded him. Another whimper; she must sense the darkness of his emotions.

  Daniel breathed in, out, and forced himself to calm. He knew nothing about dogs, but he’d dealt with plenty of scared, wounded soldiers. Easing beside her, he started talking. He told her all about his day, even about Dorothea, allowing her to get used to his presence. After a while, she stopped cowering and weakly nuzzled his hand.

  Right—that—second. She broke his freaking heart. How long since she’d been petted? Or fed?

  His mother had been afraid of dogs, no matter their size, and he remembered one of his high school girlfriends complaining about her parents’ pet. Filthy creature, she’d said with a sneer. Always chews on my shoes and poops in my closet.

  Actions unhurried and measured, he picked up the dog, his grip as light as possible. She couldn’t weigh more than five pounds. He decided to take her to the local vet. Dr. Vandercamp lived a few streets away from his dad.

  “What’s your name, little girl?” She wore no collar. “I bet it’s something menacing like Killer or She-beast. You Chihuahuas are known for your tempers, right? Well, I’m going to call you Princess.” Nicknames mattered. Just ask Dorothea. Nicknames built you up or tore you down.

  Jude was once called Priest. While some soldiers had girlfriends in every port, he’d remained faithful to his wife. Happily so.