Second Chance

by Gena Showalter

  “Feeling good, son. Feeling good.”

  Daniel noted the color in his cheeks and breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever had caused the old man to pale around Vandercamp must not be a problem anymore.

  Since Daniel was here, he might as well work. “I’m going to finish installing the cameras inside.” Considering how much time his dad spent at the salon, he’d decided to monitor the shop, free of charge.

  When Daniel had first mentioned putting in a security system, Anthony had said, “In all my years, I’ve never been robbed.”

  Daniel had replied, “You were robbed, you just didn’t know it. Every time I visited, I stole the hearts of your customers.”

  That had settled that.

  “If you want, I can go buy you guys a box of tampons first,” Daniel said now.

  Virgil spewed a drink of iced sweat tea. Anthony snorted and slapped his knee.

  “You calling us women?” Virgil demanded.

  “And insult women? No, sir.” Daniel shook his head. “I’m calling you puss—”

  “Hey, hey. Is that any way to talk to your father?” Anthony asked.

  “Pussycats,” Daniel finished.

  Virgil snorted. “For your information, we’ve been detecting.”

  Detecting, huh? “What mystery are you trying to solve?”

  “Well, it’s like this.” Anthony moved a red checker into a new box. “Dottie Mathis—you know her, don’t you, boy?”

  Every muscle in his body tensed. Had they heard something?

  No, no. They couldn’t have heard anything. After all, there was nothing to tell. They were just playing matchmaker.

  Tread carefully. “I do know her. She’s my friend. And she prefers her given name. Dorothea. You hurt her feelings every time you call her Dottie.”

  Anthony looked properly horrified. “I never meant to hurt no one’s feelings.”

  “Why didn’t she say nothin’ to us?” Virgil tossed up his hands.

  Daniel hiked a shoulder in a shrug.

  Anthony cleared his throat and pulled at his shirt collar. “Dorothea was passing out flyers this morning. A position has opened up at the inn, you see, because she fired her sister.”

  “And…” Daniel prompted, doing his best to hide his insatiable curiosity that had nothing to do with her reasons for firing Holly.

  The girl had checked him in on multiple occasions without ever speaking a word to him. She’d merely glared at him, as if he’d threatened to torch the place.

  When he’d asked her, “Have I done something to offend you?” she’d popped a bubble in his face.

  “And she squealed when she spotted me. She even tried to run away.” Virgil gave Daniel the stink eye. “I had to clutch my heart and holler for help to get her to come back. Poor thing wouldn’t meet my gaze, and it got me to wondering. Did something…maybe…happen between you two?” he asked with a glint of hope in his expression.

  This. This was the very circumstance he’d wanted to avoid. Getting his dad’s hopes up, only to watch the old man’s features darken with disappointment.

  “Women,” he said, as if that one word explained every mystery in the universe. “Nothing happened between us.” And that was the absolute truth. Nothing had happened…yet.

  “A good sweet girl, our Dot—Dorothea.” Detective Virgil moved a checker across the board, watching Daniel from the corner of his eye. “She’ll make someone very happy.”

  Tread—carefully. Expression blank, he said, “Yep, she’s as sweet as sugar.” In more ways than one. “And you’re right. She’ll make someone very happy.” His stomach suddenly clenched with…something he wasn’t ready to name. He patted his dad on the shoulder, momentarily taken aback by the seeming brittleness of bone. “I better get to work.”

  Jude and Brock arrived a short time later, and as they helped install the cameras, they quietly doled out more deets about Thea’s ex. Employees whispered about an upcoming promotion that would launch Jazz Connors, the storm chaser, into a prime-time in-studio position.

  No accounting for taste.

  Jazz’s relationship with his coworker had, by all accounts, started while he was married and ended roughly two weeks ago.

  The affair had most likely wounded Thea’s feminine pride. She’d probably come to Daniel—whom she’d wanted since high school, thank you very much—for a self-esteem boost. Instead, he’d knocked her down another couple of pegs.

  Despite his apology, a fresh tide of guilt eroded his newfound confidence. What if he’d hurt her too deeply? What if he couldn’t win her?

  No. No! He would show her how much he wanted her. With his mouth and his hands. Words would never be enough.

  “What’s this?” Jude snatched up a piece of paper next to a hair dryer. “Our little Dorothea is in need of a receptionist?”

  My Dorothea, he almost snapped. Mine. All mine.

  Brock snickered. “A second job could do me some good, teach me a few hard lessons about responsibility. Maybe I’ll apply at the inn. And by ‘maybe’ I mean definitely.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Daniel grated.

  His friends looked at him, then each other, then Brock laughed and Jude snorted. A second later, the bastards raced out of the shop. Jude’s prosthetic gave him a slight limp, but it didn’t slow him.

  “Assholes,” Daniel muttered and gave chase. “I’ll be back, Dad.”

  The pair blazed down the sidewalk, pushing and shoving each other before rounding the corner and soaring into the inn. Daniel remained close on their heels.

  Thankfully, school was in session and there was no sign of Holly. “Hello?” Brock called.

  Silence. No sign of Dorothea, either. And no sign of Mrs. Hathaway, who usually slept behind the desk whenever she was on duty.

  Daniel looked around. The spacious lobby was clean but worn. The laminate countertop blocking patrons from the desk had a crack in the center. The carpet had several threadbare spots. However, the chandeliers were new and probably worth thousands. Did Thea know Daniel had helped Jessie Kay pick them out?

  Jessie Kay had wanted to say thank you for hosting her then-boyfriend’s company Christmas party last minute but hadn’t known what to buy.

  Thea needed a camera in here STAT. Multiple cameras, actually, to monitor the entire area and deter thieves.

  He could connect the feed to her cell phone, allowing the cameras to act as a secondary receptionist. That way, she could use the new employee to help her clean all those rooms, rather than manning the desk with a snoring Mrs. Hathaway, freeing up precious time.

  Time she could spend with Daniel.

  Whenever the front door opened or someone entered the lobby, her phone would beep or buzz, and she could send the employee to take care of things.

  Yes. He liked this idea. It might take a week or two to get the parts. Until then, Daniel could help her out…

  “Dorothea,” Brock bellowed. “Someone? Anyone?”

  “I’m here, I’m here.” A harried Thea raced into the lobby.

  Daniel experienced a swift gut punch of lust. Multiple curls had slipped from the knot on top of her head and now framed her face. Perspiration caused her skin to glisten as if she’d taken a dip in a glitter-filled hot tub. Her shirt pulled tight over plush breasts he longed to palm.

  Her shamrock eyes found Daniel, and a little gasp left her.

  How is she more beautiful every time I see her?

  “I’m, uh, sorry for the wait,” she said. “How can I help you?”

  He made the introductions and said, “They’d each like a room.” Then he glared at both men. “Wouldn’t you?”

  Brock smiled an unrepentant smile.

  Jude pursed his lips before giving a clipped nod.

  “Really?” The
a brightened. “I mean, of course. Let me check to make sure we have vacancies.”

  As she typed, Brock propped his elbows on the counter and leaned forward. “So you’re the infamous Dorothea Mathis. Daniel has mentioned you a time or twenty. Now I understand why.”

  The color drained from her cheeks, making her freckles stand out. As she focused on Daniel, she radiated anger and incredulity. “How could you!”

  Confused, he spread his arms, all innocence. “How could I what?”

  “Tell them about…about… Oh!” She type, type, typed, jamming her fingers into the keys. “They can stay. You can go.”

  “I didn’t tell them that. I wouldn’t. I won’t.” The memory belonged to him, and him alone.

  “And so the plot thickens.” Brock canted his head. “Tell us what, exactly?”

  Daniel punched him in the arm and said to Thea, “Before you sign them in under the names Shithead and Dickhead, I’d like to speak with you privately.”

  Brock nonchalantly replied, “Shithead is actually pronounced Sha-thead.”

  Thea frowned at Daniel. “No, thanks. Customers come before…whatever you are.”

  No way was she getting rid of him this time.

  “Yeah.” Jude nudged his shoulder in a very un-Jude-like move. “Customers come first.”

  “Then I’d like a room of my own,” Daniel announced. “As a paying customer, my happiness is now your top priority.”

  Thea stared at him, looking pouty, irritated and excited all at once.

  He reached out and curled his hand around hers, drawing another gasp from her—and a soft hiss from himself. A handful of calluses marred her palm, the friction sparking a thousand fires inside him.

  He could have used this heat every time he’d spent a cold, dark night in the desert, waiting for a target to appear.

  “As the owner,” she said, a catch in her voice, “I have the right to refuse potential patrons.”

  “I’m afraid I have to insist, Thea. On the room, and the conversation.” Before she could issue another refusal, he stalked around the corner and gently but firmly ushered her into the hall, out of view.

  That moment, that very second, he caged her against the wall and nearly forgot the reason he’d demanded the meeting. Those shamrock eyes were wide again, her irises glittering with challenge. Her lips were wet—she’d licked them.

  My turn.

  Not yet, not yet.

  Her curves melted against him, the scent of her teasing his nose. His favorite scent in the world. She’d added vanilla to the mix this time.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, deliciously breathless.

  Besides drinking her in and wishing he were already inside her? “For starters, I’m blackmailing you.”

  She gulped. “To blackmail, you have to have leverage. You have none.”

  “Don’t I?” His gaze slid over her slowly, languidly, and she shivered. “You came to my room naked, sweetheart. I’d say I’ve got major leverage.”

  Before his eyes, her nipples beaded. She pressed her legs together, as if she couldn’t assuage a sudden ache.

  That gut punch of lust? Merely the first round.

  This time? TKO.

  “One, you have no proof,” she said, her voice a rasp of silk. “Two, you don’t want your dad to know.”

  “One, I don’t need proof. It’s my word against yours. Two, my dad will commend me for acting like a gentleman and sending you away.” Virgil would also slap him upside the head and mention all the pretty babies Daniel could have with the Strawberry Valley girl.

  “You…you…” She beat her little fists into his shoulders, a catapult of feminine fury. “You better keep quiet. You said you’d never tell.”

  “And I never lie. But I do change my mind upon occasion.”

  The pulse at the base of her neck raced, just as before. “Why are you doing this?” she asked softly.

  “I told you,” he said, and gentled his tone. Just how deep did her hurt and insecurities run? “I’m desperate for you, which means I can’t play by the rules. So. To buy my silence, you’ve got to date me.”

  “What!”

  “Let me clarify. You’ve got to go on five dates with me.” Good number. Too few, and he’d get nowhere fast. Too many, and it would be tough to convince either of them he wasn’t interested in something long-term. “I’ll pick the days, times and locations. I’ll even pick what you wear,” he said, fighting a smile. Let her worry about changing the details of their dates rather than canceling altogether.

  “Are you freaking kidding me? No way, no how.”

  “Let’s negotiate, then. What do you want? Ten dates?”

  She sputtered for a moment. “No, I don’t want—”

  “Ten dates, and I’ll work here free of charge for a week, so you can search for Holly’s replacement without worry.”

  Her mouth snapped closed, and she rubbed the spot above her heart, where her tattoo was hidden underneath her shirt. This wasn’t the first time she’d performed such an action. What did the image mean to her?

  Images always meant something. Jude had gotten a tattoo of a heart with daggers on his chest to memorialize his wife and daughters. Brock had sparrows tattooed on his shoulders, though he refused to talk about why.

  “Five dates,” Thea said, “for five weeks of work.”

  Playing right into my hands… “Five dates, three weeks. But I have to take this Friday and the next two weekends off. I have jobs in the city.”

  Surprise flickered over her expression. Because he’d upped the ante? “Three dates, three weeks,” she said. “That’s only fair.”

  “How right you are. Very well, then. You’ve got a deal. I’ll even help you find Holly’s replacement. But your flyer requires a few more qualifications. Like being kind to customers, not chewing gum while talking on the phone and not drawing severed heads on the bills. Oh, and the ability to type legible sentences rather than a series of symbols and emoticons.”

  “Holly doesn’t—Never mind.” Thea’s fists opened and, as she dropped her arms to her sides, her fingertips traced the center of his T-shirt, snagging in the cotton. “What if I can’t find a suitable replacement within the three-week time frame?”

  I won’t rock my throbbing erection between her legs. I won’t… “I’ll work an extra week or two, depending on my schedule, to give you whatever time you need, and for every extra week, you’ll give me another date. Or two. We can renegotiate if it becomes necessary.”

  The surprise deepened. She softened against him. He stepped back—perhaps the most difficult thing he’d ever done—and held out his hand.

  “Deal?”

  She peered at the offering before smiling up at him with a feline confidence she’d never before displayed. “You think we’re done with our negotiation, don’t you? How cute.”

  A sizzling bolt of lust sent him stumbling another step backward. What had caused the change?

  Did it matter? If he touched her again, he would kiss her. If he kissed her, he would strip her. If he stripped her, he would take her against the wall. Damn the consequences.

  The official motto for this girl.

  “I’ll pick the days, times and locations of our dates.” Just to be contrary, he was sure, she added, “I’ll also pick what you wear. And you can’t tell anyone about anything that happens between us. Not even your friends.”

  “You’ll control one of the dates,” he said, his tone firm. “I’ll control the other two. And I won’t breathe a word about us to anyone.”

  “Well, of course you won’t!” she snapped.

  He blinked with confusion. She was ticked that he’d given her exactly what she’d asked for?

  “You won’t tell anyone…unless you change your mind, right?” she added
.

  “Trust me.” Please. “I won’t change my mind.”

  She crossed her arms over her middle in a clear effort to hide her beaded nipples. “I’ll control two dates.”

  And insist he wear a hazmat suit? “One date with you in charge,” he said, “and you can double my room fee tonight. And Jude’s and Brock’s.”

  Dollars signs practically flashed in her eyes, and he had to swallow a laugh.

  “Fine. But while you work here,” she said, “I get to refer to you as my he-ceptionist.”

  “Assistant,” he countered. “Or favorite person in the world.”

  Eye roll. “And just so you know, he-ceptionist, nothing is going to happen between us on those dates. You’re going to a lot of trouble for no reason.”

  “Oh, something will happen between us, guaranteed. Desire as strong as ours can’t be denied for long.” He did touch her then. The warmth and satin of her cheek. Took every bit of strength he possessed, but he didn’t allow himself to press closer to her…or kiss her. “But guess what? Spending time with you is reward enough. You, Thea Mathis, are sweet, intelligent, witty and charming.”

  A tremor swept through her. Her breathing turned shallow.

  Triumph overtook him. “So? Do we have a deal or not?”

  She closed her eyes, her shoulders rolling in. “We…do.”

  If he weren’t such a self-possessed man, her reluctance might have hurt him. But he was, and it didn’t.

  Even still, his tone contained a bit of bite as he said, “Why so gloomy? If you don’t want me, you’ll have no problem resisting me.”

  She studied him. Understanding passed over her exquisite features, and compassion wasn’t too far behind—compassion that ripped up his freaking heart because it spoke of all the times she’d been rejected in her life.

  “You are a wonderful man, Daniel.” How kind she sounded now. How contrite. “You just aren’t the one for me.”

  “I don’t have to be the one.” Determined to regain the advantage, he held out his hand, and this time, she took it. Calluses…friction. He brought her knuckles to his mouth and ran his tongue over the ridges. “I just have to be the one right now.”