Can't Hardly Breathe

by Gena Showalter

  Nothing.

  "Is something wrong?" On alert, he scanned left...right... The hallway was empty, no signs of danger.

  As many times as he'd stayed at the inn, Dorothea had only ever spoken to him while cleaning his room. Which had always prompted his early-morning departures. There'd been no reason to grapple with temptation.

  "I'm fine," she said, and gulped. Her shallow inhalations came a little too quickly, and her cheeks grew chalk white. "Super fine."

  How was her tone shrill and breathy at the same time?

  He relaxed his battle stance, though his confusion remained. "Why are you here?"

  "I...uh... Do you need more towels?"

  "Towels?" His gaze roamed over the rest of her, as if drawn by an invisible force--disappointment struck. She wore a bulky, ankle-length raincoat, hiding the body underneath. Had a storm rolled in? He listened but heard no claps of thunder. "No, thank you. I'm good."

  "Okay." She licked her porn-star lips and toyed with the tie around her waist. "Yes, I'll have coffee with you."

  Coffee? "Now?"

  A defiant nod, those corkscrew curls bouncing.

  He barked out a laugh, surprised, amazed and delighted by her all over again. "What's really going on, Dorothea?"

  Her eyes widened. "My name. You remembered." When he stared at her, expectant, she cleared her throat. "Right. The reason I'm here. I just... I wanted to talk to you." The color returned to her cheeks, a sexy blush spilling over her skin. "May I come in? Please. Before someone sees me."

  Mistake. That blush gave a man all kinds of ideas.

  Besides, what could Miss Mathis have to say to him? He ran through a mental checklist of possible problems. His bill--nope, already paid in full. His father's health--nope, Daniel would have been called directly.

  If he wanted answers, he'd have to deal with Dorothea...alone...with a bed nearby...

  Swallowing a curse, he stepped aside.

  She rushed past him as if her feet were on fire, the scent of lavender strengthening. His mouth watered.

  I could eat her up.

  But he wouldn't. Wouldn't even take a nibble.

  "Shut the door. Please," she said, a tremor in her voice.

  He hesitated but ultimately obeyed. "Would you like a beer while the coffee brews?"

  "Yes, please." She spotted the six-pack he'd brought with him, claimed one of the bottles and popped the cap.

  He watched with fascination as she drained the contents.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist and belched softly into her fist. "Thanks. I needed that."

  He tried not to smile as he grabbed the pot. "Let's get you that coffee."

  "No worries. I'm not thirsty." She placed the empty bottle on the dresser. Her gaze darted around the room, a little wild, a lot nervous. She began to pace in front of him. She wasn't wearing shoes, revealing toenails painted yellow and orange, like her fingernails.

  More curious by the second, he eased onto the edge of the bed. "Tell me what's going on."

  "All right." Her tongue slipped over her lips, moistening both the upper and lower, and the fly of his jeans tightened. In an effort to keep his hands to himself, he fisted the comforter. "I can't really tell you. I have to show you."

  "Show me, then." And leave. She had to leave. Soon.

  "Yes," she croaked. Her trembling worsened as she untied the raincoat...

  The material fell to the floor.

  Daniel's heart stopped beating. His brain short-circuited. Dorothea Mathis was gloriously, wonderfully naked; she had more curves than he'd suspected, generous curves, gorgeous curves.

  Was he drooling? He might be drooling.

  She wasn't a living doll, he decided, but a 1950s pinup. Lead me not into temptation... She had the kind of body other women abhorred but men utterly adored. He adored. To his shock, and delight, a vine with thorns and holly was etched around the outside of one breast, ending in a pink rosebud just over her heart.

  He wanted to touch. He needed to touch.

  A moment of rational thought intruded. Strawberry Valley girls were off-limits...his dad...disappointment... But...

  Dorothea's soft, lush curves deserved to be touched. And licked. The freckles on her body were visible, the perfect treasure map for his tongue.

  I'll start up top and work my way down. Slowly.

  She had a handful of scars on her abdomen and thighs, beautiful badges of strength and survival. More paths for his tongue to follow.

  As he studied her, drinking her in, one of her arms draped over her breasts, shielding them from his view. With her free hand, she covered the apex of her thighs and, no shit, he almost whimpered. Such bounty should never be covered.

  "I want...to sleep with you," she stammered. "One time. Only one time. Afterward, I don't want to speak with you about it. Or about anything. We'll avoid each other for the rest of our lives."

  One night of no-strings sex? Yes, please. He wanted her. Here. Now.

  For hours and hours...

  No. No, no, no. If he slept with the only maid at the only inn in town, he'd have to stay in the city with all future dates, over an hour away from his dad. What if Virgil had another heart attack?

  Daniel leaped off the bed to swipe up the raincoat. A darker blush stained Dorothea's cheeks...and spread...and though he wanted to watch the color deepen, he fit the material around her shoulders.

  "You...you don't want me." Horror contorted her features as she spun and raced to the door.

  His reflexes were well honed; they had to be. They were the only reason he hadn't come home from his tours of duty in a box. Before she could exit, he raced behind her and flattened his hands on the door frame to keep her inside the room.

  "Don't run," he croaked. "I like the chase."

  Tremors rubbed her against him. "So...you want me?"

  Do. Not. Answer. "I'm in a state of shock." And awe.

  He battled an insane urge to trace his nose along her nape...to inhale the lavender scent of her skin...to taste every inch of her. The heat she projected stroked him, sensitizing already desperate nerve endings.

  The mask of humanity he'd managed to don before reentering society began to chip.

  Off-kilter, he backed away from her. She remained in place, clutching the lapels of her coat.

  "Look at me," Daniel commanded softly.

  After an eternity-long hesitation, she turned. Her gaze remained on his feet. Which was probably a good thing. Those shamrock eyes might have been his undoing.

  "Why me, Dorothea?" She'd shown no interest in him before. "Why now?"

  She chewed on her bottom lip and said, "Right now I don't really know. You talk too much."

  Most people complained he didn't talk enough. But then, Dorothea wasn't here to get to know him. And he wasn't upset about that--really. He hadn't wanted to get to know any of his recent dates.

  "You didn't answer my questions," he said.

  "So?" The coat gaped just enough to reveal a swell of delectable cleavage as she shifted from one foot to the other. "Are we going to do this or not?"

  Yes!

  No! Momentary pleasure, lifelong complications. "I--"

  "Oh my gosh. You actually hesitated," she squeaked. "There's a naked girl right in front of you, and you have to think about sleeping with her."

  "You aren't my usual type." He couldn't get involved with a Strawberry Valley girl and risk hurting his dad. No matter how badly he wanted the girl in question.

  She flinched, clearly misunderstanding his meaning.

  "I prefer city girls, the ones I have to chase," he added. Which only made her flinch again. Okay, what the hell was wrong with him?

  Tears welled in her eyes, clinging to her wealth of black lashes--gutting him. When Harlow Glass had tortured Dorothea in the school hallways, her cheeks had burned bright red but her eyes had remained dry.

  I hurt her worse than a bully.

  "Dorothea," he said, stepping toward her.

 
"No!" She held out her arm to ward him off. "I'm not stick thin or sophisticated. I'm too easy, and you're not into pity screwing. Trust me, I get it." She spun once more, tore open the door and rushed into the hall.

  This time, he let her go. Even though his senses devolved into hunt mode, just as he'd expected, the compulsion to go after her nearly overwhelming him.

  Resist!

  What if, when he caught her--and he would--he didn't carry her back to his room but took what she'd offered, wherever they happened to be?

  Biting his tongue until he tasted blood, he kicked the door shut.

  Silence greeted him. He waited for the past to resurface, but thoughts of Dorothea drowned out the screams. Her little pink nipples had puckered in the cold, eager for his mouth. A dark thatch of curls had shielded the portal to paradise. Her legs had been toned but soft, long enough to wrap around him and strong enough to hold on to him until the end of the ride.

  Excitement lingered, growing more powerful by the second, and curiosity held him in a vise grip. The Dorothea he knew would never show up at a man's door naked, requesting sex.

  Maybe he didn't actually know her. Maybe he should learn more about her. The more he learned, the less intrigued he'd be. He could forget this night had ever happened.

  He snatched his cell from the nightstand and dialed Jude, LPH's tech expert.

  Jude answered after the first ring, proving he hadn't been sleeping, either. "What?"

  Good ole Jude. His friend had no tolerance for bull, or pleasantries. "Brusque" had become his only setting. And Daniel understood. Jude had lost the bottom half of his left leg in battle. A major blow, no doubt about it. But the worst was yet to come. During his recovery, his wife and twin daughters had been killed by a drunk driver.

  The loss of his leg had devastated him. The loss of his family had changed him. He no longer laughed or smiled; he was like Daniel, only much worse.

  "Do me a favor and find out everything you can about Dorothea Mathis. She's a Strawberry Valley resident. Owns the Strawberry Inn."

  The faint click-clack of typing registered, as if the guy had already been seated in front of his wall of computers. "Who's the client, and how soon does he--she?--want the report?"

  "I'm the client, and I'd like the report ASAP."

  The typing stopped. "So this is personal," Jude said with no inflection of emotion. "That's new."

  "Extenuating circumstances," he muttered.

  "She do you wrong?"

  I'm not stick thin or sophisticated. I'm too easy, and you're not into pity screwing. Trust me, I get it.

  "The opposite," he said.

  Another pause. "Do you want to know the names of the men she's slept with? Or just a list of any criminal acts she might have committed?"

  He snorted. "If she's gotten so much as a parking ticket, I'll be shocked."

  "So she's a good girl."

  "I don't know what she is," he admitted. Those corkscrew curls...pure innocence. Those heart-shaped lips...pure decadence. Those soft curves...mine, all mine.

  "Tell Brock this is a hands-off situation," he said before the words had time to process.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  Brock was the privileged rich boy who'd grown up ignored by his parents. He was covered in tatts and piercings and tended to avoid girls who reminded him of the debutants he'd been expected to marry. He preferred the wild ones...those willing to proposition a man.

  "Warning received," Jude said. "Dorothea Mathis belongs to you."

  He ground his teeth. "You are seriously irritating, you know that?"

  "Yes, and that's one of my better qualities."

  True. "Just get me the details." Those lips...those curves... "And make it fast."

  CHAPTER THREE

  FOR THREE DAYS, Dorothea sported blue nails--for sadness--as she struggled to rebuild her decimated self-esteem with healthy living. She jogged an extra five miles every evening, the increase in oxygen making her feel stronger. Even smarter! She avoided sugar with the same indomitable willpower she used to tune out her sister's insults, improving her mood. And last but not least, she worked from sunup to sundown, taking pride in a job well done.

  Why should she care whether or not Daniel Porter desired her? He was shallow, and she had depth. She had shucked off her fears and gone after what she'd wanted, while he had clung to old habits. No regrets!

  To be honest, she was glad he'd turned her down. She'd never had a one-night stand, had only suspected she would despise running into Daniel after they'd hooked up. Now she knew beyond a doubt.

  They hadn't kissed or touched, but he'd seen her naked, and that was plenty bad enough.

  After she finished cleaning her last room of the day, she strode to her own, ready to gather her gear and run another five miles. No, she would run an extra ten miles tonight. The more she sweat, the more toxins she would expel and the better she would feel.

  When she reached the top of the stairs, she spotted Daniel in front of her door and froze. He was here. Why the heck was he here?

  The horror of her imagination had failed to do this first sighting justice.

  "Open up," he said, not yet realizing she stood behind him. "We need to talk."

  Talk? Face-to-face? Now?

  No. Not now, not ever. He looked too good. Good enough to devour. His dark hair stuck out in sexy spikes, and the thick stubble on his jaw suggested he hadn't shaved since their last interaction. A leather band covered each of his wrists, and his black tee hugged his muscular biceps, the cotton stretched to the max. Ripped jeans and steel-toed boots only added to his appeal.

  Meanwhile, she wore scrubs stained from a hard day's work. There wasn't a drop of makeup on her face, and several wayward curls had escaped the messy bun on the crown of her head.

  Oh, what the heck. An encounter had to happen sooner or later. They lived in the same small town, for goodness' sake. Why not get his apology over with? And that was why he was here, wasn't it? To apologize for his boorish behavior. So she looked her worst. So what? She would be checking a worry off her ever-growing list.

  Brave and strong, she took a step forward.

  Her knees almost buckled as the look of horror he'd donned when she'd dropped her raincoat constantly refreshed in her mind.

  Nope. Can't do this.

  Heart karate-kicking her ribs, she tiptoed down the steps. At the bottom, she leaped into a full-blown sprint, racing down the hall and through the lobby, the outdated decor making her cringe. The peeling wallpaper boasted strawberry vines that had faded just enough to look like dangling testicles. Anything wooden had nicks. Only the chandeliers were new, the gorgeous ruby and emerald crystals shaped to resemble wild strawberries. A Christmas gift from Jessie Kay West for hosting a last-minute party.

  Holly sat behind the reception desk and called her name. Dorothea skidded to a stop, willing to risk anything--even a confrontation with Daniel--to help her sister.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "Just wanted you to know I'm taking tomorrow off," Holly said.

  The good times never stopped. "Mrs. Hathaway has a doctor appointment in the morning, so I need you here." Tomorrow was parent-teacher conference day at Strawberry Valley High. For once, her sister could work an entire day, allowing Dorothea to attend in their mother's place. "Without you, I'll have to close the inn."

  "How cute." Holly popped a bubble as she stared down at her phone, her fingers dancing over the keyboard. "You thought I was asking for permission."

  "This is a family business, Halls. We--"

  "Aren't a family. We're strangers."

  Only five words, but they utterly shredded Dorothea. She whispered, "I want to be more. I'm striving to be more."

  "Well, you can quit that like you quit Strawberry Valley, college and your marriage. As soon as I graduate, I'm gone, and I'm not ever coming back."

  Dorothea swallowed a cry of despair, a countdown clock appearing in the back of her mind. Three months. She had thr
ee months to win her sister...or she would lose her forever.

  "I love you, Holly. I'll always love you."

  Her sister swiveled the chair in the opposite direction. Message received. The conversation had officially ended.

  "However you feel about me," she persisted, a lump growing in her throat, "you still have to work tomorrow."

  Silence. Thick, oppressive silence.

  Disheartened, Dorothea strode outside. The bell over the door tinkled, and cool air embraced her. She'd go...somewhere. She was New Dorothea, after all, and she would do something other than wallow.

  She made her way to the parking lot across the street. Her car keys--

  Were still in her room. Crap! She switched direction, heading for the town square. What she'd do when she got there, she had no idea. Every shop had already closed for the night.

  The scent of wild strawberries wafted from the fields that surrounded the entire town, resurrecting what should have been happy memories. As a child, she'd run through those fields, laughing merrily, untouched by troubles as her dad gave chase.

  He'd loved her then.

  At least, she'd thought he loved her. If he had felt the smallest bit of affection for her, he would have stayed in contact after he'd divorced Carol.

  For a long time, Dorothea had blamed herself for his abandonment. She'd wondered if her appearance or weight had disappointed him. But then, she used to blame herself for Jazz's infidelity, too. If only she'd worked harder to bring in more money, fixed her hair a different way, lost more weight, tried harder in bed, cooked better, offered more stimulating conversation, something, anything, she would have been enough.

  But the fault didn't rest on her shoulders. Even though she was the one constant in all her failed relationships.

  Fighting a wave of depression, she focused on the hodgepodge charm of her surroundings. Four-bulb lampposts illuminated historic buildings intermixed with modern ones. While the inn possessed the elegance of an antebellum structure, the local grocery store was housed in a metal warehouse with a tin roof. Across the street, a row of box-shaped homes contained a hardware store, a "gourmet" cafe, an antiques store and a dry cleaner. The theater had a copper awning, and gargoyles perched along a balcony.

  A whitewashed bungalow was home to Rhinestone Cowgirl, the town's premier jewelry store. Around the corner was Lintz Auto Shop. Just down the street was Strawberry Valley Community Church, a white stone chapel with massive stained-glass windows.