Can't Hardly Breathe

by Gena Showalter

  Been there, done that.

  What had a lot better odds of success: the local tackle shop selling bait and calling it sushi.

  A hard knock sounded, jolting her. She ripped out her earbuds and spun. A common occurrence lately. This time she had to swallow a yelp or a moan, she wasn't sure which. Daniel had pushed her cart aside, giving her a full frontal view of masculine perfection. His black tee stretched across wide shoulders and hugged well-defined biceps while his dark jeans did naughty things to his lower body. The wind had left his hair in charming disarray, and her fingers ached to comb through the strands. His beard stubble had grown thicker, making him look rough, tough and bad to the bone.

  He looked so danged good, like a sexy outlaw who followed no rules but his own...and he was seeing her in her scrubs and without a speck of makeup.

  Oh, what the heck did it matter? She no longer had any interest in catching his attention. Did she?

  She lifted her chin, all drink me in--but don't you dare touch.

  Daniel smiled at her, slow and devastating and utterly wicked. Pleasure unfurled deep inside her, delicious warmth spilling through her whole body.

  He held a large bouquet of dew-kissed roses. One of every color, with the exception of pink, which had two buds.

  The moisture in her mouth dried, and she shook her head. The roses couldn't be for her. He couldn't know what that particular flower meant to her.

  And according to Lyndie and Ryanne, flowers were cliche, a generic gift given without much thought for the recipient.

  "Hello, Dorothea."

  "Hi." To mask her sudden cascade of tremors, she ripped the sheets from the bed. Cooter Bowright had checked in last night and, though he didn't know it, he'd competed with Daniel for the title of Worst Guest Ever, wrecking the room. "Holly mentioned you wanted to speak with me."

  "Among other things." The huskiness of his voice proved to be a weapon as powerful as any touch. "These are for you. I thought your favorite color might be pink, because of your tattoo, but decided to cover all the bases, just in case, because of your fingernails." He walked around her, placed the flowers on the nightstand and helped her fit the clean sheet around the edges of the mattress.

  The roses are for me. And he noticed my tattoo and my nails. Goose bumps spread from head to toe.

  Dang him! "They're beautiful." Like my curves? "Thank you," she muttered. She gathered the supplies she needed and headed to the bathroom. A hint for him to leave.

  Hinges squeaked. Then a soft snick sounded. Then an ominous click. She sucked in a breath. He'd just shut and locked the front door, hadn't he?

  He appeared in the bathroom doorway and crossed his arms over his chest. Before she could protest, he said, "You smell amazing, like lavender and...what's the other scent?"

  "Scents. Sweet marjoram and ylang-ylang. I like blending essential oils." Those particular scents happened to be known for relieving stress...and stoking desire. Which had nothing to do with her choice to basically soak herself in them. Of course.

  "I like you. I want to start over with you, Dorothea. I want to go on a date with you, get to know you better."

  Her heart leaped with excitement... "What about your dad?"

  "We'll have dinner in the city. He'll never know."

  ...only to fall into her ankles.

  There was no denying the truth any longer. She still wanted Daniel. Actually, she wanted him more than ever. He hadn't just called her curves beautiful; he'd backed up his words with actions; he'd chased her, bringing her a gift. Something Jazz had never done. And she understood Daniel's reasons for wanting to hide their association from his dad. She really did. But that understanding failed to soothe the fears and hurt his answer had sparked. What if, deep down, he was simply ashamed of her?

  What if he only liked the challenge she represented?

  For a moment, only a moment, Dorothea allowed herself to ponder what things would be like if Daniel were proud of her. They'd go to dinner, but not in the city. No, he would surprise her with a picnic in the middle of Strawberry Valley. Then they would go hiking. Oh! Bowling. They would trash talk, of course, and decide the winner would receive a bone-melting kiss...in the location of his or her choosing.

  "One date," he said. "Give me a chance."

  "No, thanks," she croaked. "I'm not interested." The words resounded inside her head, shaming her. Lies were Jazz's thing, not hers. "Fine. I'm interested, but what I want isn't what I need. I won't date you."

  He listened to her without reaction, seeming to ponder her words. "Tell me why."

  "Why?" she parroted like a fool.

  "Are you afraid I'll hurt you?"

  "I know you'll hurt me." As soon as he finished with her, her hard-won self-esteem--if she had any left--would take yet another beating.

  His gaze hardened, pinning her in place. "If we discuss the terms of our relationship up front, the chances of either of us getting hurt diminish significantly."

  Please! As if she would ever be able to hurt him. "We wouldn't have a relationship, not really. And I can already guess your terms. One, we'll sleep together and never speak again. Two, see term number one." And oh, wow. The bitterness in her tone astounded her. She had once demanded he have a one-night stand with her, zero strings. Now she hated him for offering the same to her?

  When had she become such a hypocrite?

  "We'll sleep together once...twice...a dozen times." He hiked a shoulder in a shrug. "The number is negotiable as long as we both accept where the relationship--because yes, we'd have one--is headed. But why must we never speak again?"

  "A dozen times?" She struggled to breathe. And she understood where the "relationship" would be headed, all right. Nowhere.

  "Or more," he said. "Like I told you, I'm flexible. I'm also waiting for an answer to my question. Why must we never speak after we have sex? I happen to like speaking with you."

  He did?

  Thou shalt compliment when merited.

  Red alert! Danger, danger.

  She cleared her throat. "Please don't take this the wrong way, Daniel, but I don't like speaking with you." Truth. Conversations with him tended to end disastrously for her.

  Again he gave no reaction, as if he'd expected resistance and had come prepared to forge ahead regardless. "I'm happy to do all the talking, then." He held out his arms, the last sane man in the universe. "See how easy I am to get along with?"

  Double dang him! He was too charming for his own good. No, he was too charming for her good.

  He tapped two fingers against the stubble on his chin. "I have a brilliant idea. Which happens to be the only kind of idea I ever have. Why don't we focus on getting to know each other today, and speak about sex tomorrow?"

  I'm not delighted by his persistence. And his ego is absolutely, positively not charming.

  She grabbed the glass cleaner and a new rag. See Dorothea fake nonchalance. "No way, no how."

  "All right, then, we'll talk about sex today."

  She nearly choked on her tongue as she faced the mirror. Her reflection had enormous green eyes and bright pink cheeks. Soft, open lips, ready to be kissed...

  Spray, spray, spray. Wipe, wipe, wipe.

  "I don't know about you," he said, the husky note back in his voice, "but I'm imagining you seated on that counter...naked."

  This. This was the tone he would use in bed. The one he would use to whisper into a woman's ear, driving her wild with raw, primitive passion.

  "Your legs are spread, and I'm--"

  "Fine!" she blurted out. "You can get to know me today. Okay? All right?" Anything to shut him up. If he continued to weave such an intoxicating picture, her resistance would shatter. She would end up in his arms, the consequences an afterthought. "What would you like to know?"

  His eyelids were heavy, almost drowsy. "For starters, what's your favorite color?"

  Spray, spray. Wipe, wipe. Could he see how fervently she trembled? "I like pink in the morning, blue in the afternoon and go
ld in the evening."

  The corners of his lips quirked up, as if a smile was attempting to sneak past his usual frown. "That's pretty specific. I would have guessed red, the color of your fingernails."

  "Well, my color favorites change according to the position of the sun. And the nail colors aren't based on what I like but on my mood."

  One of his brows winged up. "Please tell me red is for passion."

  She fought a smile of her own. "Nope. Red is anger. I don't actually have a color for--" She pressed her lips together. Crap! She'd basically admitted passion had no identifier and therefore no place in her life.

  He could have teased her. Or come on to her, flirting more obviously. Instead, he quieted, different emotions whirling behind his eyes. Intrigue. Desire. Confusion.

  "What do yellow and orange mean?" he finally asked. "Actually, tell me all the colors."

  Why not? "Yellow is hopeful, orange nervousness. Green is irritated, pink happy. Blue is sad, purple determined." She stopped, pressed her lips together. Sharing these details made her feel exposed. Wanting the spotlight taken off herself, she said, "What's your favorite color?"

  "Yellow. No matter the time of day."

  "Why?"

  "Because it's bright? Mellow?"

  "You don't know?" To her, yellow represented the rise of the sun. The start of a new day. A clean slate.

  "Never really thought about why. I like what I like." He crossed his arms, his biceps straining the tee. "How'd you get the nickname Dottie? Those adorable freckles?"

  "Adorable? As if! But yes, that's exactly why, and I hate it. I've always hated it."

  "I think it's endearing. More than that, Dorothea doesn't fit you. It's the name of a ninety-year-old crazy cat lady. So why have you stuck with it?"

  "Never really thought about why," she said, mimicking him. "I like what I like."

  His grin bloomed full force, causing her hormones to sing and dance with bliss. "Well, I'm a rebel, so I'm gonna mix things up and call you...Thea. Yeah. Thea. Short and incredibly sweet."

  She gulped. He was incredibly sweet. Feigning nonchalance, she said, "All right. I'll call you Danny."

  He laughed with delight. "Look at us. We've got pet names for each other already." Then his amusement died a swift death, his smile fading.

  Why the change?

  "Did you always want to run the inn?" he asked, switching gears.

  "No," she replied, and cringed. Her mother would be devastated if she found out Dorothea saw the job as, well, a job rather than a passion. "I wanted to be a meteorologist."

  "So why aren't you a meteorologist?"

  Let me count the ways... "It's a long story." Her guts churned as years of bad memories whisked through her mind.

  "No worries. I've got time."

  "Too bad. I've got no inclination."

  He thought for a moment, nodded. "That's fair. There are things I never share with others."

  "Never?" Not with anyone?

  "Never." Did he realize his gaze had glazed over, the color seeping from his cheeks? Did he know he was rubbing a small scar on his cheek?

  That scar...she thought she remembered his dad talking about Daniel's face being lacerated by shrapnel.

  Did his secrets have anything to do with his many missions overseas?

  She ran the rag over the faucet, the inside of the sink. "Did you always want to be in the military?" Wait. She had to stop asking him such personal questions. Nowhere in her Make Daniel Go Bye-Bye plan did she get to know him better.

  "As a little boy, I ruthlessly and relentlessly led my toys into war. Stuffed animals against action figures. I'd be working my way to general if my dad's health hadn't deteriorated."

  Her heart melted as she pictured little Daniel commanding his furry or plastic troops. She'd played with Barbies, sending them into rainstorms and tornadoes--the washing machine and the dryer.

  Red alert! Softening toward him...

  Okay, time to move the conversation along. "Now you run a security firm?" She exchanged the glass cleaner for bleach, a toilet brush and a pair of latex gloves.

  "Yes. With my friends Jude and Brock--have you met them? Good guys. They've been in town for a while."

  "I've heard of them but haven't officially met them." She spent most of her time here. When she did get out, she tended to keep her head down.

  "We do security for companies and individuals, setting up cameras, running background checks, offering cyber and even physical protection. We're full-service. We have offices in Oklahoma City as well, headed by former army rangers."

  So young, so successful. Like the women he preferred to date. "You guys are providing security for the spring festival, I hear. Though you probably should have declined. Half the women in town will end up catfighting just to get your attention." And she wasn't jealous about that. Nope. Not even a little.

  He snorted. "You have more faith in my appeal than I do."

  "Yes, well, I'm most excited about the food trucks." Everything from fried ice cream to fried butter. "I always allow myself a treat."

  Now he frowned. "Only one?"

  How had he locked on the singular? She soooo did not want to discuss her weight, but he'd asked a question and she needed to reply. "I'm on a diet," she muttered, and offered no more. She'd been on a diet for over a decade.

  Some days she dreamed of being trapped inside a candy store and never coming out. Oh, to die buried in a pile of M&Ms.

  "Why?" His gaze slid down, down her body and heated with...awareness and admiration? Her kryptonite. "I believe I mentioned the beauty of your curves."

  Maybe he believed those words. Maybe she was attractive in his eyes. But he would never be proud to date her. He would never want anything more than a lay or two.

  "I think we've gotten to know each other well enough to prove our incompatibility." With all the dignity she could muster, she pulled on the gloves and knelt in front of the toilet. "Please leave."

  CHAPTER SIX

  ANOTHER FAILURE. DANIEL wanted to punch a wall. Then he'd have to repair the hole he left behind, an excuse to spend more time with Dorothea. If she didn't run away from the maniac who'd thrown a temper tantrum.

  But what else was he supposed to do? The woman with lips made for kissing continued to turn him down flat.

  Forget playing chase for a few weeks. He would much rather have this woman in his bed, screaming "Yes, yes. Please, Daniel, please." Now and later.

  Not only because she made him laugh. Somehow affection overshadowed his memories of war every time he neared her. She intoxicated him. I'm already an addict. She made him want to give more than he took.

  Today, as he'd once again watched Thea dance while she cleaned, molten desire had consumed him, burning any lingering reluctance to ash, leaving him raw, agonized...vulnerable.

  She was like a priceless piece of art. The more he studied her, the more mysteries he uncovered--and the deeper depths his fascination reached.

  He loved that she painted her nails to match her mood; he planned to buy her a new shade ASAP. Something to represent passion.

  "Leave?" he finally said, his voice low. What'd a guy have to do to break through her defenses? "When I'm far from satisfied?"

  The most spectacular shade of pink bloomed on her cheeks. Screw yellow, I like pink. His fingers itched to touch her, to find out how warm her skin had become...to discover just how far the flush had spread.

  Keeping her back to him, she said, "Bad weather will hit in an hour or two. Go home, Daniel. I'm tripling room rates tonight."

  "Does the triple rate come with cuddle time?"

  Slowly she craned her head around to meet his gaze, and it was like something out of a horror movie. Scary as hell. And yet for some reason it made him want to smile.

  "No cuddles," she said, "but I can make sure your stay comes with a knee-to-crotch introduction."

  Do not laugh. "Yeah, baby. Talk dirty to me. Filthy."

  A giggle bubbled from her. Then sh
e sucked in a breath, as if shocked by her amusement.

  He stared at her, riveted by the sight of her glowing features, as addicted to the sight of her as he was to, hell, everything else about her. Arousal had simmered inside him all day. No, since she'd flashed him. Seeing her like this pushed him over the edge. He ached. He burned, and he shook.

  Somehow, just kneeling there, she was hotter and more inherently female than any woman he'd ever met.

  He balled his hands to prevent himself from doing something stupid, like reaching for her before she was ready. Her eyes were like open wounds right now, filled with uncertainty and fear.

  Did she fear her feelings for him, or did she just fear him? The things he was capable of... She must have heard rumors.

  "You really want me to go?" Ask me to stay. Please.

  She licked those porn-star lips, her pretty tongue leaving a glistening sheen of moisture behind. With her wealth of dark curls pinned to the crown of her head, he had a perfect view of her elegant neck. At the base, a pulse hammered wildly, a match to his. Desire like this...he'd never before experienced it. This was all-consuming. A fire in his bones. A drug in his veins. He was quickly becoming obsessed.

  "Yes," she finally whispered. A croak. "Go."

  The rejection was a brass knuckle punch of disappointment to the stomach. For the first time in...ever, he resented the need to chase a woman. He would rather have Thea in his arms, his mouth pressed against hers, his hands exploring her luscious body...her legs wrapped around his waist.

  He should kick his own ass for sending her away the night she'd shown up at his door. What could he do to make her willing again? Eager? To make her warm, sweet and languid.

  The moment she agreed, he would carry her to bed, and he wouldn't allow her to leave until she writhed with desire, the way she did in his dreams.

  He still wasn't able to sleep, but at least he now enjoyed the hours he spent lost in his head.

  "I'll be back," he told her. And this, he decided, was the last time he would allow either of them to retreat. "I won't give up on you. Or us." He walked backward, keeping her baby-doll features in his sights until the last possible moment. In her eyes, hope and longing replaced the uncertainty and fear. Did she want to be chased?

  I can chase the hell out of her.

  No man gave better chase.

  But first, he needed a plan. To plan, he needed more information. Who better to help him than Jessie Kay?