Can't Hardly Breathe

by Gena Showalter

  She nodded, clearly surprising him. "Of course I am. Now. I'm a challenge."

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Chasing a woman saves me from the horrors trapped in here." He gave his temple a series of taps. "It gives me a goal. A purpose. Nothing more, nothing less."

  I was right, she thought. She'd wondered if multiple overseas tours had affected him adversely, and now she knew. Yes, oh, yes. He used women and sex as a distraction...which meant he would always be searching for the next conquest.

  "With you," he said, "I don't want to chase. I just want."

  Softening...

  Fight this! "Um, knitting can give you a goal and a purpose, too," she said, a tremor in her voice.

  Daniel pursed his lips. "Have I mentioned you are more of an irritation than a challenge?"

  "Hey!"

  "You think the worst of me," he continued, "while I think the best of you."

  "What do you mean, the best?"

  "You are gorgeous, sexy, smart and kind. Amusing and enchanting."

  A hand fluttered over her heart. Her? Enchanting?

  Meanwhile, Brock pulled a Ryanne and pretended to gag.

  "I don't think the worst of you," she told Daniel, realizing she must have hurt his feelings. "You, too, are gorgeous, sexy, smart, kind and amusing." And yes, even enchanting, which was why she had to guard her reactions to him.

  And dang it, she'd been hard on him long enough, she decided. He'd messed up and said the wrong thing at the wrong time. So what? How often had she done the same?

  No more thoughts about using him. Instead, she would work with him.

  "We just want different things," she told him, and patted his hand.

  His eyes narrowed. "When you came to my room, you wanted--"

  "I know." She licked her lips. His gaze followed the path her tongue had taken, making her shiver. "But then I changed my mind. A pop and drop isn't enough for me."

  He blinked at her, incredulous. "A pop and drop?"

  "You know, a one-night stand. A hit-and-run. A bang and bail." Dorothea twined her fingers with his, ignoring the wonderful warmth and delicious friction that sparked between them. Daniel had scars. Jazz had smooth skin, and she'd thought she liked it, preferred it--until now.

  Fight!

  "You are a wonderful man," she said. "And I want to be your friend."

  A moment passed in crackling silence. Brock was forgotten. Heck, the rest of the world was forgotten. Adrenaline surged through her, as potent as any drug. Tension tightened her skin over aching bones.

  "I can't be your friend, Thea." His tone was grave.

  "But why?" A lance of disappointment and dismay cut through her. "You're friends with Jessie Kay."

  He flashed his teeth, his features twisted into a fierce scowl. "Yeah, but I don't want to sleep with Jessie Kay."

  *

  DANIEL WAS TRAPPED in a nightmare worse than any combat situation he'd faced.

  Thea had rejected him yet again. And she'd done it with unwavering certainty.

  He should have rejoiced. Talk about a new and intense challenge. Instead, he hurt. He fumed. Not only had she rejected him, she'd asked him to teach her to flirt--with other men. As if she needed to do more than bat those long black lashes or pout those lush red lips. Actually, showing up at a man's door wearing nothing but a raincoat would get her whatever she wanted. Only a grade-A asshole with shit for brains would turn her down.

  Did she have her sights set on Vandercamp? Probably. Damn it! Daniel's guts twisted into a thousand little grenades.

  "Let me put this another way. I don't want to be your friend, Thea." Her features darkened and fell, a sight he despised. Worse, she released his hand. "I want to be your lover."

  "But--"

  No buts! "You promised me two more dates, and I'm going to demand you keep your word." He had to shout to be heard as the live band began a new song. "If you want to give flirting a shot, go for it. I'll be honest and tell you what works and what doesn't. But know this. Where you're concerned, expect it to work, whatever it happens to be."

  She stared at him, as if confused.

  "Fluttering your lashes at me? Check. It works." In spades. "Next."

  "I wasn't... I was fluttering my lashes?" How pleased she sounded. How damned enchanting.

  Her eyes glittered as she smiled at him. A smile that should have been illegal in every state. It was dangerous. Too bright and far too hot--likely to cause localized swelling in men.

  "I'll attend the other two dates as promised," she said. "But we can't go out this Saturday or Sunday. I have plans. And I must emphasize, again, that I won't end up in your bed."

  "On the floor or in the car will be just fine." Her cheeks reddened, and like every time before, he found himself wondering, again, just how far the color spread. A mystery he had to solve. "What plans?"

  "Well." Nibbling on her bottom lip, she squirmed in her seat. "I...have dates."

  Absolute rage detonated inside him, shrapnel embedding in his heart. Both his jaw and hands clenched. "With whom?"

  The squirming got worse. "Brett Vandercamp and Jonathan Hillcrest, respectively."

  In the past, competition had excited Daniel. Right now he would gladly raze the entire world so that he and Thea could be alone, and the reaction stunned him. He felt this strongly, this quickly? Ridiculous! He'd gone years without giving the woman a second thought.

  But he'd since watched her dance and seen her naked. He'd laughed with her. Noticed the purity of her heart. Her kindness toward others. Her dedication to her sister. Her quirks--like her love of nail polish and rainstorms. Her heartbreaking vulnerability.

  If he somehow convinced her to cancel her other dates, she would grow to resent him. Maybe even wonder what she was missing.

  Stay calm. A successful mission started with a concrete plan.

  Step one: touch. He traced a fingertip over the rise of her cheekbone.

  She leaned into the touch, a bliss all its own. Then she straightened, her spine so rigid he feared she would snap in two.

  Step two: engage.

  "Why do you want to stop blushing?" he asked. "It's pretty."

  "No, it's even more embarrassing than whatever made me blush in the first place."

  Again he asked, "Why?"

  "Because... Just because! You wouldn't understand. You've been accepted your entire life."

  How often had she been rejected throughout her life?

  Step three: another touch paired with a compliment. He shifted, leaning toward her while brushing his knee against her thigh...loving her gasp of surprise. At her ear, he whispered, "Your blush gives a man ideas. Very naughty ideas. I vote you keep doing it."

  She shivered against him, exciting him--before she pushed him away, disappointing him. "This is my date," she said primly, "and I've decided we're going to sit in silence for the rest of the evening."

  Step four: give her a glimpse into his deepest fantasy.

  "I won't say another word, sweetheart. I'll be too busy imagining your dress on my floor and your ass bent over my bed."

  CHAPTER NINE

  DANIEL MARCHED INSIDE his dad's house, Brock behind him. He would much rather be marching into the inn, with Thea, but at the end of the evening, he hadn't even won a kiss.

  All his tried-and-true steps, and he'd failed.

  He expected his dad to be sound asleep. Instead, Virgil reclined on the couch, his fingers woven together, locked behind his head. He'd waited up.

  Jude sat on the floor, playing with Princess, who spotted Daniel and bounded over. Her excitement soothed him. After his date with Thea, well, his pride was nothing but tatters.

  He picked up Princess and let her rest her head in the hollow of his neck while he rubbed her belly. "Everything okay here?"

  "No, everything is not okay." Virgil stood. He used to be several inches taller, but the stoop in his back had shortened him. "First of all, you smell bad enough to gag a maggot. All that smoke on your clothes is goin
g to give me the cancer. And what's this I hear about you taking sweet little Dorothea Mathis to the Scratching Post?"

  Well. News had certainly traveled fast. But who the hell had told his dad?

  Of all the bar's occupants, only Ryanne would have had any interaction with his father, but she and Thea were as close as sisters. There was no way she'd narced.

  "I didn't take Thea anywhere," he said, inwardly lamenting. He'd been so careful. Well, sort of careful. He'd have to do better next time. "I was there. She was there. We spoke." True, true and true.

  His dad bristled. "Son, you're waking up my inner coyote. Did I not teach you better? Are you not attracted to her? If I were thirty years younger, I'd get her into bed as soon as possible. No one wants to roll over and wonder if he's lying on a hammer or his girl's leg. You should have whisked her out of there, taken her to a nice dinner and paid the check, even if she ordered the surf and turf."

  How was he supposed to respond to that?

  Jude continued to frown, as usual.

  Laughter glimmered in Brock's expression as he patted Virgil on the shoulder. "Bars are the devil's den."

  Virgil gave a hearty nod in agreement. "Way I hear it, women throw brassieres and bloomers at the band and men throw shirts at sweet little Ryanne Wade whenever she sings."

  To Virgil Porter, every girl from Strawberry Valley was "sweet" and "little."

  "Speaking of sweet little Ryanne Wade." Brock stroked his fingers over his jaw, the picture of curiosity. "What's the story on her?"

  Daniel had known the man would make a play for her, despite a lack of chemistry. She was his type. Street-smart and hardened by life. The fact that she could mix his favorite drinks didn't hurt.

  "Type" doesn't mean shit if what you want isn't what you need.

  He rubbed his temple to shut his brain up.

  Virgil brightened like a lamp with a new bulb. "You just dilled my pickle. You take a shine to our Ryanne? She's got the voice of a cigar-smoking, whiskey-chugging angel, that one. She's single, and I think that's the way she likes it, so it's gonna take a special man to break through her walls."

  "Or dynamite." Brock winked. "I'm very good with dynamite."

  "Good, good," Virgil said. "We can host the wedding right here in my backyard. And since that sweet little girl ain't got no daddy to call her own, I'll be happy to walk her down the aisle."

  Brock flinched as if he'd just taken a punch to the gut. "Wedding?"

  "Of course. That is the natural progression of a relationship, is it not?"

  Welcome to my world, Daniel wanted to tell his friend. Instead, he threw the guy a life raft, saying, "Brock isn't looking to get married, Dad. Neither am I."

  If he were a better son, he'd do it. Marry a hometown girl and settle down. But a sham marriage wasn't the answer to his dad's happiness. Or Daniel's. He would still battle PTSD. Maybe on a larger scale. No challenge, no distraction.

  And what if the wifey poo decided to divorce him? Virgil's heart would break once and for all. Even worse, what if the wife died unexpectedly?

  People died every day.

  "You sure you don't want to wed Dorothea Mathis?" his dad asked. "Your eyes light up every time I mention her name."

  "They do not."

  "Dorothea Mathis, Dorothea Mathis, Dorothea Mathis."

  Okay, maybe they did.

  He scrubbed a hand down his face, hiding his eyes until he was sure they were as dull as a rusty tin can. "I'm doing security for the inn. I'm even working reception until she hires someone to replace Holly." Again, all true. "Thea and I, we're...friends." The word tasted foul on his tongue. "But you have my word, the next time I see her at the Scratching Post, I'll pick her up and carry her out fireman-style." Eventually.

  Virgil heaved a heavy sigh of disappointment. "You're a good boy, Danny, and I love you."

  A stab of guilt, straight through the heart. Never wanted to disappoint this man. "I love you, too." And maybe Thea was right. Maybe they were better off as friends.

  Every cell in his body screamed in protest. Crave her. Must have her.

  Yeah, but then what?

  "All right, boys. This old body needs some rest. You young'uns make sure you keep it down, now, you hear?" Virgil patted Daniel's cheek before padding off.

  Princess struggled for her freedom. Daniel set her down and strode to the kitchen to fix a midnight snack. His friends followed him, the dog at their heels, and gathered around the table.

  "You want a critique of your performance tonight?" Brock asked him.

  "No, thanks." He spread a little mayo over two slices of bread and slapped slices of turkey in the middle. "I'm good."

  "Too bad. At first I thought your caveman approach might just be the golden ticket. Then, when you realized you were floundering, you went with stalker-clingy." Brock gave him a thumbs-down. "I was embarrassed for you."

  Wonderful. "Thea wants me to teach her how to flirt with other men. In fact, she has a date on Saturday and Sunday. With two different guys."

  "Count your blessings. You're better off alone." Jude opened a bag of sausage-and-gravy-flavored potato chips. "A solitary life is underrated."

  Brock spread his arms wide. "Dude. Your cynicism is showing and it's ugly as hell."

  "We can't all be beauties," Jude replied, tapping his cheeks.

  With a sigh, Brock focused on Daniel. "Give me names, and by tomorrow afternoon the other dates won't be a problem."

  Jude popped a chip in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. "Your inner serial killer is showing."

  "And he's one of those beauties you mentioned, I know," Brock said.

  Daniel polished off his sandwich. "You guys staying here tonight?"

  "Nah. I'm going back to the Scratching Post," Brock said. "Got dates of my own."

  He'd already slept with the two women he'd had on his arms when Daniel first arrived. He'd escorted the pair to the bathroom and returned fifteen minutes later with his clothes askew, lipstick on his neck.

  "I'll go with you," Jude said, surprising both his friends. He usually avoided bars. Only ever showed up when Brock called for a ride. "I'll be your on-site DD."

  "You should come with us." Brock waved a finger in front of Daniel's face. "I don't like what I'm seeing here. Bruises under the eyes, lines of tension around the mouth."

  "Nothing a few beauty z's can't fix." If he were normal. But he had no desire to return to the scene of Thea's crime against his masculinity. No desire to pick up another woman, either.

  Jude stood and pulled Brock to his feet. "Leave the man alone. He probably wants to stroke his ego in private."

  Brock chortled.

  "You guys suck," he called as they strode from the kitchen.

  Not liking the sudden silence, Daniel carried Princess outside. He was tired--hell, he was always tired--but he wasn't ready to dream.

  While the dog played on the porch, the area spotlighted by a single bulb, he worked out. He kept his hands and arms rough and tough, spending a good, solid hour honing his ability to strike. Fingers, knuckles, forearms. He threw each against a tree over and over again. The bark scraped his skin, preventing him from getting too soft now that overseas missions weren't happening on the reg. Or at all. He also used a dagger, knowing that maintaining his dexterity was important. Strength could carry you. Weakness would always fail you.

  When he finished, he closed himself and Princess in his bedroom. A small space with a full bed, a dresser he'd built in shop class and, his pride and joy, a nightstand he and his mother had painted together.

  He showered, which only made his desire for Thea flare. After his last stay at the inn, he'd brought home one of the soaps. Now he had the scent of her all over him, exactly where he wanted it. But it wasn't enough.

  Like a puss, he sat down on his bed and flipped through his yearbooks, searching for pictures of Thea. While other kids were captured playing football and other sports, swinging on the monkey bars and doing cartwheels, she only ever stood on t
he sidelines. Her eyes, which had been far too big for her face back then, radiated sadness and longing.

  Had anyone ever invited her to join the fun? He damn sure hadn't, and he was suddenly and deeply ashamed.

  Jude was wrong. Solitary living wasn't underrated. It wasn't even living.

  The only time Thea had smiled, revealing a mouth full of braces, was when Ryanne and Lyndie had been with her. However, during her sophomore year, the two had opted to be homeschooled, and Thea had truly had no one.

  His heart suddenly felt as if it had been flayed with a butter knife. He wished he could go back in time. He would shake his younger self and say, "Real friends are rare. Kindness is rarer. Be nice to that girl. One day, you're going to want her more than air to breathe."

  At last he crawled under the sheets. He didn't want to fall asleep, didn't want to be plagued by nightmares, but Princess was exhausted. She burrowed under the covers and curled up beside him, seeking his warmth.

  For over an hour, his mind refused to settle. Thea seemed to think all he had to offer her was a torrid one-night stand. And that was certainly true...to an extent. What if he were willing to give the relationship thing a try, as long as they kept emotions out of the picture and their association on the down low? When things ended--and they would--they could be friends, just like she wanted. His dad would never know they'd been more, never get his hopes up, never experience a moment of disappointment.

  It could be a win-win with absolutely no downside.

  Yeah. He could do it, no problem. He even liked the idea of having something more, something solid, between them, without having to worry about either one of them falling in love or walking away unexpectedly. They'd know the end would come. But until it did, Thea would belong to Daniel, and he would belong to her.

  While they were together, he would be devoted to her. He wouldn't lie to her, cheat on her or, hell, even look at another woman. Why would he need to? No other woman compared to her.

  Finally, blessedly, a sense of contentment overtook him. One he hadn't experienced since his mom died. And yet underneath it was a sense of...wrongness, as if there was a flaw in his plan.

  He combed through every detail once, twice, but nothing set off an alarm.

  Eventually, he drifted to sleep. A gradual process. Then, in a snap, screams erupted inside his head. The air around him was thick with smoke as well as the pungent aroma of blood and emptied bowels. The scent of death. Despite the constant stream of gunfire, he heard the soft click of a pin being pulled from a grenade.