Can't Hardly Breathe

by Gena Showalter

  "Maybe we should go to a discount store," she muttered as she looked at the price tag on a frilly pink dress. One hundred and twenty-nine hard-earned dollars could buy fabric for a theme room. Or a graduation present for Holly. "I saw a thrift store on the drive over. Let's go there."

  "No way. You aren't buying lingerie at a secondhand shop."

  "I know. Because I'm not buying lingerie anywhere." There was no reason to do so. The next man she had sex with would never even see her. The lights would stay off from the first kiss to the last thrust.

  Of course, that meant she wouldn't see him, either, and she really, really wanted to see him. Whoever he was. Because he most assuredly would not be Daniel.

  "Erotic underclothes are mandatory," Ryanne said. "Not for the guy's benefit but yours. Lace will help you feel as sexy as you really are."

  A girl could dream. "All right. One piece of lingerie."

  *

  DOROTHEA BOUGHT THREE pieces of lingerie: a lacy ice-green bra, a pair of matching panties and a thong. Aka butt floss. She'd never worn a thong, and she wasn't sure she wanted to start now, but Ryanne assured her the man in her life would thank her.

  And what if she had to negotiate with Daniel again? Surely she would throw him off his game if she let him slide his hands inside the back of her jeans...and he encountered skin rather than granny panties.

  Afterward, Ryanne drove her to a discount store. As they sifted through the racks, on the hunt for the perfect date ensemble, Ryanne said, "Are you moving back to the city after Holly graduates?"

  "No. I've taken over the inn for good." Dorothea would always be the safe harbor her sister needed.

  "You don't sound excited about that."

  "I'm not unexcited." Though part of her still fantasized about being a storm chaser.

  Strawberry Valley didn't have its own news station, and the equipment she needed was far beyond her price range. Okay, okay, even free would have been beyond her price range. Equipment had to be maintained. She also needed a special vehicle that would require buckets of gas.

  "Daniel Porter is your employee. Yours to boss around." Ryanne held up a buttercup-yellow top, marked down seventy percent because of a small hole in the shoulder. "Why aren't you dancing like your feet are on fire?"

  The hole she could easily sew, but the color would make her skin look sallow, so she shook her head no. "One, I don't dance. Ever." She looked like a chicken with her head cut off. "Two, he's only working for me for three weeks or until I hire someone else." And, now that she thought about it, not a single person had applied.

  Did no one want to work for her? Was that the problem? Her mom had never had trouble hiring, no matter the position.

  "In three weeks, or whenever you hire that someone else, transition Daniel to the position of your boyfriend. The same rules apply. You get to boss him around."

  If only. "He's not interested."

  "Are we talking about the same Daniel? I've mentioned I've seen the way he looks at you, right?"

  "Looks can be deceiving."

  "You've wanted him most of your life, chica, and wanting like that doesn't turn off just because you wish really hard. Take him. Let the rest sort itself out."

  Could Ryanne be right? Would Dorothea always want Daniel? Even if he fell in love with another woman and married her. In front of witnesses.

  Did it matter? If he got married, she would never act on that want, would never be the side slice. After Jazz's infidelity, she'd done a little research about why cheaters cheat, and many reasons had been listed. Sometimes the cheater justified or trivialized his actions. Cognitive dissonance, it was called. He--or she...nah, she'd stick with the male species today--convinced himself that what he was doing wasn't really that bad, that other people had done worse and really, deep down, he was a good person. There was also sex addiction, as well as the desire to feel, well, desirable. Some men felt their earning potential directly correlated with their masculinity; when a wife or girlfriend made all the money, these males sought a way to prove their prowess outside the bonds of commitment. Some men thought they loved the other woman. Some just wanted to have a good time. Some just didn't care about anything or anyone.

  After a while, Dorothea had realized Jazz's reason for cheating on her wasn't important. He'd done it. Their child--the bridge between their lives--had died. They were finished.

  Not even close to being finished with Daniel.

  Stop. Thinking. About. Him.

  In the midst of a thorough search, Dorothea found an emerald green shirt to match her eyes, with a choker neckline and an oval cutout to showcase a wee bit of cleavage. The waist cinched in while the bottom half flared to create the illusion of a ruffled skirt--though it was far too short to be classified as a skirt--with the front higher than the back. There was a black smudge on the bottom hem, but a good cleaning would definitely remove it. Considering the many stains she'd removed from sheets at the inn, she had the magic touch.

  Ryanne selected a pair of short shorts. When Dorothea shook her head no, the girl nodded a yes. "Wear them with the shirt, and no one will be able to see the shorts from the back. It'll look like you're wearing a supershort dress. And from the front, the slit in the ruffle will have a peekaboo effect. This is both trendy and adorable."

  Her thighs... "I need to dress for the body I have, not the body I wish I had."

  Her friend ignored her. "You'll wear cowgirl boots with it, of course." She found a pair of black-and-white pants with a harlequin pattern and paired it with a shirt just like the first, only pink. "You'll wear sandals with this one."

  The most Dorothea could promise? "I'll try everything on." And then she would tell Ryanne nothing had fit--which would be the truth, no doubt about it.

  Two summer dresses joined the pile before Ryanne allowed her to enter the dressing room. And the stubborn girl stayed put while Dorothea changed. Everything but the harlequin pants fit and--shocker--actually flattered her figure.

  Ryanne exchanged the pants for a bigger size, and voila, they fit, as well.

  Dorothea stood in front of the mirror, spinning to study herself from every angle.

  "You're about to turn me gay," Ryanne announced. "And FYI, you're buying these clothes. All of them. Well, except for the pants. I'm buying those. And a pair of hooker heels."

  "I couldn't let you--"

  "Actually, you can't stop me." Ryanne came up behind her, rested her chin on Dorothea's shoulder and hugged her. Their eyes met in the mirror. "I haven't always done right by you and Lyndie, but I will from now on."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I wasn't there for you when you needed me most. And Lyndie...her dad wasn't just a bully. Sometimes he beat the crap out of her, and there was nothing I could do to stop him."

  Horror washed through Dorothea, leaving a sticky film on her soul. "I didn't know. But now... He only hit her where the bruises could be hidden by clothing, right?" she asked softly, remembering the many times her friend had flinched when innocently touched.

  "Exactly right. Same deal with Lyndie's husband. It wasn't a fairy-tale marriage, but a freaking nightmare. I don't know why she picked him. He was just like her dad, always using her as a punching bag."

  "I don't... I can't..." Dorothea clutched her now cramping stomach. "Why didn't you guys tell me?"

  "You had enough on your plate. And there's no changing the past," Ryanne said, "only the future."

  Everyone carried baggage, she realized. Some hid theirs better than others, but no one got through life without experiencing pain. And, whether you knew it or not, you were going to be the object of someone's pain. Like Dorothea was for Holly. Like Jazz was for Dorothea. But you could also be the object of someone's salvation.

  Would Daniel be hers?

  Wishful thought. "We will change the future," she vowed. "Tomorrow will be better than today."

  "You know, I like this New Dorothea," Ryanne said as Dorothea paid. "She's willing to try new things without too much f
uss, and she's got a little more pep in her step. She even smiles."

  "I like her, too," she admitted.

  Arm in arm, they strode out of the store, only to draw up short when a man stepped in their path.

  "Dorothea." Familiar brown eyes roved over her. "You...look so pretty."

  "Jazz." The stomach cramps started up again.

  Sunlight poured over him. His golden hair was brushed back from his face, his jaw shaved clean of stubble. Though they'd parted a little over a year ago, and he was as handsome as ever, he appeared to have aged a decade. There were shadows under his eyes and new lines around them. The brackets around his mouth were so deep they resembled commas. However, he'd maintained his athletic build.

  Have to be in tip-top shape for the camera, he used to say. And the public loved him for it. Women constantly posted about his boy-next-door good looks; they Tweeted him invitations to dinner and mailed him naughty photos. Dorothea used to sigh dreamily and think, Flirt all you want, girls. He belongs to me. He picked me.

  Now she cringed. An emotionally healthy woman would have thought, We're good together. He's got my back, and I've got his. The hallmark of a good marriage. But no matter how strong, those thoughts would have been a lie. Jazz hadn't guarded her back; he'd stabbed it.

  "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

  He wiped his hands on the sides of his pants, as if he was nervous. But he couldn't be. He'd always tackled life head-on. It was one of the things she'd liked most about him. "I wanted to see you."

  "And you knew she'd be here?" Ryanne asked softly, menacingly. "How?"

  "Your phone...there's a track app. Remember?" he said, his gaze pleading with her. "You got it before our divorce."

  No, she hadn't. "Or you added it when I wasn't looking so you could ensure I wasn't nearby when you wanted to sleep with other women." Fury mounting, she whipped out her phone, hunted for the app--buried on a screen she never used--and took care of the problem then and there.

  He pulled at his collar, uncomfortable. "Maybe I did. I don't know."

  Liar! "Like I've told you repeatedly," she snapped, "you and I have nothing to say to each other."

  "I just... I wanted you to see my face and hear my tone in person. To finally understand the depths of my feelings for you."

  Ryanne laughed at him. "Dude. Three out of three people agree--you're an idiot."

  A fire-truck-red blush spread over his cheeks.

  "Look," Dorothea said with a sigh, "I'm seeing someone else. Several someones, actually." Am I bragging? I think I'm bragging. Embracing the moment, she fluffed her hair.

  Jazz offered her a soft, almost pitying smile. "Maybe you are. Maybe you aren't. But that doesn't mean we can't get to know each other again."

  What a rat! He thought she'd fibbed to make herself seem more desirable. Like she'd really lower herself to use a method from his bag o' tricks.

  "This conversation is like a circle. Pointless. Let's go." She ushered Ryanne around him and headed for the car.

  "This isn't the end, Dorothea." His determined voice followed her. "I love you, and I want you back. I'll do whatever it takes to win you."

  Ryanne peered over her shoulder, calling, "Keep doing what you're doing, then. It's not creepy at all."

  "He and the girlfriend broke up," Dorothea told her. "Now he wants to rekindle the old flame. As if there's anything left but ash," she shouted, loud enough for Jazz to hear.

  All the while she wondered...

  Was Daniel right? Could no relationship last?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DANIEL WORKED MORNING, noon and night, putting security measures in place at the inn, sketching a tree-shaped headboard, playing with Princess and wondering what to do about Thea. His mind was too consumed with her to worry about the horrors of his past, a welcome change, and yet he'd never been so tormented.

  Their kiss had unmanned him. He only hungered for her more, was starved for her.

  As many women as he'd kissed over the years, he'd thought he'd experienced every possible nuance. Slow and sweet. Fast and frantic. Tender, rough. Giving, taking. Sharing. He'd kissed women face-to-face and while he stood behind them. Sitting, or sprawled across a flat surface. Twisted together or leaning over a table. He'd used props. Ice. Food. Even clothing. He'd sipped. He'd devoured. He'd worked his way down, and he'd worked his way up. But he'd never been so turned on that he'd come in his pants. He'd always stopped the play before reaching the point of no return, or better yet, he and his partner had decided to strip and go all the way.

  Thea had placed restrictions on the make-out session, and he'd obeyed. Gladly. He'd take her however he could get her. But with her, stopping at any point would have been more painful than having a bullet excised without anesthesia. And he should know!

  Everything about Thea appealed to him. She drew him, had well and truly hooked him. The sounds she'd made as she'd strained against him, desperate for more. The rapturous expression she'd donned when he'd touched her breasts. The way she'd arched against him, only to linger when she'd made contact with his erection, as if she'd never get enough. The breathy way she'd called his name. Even the color of her nails. Every day he checked, hoping to see glittery white. So far she'd worn everything from red to green.

  He wanted more of her--needed more. But she wanted nothing to do with him romantically.

  A dirty little secret, she'd said. Why couldn't she see the truth? Protecting his dad had nothing to do with his feelings for her.

  Feelings he would do well to ignore. With all her talk about love, she might want to get married again one day.

  A growl vibrated in his chest. Thea...forever off-limits...

  He scrubbed a hand down his face. When had he dipped a toe in the pool of insanity?

  His friends were just as bad. Jude had warned Brock away from Ryanne, and Brock had said no problem, he'd never do a friend of Lyndie Scott's, a kindergarten teacher and Sunday-school enthusiast.

  Daniel felt like he'd stepped into an alternate universe.

  On Friday, he and the boys spent the night in Oklahoma City for a job, working security for a hotel downtown. A famous country singer he'd never heard of was staying there. Daniel found himself wondering what kind of music Thea listened to, and figured his taste would surprise her, since he tended to favor the old gospel tunes his mom had blasted while cleaning the house and cooking dinner.

  The job went off without a hitch. His dad babysat Princess, and the two got along just fine. If "just fine" qualified as walking into the kitchen and catching the man feeding the little pup scraps from his own fork.

  On Saturday, Daniel and Princess returned to the inn. He resumed his duties, and with every hour that passed, his mood darkened. Thea would be going on her date with the vet later that evening. If the bastard attempted to kiss her good-night...

  No one had ever committed cold-blooded murder in Strawberry Valley, but there was a first time for everything.

  Daniel should insist Thea go on one of her remaining dates with him tonight. Screw Vandercamp. She'd wear a raincoat and a smile, and all would be right in Daniel's world.

  You will stand down, soldier. He was not Thea's boyfriend, and he had no rights to her.

  By the time Vandercamp arrived, Princess had caught his bad mood. She growled at the vet as if he'd become enemy one. Because he had!

  "Good news." Vandercamp leaned against the counter. "I found little Princess's family. Her name is actually Splenda."

  Daniel's stomach sank when it probably should have soared. "How'd they lose her?" And why had they named her Splenda, after fake sugar? From the tips of her ears to the end of her tail, she was the real deal.

  "They were driving from Dallas to Oklahoma City and stopped in Strawberry Valley to get gas. They let her out to pee and put her back in the car, but she must have seen something she liked and hopped out. They left thinking she was asleep in back. They posted pictures of her online, called shelters and veterinary hospitals. I spoke
to the mom this morning, and she emailed me those pictures to prove ownership."

  Deep breath in...out... "Why wasn't Princess tagged or chipped?" No way he'd ever call her Splenda. "How do we know she really belongs to them? Photos don't mean shit. I can present you with a photo album first thing in the morning, proving I've had her since she was a pup."

  "I don't know why she wasn't tagged or chipped. I didn't ask because it's not any of my business. And I can't think of a single reason someone would go to so much trouble just to assume ownership of a little dog."

  "The welfare of an animal isn't your business? And someone would go to so much trouble because she's a piece of heaven on earth." He petted her behind the ears, but she remained on alert, ready to snap at Vandercamp if he made one wrong move. "Has anyone ever told you that you suck as a vet and a human being?"

  Unperturbed, Vandercamp said, "Your hostility is understandable but misplaced. I'm not taking away something you love, Daniel. I'm helping reunite a dog with her family."

  "You're doing both, asshole. And if you hurt her--" He pressed his lips together, unsure if he was still talking about Princess or if he'd started talking about Thea.

  "I would never hurt an animal."

  Yeah, but what about a vulnerable woman?

  "Look, I have their number," Vandercamp said. "They're willing to pay for your time and gas if you'll meet them halfway and--"

  "Hell, no. If they really love her, they'll make the entire drive." He was being unreasonable, and he knew it. Ask him if he cared.

  Vandercamp slid a piece of paper across the counter. "Here's their number. You can call and make arrangements for pickup." He studied Daniel's mutinous expression and reclaimed the paper with a forceful yank. "Never mind. I'll call."

  He stepped to the side, using the phone on the counter rather than his cell phone--making a long-distance call on Thea's dime. Bet he'd make her pay for half of dinner, too. Bastard.

  A few minutes later, Vandercamp hung up and focused on him. "Good news," he said again. "They hopped in their car after talking to me. They're already on their way. They'll reach the inn in about an hour."

  One hour. One more hour with Princess. His chest hurt. He wanted to curse but pressed his lips together. This was a family-friendly environment, and he'd harm Thea's business if he let loose. But damn it! Princess was his. He'd found her and helped patch her up. He'd taken care of her when she most needed care. He'd cuddled with her and fallen in love, and she'd fallen in love right back. She wouldn't want to leave him...right?