Can't Hardly Breathe

by Gena Showalter

  "Yes, absolutely yes," Daniel rushed to say. "I agree to everything."

  Whoa. Hold up. "You're not going to try to change my terms?"

  His expression turned deadly serious as he said, "This is too important. If you want it, you get it--as long as I get you."

  Her insides turned molten, and she just about died of happiness right then and there.

  "The inn is my home," he added, "and I'm willing to beg for the privilege of working there. Plus, you'll be paying me in kisses, so I'll be the richest man in town."

  Every time he spoke, she melted a little more. "Daniel--"

  "I will fight for you, Thea. Always."

  He was fighting for her, she realized. He was willing to give up anything and everything to be with her.

  Her resistance had never stood a chance.

  With a sob, she threw herself in his arms. He stumbled back, but if the contact pained him, he didn't show it, holding on to her tightly.

  "I love you," she told him. "I love you so much."

  He pulled back to frame her face in his hands. Tears were welled in his eyes. "You love me?"

  "I do. I really do."

  A radiant smile glowed down at her. "I would spin you around, but I'm pretty sure I've already torn open most of my stitches."

  "Daniel! We need to get you back to the hospital."

  "No," he said. "I'm right where I want to be."

  "A wedding," Carol called. "There's going to be a wedding! A big one!"

  Dorothea pressed her forehead against Daniel's chest and moaned. "Momma--"

  "She's right," Daniel said. "I want to marry you, and I want a big wedding. The whole town will witness my pledge to love you forever. We'll even invite Jazz. I want him to realize you're mine, and I'm never letting you go."

  Embarrassment gave way to pleasure. "All right. Yes. I'll marry you."

  "I'll plan everything." Carol clapped her hands. "It will be absolutely perfect!"

  "That's right. It will be perfect," Holly piped up, "because I'll spend my time stopping Mom."

  Dorothea and Daniel shared a smile. He might consider her the prize, but she felt like the one who'd won.

  "One last thing." Brock pressed something cold and metal in her palm. "Daniel wanted you to see this, but he dropped it in his haste to get to you."

  She glanced down and saw the locket. It was open, the picture of Daniel's mother staring at her from one side, a picture of Dorothea's face staring at her from the other.

  Her gaze zipped to Daniel. "When did you have this done?"

  "This morning. The main reason I was late."

  "You knew I was leaving?" she asked.

  "Holly called me."

  Well. Now the delay was starting to make sense. Her family and friends had her back. The girl who'd once felt alone now had a strong support system. Could life get any better?

  "Guess I can fix your car now," Ryanne said, holding up a... Dorothea had no idea. The thingamabob, maybe.

  "I'm going to make you happy, Thea. I'm determined." Daniel gazed at her with adoration and awe, as if he couldn't believe how blessed he was.

  Yes, life could get better.

  She would be spending every day of hers with the man she loved--the man who loved her right back. The man who hadn't just said the words but had proved it with action. "I'm going to make you happy, too."

  "I hope we're included in that happiness," Brock said. "Because we are a package deal."

  "I figured as much," she said with another laugh.

  "Just don't go getting any matchmaking ideas," Jude groused.

  "Too late. You're a project. You both are." She reached out and patted both their shoulders. "But that's okay. Daniel and I have decided you're worth the effort."

  "Oh, you and Daniel decided?" Brock arched a brow at her. "When was this?"

  "Just now." She fluffed her hair. "I don't know if you heard, but what makes me happy makes him happy."

  "It's true." Daniel kissed her lips gently, tenderly. "Always and forever, it's true."

  Always and forever. Dorothea melted against him.

  "I'm going to make sure your nails are only ever painted yellow, pink, gold or white," he said. "Mostly white."

  She laughed. "We're going to have a good life together, aren't we?"

  "The very best," he vowed.

  *

  Be sure to check out Gena Showalter's next book in her ORIGINAL HEARTBREAKERS series, CAN'T LET GO.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from CAN'T LET GO by Gena Showalter.

  New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter is back with a sizzling Original Heartbreakers tale about an icy war vet and the only woman capable of melting him...

  Can't Let Go

  With trust issues a mile long, Ryanne Wade has sworn off men. Then Jude Laurent walks into her bar, and all bets are off. The former army ranger has suffered unimaginably, first being maimed in battle, then losing his wife and daughters to a drunk driver. Making the brooding widower smile is priority one. Resisting him? Impossible.

  For Jude, Ryanne is off-limits. And yet the beautiful bartender who serves alcohol to potential motorists tempts him like no other. When a rival bar threatens her livelihood--and her life--he can't turn away. She triggers something in him he thought long buried, and he's determined to protect her, whatever the cost.

  As their already scorching attraction continues to heat, the damaged soldier knows he must let go of his past to hold on to his future...or risk losing the second chance he desperately needs.

  Order your copy now!

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  The Harder You Fall

  The Hotter You Burn

  The Closer You Come

  The One You Want (novella)

  Can't Hardly Breathe

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  Can't Let Go

  by Gena Showalter

  JUDE LAURENT IGNORED the delicate hand being offered to him--no touching, no thoughts about touching--his mind remaining on high alert. He'd provoked two predators tonight. At some point, both men would return, and they would act out in an attempt to save face.

  "I'll be back tomorrow," he said. "Nine a.m. We'll go over details and prices then."

  A sputtering Ryanne dropped her arm to her side. "Nine a.m.? No way, no how. I don't go to bed until four a.m., and I'm never up before noon."

  "Nine a.m., Miss Wade," he insisted. When he finished with her, he'd have to make the two-hour drive to the city to purchase whatever equipment they'd agreed upon. To be perfectly blunt about the matter, he didn't care if she got her beauty Zs or not. "Not a minute late."

  A cool breeze blew in, caressing strands of inky hair over the delicate rise of her cheek. "Mr. Laurent." Motions clipped with irritation, she hooked the strands behind her ear. "Remind me who will be paying whom."

  "Remind me who will be saving whom."

  Now she anchored her fists on her hips, the picture of feminine pique. "This is freaking perfect. We're not going to drive each other crazy at all."

  "If you do what I say, when I say, we'll get along just fine, guaranteed."

  She bristled. Perhaps she believed he was acting like a hardass. Too bad. He wasn't acting. People could take him or leave him. He didn't care about that, either.

  "You should thank your lucky stars I'm a rational woman or you'd be curled in a fetal ball right now, sobbing for your momma. How about we split the difference and meet at ten thirty? Deal?" Once again she offered him a fine-boned hand.

  Her nails were square-tipped and painted a soft pink. A surprise. As tough and sexy as she was, he expected blood red or jet-black. She had no scars, though a few callouses marred the tips of her fingers. On her wrist was a small but elaborate tattoo--a lock without a key, surrounded by ivy.

  Unbidden, his gaze traveled over the rest of her, as if drawn by an irresistible force. Her hourglass figure sizzled with carnality, and he suspected everyone who'd ever looked at her had imagined her luscious curves stripped naked and spread over a bed. Or any flat surface.

  He had certainly imagined it, on more than one occasion, and hated himself for it. He had no business desiring Ryanne Wade. The twenty-five year old single woman was the bane of his world: a bar owner who somehow drew him--his gaze, his presence. But he'd told her the truth. His friends loved her. She was close to Dorothea Mathis, who was engaged to one of his buds, Daniel Porter. She was also close to Lyndie Scott, who Brock Hudson, Jude's only other bud, crushed on, hard. At the end of the day, Jude would do anything for the pair. Daniel and Brock had served overseas with him, had saved him so many times he'd added their names to the massive tattoo inked on his chest. They were his brothers-by-circumstance.

  They, along with a rare few others, were the only people who mattered to him.

  Jude forced his gaze to lift, meeting rich brown eyes so often filled with joy he could no longer understand. Those eyes were framed by curling lashes somehow sweet and sultry at once. Long dark hair surrounded a face as exquisite as the rest of her. She had smoky eyes, high cheekbones, a pert nose and pouty red lips.

  Beauty, brains and bravery. The whole package.

  "Well?" she demanded. "Judging by your silence, you're blown away by my brilliance."

  "I'll meet you at nine a.m., and not a minute later," he croaked. Then he backed away, and motioned for her to get her ass inside. Any time she brought her "sassy tone" into a conversation, he had only one option: retreat. That tone did strange things to his insides. Twisted him up, sometimes even hollowed him out.

  She stood in place for a long while, different emotions sweeping over her features. Anger, irritation, frustration, but also resolve. Decided his services were worth the hassle, after all?

  When she trudged inside the bar, he followed close on her heels. As he moved, sharp, phantom pains shot through the calf he no longer possessed. He should go home, remove his prostheses and relax for the first time in...never mind. He didn't know how to relax. He should work, the best distraction from his poisonous thoughts.

  Ryanne maneuvered through the crowds, being sure to give her hips an extra sway. Whistles preceded her, and catcalls trailed her.

  Jude cursed. Ignore her. Ignore everyone. He had a lot of work to do and a very short time to do it.

  The Dushku motto: Don't bend, break.

  As soon as the family had moved into Blueberry Hill, only minutes from Jude's home in Strawberry Valley, he'd done background checks on every member. His motto? Can't be too careful.

  Ryanne was in serious danger. Years ago, Dushku had moved into a small town in Texas and offered to buy every business in the area. Anyone who'd refused to sell had suffered a tragic fate; some were arrested for a crime they swore they'd never committed while others were injured in some kind of accident. Sure enough, Dushku had never been charged.

  On edge, Jude counted the number of cameras and lights he would need, and tested the reliability of every lock. For anyone with a tire iron and a couple minutes of free time, breaking in would not be difficult.

  How had the beautiful brunette survived as long as she had?

  His gaze sought her once again. She'd settled into place behind the bar, her eyes on Daniel and Brock and flashing with merriment. Had anyone ever loved life with such abandon?

  Jude's rigid posture eased at the sight of his friends with his--with Ryanne. They would protect her when he couldn't.

  He forced is attention on the pair. Daniel had dark hair, light brown eyes, and a slight bump in the center of his nose from one too many breaks. He looked like the soldier he was: rough, tough and solid as a rock.

  Brock looked rougher and tougher with multiple piercings and arms sleeved in tattoos. His jet-black hair was cut close to his scalp and a thick five o'clock shadow always darkened his jaw; that darkness was a complete contrast to the pale green eyes that often reflected suspicion, disdain and warped cheerfulness.

  He'd grown up filthy rich, but as the old saying went, money hadn't bought him happiness. Just like a lack of money hadn't been the source of Jude's problems. Wealth had nothing to do with emotion. They'd both had parents who couldn't care less about their children.

  Daniel hadn't been rich or poor, and he'd had the kind of childhood most people could only dream about. He'd been born and bred in Strawberry Valley, Oklahoma, and he'd been adored by his parents. Cherished for the boy he'd been and the man he would become.

  He was the reason Jude and Brock had moved to the speck-on-the-map small town. Anytime their group had gotten stuck in a shit storm in their tours overseas, waiting for escape or death--whichever came first--Daniel had spun fairytales.

  Dude. Check it. Strawberry-scented air.

  All the peace of a beach, but without sand in your ass-crack.

  Magazine perfect. If there's heaven on earth, it's Strawberry Valley.

  Unwilling to go back to Georgia, where he was stationed after joining the army, or Texas, where he grew up...where beloved and hated memories waited to torment him... Jude had moved to Oklahoma with his friend.

  Daniel spotted him and waved him over. "There you are."

  Ryanne smiled with feline satisfaction, as if she'd discovered a particularly juicy secret.

  A muscle clenched low in Jude's gut. That smile...

  Though he would rather avoid the bar owner until he'd calmed from whatever the hell she continued to do to him, he closed the distance. A wave of crackling heat drifted through his veins.

  That. That was what she did to him. Se
t him on fire. Disgusted with himself, he gnashed his teeth.

  Daniel patted him on the shoulder. "Ryanne said you'd taken off."

  "Ryanne isn't always aware of her surroundings," he replied, flicking her a cool glance. "She's usually too busy flirting with customers."

  She puckered those red, red lips and fluffed her glorious fall of hair. "If I convince just one more man to spend big buck on penny beer, I can finally buy that golden bi-deet I've been wanting. Fingers crossed!"

  Brock snorted at her purposeful mispronunciation of bidet. "What are you doing here, anyway, my man? I thought you were staying home tonight."

  "Changed my mind." More and more, he'd had trouble staying away from the Scratching Post, knowing Dushku could strike at Ryanne at any moment. "LPH will be taking over security here."

  "Well, it's about time," Daniel said with a nod.

  Ryanne batted her lashes at Jude. "Can I get you another water with lemon, Mr. Laurent?" Her voice was sugar sweet but also as mean as a rattler.

  "And let you charge me another two fifty for roughly five seconds of your time?" He shook his head. "By the way. At your rates, I'll owe you nine thousand dollars for an hour of your time tomorrow."

  She winked at him, sensual, erotic--so beautiful it hurt to look at her. "Trust me. I'm worth that and more."

  Raising an empty bottle, Brock told her, "Before you guys go and drag me into this odd little mating dance, I'll have another beer. Please and thank you."

  Jude bit his tongue in order to remain silent, annoyed by both the comment and the request. Mating dance? Hell, no. He and Ryanne argued, that was it. And though he'd never asked his friends to give up alcohol, he'd wanted to, which made him hate himself a little more. Their pasts were as painful as his own, and they needed an outlet.

  "Daniel?" Ryanne asked. "Another ginger ale, handsome?"

  Handsome?

  "Yes, please," Daniel replied with grin. "I'm Brock's designated driver tonight."

  "Well, then, I'll make sure your sacrifice is rewarded and add a cherry and a lime wedge free of charge." Slowly, languidly, her attention slid to Jude. "You see anything you want, Mr. Laurent?"