Can't Hardly Breathe Page 3

  "I know I've said this before, but I'm sorry." She wrapped her arms around her middle. "I should have come back to see you more often. I should have called more often. Going radio silent just to prevent another fight was cowardly and--"

  "Thanks, but no, thanks. I'm not interested in hearing this again." Holly popped another bubble. "Your should have is too little, too late."

  Twist. Dorothea decided to change course before she bled out. "Shouldn't you be at school?"

  "Shouldn't you stay out of my business?" Holly marched out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

  Twist, twist.

  Feeling a hundred years older and a thousand pounds heavier, Dorothea pasted a smile on her face and headed to the lobby to place the Be Back Soon sign on the reception desk. Then she dialed Mrs. Hathaway's room. The widow took over guest services at odd times in exchange for room and board.

  "I'm headed out," she said. "Can you--"

  "Sure, sure. Just got to find my denture cream."

  Dorothea muttered a hasty goodbye as Carol rounded the corner, her bag rolling behind her. A dark bob framed her ageless features, and a bright green dress flattered her larger figure. If Dorothea wore that dress, she'd look like a watermelon. While she'd inherited her mother's not-quite-delicate bone structure, her shorter height did her no favors.

  I think you're perfect just the way you are.

  For a moment, she fought the urge to run into her mother's arms and sob. Carol loved her and always found a way to comfort her on the worst days of her life.

  "I'm single and ready to mingle!" Carol's sunny smile only brightened when she met Dorothea's gaze. "Life is good."

  This woman...oh, this woman. She was so wonderful, kind, loving--and utterly clueless. Purposely clueless. When the going got tough, Carol got going, retreating to her room or even out of town to check out mentally, leaving Dorothea to deal with everything on her own.

  "Mom, did you know Holly ditched class this morning? Worse, I caught her sm--"

  "Let me stop you there. She didn't ditch. I gave her permission to stay home. Everyone deserves a break now and then." Carol patted her shoulder. "Are you ready to go? I don't want to miss the welcome reception."

  Translation: I don't want to deal with sibling rivalry.

  "Fine. Let's go."

  During the entire hour-and-a-half drive to the city, Carol chatted about nothing important. Only when they reached the luxurious hotel did she change her tune, leaning over to kiss Dorothea's cheek. "Do something fun while I'm gone. Something spontaneous and maybe even wild. Okay?"

  Dorothea flinched. "I'll try."

  "Don't try. Do."

  The entire drive home, she remained thoughtful. Fun, spontaneous and wild. Three words no one had ever used to describe her. In fact, her friend Ryanne had referred to her as Doro Downer since her return, and Lyndie had teased her about being a fuddy-duddy. They'd invited her to multiple girls' nights, shopping sprees and spa days, but she'd always said no. Holly and the inn came first.

  And look where that mind-set had gotten her. Hated, broke and miserable.

  Maybe her mother was right. Maybe it was time for a change--time to be fun, spontaneous and wild. To put herself first. For once!

  No, not maybe. Definitely.

  But I don't wanna be fun, spontaneous or wild, part of her cried. With change came risk. With risk came failure. With failure came hurt.

  Or...with risk came success. With success came joy. She could use a little joy in her life.

  She wasn't feeling particularly brave or strong, but dang it, what did she have to lose?

  To achieve a different result, you had to do something different. She desperately craved a better life. No, not just better, but the complete opposite of what she had. Therefore she had to do something different.

  Maybe...maybe it was time to go against her instincts and do what came unnaturally.

  Yes. Yes! That was what she would do. What came unnaturally. Starting today.

  CHAPTER TWO

  OUT WITH THE old Dorothea, in with the new Dorothea. It was time to shuck off the chains of her past and walk, no run, to a better future.

  Yeah! Long past time. She paced the length of her attic room, her hand pressed against the rose tattooed over her heart. A thorny vine twined with Christmas holly and wrapped around her entire breast, forming a complete circle. A constant reminder of the best and worst moments of her life.

  Love and loss.

  Fresh start...fun...spontaneous...wild. No more regrets.

  What should she do?

  Old Dorothea would spend the night texting her sister apologies. New Dorothea would...

  Stop apologizing? Yes! For sure. What was done was done. New Dorothea would stop trying to rebuild a relationship she'd ruined and start trying to build a stronger one. No, not trying. Doing. She wouldn't sulk or cry. Ever. She would go out. Finally. Maybe to a bar.

  Definitely to a bar!

  Ryanne owned the Scratching Post and drew crowds from Strawberry Valley as well as two neighboring towns, Blueberry Hill and Grapevine. New Dorothea would dance, meet good-looking men and actually flirt.

  Is that a wallet in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

  She would charm, well, everyone, her beguiling wit on dazzling display.

  A girl could dream, anyway. In reality, both New and Old Dorothea had never flirted with anyone, and charm was beyond her.

  So. Slight tweak to her plan. Instead of going to a public place, she'd stay here.

  Old Dorothea would stay here. You're New Dorothea.

  Yes, but there was an eligible bachelor two floors down...

  She sucked in a breath. That was right. Daniel Porter. The one who'd gotten away. The ultimate conquest. The star of her wildest fantasies.

  I think you're perfect just the way you are.

  Problem: he'd been with a woman just last night. There was a little bit of an ick factor. What was the term? Oh, yeah, sloppy seconds.

  Okay, that was pretty offensive.

  Forget his past. The present situation was simple. Her crush couldn't be reignited--because it had never died. The shy high schooler trapped inside her still wanted him. So did the needy girl who'd never tasted fruit from the forbidden tree.

  Truth was truth. Only Daniel would do.

  Biggest obstacle: she hadn't magically morphed into Daniel's type. He dated ex-cheerleaders. Thin beauties who belonged in the pages of a magazine. Successful women who'd actually finished college and now enjoyed high-powered careers, or at least had prospects.

  Were successful women better in bed? Yeah. Probably. Confidence was sexy, no matter a person's sex.

  Dorothea had nothing to offer. Except maybe an orgasm. Or twelve. But then, orgasms were the point, the whole point and nothing but the point.

  A tremor of excitement and nervousness swept through her. Mmm, orgasms...

  Small obstacle: she'd never had a one-night stand. She'd only ever been with Jazz, so it had been a while. Some nights she ached so badly, so deeply, nothing assuaged her. Ached for an orgasm, yes, but mostly companionship. Having strong arms banded around her, holding her close, the rest of the world a distant memory...yes, please and thank you.

  A night with Daniel could be fun, spontaneous and wild, far beyond her most wanton dreams. And really, what man would turn down a no-strings encounter, even with a woman he had no interest in dating?

  No one!

  Was she going to do this?

  He would be alone, ripe for the plucking.

  Why not? she decided. What did she have to lose? Besides her pride. And her peace of mind.

  You have no pride or peace of mind.

  True. She wiped damp palms on her scrubs, her mind continuing to whirl. To win him, she would have to do something epic. Tiptoeing to his door, softly knocking and stuttering as she tried to form a complete sentence would only turn him off.

  Maybe she should call him and--No. Too impersonal.

  S
he could show up at his door with a pizza and--Nope. Too friend-zoney.

  She could show up at his door wearing lingerie, and only lingerie...

  Wrong! She owned...oh...zero pieces of lingerie. Pretty bras and panties were too expensive for a woman with no one to impress.

  Dang it, showing up in a T-shirt and jeans wasn't fun, spontaneous or wild. Neither was her standard after-work attire--pajamas.

  What if she showed up at his door in a raincoat and a (fake) smile? As nervous as she'd be, fake was all he'd get.

  Straight men responded to a woman's nakedness, right? Before her accident, Jazz had seemed to like her body. A lot.

  Once inside Daniel's room, she could drop the coat, revealing her body to him. Her soft, now scarred body. In the light. All of her flaws would be spotlighted.

  Nope. No way. Never. Can't do it. Won't do it.

  Coward! If you want a different life, you have to do something different. Be strong. Be brave.

  So, yes, she would do this.

  Next problem: she owned the inn, and he was a patron. Also, they lived in a small town, and there would be talk. They would see each other tomorrow...and the next day...and the next. There would be no avoiding the one-night stand who'd seen her flaws.

  And what would happen the next time he wrecked a room with a thin, successful date?

  Air wheezed from her as her footsteps quickened. Back and forth. Back and forth, going from the couch she'd found discarded on a curb to the wall covered with pictures she'd taken of clouds, hail, rain, tornadoes, sunrises and sunsets.

  How badly did she want to be held...to laugh with a lover? To forget the rest of the world? How badly did she want an orgasm?

  No risk, no reward.

  Very well. She was going to do this.

  Dorothea hurried through a shower, repainted her nails yellow and orange--hopeful and nervous--and spritzed herself with an essential oil body spray she'd created, the mist settling in places the sun had never seen.

  It was time to lady-nut up or shut up.

  *

  DANIEL PORTER SAT at the edge of the bed. Again and again he dismantled and rebuilt his Glock 17. Before removing the magazine, he racked the slide to ensure no ammunition remained in the chamber. He lifted the upper portion of the semiautomatic, detached the recoil spring as well as the barrel. Then he put everything back together.

  Rinse and repeat.

  Some things you had to do over and over, until every cell in your body could perform the task on autopilot. That way, when bullets started flying, you'd react the right way--immediately--without having to check a training manual.

  Sometime during hour two, he reached for his pack of smokes, only to remember he'd quit weeks ago. Every time he'd lit up, he'd seen his dad's disappointed face, heard worried words.

  Gonna put yourself in an early grave, son.

  He'd also replayed the day Dottie Mathis had spotted him outside, taking a drag, and wrinkled her pretty nose. Other people's opinions usually held no sway, but for some reason, her reaction had stuck with him.

  My name is Dorothea.

  Today she'd spoken in a soft, heartbreaking voice that had made him feel as if he'd taken a knife to the gut.

  Forget her. She doesn't matter.

  By hour three, his eyelids were heavy. At last he placed the gun on the nightstand and stretched out across the mattress. But as one hour bled into another, he merely tossed and turned. Though he wore a pair of boxers, nothing more, and had the air conditioner cranked to icebox, sweat soon drenched him.

  Staying at the inn without a woman hadn't been one of his brightest ideas. Sex kept him distracted from the many horrors that lived inside his mind. After multiple overseas military tours, constant gunfights, car bombs, finding one friend after another blown to pieces, watching his targets collapse because he'd gotten a green light and pulled the trigger...his sanity had long since packed up and moved out.

  Maybe he should ring his buds, Jude Laurent and Brock Hudson. They'd talk him off the ledge.

  The two had served with him as army rangers in an elite unit known as the Ten, so they understood him in a way others never would. Like him, they'd had trouble acclimating to their lives as civilians; to help him out--and each other--the two had decided to move to Daniel's hometown. Together they had launched a new security firm: LPH Protection.

  What if both men were having nights as bad as his? He'd rather die than add to their troubles.

  Daniel scrubbed a clammy hand over his face. Maybe he should call Kate. She'd return for a second night of debauchery, zero hesitation.

  Not just no, but hell no. To her, a second night would be a sign of commitment, no matter how clearly he stated otherwise. She'd already texted to drop hints about a possible future.

  We had so much fun together, Dan. How about one more night--or two? Doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to...

  If he didn't want it to mean anything, she'd said. What about her?

  Whether she admitted it or not, she would assume the aberration in his routine proved she was special. And when he failed to call in the days and weeks to come, she would be hurt.

  Been there, done that.

  Hurting a woman wasn't his jam.

  But who else could he call? He only dated women who lived in Oklahoma City, about an hour and a half away from Strawberry Valley. Preferably ice queens. The colder the woman, the more hyper-focused he became on a concrete goal: melting her resistance and setting her on fire with desire.

  He'd developed a routine. Two to four weeks spent winning the woman over, distracting himself and delighting her. One night of total hedonism. Afterward, they both moved on. No harm, no foul. No tangle of emotions. No love, no pain.

  He would then move on to his next challenge. His next distraction. Without one...

  In the quiet of the room, he began to notice the mental chorus in the back of his mind. Muffled screams he'd heard since his first tour of duty. He pulled at hanks of his hair, but the screams only escalated.

  This. This was the reason he refused to commit to a woman for more than a night. He was too messed up, his past too violent, his present too uncertain.

  A man who looked at a TV remote as if it were a bomb about to detonate had no business inviting an innocent civilian into his crazy.

  He'd even forgotten how to laugh.

  No, not true. Since his return to Strawberry Valley, two people had defied the odds and amused him. His best friend slash devil on his shoulder Jessie Kay West...and Dottie. No, Dorothea.

  Don't think--Oh, what the hell.

  She'd been two grades behind him, had always kept to herself, had never caused any trouble and had never attended any parties. A "goody-goody" many had called her. Daniel remembered feeling sorry for her, a sweetheart targeted by the town bully.

  Today, his reaction to her endearing shyness and unintentional insults had shocked him. Somehow she'd turned him on so fiercely he'd felt as if years had passed since he'd last had sex rather than a few hours. But then, everything about his most recent encounter with Dorothea had shocked him.

  Upon returning from his morning run, he'd stood in the doorway of his room, watching her work. As she'd vacuumed, she'd wiggled her hips, dancing to music with a different beat than the song playing on his iPod.

  Control had been beyond him--he'd hardened instantly.

  He had yet to recover.

  He'd noticed her appeal on several other occasions, of course. How could he not? Her eyes, once too big for her face, were now a perfect fit and the most amazing shade of green. Like shamrocks or lucky charms, framed by the thickest, blackest lashes he'd ever seen. Those eyes were an absolute showstopper. Her lips were plump and heart-shaped, a fantasy made flesh. And her body...

  Daniel stopped tossing and turning and grinned up at the ceiling. He suspected she had serious curves underneath her scrubs. The way the material had tightened over her chest when she'd moved...the lushness of her ass when she'd bent over...e
very time he'd looked at her, he'd sworn he'd developed early onset arrhythmia.

  With her eyes, lips and corkscrew curls, she reminded him of a living doll. He really wanted to play with her.

  But he wouldn't. Ever. She was too warm, too sweet, and non-ice queens tended to cling after sex. Plus, she lived right here in town.

  When Daniel first struck up a friendship with Jessie Kay, his father had expressed hope for a Christmas wedding and grandkids soon after. The moment Daniel had broken the news--no wedding, no kids, they were just friends--Virgil teared up.

  Lesson learned. When it came to Strawberry Valley girls, Virgil would always think long-term, and he would always be disappointed when the relationship ended. Stress wasn't good for his ticker. He'd had a heart attack last year and needed absolute calm to facilitate a full recovery. Daniel loved the old grump with every fiber of his being, wanted him around as long as possible.

  Came back to care for him. Not going to make things worse.

  And yet, in a moment of absolute insanity, Daniel had entertained a desire to laugh again, to feel normal for once, which was why he'd asked Dorothea to stay for coffee. Thank the good Lord she'd turned him down.

  Bang, bang, bang!

  Daniel palmed his semiautomatic and plunged to the floor to use the bed as a shield. As a bead of sweat rolled into his eye, his finger twitched on the trigger. The screams in his head were drowned out by the sound of his thundering heartbeat.

  Bang, bang!

  He muttered a curse. The door. Someone was knocking on the door.

  Disgusted with himself, he glanced at the clock on the nightstand--1:08 a.m.

  He frowned. As he stood, his dog tags clinked against his mother's locket, the one he'd worn since her death. He pulled on the wrinkled, ripped jeans he'd tossed earlier and anchored his gun against his lower back.

  Forgoing the peephole, he looked through the crack in the window curtains. His gaze landed on a dark, wild mass of corkscrew curls, and his frown deepened. Only one woman in town had hair like that, every strand made for tangling in a man's fists.

  Concern overshadowed a fresh surge of desire as he threw open the door. Hinges squeaked, and Dorothea paled. But a fragrant cloud of lavender enveloped him, and his head fogged; desire suddenly overshadowed concern.

  Down, boy.

  She met his gaze for a split second, then ducked her head and wrung her hands. Before, freckles had covered her face. Now a thick layer of makeup hid them. Why would she ever want to disguise them? He liked those little dots, and sometimes imagined--