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  Can't Hardly Breathe

  by Gena Showalter

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  Daniel palmed his semiautomatic and plunged to the floor, using the bed as a shield. His finger twitched on the trigger as a bead of sweat rolled into his eye. The screams in his head failed to drown out the sound of his thundering heartbeat as he searched for--

  Bang, bang!

  He cursed. 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 bare chest. He pulled on the wrinkled, ripped jeans he'd tossed to the floor and anchored his gun against his lower back. He would rather walk around naked than go without a weapon.

  Foregoing 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 to be tangled in a man's fists.

  Concern overrode a new surge of desire as he threw open the door, the hinges squeaking. A cloud of lavender enveloped him, his head fogging, desire overriding his concern.

  Down, boy.

  Dorothea met his gaze before ducking her head and wringing her hands. Earlier today, freckles had covered her face. Unfortunately, a thick layer of makeup now hid them.

  "Is something wrong?" On alert, he scanned left...right... The hallway was empty, and there were no signs of danger. As many times as he'd stayed at the inn, she'd only ever spoken to him while cleaning his room...which might have something to do with his early-morning departures. There'd been no reason to grapple with temptation. "Are you all right?"

  "I'm, uh, fine." Her shallow inhalations came a little too quickly, and her cheeks were chalk white. "I'm fine."

  Somehow her tone was shrill and breathy at the same time.

  He relaxed, though his confusion remained. "Why are you here?"

  "I...uh... Do you need more towels?"

  "Towels?" His gaze roamed over the rest of her. She wore a bulky ankle-length raincoat, hiding the body underneath. Had a storm rolled in? He listened, but heard no claps of thunder. "No, thank you. I'm good."

  "Okay." She licked her porn-star lips and toyed with the tie around her waist. "Yes, I'll have coffee with you."

  "Now?"

  A defiant nod, those corkscrew curls bouncing.

  He barked out a laugh, surprised, amazed and delighted by her all over again. "What's really going on, Dorothea?"

  Her eyes widened. "My name. You remembered." When he stared at her, expectant, she cleared her throat. "Right. The reason I'm here. I just... I need to talk to you." The color returned to her cheeks, a blush spilling over her skin. "May I come in? Please. Before someone sees me."

  What could Miss Mathis have to say to him? He ran through a mental checklist of possible problems. His bill--nope, already paid in full. His father's health--nope, Daniel would have been called directly.

  If he wanted answers, he'd have to deal with Dorothea...alone...with a bed nearby...

  Swallowing a curse, he stepped aside and motioned her in.

  She rushed past him as if her feet were on fire, the scent of lavender strengthening.

  I could eat her up. But he wouldn't. Wouldn't even take a nibble.

  "Shut the door. Please," she said, a tremor in her voice.

  He hesitated but ultimately obeyed. "Would you like a beer while the coffee brews?"

  "Yes, please." She grabbed a bottle from the six-pack he'd brought and popped off the cap. He watched with fascination as she drained the contents.

  She wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist and belched softly into her fist. "Thanks. I needed that."

  She placed the empty bottle on the dresser. Her gaze darted around the room, a little wild, a lot nervous. She began to pace in front of him. She wasn't wearing shoes, revealing toenails painted yellow and orange, like her fingernails.

  More curious by the second, he eased onto the edge of the bed. "Tell me what's going on."

  "All right." Her tongue slipped over her lips, and the fly of his jeans tightened. In an effort to keep his hands to himself, he fisted the comforter. "I can't tell you, though. I have to show you."

  "Show me, then." And leave. She had to leave. Soon.

  "Yes," she croaked. "I will." Her trembling worsened as she untied the raincoat...

  The material fell to the floor.

  Daniel's heart stopped beating, and his brain short-circuited. Dorothea Mathis was naked. And she had more curves than he'd suspected. Generous curves. Gorgeous curves.

  Was he drooling? He might be drooling.

  She wasn't a living doll, but a 1950s pinup. She had the kind of body other women claimed to abhor but men adored. He adored. A vine with thorns and holly was tattooed around the outside of her left breast, ending in a pink bloom just over her heart.

  He wanted to touch. He needed to touch.

  A moment of rational thought intruded. Strawberry Valley girls were off-limits... His dad... Disappointment... But...

  Dorothea's soft, lush curves deserved to be touched. Though makeup still hid the freckles on her face, the sweet little dots covered the rest of her pale skin. A treasure map for his tongue.

  I'll start up top and work my way down.

  She had a handful of scars on her abdomen and one of her thighs. Beautiful badges of strength and survival. More paths for his tongue to follow.

  With shaking hands, she covered her breasts and the apex of her thighs and, honest-to-God, he almost whimpered. Such bounty should never be covered.

  "I want...to sleep with you," she stammered. "One time. Only one time. Afterward, I don't want to speak with you about it. Or about anything. We'll avoid each other for the rest of our lives."

  One night of no-strings sex? Yes, please. He wanted her. Here. Now.

  For hours and hours...

  Copyright (c) 2017 by Gena Showalter

  ISBN-13: 9781488023194

  The Darkest Promise

  Copyright (c) 2017 by Gena Showalter

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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