Читать книгу Can't Hardly Breathe - Gena Showalter - Страница 9
ОглавлениеOUT 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.
She 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...every 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—
Nothing.
“Is something wrong?” On alert, he scanned left...right... The hallway was empty, no signs of danger.
As many times as he’d stayed at the inn, Dorothea had only ever spoken to him while cleaning his room. Which had always prompted his early-morning departures. There’d been no reason to grapple with temptation.
“I’m fine,” she said, and gulped. Her shallow inhalations came a little too quickly, and her cheeks grew chalk white. “Super fine.”
How was her tone shrill and breathy at the same time?
He relaxed his battle stance, though his confusion remained. “Why are you here?”
“I...uh... Do you need more towels?”
“Towels?” His gaze roamed over the rest of her, as if drawn by an invisible force—disappointment struck. 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.”
Coffee? “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 wanted to talk to you.” The color returned to her cheeks, a sexy blush spilling over her skin. “May I come in? Please. Before someone sees me.”
Mistake. That blush gave a man all kinds of ideas.
Besides, 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.
She rushed past him as if her feet were on fire, the scent of lavender strengthening. His mouth watered.
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 spotted the six-pack he’d brought with him, claimed one of the bottles and popped 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.”
He tried not to smile as he grabbed the pot. “Let’s get you that coffee.”
“No worries. I’m not thirsty.” 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, moistening both the upper and lower, and the fly of his jeans tightened. In an effort to keep his hands to himself, he fisted the comforter. “I can’t really tell you. I have to show you.”
“Show me, then.” And leave. She had to leave. Soon.
“Yes,” she croaked. Her trembling worsened as she untied the raincoat...
The material fell to the floor.
Daniel’s heart stopped beating. His brain short-circuited. Dorothea Mathis was gloriously, wonderfully naked; 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, he decided, but a 1950s pinup. Lead me not into temptation... She had the kind of body other women abhorred but men utterly adored. He adored. To his shock, and delight, a vine with thorns and holly was etched around the outside of one breast, ending in a pink rosebud 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. And licked. The freckles on her body were visible, the perfect treasure map for his tongue.
I’ll start up top and work my way down. Slowly.
She had a handful of scars on her abdomen and thighs, beautiful badges of strength and survival. More paths for his tongue to follow.
As he studied her, drinking her in, one of her arms draped over her breasts, shielding them from his view. With her free hand, she covered the apex of her thighs and, no shit, 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...
No. No, no, no. If he slept with the only maid at the only inn in town, he’d have to stay in the city with all future dates, over an hour away from his dad. What if Virgil had another heart attack?
Daniel leaped off the bed to swipe up the raincoat. A darker blush stained Dorothea’s cheeks...and spread...and though he wanted to watch the color deepen, he fit the material around her shoulders.
“You...you don’t want me.” Horror contorted her features as she spun and raced to the door.
His reflexes were well honed; they had to be. They were the only reason he hadn’t come home from his tours of duty in a box. Before she could exit, he raced behind her and flattened his hands on the door frame to keep her inside the room.
“Don’t run,” he croaked. “I like the chase.”
Tremors rubbed her against him. “So...you want me?”
Do. Not. Answer. “I’m in a state of shock.” And awe.
He battled an insane urge to trace his nose along her nape...to inhale the lavender scent of her skin...to taste every inch of her. The heat she projected stroked him, sensitizing already desperate nerve endings.
The mask of humanity he’d managed to don before reentering society began to chip.
Off-kilter, he backed away from her. She remained in place, clutching the lapels of her coat.
“Look at me,” Daniel commanded softly.
After an eternity-long hesitation, she turned. Her gaze remained on his feet. Which was probably a good thing. Those shamrock eyes might have been his undoing.
“Why me, Dorothea?” She’d shown no interest in him before. “Why now?”
She chewed on her bottom lip and said, “Right now I don’t really know. You talk too much.”
Most people complained he didn’t talk enough. But then, Dorothea wasn’t here to get to know him. And he wasn’t upset about that—really. He hadn’t wanted to get to know any of his recent dates.
“You didn’t answer my questions,” he said.
“So?” The coat gaped just enough to reveal a swell of delectable cleavage as she shifted from one foot to the other. “Are we going to do this or not?”
Yes!
No! Momentary pleasure, lifelong complications. “I—”
“Oh my gosh. You actually hesitated,” she squeaked. “There’s a naked girl right in front of you, and you have to think about sleeping with her.”
“You aren’t my usual type.” He couldn’t get involved with a Strawberry Valley girl and risk hurting his dad. No matter how badly he wanted the girl in question.
She flinched, clearly misunderstanding his meaning.
“I prefer city girls, the ones I have to chase,” he added. Which only made her flinch again. Okay, what the hell was wrong with him?
Tears welled in her eyes, clinging to her wealth of black lashes—gutting him. When Harlow Glass had tortured Dorothea in the school hallways, her cheeks had burned bright red but her eyes had remained dry.
I hurt her worse than a bully.
“Dorothea,” he said, stepping toward her.
“No!” She held out her arm to ward him off. “I’m not stick thin or sophisticated. I’m too easy, and you’re not into pity screwing. Trust me, I get it.” She spun once more, tore open the door and rushed into the hall.
This time, he let her go. Even though his senses devolved into hunt mode, just as he’d expected, the compulsion to go after her nearly overwhelming him.
Resist!
What if, when he caught her—and he would—he didn’t carry her back to his room but took what she’d offered, wherever they happened to be?
Biting his tongue until he tasted blood, he kicked the door shut.
Silence greeted him. He waited for the past to resurface, but thoughts of Dorothea drowned out the screams. Her little pink nipples had puckered in the cold, eager for his mouth. A dark thatch of curls had shielded the portal to paradise. Her legs had been toned but soft, long enough to wrap around him and strong enough to hold on to him until the end of the ride.
Excitement lingered, growing more powerful by the second, and curiosity held him in a vise grip. The Dorothea he knew would never show up at a man’s door naked, requesting sex.
Maybe he didn’t actually know her. Maybe he should learn more about her. The more he learned, the less intrigued he’d be. He could forget this night had ever happened.
He snatched his cell from the nightstand and dialed Jude, LPH’s tech expert.
Jude answered after the first ring, proving he hadn’t been sleeping, either. “What?”
Good ole Jude. His friend had no tolerance for bull, or pleasantries. “Brusque” had become his only setting. And Daniel understood. Jude had lost the bottom half of his left leg in battle. A major blow, no doubt about it. But the worst was yet to come. During his recovery, his wife and twin daughters had been killed by a drunk driver.
The loss of his leg had devastated him. The loss of his family had changed him. He no longer laughed or smiled; he was like Daniel, only much worse.
“Do me a favor and find out everything you can about Dorothea Mathis. She’s a Strawberry Valley resident. Owns the Strawberry Inn.”
The faint click-clack of typing registered, as if the guy had already been seated in front of his wall of computers. “Who’s the client, and how soon does he—she?—want the report?”
“I’m the client, and I’d like the report ASAP.”
The typing stopped. “So this is personal,” Jude said with no inflection of emotion. “That’s new.”
“Extenuating circumstances,” he muttered.
“She do you wrong?”
I’m not stick thin or sophisticated. I’m too easy, and you’re not into pity screwing. Trust me, I get it.
“The opposite,” he said.
Another pause. “Do you want to know the names of the men she’s slept with? Or just a list of any criminal acts she might have committed?”
He snorted. “If she’s gotten so much as a parking ticket, I’ll be shocked.”
“So she’s a good girl.”
“I don’t know what she is,” he admitted. Those corkscrew curls...pure innocence. Those heart-shaped lips...pure decadence. Those soft curves...mine, all mine.
“Tell Brock this is a hands-off situation,” he said before the words had time to process.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Brock was the privileged rich boy who’d grown up ignored by his parents. He was covered in tatts and piercings and tended to avoid girls who reminded him of the debutants he’d been expected to marry. He preferred the wild ones...those willing to proposition a man.
“Warning received,” Jude said. “Dorothea Mathis belongs to you.”
He ground his teeth. “You are seriously irritating, you know that?”
“Yes, and that’s one of my better qualities.”
True. “Just get me the details.” Those lips...those curves... “And make it fast.”
