Can't Hardly Breathe

by Gena Showalter

  A dangerous bolt of heat shot through her, a mimic of the lightning strikes outside. "If I was yours, you couldn't pay for anything without letting the entire town know we're dating, and that you would never do." She handed him a mug and, with a gentle nudge, said, "Drink."

  He obeyed, his eyes widening with surprise. "This is good."

  "Even better, it's good for you."

  "Don't tell me it mends broken hearts."

  "Why? Does yours need mending?" she asked softly, figuring he would either shut her down, as Brett had done, or switch to a safer topic.

  Instead, he told her, "Yes. Yes it does." His shoulders rolled in, making him appear dejected, but even that couldn't detract from his appeal. Not with those sharp cheekbones, long black lashes and a nose that might have been broken once or twice.

  "I'm sorry, Daniel."

  His big hands gripped the cup. They were a workingman's hands, big and rough, but they looked just as comfortable holding a delicate piece of porcelain as they would look holding a jackhammer. Or a woman's breasts...

  She sucked in a breath. When would her mind accept the fact that Daniel wasn't the man for her?

  "I know how to deal with loss. My mom. Friends. Soldiers. Hell, my innocence." He pressed his lips together, and she thought he'd stop there. Then he shuddered and added, "Why is the loss of a dog killing me?"

  He might as well have ripped out her heart with a rusty spoon.

  "Princess filled a void in your life. A void you might not have known you had until now." She eased beside him, and they sat in silence for several minutes, passing the milk between them until the cup was empty. Every time she took a drink, he made sure to turn the cup so that his lips settled where hers had been. For some reason, those kisses-by-proxy helped ease him.

  They had the opposite effect on her. Warmth pooled between her legs, and she squirmed, searching for relief she might never find.

  "You're cold and wet," he said, his gaze lingering on her beaded nipples. "You should change. Now." A croak, the raggedness of his voice only fueling her desire for him. "Definitely now."

  Just went on a date with another man. And I refuse to be a secret. I decided. Not going to change my mind because Daniel had a bad day and he looks hot sitting on my bed.

  "You're right." She gathered an oversize T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and locked herself in the bathroom. To prove she wouldn't be making a play for Daniel, she washed her face free of makeup.

  Behold! Dorothea Mathis in all her freckled glory.

  She exited the bathroom, her spine fused with steel. He'd abandoned the bed in order to prowl through her room. He stared at the framed ultrasound picture on her mantel--the only thing on it, actually. Acid scalded her chest. She breathed a sigh of relief when he turned his attention to the pictures on the wall. Her and Holly as kids. Her, Lyndie and Ryanne as teens.

  "You had sad eyes." He turned after he'd spoken, proving he'd been aware of her the entire time. A soft smile teased his mouth as he looked her over. "I like you like this."

  "You do?" Really?

  "You're relaxed and soft. So damned soft. And those freckles...they give a man ideas."

  She gulped, taken aback. "What kind of ideas?"

  "Very naughty ones." A pause. Then, "I'd like to show you, sweetheart."

  Lord save me. The way he'd said it...as if he wasn't saying "show" but "make love to." As if being inside her was the answer to every problem he'd ever had.

  "I..." Want to say yes. So danged bad. "No." To give in was to give up on her goal. Be the prize, not the secret. "Unless you want to do this thing for real." She couldn't believe she'd been so bold, but this was important to her. And yeah, okay, she'd had a moment where she'd doubted long-term relationships could work. Maybe they couldn't, but she still wanted to try. "Do you?"

  He gave her a wry stare as he unabashedly adjusted the fly of his jeans. "I want to keep you all to myself. That isn't a crime."

  "I'll take that as a no." And she wasn't hurt. She wasn't! At least she'd made a play for what she wanted, right?

  The sound of a hammer banging repeatedly on an anvil suddenly echoed through the room. The hail had arrived. She turned on her TV, avoiding Jazz's station. The forecaster warned of possible tornadic activity, as she'd suspected. The power flickered once, twice, before going out. Sixty seconds later, the generator kicked on.

  "I need to go home, watch over my dad." He looked at the door, looked at her, then the door again. He remained in place. "I don't want to leave you."

  I won't react, I won't react, dang it, I won't react. "Well, that's good, because you can't leave while it's hailing. You could be knocked unconscious, and your car could be totaled."

  With a curse, he whipped out his cell. He had a short conversation with...Jude, if she had to guess, who was already at his dad's. By the time they hung up, Daniel's relief was palpable. "If there's a tornado, and I'm not with him..."

  "He has a shelter," she reminded him. Everyone in town had a shelter. The inn had a basement. "Right now, we're in the clear, though." She pointed to the TV and explained the storm's predicted path, the clouds that covered Strawberry Valley and the movement of the wind.

  Daniel stared at her with something akin to...awe? "You should have stayed in school. You would kick ass on a news station. And every man in the state would wish we had naked weather girls."

  She snort-laughed.

  He studied her for several prolonged moments and frowned. "You want to be behind the camera, get behind the camera. It doesn't have to belong to a news station. You can live stream for the people of Strawberry Valley. Jude can even help you with a website."

  The idea had merit and gave her something to ponder. Could she? Should she? "Let me think about it," she said softly. "And thank you."

  His brows knit together. "For what?"

  "For taking me seriously."

  "Your talent and passion are obvious. Why would I do anything but take you seriously?"

  Softening...

  Red alert! Danger zone! If she didn't do something to disrupt this tantalizingly raw moment, she was going to fall head over heels in love with him. Again!

  Not that she was afraid of love. Love empowered. Love healed. It was everything else that hurt. Like rejection. Oh, how rejection hurt. Hate. Bitterness. Envy. Strife. Greed. But love...it gave without expecting anything in return. It built up, never tore down. It protected.

  If only Daniel would love her back.

  Emotion clogged her throat. She threaded her fingers through his--experienced a jolt of connection, a frisson of acceptance--and drew him to the screened-in porch that led to the roof, allowing them to watch the hail as cool mist brushed against their faces and dark clouds wisped over an equally dark sky.

  "This is my favorite place in the world," she said, releasing him for the sake of her sanity.

  But his big hand sought a new resting place, cupping her nape and massaging. "I can see why. It's as beautiful, wild and unpredictable as the woman who owns it."

  Well. Disrupting the moment hadn't helped. Then and there, Dorothea Valentina Mathis fell head over heels in love with Daniel Porter, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  DANIEL RETURNED HOME after the storm and ended up pacing all night. Not exactly a new experience for him; his mind refused to settle. Something had changed between Thea and him. Something big. Unfortunately, the particulars escaped him.

  He thought back. He'd called her beautiful, wild and unpredictable, and only a few minutes later she'd ushered him out of her bedroom and into one of his own as if he'd begun leaking toxic waste.

  Already he missed her. And he missed Princess. He felt like his chest had been hollowed out and glass shards stuffed inside. Every time he inhaled, those shards cut him to ribbons. His need to breathe both kept him alive and killed him simultaneously.

  Dorothea was right. There was a void inside him.

  One he needed to fill. Which meant he
needed a dog of his own. A beloved companion. A bosom buddy.

  Yeah. A dog would help his dad, too. Maybe even Jude and Brock.

  Brock had returned to the Scratching Post again last night and once again drank so much he'd blacked out. An hour ago, Ryanne had texted Daniel to let him know Brock was on her couch. He'd told Jude, and the guy had taken off in a fury to collect their friend.

  If Brock didn't change his destructive ways, he was going to end up in the hospital. Or worse, a casket. And Jude...the man wanted to shut himself off emotionally, but he lived with despair. Before leaving to get Brock, he'd been cleaning his gun, staring at it like it was an answer to a prayer.

  The three of them were dealing with PTSD in different ways. Daniel knew it, but he hadn't realized the depths of danger until now--until Princess. She hadn't been trained as a service dog, but she'd still had a calming effect.

  And Daniel needed to calm the hell down. Thea wasn't going to cancel her date with Hillcrest, and cold-blooded murder still wasn't an option.

  As sunlight filtered through his window, Daniel's eyes burned, fatigue a noose around his neck. He showered and dressed and exited his room.

  He drove to the inn and searched for Thea, only to find Carol Mathis bustling around in the kitchen.

  She'd come back from her singles getaway early. "Ms. Mathis," he said in greeting.

  "Call me Carol, please. Ms. Mathis makes me think of the poor woman currently married to my ex-husband."

  "When did you get in?"

  "A few hours ago. Holly's been texting me nonstop." She cast a pointed glance in his direction. "I'm needed here."

  Trying to tell him that he wasn't needed? Well, no woman had ever been more wrong.

  "Would you mind running the inn today?" he asked. "I'd like to take Thea into the city. I'm making the headboard for her first theme room, and she's got to pick out the wood." He didn't mention the dog shelter they would be visiting, lest Carol try to talk her daughter out of coming home with a pet.

  Her lips pinched together. "I've been meaning to speak with my Dottie about the changes she's making around here. I don't know why she thinks a theme room is going to be profitable. I'm telling you, the inn is perfect just the way it is. Why, people like the familiar and always have. They count on us to provide a stay so comfortable they'd swear they were at home. And with the spring festival only four weeks away, we're going to fill up fast. We need every room ready to go."

  He was glad she hadn't talked to Thea about this. The precious girl deserved encouragement and praise, not more roadblocks. "The room will be finished before the festival, I'll make sure of it. And everyone who's heard about the theme room seems excited for the change. Just give it a chance."

  Daniel beat feet before she could protest, continuing his search for Thea. She wasn't in her room. Or rather, she didn't answer the door. He didn't think she was ducking him today. He saw no moving shadows under the crack between door and floor.

  He remembered the room. He'd liked it. A lot. Had more space than the rooms below, and came with a small kitchenette. The furnishings looked as if they belonged in an old lady's house where cats ruled the roost, but Thea had added feminine touches to infuse her sparkling personality. A patchwork quilt with pictures of star formations draped the top of a floral-print chair. A velvet settee was lined with furry white pillows, as if they were clouds. Every lamp had beaded ribbons streaming from the cap to mimic rain. Beside the door to the roof was a brass telescope.

  He also remembered a photo above the mantel. A framed ultrasound with last year's date in the corner. Thea had no children, and no one in town had recently given birth.

  He hadn't liked the path his mind had taken--Thea's baby...lost.

  The background check hadn't delved into her medical history, and he wouldn't do so now. He would respect her privacy, as he'd promised, and wait for her to share her past.

  He found her in Holly's room, the door wide-open. The two were arguing as Holly stalked from the closet to the edge of the bed, where she was stuffing clothing into a bag. Thea followed her and pulled out the clothes, tossing the garments back into the closet.

  "Stop that. Mom's back, and she said I could go," Holly grated.

  "Well, Mom must have had a stroke. You can't miss an entire week of school just to go camping with your friends."

  "I can, and I will. Watch me."

  "Do you want to flunk your senior year?" Thea demanded.

  "Why not? I can get my GED."

  He knocked on the door frame to get their attention. Both stopped what they were doing to shout, "What?"

  Thea wilted, instantly apologetic. "Sorry. Is there something you need?" she asked in a gentler tone.

  "Your mother is running the inn today, and after you make me a cup of golden milk, we're going into the city to pick the wood for the new headboard."

  Relief and excitement blended in her beautiful eyes. "I'm not making you any golden milk or going to the city with you. You can send me a link--"

  He stalked across the distance, leaned down and whispered, "You owe me a date, remember? Make the milk." If he had to force the issue, he would. "And change into your shortest skirt."

  She glowered at him. "Fine. I'll make the milk while Holly cancels her camping trip. She can come with us."

  He knew better than to argue. "Yay," he deadpanned. "The more the merrier."

  "No, Holly cannot go with you," the girl retorted while stuffing another shirt in the bag. "She'd rather wear a dress made entirely of vomit."

  "Perfect." Thea hurled the shirt into the closet. "Vomit is your best color. Now stop being a spoiled brat and cancel that trip, or I will cancel it for you. Maybe you haven't realized it yet, but going would make you a hypocrite. You say you hate me for leaving you, and yet here you are trying to do the same to me--and ruining your future in the process, just to spite me! You have school in two days, and you will attend class. And you will be in the lobby in half an hour. With a smile! If you want to wear your vomit dress, fine, but you will go to the city with us, and you will help us pick wood for the headboard. I may not be the best sister in the world, but I'm your sister. Deal with it."

  She left then, dragging Daniel with her.

  He was proud of her. And he was so turned on he actually broke out in a sweat. The more she'd yelled at her sister, the harder he'd gotten. He wasn't sure what that said about his state of mind, but he was certain he didn't care.

  He wanted this woman. He wanted her badly. He had to win her, which meant convincing her to date him in secret. Not for the challenge she represented--he was well past that kind of need--but for her. The woman. The pinup.

  The only light in a very dark world.

  *

  TO DOROTHEA'S SURPRISE, Holly was waiting in the lobby half an hour later, as ordered. She was dressed in a black dress with a high neck, long sleeves and a floor-length train. Old-fashioned funeral attire.

  She wouldn't meet Dorothea's gaze, but she was there. Hope bloomed within her. They might be able to patch their relationship after all.

  "Thank you," Dorothea said, crossing her ankles to accentuate the calf-length skirt. She'd wanted to wear pants, but because Daniel had worn sweatpants for her, she'd gone with a skirt, as he'd requested. Or commanded. Of course, she'd ignored the part about "shortest" as an eff-you to Daniel and his secret-keeping ways. However, she had worn her brand-new thong. Not that he would see or feel it, the jerk...maybe. Probably.

  "Whatever." Holly popped a bubble. "Why are you dressed in church clothes?"

  "Maybe I plan to pray for your soul." With a sigh, she led her sister outside. The sun glared at everyone, obviously ticked off about yesterday's storm. Daniel's truck idled at the curb, and he helped them climb inside the passenger side; Dorothea took the front and Holly the back.

  "That is your shortest skirt?" he whispered so Holly wouldn't hear.

  "No."

  His eyes narrowed.

  "But I'm wearing a thong," she said, and
his fingers jerked on the wheel.

  He wants me...

  Maybe she should have let him stay in her room last night, rather than kicking him out. Maybe she should have scratched an itch. Even now, she wanted him right back. Despite everything, her desire remained on constant simmer, and oh, how she ached.

  Her body said: Make out with him, just once more. What would it hurt?

  Only everything! A single slice of pie would not stop a craving for the whole dang thing.

  "Your nails are yellow," he said, changing the subject. "What are you hopeful about?"

  Ignoring him--no way to answer that without sounding lovesick--she peered out the window.

  He didn't push her for the deets, and she wasn't sure if she was grateful he respected her or upset that he didn't care enough.

  When he parked in front of a metal warehouse, he said, "Pick the wood you want and don't you dare look at price, all right? Promise me."

  Okay, maybe he cared enough. "But--"

  "No buts. This is my--" he glanced back at Holly "--you know. And I decide what we do. Plus, the headboard is my contribution to the theme room. That means I pay for it."

  This. This was one of the reasons she loved him. He selflessly gave of himself, his time and his resources.

  "Thank you," she said softly. "That's very kind of you."

  His gaze finally slid over her, heating and hooding... He looked at her as if she'd created the moon and stars. "Absolutely my pleasure."

  "Why?" Holly barked. "Why is it your pleasure to be kind to her? Are you guys fuc--"

  Dorothea slapped a hand over her sister's mouth.

  But she didn't offer a reprimand. Let Daniel respond.

  He smiled, completely unabashed. "No, we aren't...screwing. I plan to hassle your sister every morning for golden milk, and I want a reason to hold over her head. 'Remember when I bought all those planks...carved that headboard...' Also, I'll be asking a very big favor of her when we're done here."

  "What favor?" Dorothea asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

  "I'll tell you when we're--what?--done here," he reiterated.

  Argh! The wait would be torture.

  The anger faded from Holly's features, and she peered at Daniel as if he were a creature from outer space. How many times had she peered at him that same way? Only, replace "creature from outer space" with "sex god from outer space."