Can't Hardly Breathe

“Yes.” Jude’s report had come in about an hour ago. The final nail in the coffin for his control.

Dorothea had been married to a weatherman who might or might not have cheated on her with a coworker. She had a grand total of zero social media pages, and no one in town or otherwise had ever posted anything about her love life.

How Daniel interpreted the info: (1) she knew how to keep her relationships private and (2) his dad would never find out if Daniel spent the night with her.

As soon as realization had struck, he’d rushed to the inn, then followed her trail to the Scratching Post. But in a moment of startling clarity, he’d understood just how deeply his rejection had hurt her. He wasn’t adorable to her. He was going to have to work for her.

Game on.

“How do you know me better?” she demanded.

Admit he’d done a background check on her? Yeah, not gonna happen. She would rage. Well, rage more. “Maybe I had a little sense knocked into me.”

“Doubtful. As you previously admitted, you like the chase, that’s all, and I’m suddenly a challenge.” She gestured to the door with a trembling hand. “Leave. Please.”

“Leave...or stay?” He brushed the tip of his nose against hers, and she sucked in a breath. “I know which one gets my vote.”

Her gaze locked on his mouth. He thought—hoped—desire for him was rising inside her, a tide she couldn’t ignore. Then she flattened her chocolate-smeared hands on his chest and fisted his shirt to shake him.

“You’re being nice to me, and I don’t like it,” she grated. “Stop.”

“No, I don’t think I will. My momma told me I could catch more flies with honey.”

“First, you realize you just likened me to a fly, right? Second, why would you ever want to catch one?” Her nose wrinkled at the sides. “FYI, you can also catch flies with a dead, rotting carcass. Your own, to be exact.”

A laugh brewed in the back of his throat, astounding him. Clearly Dorothea had a superpower; the ability to amuse him, even while his body burned for hers.

“I’d rather catch you,” he told her, his voice going low and husky. “Say yes, and I’ll spend the first hour in bed making you come over and over again, doing anything you want. Everything you need. The second hour, I’ll make the first one look like amateur night. By the third, there’s no place on your body I won’t have explored—no place you won’t ache for me.”

“Hours?” She melted against him only to stop, blink up at him and bare her perfect pearly whites. “Look, I’m going to give you a bit of advice, okay? Most guys get lucky after they get to know the girl, but that isn’t a good strategy for you. Your face attracts us, but your personality repels us. Stay quiet, and you’ll stay lucky.”

Ouch, that stung—mostly because it was accurate.

He wrapped his fingers around her wrists and caressed his thumb over her racing pulse, internal wound forgotten as he marveled. Compared to his, her bones were small and delicate. Her skin radiated pure, silken heat.

“Am I going to get lucky tonight?” he asked.

Her gaze remained on their hands, where they touched. “No?”

A question rather than a statement of fact. What sweet progress. “I’ll take your no as a maybe.”

“Don’t. I—”

“Too late. Besides, if I were in the habit of giving up easily, I would have died the time I took five slugs to the chest.”

She gasped. “You almost died?”

“Multiple times. Kiss my scars and make them better?”

Now a strangled sound left her. “I... You—” She drew in a deep breath, slowly released it and visibly calmed. “You know what? Let’s never discuss this again. Next time we see each other, let’s pretend we’re strangers.”

“Counteroffer. Let’s discuss this all night. Next time we see each other, let’s pretend we’re lovers and we’re allergic to our clothing.”

Her lips pursed. “I’m not playing games with you, Daniel.”

“Not yet.” He ghosted his knuckles along the curve of her jaw, relishing her softness and warmth. “But soon, I hope.”

She leaned into him, realized what she’d done and batted his hand away. “Your sudden desire for me—”

“Trust me, it isn’t sudden.”

“—is insulting,” she finished. “Wait.” She shook her head, as if she needed to reset her brain and replay his words. “What?”

Why not tell her about the first time? “I remember driving past your bus stop one morning back in high school. You were watching your feet as you kicked a pebble. The rumble of my truck’s engine drew your attention, and you glanced up, smiled shyly. You even blushed.” Just like now, this moment. “I got hard just looking at you.”

“You did?” Wonder lit her eyes, the air between them charging with electricity. Then she growled and stomped her foot. “You haven’t changed. You always say the right things, building up a girl’s hopes, then you crush her with disappointment.”

“Always? Name one other time I’ve crushed your hopes.” And he had changed. Losing loved ones had chipped away at his happiness. Killing enemy soldiers had left a stain on his soul, even though the government had sanctioned his actions.

“In school you—”

When she said no more, he prompted, “What?”

“Never mind. If you want me now,” she said, “you’re going to have to prove it. And I don’t mean with a hard...you know.”

“You know?” He snickered. “Say it. Tell me what it’s called.”

“You don’t think I will? Fine.” Up went her chin. “Penis. Penis, penis, penis.”

He laughed—again—and then she laughed. Their eyes met and they both quieted. Tension mounted quickly. Lightning strikes of sensation shot through him. Perhaps her body acted as a conductor; she jolted as if she’d just been hit.

“You should go,” she croaked, stepping to the side.

Leaving held no appeal, but there was a time for war, and a time for retreat. If he continued to push, he’d only orchestrate an ambush—for himself.

“This isn’t over, Dorothea. We’ll talk soon.”

“No, I—”

He pressed a finger to her lips, saying, “Soon.” Then he left the apartment before she could contradict him.

Outside, cool night air failed to temper the heat of his desire.

He was used to being turned down by ice queens. At first. In the past, he’d always loved to romance a succinct no into an enthusiastic yes. But Dorothea wasn’t made of ice. She couldn’t be. She smoldered. And yet he suspected turning her no into a yes would be far more satisfying—even if he’d rather have her yes now than later.

He climbed into his ’79 Chevy pickup and headed into town. Twelve years ago, he and his dad rebuilt the engine. The thing guzzled gasoline like Brock guzzled beer, but it was part of his family.

Out of habit, or instinct, whatever, he parked in the lot across from the Strawberry Inn. Then he remembered he hadn’t rented a room tonight. Why not jog home and burn off a little excess energy?