Can't Hardly Breathe (The Original Heartbreakers #4)

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.”





CHAPTER THREE

FOR THREE DAYS, Dorothea sported blue nails—for sadness—as she struggled to rebuild her decimated self-esteem with healthy living. She jogged an extra five miles every evening, the increase in oxygen making her feel stronger. Even smarter! She avoided sugar with the same indomitable willpower she used to tune out her sister’s insults, improving her mood. And last but not least, she worked from sunup to sundown, taking pride in a job well done.

Why should she care whether or not Daniel Porter desired her? He was shallow, and she had depth. She had shucked off her fears and gone after what she’d wanted, while he had clung to old habits. No regrets!

To be honest, she was glad he’d turned her down. She’d never had a one-night stand, had only suspected she would despise running into Daniel after they’d hooked up. Now she knew beyond a doubt.

They hadn’t kissed or touched, but he’d seen her naked, and that was plenty bad enough.

After she finished cleaning her last room of the day, she strode to her own, ready to gather her gear and run another five miles. No, she would run an extra ten miles tonight. The more she sweat, the more toxins she would expel and the better she would feel.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she spotted Daniel in front of her door and froze. He was here. Why the heck was he here?

The horror of her imagination had failed to do this first sighting justice.

“Open up,” he said, not yet realizing she stood behind him. “We need to talk.”

Talk? Face-to-face? Now?

No. Not now, not ever. He looked too good. Good enough to devour. His dark hair stuck out in sexy spikes, and the thick stubble on his jaw suggested he hadn’t shaved since their last interaction. A leather band covered each of his wrists, and his black tee hugged his muscular biceps, the cotton stretched to the max. Ripped jeans and steel-toed boots only added to his appeal.

Meanwhile, she wore scrubs stained from a hard day’s work. There wasn’t a drop of makeup on her face, and several wayward curls had escaped the messy bun on the crown of her head.

Oh, what the heck. An encounter had to happen sooner or later. They lived in the same small town, for goodness’ sake. Why not get his apology over with? And that was why he was here, wasn’t it? To apologize for his boorish behavior. So she looked her worst. So what? She would be checking a worry off her ever-growing list.

Brave and strong, she took a step forward.

Her knees almost buckled as the look of horror he’d donned when she’d dropped her raincoat constantly refreshed in her mind.

Nope. Can’t do this.

Heart karate-kicking her ribs, she tiptoed down the steps. At the bottom, she leaped into a full-blown sprint, racing down the hall and through the lobby, the outdated decor making her cringe. The peeling wallpaper boasted strawberry vines that had faded just enough to look like dangling testicles. Anything wooden had nicks. Only the chandeliers were new, the gorgeous ruby and emerald crystals shaped to resemble wild strawberries. A Christmas gift from Jessie Kay West for hosting a last-minute party.

Holly sat behind the reception desk and called her name. Dorothea skidded to a stop, willing to risk anything—even a confrontation with Daniel—to help her sister.

“Is something wrong?”

“Just wanted you to know I’m taking tomorrow off,” Holly said.

The good times never stopped. “Mrs. Hathaway has a doctor appointment in the morning, so I need you here.” Tomorrow was parent-teacher conference day at Strawberry Valley High. For once, her sister could work an entire day, allowing Dorothea to attend in their mother’s place. “Without you, I’ll have to close the inn.”

“How cute.” Holly popped a bubble as she stared down at her phone, her fingers dancing over the keyboard. “You thought I was asking for permission.”

“This is a family business, Halls. We—”

“Aren’t a family. We’re strangers.”

Only five words, but they utterly shredded Dorothea. She whispered, “I want to be more. I’m striving to be more.”

“Well, you can quit that like you quit Strawberry Valley, college and your marriage. As soon as I graduate, I’m gone, and I’m not ever coming back.”

Dorothea swallowed a cry of despair, a countdown clock appearing in the back of her mind. Three months. She had three months to win her sister...or she would lose her forever.

“I love you, Holly. I’ll always love you.”

Her sister swiveled the chair in the opposite direction. Message received. The conversation had officially ended.

“However you feel about me,” she persisted, a lump growing in her throat, “you still have to work tomorrow.”

Silence. Thick, oppressive silence.

Disheartened, Dorothea strode outside. The bell over the door tinkled, and cool air embraced her. She’d go...somewhere. She was New Dorothea, after all, and she would do something other than wallow.

She made her way to the parking lot across the street. Her car keys—

Were still in her room. Crap! She switched direction, heading for the town square. What she’d do when she got there, she had no idea. Every shop had already closed for the night.

The scent of wild strawberries wafted from the fields that surrounded the entire town, resurrecting what should have been happy memories. As a child, she’d run through those fields, laughing merrily, untouched by troubles as her dad gave chase.

He’d loved her then.

At least, she’d thought he loved her. If he had felt the smallest bit of affection for her, he would have stayed in contact after he’d divorced Carol.

For a long time, Dorothea had blamed herself for his abandonment. She’d wondered if her appearance or weight had disappointed him. But then, she used to blame herself for Jazz’s infidelity, too. If only she’d worked harder to bring in more money, fixed her hair a different way, lost more weight, tried harder in bed, cooked better, offered more stimulating conversation, something, anything, she would have been enough.