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

My Dorothea, he almost snapped. Mine. All mine.

Brock snickered. “A second job could do me some good, teach me a few hard lessons about responsibility. Maybe I’ll apply at the inn. And by ‘maybe’ I mean definitely.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Daniel grated.

His friends looked at him, then each other, then Brock laughed and Jude snorted. A second later, the bastards raced out of the shop. Jude’s prosthetic gave him a slight limp, but it didn’t slow him.

“Assholes,” Daniel muttered and gave chase. “I’ll be back, Dad.”

The pair blazed down the sidewalk, pushing and shoving each other before rounding the corner and soaring into the inn. Daniel remained close on their heels.

Thankfully, school was in session and there was no sign of Holly. “Hello?” Brock called.

Silence. No sign of Dorothea, either. And no sign of Mrs. Hathaway, who usually slept behind the desk whenever she was on duty.

Daniel looked around. The spacious lobby was clean but worn. The laminate countertop blocking patrons from the desk had a crack in the center. The carpet had several threadbare spots. However, the chandeliers were new and probably worth thousands. Did Thea know Daniel had helped Jessie Kay pick them out?

Jessie Kay had wanted to say thank you for hosting her then-boyfriend’s company Christmas party last minute but hadn’t known what to buy.

Thea needed a camera in here STAT. Multiple cameras, actually, to monitor the entire area and deter thieves.

He could connect the feed to her cell phone, allowing the cameras to act as a secondary receptionist. That way, she could use the new employee to help her clean all those rooms, rather than manning the desk with a snoring Mrs. Hathaway, freeing up precious time.

Time she could spend with Daniel.

Whenever the front door opened or someone entered the lobby, her phone would beep or buzz, and she could send the employee to take care of things.

Yes. He liked this idea. It might take a week or two to get the parts. Until then, Daniel could help her out...

“Dorothea,” Brock bellowed. “Someone? Anyone?”

“I’m here, I’m here.” A harried Thea raced into the lobby.

Daniel experienced a swift gut punch of lust. Multiple curls had slipped from the knot on top of her head and now framed her face. Perspiration caused her skin to glisten as if she’d taken a dip in a glitter-filled hot tub. Her shirt pulled tight over plush breasts he longed to palm.

Her shamrock eyes found Daniel, and a little gasp left her.

How is she more beautiful every time I see her?

“I’m, uh, sorry for the wait,” she said. “How can I help you?”

He made the introductions and said, “They’d each like a room.” Then he glared at both men. “Wouldn’t you?”

Brock smiled an unrepentant smile.

Jude pursed his lips before giving a clipped nod.

“Really?” Thea brightened. “I mean, of course. Let me check to make sure we have vacancies.”

As she typed, Brock propped his elbows on the counter and leaned forward. “So you’re the infamous Dorothea Mathis. Daniel has mentioned you a time or twenty. Now I understand why.”

The color drained from her cheeks, making her freckles stand out. As she focused on Daniel, she radiated anger and incredulity. “How could you!”

Confused, he spread his arms, all innocence. “How could I what?”

“Tell them about...about... Oh!” She type, type, typed, jamming her fingers into the keys. “They can stay. You can go.”

“I didn’t tell them that. I wouldn’t. I won’t.” The memory belonged to him, and him alone.

“And so the plot thickens.” Brock canted his head. “Tell us what, exactly?”

Daniel punched him in the arm and said to Thea, “Before you sign them in under the names Shithead and Dickhead, I’d like to speak with you privately.”

Brock nonchalantly replied, “Shithead is actually pronounced Sha-thead.”

Thea frowned at Daniel. “No, thanks. Customers come before...whatever you are.”

No way was she getting rid of him this time.

“Yeah.” Jude nudged his shoulder in a very un-Jude-like move. “Customers come first.”

“Then I’d like a room of my own,” Daniel announced. “As a paying customer, my happiness is now your top priority.”

Thea stared at him, looking pouty, irritated and excited all at once.

He reached out and curled his hand around hers, drawing another gasp from her—and a soft hiss from himself. A handful of calluses marred her palm, the friction sparking a thousand fires inside him.

He could have used this heat every time he’d spent a cold, dark night in the desert, waiting for a target to appear.

“As the owner,” she said, a catch in her voice, “I have the right to refuse potential patrons.”

“I’m afraid I have to insist, Thea. On the room, and the conversation.” Before she could issue another refusal, he stalked around the corner and gently but firmly ushered her into the hall, out of view.

That moment, that very second, he caged her against the wall and nearly forgot the reason he’d demanded the meeting. Those shamrock eyes were wide again, her irises glittering with challenge. Her lips were wet—she’d licked them.

My turn.

Not yet, not yet.

Her curves melted against him, the scent of her teasing his nose. His favorite scent in the world. She’d added vanilla to the mix this time.

“What are you doing?” she asked, deliciously breathless.

Besides drinking her in and wishing he were already inside her? “For starters, I’m blackmailing you.”

She gulped. “To blackmail, you have to have leverage. You have none.”

“Don’t I?” His gaze slid over her slowly, languidly, and she shivered. “You came to my room naked, sweetheart. I’d say I’ve got major leverage.”

Before his eyes, her nipples beaded. She pressed her legs together, as if she couldn’t assuage a sudden ache.

That gut punch of lust? Merely the first round.

This time? TKO.

“One, you have no proof,” she said, her voice a rasp of silk. “Two, you don’t want your dad to know.”

“One, I don’t need proof. It’s my word against yours. Two, my dad will commend me for acting like a gentleman and sending you away.” Virgil would also slap him upside the head and mention all the pretty babies Daniel could have with the Strawberry Valley girl.

“You...you...” She beat her little fists into his shoulders, a catapult of feminine fury. “You better keep quiet. You said you’d never tell.”

“And I never lie. But I do change my mind upon occasion.”

The pulse at the base of her neck raced, just as before. “Why are you doing this?” she asked softly.

“I told you,” he said, and gentled his tone. Just how deep did her hurt and insecurities run? “I’m desperate for you, which means I can’t play by the rules. So. To buy my silence, you’ve got to date me.”