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

He was such a good guy. In one day, he’d done more for her first theme room than she’d done in an entire year. He’d encouraged her to live her dream. Not tomorrow—tomorrow wasn’t a guarantee—but today. He’d proved obstacles could be used as opportunities.

She thought Daniel could maybe possibly become her friend. If she learned to control her physical reactions to him. The cascade of warmth every time she looked at him. The tingles and tremors. The elevated heartbeat...the surge of lust low in her belly.

He was the human equivalent of a brownie. Yummy, but oh, so bad for her.

Ryanne twirled bottles as if they were batons and poured the contents into glasses. Noticing Dorothea, she smiled. “Wow! You look amazing.”

I do? Wait. That’s right, I do. “Thank you.” Dorothea fluffed her hair.

At the other end of the bar, a man shouted for her friend’s attention. Ryanne held up a finger, saying to Dorothea, “What would you like to drink?”

“Something tasty but light.” Too much sugar caused sluggishness, and she needed to remain on high alert.

“All right, then. I’ll make you a Moscow Mule. It has vodka, which is made from potatoes. Potatoes are practically a salad.”

Suddenly a wall of white-hot heat pressed against her backside and wrapped her in a force field of masculinity. “Make that two salads, please.”

Daniel’s rough, husky voice stroked her ears an-n-nd, yes, she experienced an intense and undeniable physical response to him. Tremors raked her, and tingles erupted in select places.

She turned to face him and promptly lost her breath. Primal hunger blazed in his amber eyes and also painted fine lines around his mouth. His dark hair stuck out in wind-rumpled spikes. He wore a black T-shirt and sweatpants as requested. The problem was, the shirt fit well. Too well. He’d ignored her orders, and he would be punished. Or not. Definitely not, because the thought made her shiver. The pants bagged a little, at least, hanging low on his waist, but wow, they still managed to look good on him. Her plan to camouflage his hotness had backfired. His muscular physique was on spectacular display.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, planting her palm on his chest to push him back.

Strong as steel, he remained in place, his heart drumming against her hand. “I’m admiring you. You are...” His gaze slid over her, hooded, then traveled over her a second time at a more leisurely pace. “Absolutely exquisite.”

Thou shalt compliment when merited.

How was she supposed to respond to such blatant appreciation?

Easy. By focusing on tonight’s goals. Shedding her shyness, learning to flirt and saving herself for a viable candidate.

He took her hand in his and studied her nails. “Gold?”

“A version of orange,” she said, a little defensive.

“You’re nervous, then.”

Ugh. She never should have told him about her polish. “People can see us, Daniel. You need to back off.”

A muscle jumped beneath his eye. “People should mind their own business. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with a little flirting.” He leaned toward her, becoming all she could see, all she wanted to see. “Fair warning, sweetheart. Tonight my main objective is getting my hands under that dress...and into your panties.”

Her world tilted, her mind abuzz with a tempest of warring emotions. Say something! “I... You... Tonight the only hands in my panties will be mine.” She sucked in a sharp breath. She hadn’t just implied... Oh, my stars. She had. She really had. Kill me.

Daniel’s pupils expanded in a rush of pure lust. “May I watch?” His voice had evolved into a growl, barely audible over the erratic pulse of music. “I’m willing to beg for the privilege.”

“I didn’t mean—” Oh, what the heck? You’re here to flirt, so flirt. “No, you may not watch me,” she said with what she hoped was a sultry pitch. “But you have my permission to imagine...”

The response must have been appropriate—or tantalizingly inappropriate—because he moaned. “In my mind, you’re going to scream my name when you come.”

The panties in question? Suddenly drenched.

Thankfully, Ryanne pressed two copper mugs against the back of Dorothea’s arm, drawing her attention and saving her from having to think up a response.

“Okay, my pretties. These are on the house,” her friend said. “My way of saying thank you for the show.”

The show. Aka Dorothea’s near capitulation, all because Daniel had uttered a few flattering words. Dang it, she needed to beef up her resistance to him.

I can do better. I will do better.

Daniel nodded a greeting at her friend. “Good to see you again, Rye-anne.”

“It’s Rye-in, and you know it. And you, too, Danny boy.” The mouth that had inspired the poems written on the bathroom walls curved into a sugary sweet smile. “By the way, your friend Jude is a turd on the half shell.”

“Yeah, he gets that a lot,” Daniel said.

“I’m sure you all do.” Ryanne waved a hand through the air, dismissing the subject. “If you hurt Dorothea, little pieces of you will end up scattered all over town.”

Oookay. A groan slipped from Dorothea.

Daniel gave her friend a jaunty salute. “Warning received.”

“You mean promise received,” Ryanne corrected.

“Well. Hello, there, beautiful.” Brock sidled up to Daniel and grinned at Ryanne. His companions remained at his sides, petting his chest as if they’d been paid to adore him.

Had they?

Daniel motioned to him with a tilt of his chin. “Ryanne, have you met my friend and business partner Brock Hudson? Brock, I’d like to formally introduce Ryanne Wade, the owner of the bar.”

“I’ve already had the displeasure.” Ryanne batted her lashes at Brock. “Mr. Hudson is a regular pain in my butt.”

The still-smiling Brock released his cargo—now pouting cargo—to cross his arms over his chest. “Every weekend I ask Miss Ryanne to play fifteen minutes in heaven with me.”

“And every time I tell him to kiss my go-to-hell,” she said without heat...but maybe with a little sisterly affection?

He laughed the huskiest, sexiest sound on the planet—when not compared to Daniel. But seriously. That laugh was like a mating call heard on National Geographic.

The girls stopped petting him and started pawing at him. Seriously, had he paid them, or maybe fed them a magic aphrodisiac? More important, where could Dorothea get a magic aphrodisiac?

Brock gave both women a little push. “Wait for me over there, pretties.”

The girls twittered with disappointment but left as requested. As soon as they were out of hearing range, Dorothea said, “Be honest. They’re hookers, right?”

“Nah. We’re playing a game. Whoever fawns over me the most and the best wins a—”

Daniel hit him in the chest, and he quieted.

A sexual game, then. Envy wafted through her—followed by a sublime flicker of bliss when her gaze met Daniel’s ponderous one. What would it be like to play—

Nope. Not going there.

To Ryanne, Brock said, “Baby, kissing your go-to-hell is what I’ll be doing for twelve of your fifteen minutes in heaven.”