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

“Lucky me.” She pretended to gag. “By the way, your dates are wearing pants so tight I can see their religion.”

“I saw you bend over earlier. Yours are tighter, doll.” His gaze swept over her, his eyes twinkling. “Tsk-tsk. Haven’t been to church in a while, have we?”

Okay, now that was flirting. Except, Dorothea felt no real sparks between them. No underlying tension.

Oh, you’re an expert on chemistry now?

Someone bumped into Daniel. He stiffened, reaching around his waist to—

Abruptly he stilled. His arm lowered, his hand fisting, and a shuddering breath leaving him. The guy responsible stumbled away without realizing how close he’d come to a beat down.

Concerned, Brock patted Daniel on the shoulder. He also cast Drunk Guy a look laden with violence, his smile gone.

Acting on instinct, Dorothea cupped Daniel’s beard-shadowed cheeks. Was his past threatening to gobble him up? Remembering a pickup line she’d heard in meteorology school, she said, “I’m not a weather girl, but I’m predicting you’ll get six or seven inches tonight.”

Brock spewed the drink he’d just taken. Ryanne snickered behind her hand.

Daniel focused on Dorothea, his jaw slack. Then he threw back his head and laughed with genuine amusement, and she nearly collapsed under a great wave of relief.

“I think you’re underestimating tonight’s storm,” he told her. “I’ll be getting zero inches. You, on the other hand, will be getting ten—”

“Ten?” she squeaked.

Overheating, she pressed a hand over his mouth before he could say anything more. He nipped at her, and she yelped.

They shared a smile as he gathered their drinks.

“Come on.” He ushered her to a darkened corner in the back.

For some reason, Brock followed.

Ever the gentleman, Daniel set down the drinks and held out a chair for her. He claimed the seat at her right while Brock took the one at her left, as if...

Realization struck. He was a cover, she realized with a surge of disappointment. That way, no one from Strawberry Valley would suspect this was a date.

“I’m going to ignore Brock, and I hope you’ll do the same.” Daniel traced a fingertip over the top of her hand. “You and I are the only two people who matter.”

“Words hurt, Danny,” Brock said, though he didn’t sound upset.

“So do fists.” Daniel’s gaze remained on her. “Okay with you?”

I think you’re perfect just the way you are.

Her nails dug into her knees. “Depends on what we’re going to do. Stare at each other all night?”

“I’d like that.” He threaded one of her curls around his finger. “But you’re in charge tonight. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do.”

Right. In desperate need of a distraction, and maybe a little liquid courage, she tasted the drink Ryanne had made her. Vodka and...ginger ale? Absolutely delicious. Refreshing, with a sweet burn. Dorothea emptied the copper mug in only a few gulps.

All right. Let’s do this. “I want you to teach me how to flirt without blushing or stammering.”

His eyes darkened with pleasure. “I never blush or stammer.”

“I mean me.”

“Trust me, sweetheart. You know how to flirt. Your hook is baited, and I’m dangling from the end.”

“But I want to catch other fish,” she admitted quietly. Truth was truth, and if it created a shield between them, great. Perfect.

Daniel flinched.

Such an intense reaction from him...confused her.

Cautiously, she said, “We’re not going to last. Your words, not mine. Not that we’ve started anything.”

He drained his mug.

“It’ll be easier for us both if we never start anything,” she said.

Brock pulled a cigarette from a pack and a lighter from his pocket.

Daniel grabbed the cancer stick and snapped it in two. “No smoking.”

“Hey. I’m not the one who quit because some woman wrinkled her nose,” Brock replied, but he set the pack and lighter on the table.

Who had wrinkled her nose at Daniel? Dorothea had always been careful to blank her expression and hide her aversion, and she was pretty sure she’d succeeded each and every time.

Daniel kicked his friend’s seat. “Quiet, you. The grown-ups are talking.”

“Besides,” she interjected, picking up their conversation as if it hadn’t lagged, “you told me I’m not your type.”

“You told her she’s not your type?” Brock gave his friend the stink eye. “She’s sex in a dress.”

I am?

“I know she is,” Daniel grated.

He does?

He peered at her with the heat of a thousand suns. “I also told you how deeply you misunderstood my words. You are my type. You are my favorite type. Right now you’re my only type.”

She nodded, clearly surprising him. “Of course I am. Now. I’m a challenge.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Chasing a woman saves me from the horrors trapped in here.” He gave his temple a series of taps. “It gives me a goal. A purpose. Nothing more, nothing less.”

I was right, she thought. She’d wondered if multiple overseas tours had affected him adversely, and now she knew. Yes, oh, yes. He used women and sex as a distraction...which meant he would always be searching for the next conquest.

“With you,” he said, “I don’t want to chase. I just want.”

Softening...

Fight this! “Um, knitting can give you a goal and a purpose, too,” she said, a tremor in her voice.

Daniel pursed his lips. “Have I mentioned you are more of an irritation than a challenge?”

“Hey!”

“You think the worst of me,” he continued, “while I think the best of you.”

“What do you mean, the best?”

“You are gorgeous, sexy, smart and kind. Amusing and enchanting.”

A hand fluttered over her heart. Her? Enchanting?

Meanwhile, Brock pulled a Ryanne and pretended to gag.

“I don’t think the worst of you,” she told Daniel, realizing she must have hurt his feelings. “You, too, are gorgeous, sexy, smart, kind and amusing.” And yes, even enchanting, which was why she had to guard her reactions to him.

And dang it, she’d been hard on him long enough, she decided. He’d messed up and said the wrong thing at the wrong time. So what? How often had she done the same?

No more thoughts about using him. Instead, she would work with him.

“We just want different things,” she told him, and patted his hand.

His eyes narrowed. “When you came to my room, you wanted—”

“I know.” She licked her lips. His gaze followed the path her tongue had taken, making her shiver. “But then I changed my mind. A pop and drop isn’t enough for me.”

He blinked at her, incredulous. “A pop and drop?”

“You know, a one-night stand. A hit-and-run. A bang and bail.” Dorothea twined her fingers with his, ignoring the wonderful warmth and delicious friction that sparked between them. Daniel had scars. Jazz had smooth skin, and she’d thought she liked it, preferred it—until now.

Fight!

“You are a wonderful man,” she said. “And I want to be your friend.”

A moment passed in crackling silence. Brock was forgotten. Heck, the rest of the world was forgotten. Adrenaline surged through her, as potent as any drug. Tension tightened her skin over aching bones.