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

“I can’t be your friend, Thea.” His tone was grave.

“But why?” A lance of disappointment and dismay cut through her. “You’re friends with Jessie Kay.”

He flashed his teeth, his features twisted into a fierce scowl. “Yeah, but I don’t want to sleep with Jessie Kay.”

*

DANIEL WAS TRAPPED in a nightmare worse than any combat situation he’d faced.

Thea had rejected him yet again. And she’d done it with unwavering certainty.

He should have rejoiced. Talk about a new and intense challenge. Instead, he hurt. He fumed. Not only had she rejected him, she’d asked him to teach her to flirt—with other men. As if she needed to do more than bat those long black lashes or pout those lush red lips. Actually, showing up at a man’s door wearing nothing but a raincoat would get her whatever she wanted. Only a grade-A asshole with shit for brains would turn her down.

Did she have her sights set on Vandercamp? Probably. Damn it! Daniel’s guts twisted into a thousand little grenades.

“Let me put this another way. I don’t want to be your friend, Thea.” Her features darkened and fell, a sight he despised. Worse, she released his hand. “I want to be your lover.”

“But—”

No buts! “You promised me two more dates, and I’m going to demand you keep your word.” He had to shout to be heard as the live band began a new song. “If you want to give flirting a shot, go for it. I’ll be honest and tell you what works and what doesn’t. But know this. Where you’re concerned, expect it to work, whatever it happens to be.”

She stared at him, as if confused.

“Fluttering your lashes at me? Check. It works.” In spades. “Next.”

“I wasn’t... I was fluttering my lashes?” How pleased she sounded. How damned enchanting.

Her eyes glittered as she smiled at him. A smile that should have been illegal in every state. It was dangerous. Too bright and far too hot—likely to cause localized swelling in men.

“I’ll attend the other two dates as promised,” she said. “But we can’t go out this Saturday or Sunday. I have plans. And I must emphasize, again, that I won’t end up in your bed.”

“On the floor or in the car will be just fine.” Her cheeks reddened, and like every time before, he found himself wondering, again, just how far the color spread. A mystery he had to solve. “What plans?”

“Well.” Nibbling on her bottom lip, she squirmed in her seat. “I...have dates.”

Absolute rage detonated inside him, shrapnel embedding in his heart. Both his jaw and hands clenched. “With whom?”

The squirming got worse. “Brett Vandercamp and Jonathan Hillcrest, respectively.”

In the past, competition had excited Daniel. Right now he would gladly raze the entire world so that he and Thea could be alone, and the reaction stunned him. He felt this strongly, this quickly? Ridiculous! He’d gone years without giving the woman a second thought.

But he’d since watched her dance and seen her naked. He’d laughed with her. Noticed the purity of her heart. Her kindness toward others. Her dedication to her sister. Her quirks—like her love of nail polish and rainstorms. Her heartbreaking vulnerability.

If he somehow convinced her to cancel her other dates, she would grow to resent him. Maybe even wonder what she was missing.

Stay calm. A successful mission started with a concrete plan.

Step one: touch. He traced a fingertip over the rise of her cheekbone.

She leaned into the touch, a bliss all its own. Then she straightened, her spine so rigid he feared she would snap in two.

Step two: engage.

“Why do you want to stop blushing?” he asked. “It’s pretty.”

“No, it’s even more embarrassing than whatever made me blush in the first place.”

Again he asked, “Why?”

“Because... Just because! You wouldn’t understand. You’ve been accepted your entire life.”

How often had she been rejected throughout her life?

Step three: another touch paired with a compliment. He shifted, leaning toward her while brushing his knee against her thigh...loving her gasp of surprise. At her ear, he whispered, “Your blush gives a man ideas. Very naughty ideas. I vote you keep doing it.”

She shivered against him, exciting him—before she pushed him away, disappointing him. “This is my date,” she said primly, “and I’ve decided we’re going to sit in silence for the rest of the evening.”

Step four: give her a glimpse into his deepest fantasy.

“I won’t say another word, sweetheart. I’ll be too busy imagining your dress on my floor and your ass bent over my bed.”





CHAPTER NINE

DANIEL MARCHED INSIDE his dad’s house, Brock behind him. He would much rather be marching into the inn, with Thea, but at the end of the evening, he hadn’t even won a kiss.

All his tried-and-true steps, and he’d failed.

He expected his dad to be sound asleep. Instead, Virgil reclined on the couch, his fingers woven together, locked behind his head. He’d waited up.

Jude sat on the floor, playing with Princess, who spotted Daniel and bounded over. Her excitement soothed him. After his date with Thea, well, his pride was nothing but tatters.

He picked up Princess and let her rest her head in the hollow of his neck while he rubbed her belly. “Everything okay here?”

“No, everything is not okay.” Virgil stood. He used to be several inches taller, but the stoop in his back had shortened him. “First of all, you smell bad enough to gag a maggot. All that smoke on your clothes is going to give me the cancer. And what’s this I hear about you taking sweet little Dorothea Mathis to the Scratching Post?”

Well. News had certainly traveled fast. But who the hell had told his dad?

Of all the bar’s occupants, only Ryanne would have had any interaction with his father, but she and Thea were as close as sisters. There was no way she’d narced.

“I didn’t take Thea anywhere,” he said, inwardly lamenting. He’d been so careful. Well, sort of careful. He’d have to do better next time. “I was there. She was there. We spoke.” True, true and true.

His dad bristled. “Son, you’re waking up my inner coyote. Did I not teach you better? Are you not attracted to her? If I were thirty years younger, I’d get her into bed as soon as possible. No one wants to roll over and wonder if he’s lying on a hammer or his girl’s leg. You should have whisked her out of there, taken her to a nice dinner and paid the check, even if she ordered the surf and turf.”

How was he supposed to respond to that?

Jude continued to frown, as usual.

Laughter glimmered in Brock’s expression as he patted Virgil on the shoulder. “Bars are the devil’s den.”

Virgil gave a hearty nod in agreement. “Way I hear it, women throw brassieres and bloomers at the band and men throw shirts at sweet little Ryanne Wade whenever she sings.”

To Virgil Porter, every girl from Strawberry Valley was “sweet” and “little.”