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

So, yes, she would do this.

Next problem: she owned the inn, and he was a patron. Also, they lived in a small town, and there would be talk. They would see each other tomorrow...and the next day...and the next. There would be no avoiding the one-night stand who’d seen her flaws.

And what would happen the next time he wrecked a room with a thin, successful date?

Air wheezed from her as her footsteps quickened. Back and forth. Back and forth, going from the couch she’d found discarded on a curb to the wall covered with pictures she’d taken of clouds, hail, rain, tornadoes, sunrises and sunsets.

How badly did she want to be held...to laugh with a lover? To forget the rest of the world? How badly did she want an orgasm?

No risk, no reward.

Very well. She was going to do this.

Dorothea hurried through a shower, repainted her nails yellow and orange—hopeful and nervous—and spritzed herself with an essential oil body spray she’d created, the mist settling in places the sun had never seen.

It was time to lady-nut up or shut up.

*

DANIEL PORTER SAT at the edge of the bed. Again and again he dismantled and rebuilt his Glock 17. Before removing the magazine, he racked the slide to ensure no ammunition remained in the chamber. He lifted the upper portion of the semiautomatic, detached the recoil spring as well as the barrel. Then he put everything back together.

Rinse and repeat.

Some things you had to do over and over, until every cell in your body could perform the task on autopilot. That way, when bullets started flying, you’d react the right way—immediately—without having to check a training manual.

Sometime during hour two, he reached for his pack of smokes, only to remember he’d quit weeks ago. Every time he’d lit up, he’d seen his dad’s disappointed face, heard worried words.

Gonna put yourself in an early grave, son.

He’d also replayed the day Dottie Mathis had spotted him outside, taking a drag, and wrinkled her pretty nose. Other people’s opinions usually held no sway, but for some reason, her reaction had stuck with him.

My name is Dorothea.

Today she’d spoken in a soft, heartbreaking voice that had made him feel as if he’d taken a knife to the gut.

Forget her. She doesn’t matter.

By hour three, his eyelids were heavy. At last he placed the gun on the nightstand and stretched out across the mattress. But as one hour bled into another, he merely tossed and turned. Though he wore a pair of boxers, nothing more, and had the air conditioner cranked to icebox, sweat soon drenched him.

Staying at the inn without a woman hadn’t been one of his brightest ideas. Sex kept him distracted from the many horrors that lived inside his mind. After multiple overseas military tours, constant gunfights, car bombs, finding one friend after another blown to pieces, watching his targets collapse because he’d gotten a green light and pulled the trigger...his sanity had long since packed up and moved out.

Maybe he should ring his buds, Jude Laurent and Brock Hudson. They’d talk him off the ledge.

The two had served with him as army rangers in an elite unit known as the Ten, so they understood him in a way others never would. Like him, they’d had trouble acclimating to their lives as civilians; to help him out—and each other—the two had decided to move to Daniel’s hometown. Together they had launched a new security firm: LPH Protection.

What if both men were having nights as bad as his? He’d rather die than add to their troubles.

Daniel scrubbed a clammy hand over his face. Maybe he should call Kate. She’d return for a second night of debauchery, zero hesitation.

Not just no, but hell no. To her, a second night would be a sign of commitment, no matter how clearly he stated otherwise. She’d already texted to drop hints about a possible future.

We had so much fun together, Dan. How about one more night—or two? Doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to...

If he didn’t want it to mean anything, she’d said. What about her?

Whether she admitted it or not, she would assume the aberration in his routine proved she was special. And when he failed to call in the days and weeks to come, she would be hurt.

Been there, done that.

Hurting a woman wasn’t his jam.

But who else could he call? He only dated women who lived in Oklahoma City, about an hour and a half away from Strawberry Valley. Preferably ice queens. The colder the woman, the more hyper-focused he became on a concrete goal: melting her resistance and setting her on fire with desire.

He’d developed a routine. Two to four weeks spent winning the woman over, distracting himself and delighting her. One night of total hedonism. Afterward, they both moved on. No harm, no foul. No tangle of emotions. No love, no pain.

He would then move on to his next challenge. His next distraction. Without one...

In the quiet of the room, he began to notice the mental chorus in the back of his mind. Muffled screams he’d heard since his first tour of duty. He pulled at hanks of his hair, but the screams only escalated.

This. This was the reason he refused to commit to a woman for more than a night. He was too messed up, his past too violent, his present too uncertain.

A man who looked at a TV remote as if it were a bomb about to detonate had no business inviting an innocent civilian into his crazy.

He’d even forgotten how to laugh.

No, not true. Since his return to Strawberry Valley, two people had defied the odds and amused him. His best friend slash devil on his shoulder Jessie Kay West...and Dottie. No, Dorothea.

Don’t think—Oh, what the hell.

She’d been two grades behind him, had always kept to herself, had never caused any trouble and had never attended any parties. A “goody-goody” many had called her. Daniel remembered feeling sorry for her, a sweetheart targeted by the town bully.

Today, his reaction to her endearing shyness and unintentional insults had shocked him. Somehow she’d turned him on so fiercely he’d felt as if years had passed since he’d last had sex rather than a few hours. But then, everything about his most recent encounter with Dorothea had shocked him.

Upon returning from his morning run, he’d stood in the doorway of his room, watching her work. As she’d vacuumed, she’d wiggled her hips, dancing to music with a different beat than the song playing on his iPod.

Control had been beyond him—he’d hardened instantly.

He had yet to recover.