Can't Hardly Breathe. Gena Showalter

      CHAPTER FOUR

      HAVING BRAVED ENEMY territory in the bright light of day and in the dark of night, Daniel had learned to recognize the signs of impending danger.

      Dorothea was stiff as a board, her hands balled into fists. Tension crackled from her.

      Incoming!

      She beat at his chest. “You...you...prick! Three days ago, I wasn’t worth a pity screw, and now that you’re desperate for sex, you decide to turn on the charm, expecting me to thank you for the scraps you toss my way?”

      He took a moment to admire the pale blue paint on her nails. Adorable.

      He had a feeling he would like her nails even if they were puke green or bowel-movement brown.

      Ever since she’d flashed him, he’d been turned on, unable to turn off.

      Earlier today he’d walked past the inn. Through the window he’d seen her leaning over the reception desk, her pants pulled tight over her ass, and his decision to avoid her had crashed and burned. He would have paid any price to stand behind her, rub against her and hear her purr with satisfaction.

      Throughout the rest of the day, his desire for her had only grown.

      Time had had the opposite effect on her.

      “I’m sorry, Dorothea. I never thought of you as a pity screw, as you put it. You misunderstood, and the blame is mine. First, when I said you aren’t my usual type, I meant you are a Strawberry Valley girl. I’ve avoided locals ever since my dad learned about my friendship with Jessie Kay and started planning our wedding. I won’t disappoint him again. Second, I’m not desperate for sex right now. I’m desperate for you. Since you came to my room, I’ve done nothing but fantasize about your beautiful curves.”

      Her shamrock eyes went wide and her breathing quickened, but she said nothing.

      The past three days had been at times heaven and at others hell. He hadn’t slept, but he hadn’t tossed and turned as he usually did, either. Again and again, his mind had returned to Dorothea Mathis. To her incomparable body and the freckles he wanted to lick. To the eroticism of her movements. To her ability to make him laugh.

      Yes, miracle of miracles, she’d made him laugh. But he hadn’t returned the favor. No, he’d done the opposite.

      He needed to return the favor.

      “To be blunt,” he said, “sex is easily had. I can drive into the city and set up an assembly line of potentials in less than an hour.”

      It was true. No matter where you were, there were always people who craved some kind of connection, even if that connection was nothing but a mirage that lasted a single night. He would have felt sorry for the poor saps—if he hadn’t been one of them.

      “Dating for dummies, by Daniel Porter,” she muttered. “Step one. Don’t bother getting to know the other person, just get naked and screw the first available rando you find.”

      Rando? “The other night I didn’t hear you asking what I like to do in my spare time.”

      She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. Her shoulders stooped. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

      “I forgive you, Dorothea,” he replied without pause. “Now it’s your turn. Say, I forgive you, Daniel, and I would love to sleep with you. I think you’ll taste better than bacon.”

      Her eyes narrowed, and he tried not to smile.

      Then her sweet lavender scent intensified, as if she was somehow—purposely—attempting to lure him closer, and his good humor fled.

      Want her.

      He planted his hands on the wall, caging her in. Lust threatened to engulf him. Well, well. He’d never enjoyed pinning a woman in place—until now. Light streamed over his shoulder to bathe her delicate features. Tonight, she’d nixed the makeup, and he could have shouted with relief.

      “I’m not sure I believe your apology.” She chewed on her plump bottom lip, an obvious nervous habit, and he had to swallow a groan. “If you wanted to keep your women a secret from your dad, why stay at the inn, where anyone in town could witness your...rendezvous?”

      “His health is fragile. I stay close, especially at night. And I never flaunted the women. I sneaked them in and out.”

      She glowered at him. “I told you I wanted one night, nothing more. No one would have found out about our...whatever, especially your dad.”

      He glowered right back. “For all I knew, you planned to tell everyone in town the next morning.”

      “And you’re certain I’ll keep quiet now?” Her dry tone had edges so rough they could have cut the insides of his ears. “You know me better?”

      “Yes.” Jude’s report had come in about an hour ago. The final nail in the coffin for his control.

      Dorothea had been married to a weatherman who might or might not have cheated on her with a coworker. She had a grand total of zero social media pages, and no one in town or otherwise had ever posted anything about her love life.

      How Daniel interpreted the info: (1) she knew how to keep her relationships private and (2) his dad would never find out if Daniel spent the night with her.

      As soon as realization had struck, he’d rushed to the inn, then followed her trail to the Scratching Post. But in a moment of startling clarity, he’d understood just how deeply his rejection had hurt her. He wasn’t adorable to her. He was going to have to work for her.

      Game on.

      “How do you know me better?” she demanded.

      Admit he’d done a background check on her? Yeah, not gonna happen. She would rage. Well, rage more. “Maybe I had a little sense knocked into me.”

      “Doubtful. As you previously admitted, you like the chase, that’s all, and I’m suddenly a challenge.” She gestured to the door with a trembling hand. “Leave. Please.”

      “Leave...or stay?” He brushed the tip of his nose against hers, and she sucked in a breath. “I know which one gets my vote.”

      Her gaze locked on his mouth. He thought—hoped—desire for him was rising inside her, a tide she couldn’t ignore. Then she flattened her chocolate-smeared hands on his chest and fisted his shirt to shake him.

      “You’re being nice to me, and I don’t like it,” she grated. “Stop.”

      “No, I don’t think I will. My momma told me I could catch more flies with honey.”

      “First, you realize you just likened me to a fly, right? Second, why would you ever want to catch one?” Her nose wrinkled at the sides. “FYI, you can also catch flies with a dead, rotting carcass. Your own, to be exact.”

      A laugh brewed in the back of his throat, astounding him. Clearly Dorothea had a superpower; the ability to amuse him, even while his body burned for hers.

      “I’d rather catch you,” he told her, his voice going low and husky. “Say yes, and I’ll spend the first hour in bed making you come over and over again, doing anything you want. Everything you need. The second hour, I’ll make the first one look like amateur night. By the third, there’s no place on your body I won’t have explored—no place you won’t ache for me.”

      “Hours?” She melted against him only to stop, blink up at him and bare her perfect pearly whites. “Look, I’m going to give you a bit of advice, okay? Most guys get lucky after they get to know the girl, but that isn’t