Can't Hardly Breathe. Gena Showalter
against the wall. He towered over the girl, his wide shoulders engulfing her delicate frame.
“Where did you learn—Oh!” Madison liquefied in his arms. “Don’t stop.”
Daniel chuckled. Or purred. Dorothea wasn’t sure which. She fought for breath, her lungs pulverized like two slabs of chicken. This boy...he was the reason her heart beat, and the reason it broke into a million little pieces.
He didn’t choose me. He chose her.
He’s a fool. Just like Harlow.
Worse, he was a liar. Dorothea wasn’t perfect. She would never be the girl a boy like Daniel desired.
She sniffled, then slapped a hand over her mouth. Unnecessary. Neither Daniel nor Madison stopped what they were doing, too wrapped up in each other...
This was for the best, Dorothea decided with a nod. If she and Daniel had dated, their names would sound stupid together. Daniel and Dottie. No, she hated Dottie all over again. Daniel and Dorothea. Dorothea and Daniel. The double Ds.
Yeah. Stupid!
A tear slid down her cheek.
Daniel traced the tip of his tongue over Madison’s lips. “You made me chase you all summer, naughty girl.”
“And now you’re going to punish me?” Madison dug her manicured nails into his nape to tug him closer.
“No. Now I’m going to reward you.” His hand—
Oh, my stars! His hand delved between Madison’s legs!
Dorothea spun, her chest burning as if she’d been doused in acid. She needed to leave the band room. She needed to leave the building. Now.
“Don’t stop,” Madison said. “Pleeease. I want my reward.”
He gifted her with another husky chuckle. “All right, but I’m skipping lunch to do this for you...which means you’ll owe me a reward.”
Dorothea forced one foot in front of the other. Somehow, she managed to exit the room as quietly as she’d entered. Jessie Kay leaned against the bank of lockers across from her. The blonde opened her mouth to speak, but Dorothea ran. Just ran. There was no sign of Harlow—not that it mattered anymore.
Harlow had hurt her pride. Daniel had hurt her soul.
CHAPTER ONE
Present day
DOROTHEA MATHIS STUDIED the last room on her cleanup schedule and groaned. The bed had been wrecked, the comforter and pillows tossed haphazardly on the floor. A pair of panties hung from a bedpost. The TV remote had been busted, the pieces scattered across the nightstand. Wet towels created a path to the bathroom door, and the trash can...
Oh, gag me! The trash can contained used condoms.
The place needed to be decontaminated by people wearing hazmat suits.
Am I up to date on my vaccinations?
With a sigh, Dorothea anchored earbuds in place, keyed up her iPod and donned a pair of latex gloves. One—germs. Gross! Two—she was protective of the green nail polish she’d applied only that morning.
She selected color based on mood. Green = irritated.
Somehow she’d known today would suck balls.
Her mom must have checked in Mr. and Ms. Pigsty last night after Dorothea had gone to bed. Since she had a 4:00 a.m. wake-up call, she tended to hit the sack by 9:00 p.m. Granny hours, her sister, Holly, liked to tell her.
Dorothea picked up the dirty towels, removed the panties from the post, emptied the trash, changed the sheets on the bed, straightened the pillows and covers, and tossed the remote remains, planning to bill the Pigstys for a new one.
Time was limited this morning. She’d promised to drive her mother into the city in—Crap! Less than an hour. She rushed through dusting and began vacuuming. As the machine swallowed dirt and debris, she tried not to envy her mother. Carol would soon be enjoying her fourth “singles retreat” of the year. Her fourth, but certainly not her last. She stayed at the Michaelson, a five-star hotel owned by the richest guy in Strawberry Valley, Dane Michaelson. Dane was married to a local girl Dorothea had gone to school with, and he allowed Carol to stay free of charge. No doubt about it, she took full advantage, attending speed-dating sessions, mixers and a plethora of themed parties.
Her busy love life was just one of the many reasons she’d given the Strawberry Inn to Dorothea.
The wheels on her cart suddenly squeaked, the sound louder than her music. Yanking out the earbuds, she spun.
Surprise expelled the air from her lungs, leaving her gasping. This so wasn’t happening right now.
It couldn’t be happening.
Nightmares didn’t really come to life. Nor did pornos. Not that she watched those...very often. But dang it, this had to be one or the other.
The sexiest man on the planet had just stridden into the room. He was shirtless, sweat glistening on his eight pack—and his name was Daniel Porter.
The Daniel. The childhood crush she’d never forgotten. The first boy to break her already fragile heart.
She gulped. What was he doing here?
Wait. Like she really needed to ponder this one. Welcome back, Mr. Pigsty.
Her hands trembled as she yanked the vacuum cord from the electrical socket, the room descending into silence as the engine died.
I think you’re perfect just the way you are.
She smoothed her trembling hands down her “uniform,” a pair of blue scrubs that could take a licking and keep on ticking. “Uh, hi. Hello.” Oh, wow. Could she be any lamer? Definitely in a nightmare, not a porno. “Welcome back.”
He pulled the earbuds from his ears and gifted her with a small smile that failed to hide the lines of strain around his mouth. “Sorry about the mess. I planned to clean up before I checked out.” His gaze darted throughout the room, and he cringed. “I also plan to pay for the remote.”
What kind of sexual acrobatics had placed the poor remote in harm’s path, anyway?
Oh, my stars. A warm flush poured over Dorothea, threatening to overheat her. She almost fanned her cheeks for relief, barely stopped herself.
Look away! She tried, she really did, but Daniel was just so freaking beautiful. He was even taller now, and stronger, with a rough, tough face. His cheekbones were sharp, and his nose boasted a small notch in the center. Been broken a time or two? Dark stubble dusted his angular jaw, though the shadows couldn’t disguise the fine tracery of scars on his left cheek.
He was a modern-day warrior—literally. After high school, he’d joined the army, defending the country he loved.
This wasn’t the first time Dorothea had seen him since his return to town a few months ago, but her body reacted as if she’d never seen any man, heating and tingling in all the naughtiest places.
Act naturally. He’s just a customer.
A customer who’d wrecked a room during his most recent stay, but whatever. He was waiting for her to respond to his offer.
Let’s do this. “Yes, thank you. Payment would be appreciated.” She wound the vacuum cord around her arm, her motions clipped. “As for the room, I just need to tidy the bathroom, and I’ll be done.”
With his back to her, he stuffed his toiletries into an overnight bag. “I’ll get out of your way, then.”
During his senior year of high school, he hadn’t just slept with Madison Clark; he’d slept with a string of beautiful, popular girls, as if banging-and-bailing had finally been dubbed a national sport.
Good thing Dorothea hadn’t pursued him. He would have taken