Can't Hardly Breathe. Gena Showalter
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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.
He’d noticed her appeal on several other occasions, of course. How could he not? Her eyes, once too big for her face, were now a perfect fit and the most amazing shade of green. Like shamrocks or lucky charms, framed by the thickest, blackest lashes he’d ever seen. Those eyes were an absolute showstopper. Her lips were plump and heart-shaped, a fantasy made flesh. And her body...
Daniel stopped tossing and turning and grinned up at the ceiling. He suspected she had serious curves underneath her scrubs. The way the material had tightened over her chest when she’d moved...the lushness of her ass when she’d bent over...every time he’d looked at her, he’d sworn he’d developed early onset arrhythmia.
With her eyes, lips and corkscrew curls, she reminded him of a living doll. He really wanted to play with her.
But he wouldn’t. Ever. She was too warm, too sweet, and non–ice queens tended to cling after sex. Plus, she lived right here in town.
When Daniel first struck up a friendship with Jessie Kay, his father had expressed hope for a Christmas wedding and grandkids soon after. The moment Daniel had broken the news—no wedding, no kids, they were just friends—Virgil teared up.
Lesson learned. When it came to Strawberry Valley girls, Virgil would always think long-term, and he would always be disappointed when the relationship ended. Stress wasn’t good for his ticker. He’d had a heart attack last year and needed absolute calm to facilitate a full recovery. Daniel loved the old grump with every fiber of his being, wanted him around as long as possible.
Came back to care for him. Not going to make things worse.
And yet, in a moment of absolute insanity, Daniel had entertained a desire to laugh again, to feel normal for once, which was why he’d asked Dorothea to stay for coffee. Thank the good Lord she’d turned him down.
Bang, bang, bang!
Daniel palmed his semiautomatic and plunged to the floor to use the bed as a shield. As a bead of sweat rolled into his eye, his finger twitched on the trigger. The screams in his head were drowned out by the sound of his thundering heartbeat.
Bang, bang!
He muttered a curse. The door. Someone was knocking on the door.
Disgusted with himself, he glanced at the clock on the nightstand—1:08 a.m.
He frowned. As he stood, his dog tags clinked against his mother’s locket, the one he’d worn since her death. He pulled on the wrinkled, ripped jeans he’d tossed earlier and anchored his gun against his lower back.
Forgoing the peephole, he looked through the crack in the window curtains. His gaze landed on a dark, wild mass of corkscrew curls, and his frown deepened. Only one woman in town had hair like that, every strand made for tangling in a man’s fists.
Concern overshadowed a fresh surge of desire as he threw open the door. Hinges squeaked, and Dorothea paled. But a fragrant cloud of lavender enveloped him, and his head fogged; desire suddenly overshadowed concern.
Down, boy.
She met his gaze for a split second, then ducked her head and wrung her hands. Before, freckles had covered her face. Now a thick layer of makeup hid them. Why would she ever want to disguise them? He liked those little dots, and sometimes imagined—
Nothing.
“Is something wrong?” On alert,