# Can't Hardly Breathe

Gena Showalter

New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter returns with an irresistible Original Heartbreakers story about a woman who's never felt desired and the man who wants her more than air to breathe…Bullied in high school, Dorothea Mathis's past is full of memories she'd rather forget. But there's one she can't seem to shake–her long-standing crush on former army ranger Daniel Porter. Now that the sexy bad boy has started using her inn as his personal playground, she should kick him out…but his every heated glance makes her want to join him instead.Daniel returned to Strawberry Valley, Oklahoma, to care for his ailing father and burn off a little steam with no strings attached. Though he craves the curvy Dorothea night and day, he's as marred by his past as she is by hers. The more he desires her, the more he fears losing her.But every sizzling encounter leaves him desperate for more, and soon Daniel must make a choice: take a chance on love or walk away forever.

New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter returns with an irresistible Original Heartbreakers story about a woman who’s never felt desired and the man who wants her more than air to breathe...

Bullied in high school, Dorothea Mathis’s past is full of memories she’d rather forget. But there’s one she can’t seem to shake—her long-standing crush on former army ranger Daniel Porter. Now that the sexy bad boy has started using her inn as his personal playground, she should kick him out...but his every heated glance makes her want to join him instead.

Daniel returned to Strawberry Valley, Oklahoma, to care for his ailing father and burn off a little steam with no strings attached. Though he craves curvy Dorothea night and day, he’s as marred by his past as she is by hers. The more he desires her, the more he fears losing her.

But every sizzling encounter leaves him desperate for more, and soon Daniel must make a choice: take a chance on love or walk away forever.

Praise for New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter

“Showalter...rocks me every time!”

—Sylvia Day, #1 New York Times bestselling author

“Showalter writes fun, sexy characters you fall in love with!”

—Lori Foster, New York Times bestselling author

“Sassy, smart characters and an expertly woven, unconventional plot, The Closer You Come showcases Gena Showalter in all her shining talent.”

—Kristan Higgins, New York Times bestselling author

“Showalter makes romance sizzle on every page!”

—Jill Shalvis, New York Times bestselling author

“Emotional, heart-tugging, kept me turning the pages!”

—Carly Phillips, New York Times bestselling author

“With compelling stories and memorable characters, Gena Showalter never fails to dazzle.”

—Jeaniene Frost, New York Times bestselling author

“The Showalter name on a book means guaranteed entertainment.”

—RT Book Reviews

“The versatile Showalter...once again shows that she can blend humor and poignancy while keeping readers entertained from start to finish.”

—Booklist on Catch a Mate

“Gena Showalter is a romantic genius.”

—San Francisco Book Review

Can’t Hardly Breathe

Gena Showalter


www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Jill Monroe, the best friend a girl could have.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

SOME PEOPLE EXCELLED at high school. Other people...didn’t.

Dorothea Mathis sucked so hard she made everyone else in the “didn’t” category look like rock stars.

Fighting the urge to vomit, she entered the hallowed hallways of Strawberry Valley High, home of the mighty Stallions. Today marked the first day of her sophomore year.

I’ll do better this go-round. No matter what. She would be strong and brave and stand up to Harlow Glass, the school bully; she wouldn’t run away. She would talk to other students at lunch, and she would make new friends; she wouldn’t hide in the band room. Somehow, she would convince everyone to use her given name rather than the nickname her family had cursed her with—Dottie.

Or Spotty Dottie. Or Dot dot dot, followed by laughing and pointing at the freckles on her face. Or her personal favorite, Dottie the wannabe hottie.

Today she forged a new path. I can do this!

Oh, crap! What if I can’t do this?

Insults she’d heard adults whisper behind their hands claimed center stage in her mind.

Bless her heart. Her face would turn milk into sour cream.

Poor girl. She could make a freight train take a dirt road.

Heaven’s above. She’s probably got to sneak up on a glass of water just to get a drink.

What did looks matter? So she was technically considered obese. So her eyes were too big for her face, and her teeth were crooked. Well, her teeth used to be crooked. The braces were definitely helping. So she had a mass of frizzy corkscrew curls and looked like the human version of a Dalmatian. So the heck what. She was a good person with a good heart. Nothing else mattered.

I can do this, she repeated.

Squeals of happiness rang out as kids reconnected with friends. Dorothea smiled and waved at everyone, whatever their clique, but hardly anyone acknowledged her. No biggie. Right? Improvement took time. RIGHT?

She forced herself to trudge on, head high. If only her besties were here. Lyndie Scott and Ryanne Wade. They would build her confidence.

You’re beautiful.

You’re so freaking smart.

You have the best sense of humor around.

A few months ago, Lyndie’s dad married Ryanne’s mom. They were a real family now, sisters on paper as well as heart. This year, the lucky girls were being homeschooled. Ryanne’s mom enjoyed having her only daughter nearby, and Lyndie was so quiet and reserved she functioned better in a contained environment.

When Dorothea had asked her mom about the possibility of being homeschooled, Carol had responded, “In order to feed and clothe you and your sister, I have to work two jobs. I can’t take on another responsibility, honey.”

Carol owned and operated the Strawberry Inn. Unless there was a festival in town, very few guests ever stayed overnight. For extra spending money, she waitressed at the all-night diner just down the street.

Dorothea had pouted. “You don’t understand, Momma. Without Lyndie and Ryanne, I’ll have no friends. I’ll be tormented.”

Carol had looked at her with compassion. “I’m sorry, honey, but girls like us have to learn to be as tough as nails. It’s the only way we can find happiness.”

Girls like us. Different? Unattractive?

Dorothea’s attention returned to the present as the gorgeous, popular and oh, so cruel Harlow Glass stepped into her path. Two other gorgeous, popular and oh, so cruel girls flanked Harlow’s sides. Madison Clark and Charlene Burns.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the ugliest girl of all?” Harlow asked.

“Spotty Dottie,” Madison piped up.

“The wannabe hottie.” Charlene smiled a cold smile.

Despite the heavy thud of her heartbeat, Dorothea stood her ground. Want change? You have to be the change. “My name is Dorothea.”

“Oh, my bad. Dorkthea.” Harlow held up a can of whipped cream as if it were a weapon of mass—

Wait. Had the vicious brunette just called her Dorkthea?

Dreams of a successful school year began to implode.

Harlow sneered at her. “Are you going to cry? You look like you’re going to cry.”

Madison and Charlene giggled.

As Harlow sprayed a stream of whipped cream into one girl’s mouth, then the other, she said, “Look, Dorkthea, I’m not going to sugarcoat the truth because you’ll probably eat it. You are a dork. And ugly. And fat. Face it. You’re a disgusting she-creature.”

Dorothea’s cheeks blistered with humiliation, her lungs deflating. She’d tortured herself all summer, running five miles every morning. Still she carried extra weight.

Be strong. Be brave.

“I won’t sugarcoat the truth, either,” she said, lifting her chin. “True beauty isn’t the size of your body but the size of your heart. Your heart is small, making you the most hideous girl I’ve ever met.”

Sky blue eyes glittered with venom.

Madison and Charlene huffed and puffed with indignation.

Score! Harlow-1, Dorothea-1. All tied up.

“Ask any boy in school to choose between the pretty girl and the nice one with a heart of gold,” Harlow grated. “Heck, ask any boy in the world! Guess who will win every—single—time.”

Be strong. Be brave. Stand up for yourself! Easier said than done. Harlow had a way of stripping a girl of her humanity and leaving a wounded animal.

“Who a boy chooses doesn’t matter,” Dorothea said, knowing deep down it was true. “With your own words, you proved boys can be as ignorant as you are.”

The girl’s mouth opened and snapped closed.

All right. Time to go. Before things got worse!

Could they get worse?

Yes! Dorothea took a step backward, intending to run...when she smacked into a wall. No, not a wall, but a person, she realized with a gasp. As strong hands settled on her waist to steady her, she glanced over her shoulder to see—

Daniel Porter!

Her crush. Her eternal flame. Her one and only. A senior just as beautiful on the inside as he was on the outside.

She’d adored the boy since the first day of kindergarten, when she’d skinned her knee during gym, and he’d come to her rescue, acting as her crutch while she limped to the nurse’s station.

Today he was taller, of course, and cut with muscle...and he was peering at her with the most beautiful gold eyes framed by thick black lashes. Peering at her. Not the other girls. But...his hands still rested on her waist. He could probably feel the fat rolls underneath her shirt.

Tensing, Dorothea jumped away from him to sever contact.

He frowned at her. “Everything okay here?”

His voice! So low and husky. Her heart leaped into her throat, making it impossible to breathe or speak or even pretend to be cool.

Unaffected by his presence, Harlow flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. “This is a private conversation. Move along, Daneroni.”

Two years ago, when Harlow had given him the nickname—Daniel plus pepperoni—he’d had a problem with acne. But he didn’t have a problem anymore. The summer sun had cleared his skin, bronzing him to perfection. In his black T-shirt and faded jeans, he was the guy every girl dreamed of dating.

An-n-nd he stepped in front of Dorothea...acting as her shield? Her eyes widened as he leaned down, going nose to nose with Harlow. “You’re the queen bitch. Everyone gets it. Don’t be surprised when someone pushes you off your throne.”

The color drained from her majesty’s cheeks, but she gave her hair another flick, as if she’d never been more confident. “You obviously lost brain cells when you gained biceps, so I’m going to let this infraction slide. Just know this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Now—move—along.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “How about you give me a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity I’ll actually like and move to a new town?”

Dorothea gaped. Daniel Porter, the hottest boy ever born, had just out-bullied Harlow Glass.

Forget crushing on him. There, in that moment, Dorothea fell madly, deeply and passionately in love with him. My hero!

Harlow kissed the tips of her fingers, then blew him a kiss with only the middle one extended. “Come on, girls,” she said as she shouldered him out of the way. “Let’s give Daniel time to think about the error of his ways.”

The group marched off. Madison glanced over her shoulder to wink at Daniel.

Something dark rolled through Dorothea. Jealousy? She moved, blocking the love of her life from the blonde and perfect cheerleader’s view. “Thank you. For everything.”

He bestowed his full attention on her, and oh, my stars. She almost melted into a puddle of goo. His eyelashes! They were so long they curled at the ends.

When he smiled at her, revealing straight, white teeth newly freed from braces, she forgot how to breathe.

“Don’t let Harlow’s cruelty get you down,” he said. “She likes herself, which means she has terrible taste. I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

Her still-thumping heart dropped into her ankles. Perfect? Her?

He gently chucked her under the chin. “See you around, Dottie.”

He knows my name! A nickname she suddenly loved.

As he strode down the hall, she called, “Yes! I’ll see you around!” Then her cheeks blistered with humiliation. Shrieking at him like a banshee? Not cool.

And oh, wow, had he seriously called her perfect?

Waves of feminine pride flooded her, something she’d never before experienced. Shoulders squaring, chin lifting with more attitude, she made her way to her new locker and dropped off her backpack.

A senior—Jessica Kay Dillon—had the locker next to hers. Tears welled in Jessie Kay’s eyes as she wiped whipped cream off the door. Dorothea caught the remaining letters—L-U-T—and swallowed a groan. Harlow must have spelled slut.

Jessie Kay had a reputation as “easily had and easily forgotten,” and Dorothea’s heart suddenly ached for her. The pretty blonde and her sister Brook Lynn had lost both of their parents. Their uncle had come to stay with them, but he must not have had any money to spare, because Jessie Kay’s clothes were ill fitting and threadbare.

Dorothea repeated what Daniel had just said to her, because—obviously—the words had the power to change everything. “I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Like your opinion matters,” the blonde snapped before stomping away.

A little of Dorothea’s newfound confidence wilted. I’m strong. I’m brave. I’m perfect. Daniel wasn’t a liar.

She floated to first period on a cloud of euphoria. What if she flirted with him? How would he respond? Would he ask her out? What if he fell in love with her, they got married and had a million babies?

Dorothea smiled. She had two long-term goals: become a meteorologist, and have a large family. She’d always been fascinated by weather, in all its many forms, and the more kids she had, the more people who would be obligated to adore her. Now, however, she added a third goal: enchant Daniel.

What career did he want for himself? What college did he hope to attend?

As her teacher droned on and on, Dorothea watched the clock, desperate for lunch hour to arrive so she could see Daniel. What if he invited her to sit at his table?

What if his friends teased him about spending time with her?

Her stomach twisted into sharp little knots. Maybe she should admire Daniel from afar. Just until she’d changed her social status from dead to alive.

But shouldn’t he like her regardless of her station?

By the time first...second...and third periods ended, she’d worked herself into a lather about whether or not to approach Daniel. Was she reaching too high too fast? Oh, crap, she was, wasn’t she? When had anyone ever wanted her?

Dorothea trudged to the cafeteria. When she spotted a smirking Harlow, she whipped around and rushed to the band room, her sanctuary, as if her feet were on fire.

She would be brave tomorrow.

She glanced over her shoulder as she turned the doorknob. Spotting Jessie Kay, who may or may not have noticed her, she quickly and quietly shut herself inside. The lights were out. Good. If Harlow had given chase, she might not think to look here. And if she did look here, she might not see Dorothea in the shadows.

Coward! Shame coated her skin like a sticky film. This isn’t strong, and this isn’t brave. Daniel would never fall for—

A low moan drifted through the air.

Oh, crap! Someone had beaten her to the hideaway. Someone injured?

Dorothea rounded two rows of ceiling-high shelves, each stacked with different musical instruments and—

“Mmm, that feels good.”

The voice dripped with pleasure, not pain, and struck Dorothea with the force of a lightning bolt. Madison Clark.

“You like that, sweetheart?”

Ice crystalized in her veins. That voice belonged to Daniel. The love of her life...the boy she’d hoped liked her back.

He was here with Madison Clark. And he’d called the cheerleader sweetheart.

“Yes, oh, yes,” Madison said, and moaned again.

Dorothea’s hands balled as she continued trudging forward. She had to see this. Had to see Daniel’s betrayal up close and personal.

What betrayal? She didn’t know. Only knew her insides were shredded.

When she reached the end of the shelf, she peered through two flute cases—and swallowed a cry of despair. Daniel had Madison pinned 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 all her firsts and discarded her like garbage.

Instead, Jazz Connors had taken all her firsts and discarded her like garbage.

Anger boiled her blood until bitterness swept in, leaving a glaze of frost. Fire and ice. This wasn’t the first time they’d battled it out, and this wouldn’t be the last. The biggest downside? They ensured the wounds inside her hollowed-out chest never really had a chance to heal.

After graduation, she’d moved to the big bad city, enrolled in the University of Oklahoma’s meteorology program, met Jazz and gotten hitched, just as she’d always dreamed...only to return home several years later with a divorce and no degree.

A washed-up has-been by the age of twenty-four.

Daniel, having served multiple tours of duty, had come back a hero.

His life had meaning, hers didn’t. He and two of his friends had started a security company right here in Strawberry Valley. He took care of his ailing father, and in his free time he dated a plethora of city girls.

Dorothea knew about the girls because he’d stayed at the inn every time a date had ended...successfully.

Her flush returned full force as she considered the other five rooms he’d wrecked since his return...all the pleasure he’d been having...all the pleasure she wished she could experience.

Not with him, of course. With someone she liked and respected. Someone who liked and respected her, too, despite the fact that she was still too round for society’s unhealthy standards, a lot too freckled and trapped in a dead-end job.

Daniel Porter would never qualify.

Dorothea found him attractive, yes, but to her, appearance would never outshine personality.

My man must be my equal. She had a lot of love to give. She’d even grown to like herself...kind of. Maybe. Fine, she was trying to like herself.

Avoiding Daniel’s gaze, she said, “No, you stay. I’ll go.” Words her mother had drilled into her shouted inside her head: the customer comes first. “I’ll finish your room later.” She rolled the vacuum toward her cart.

“You live here, right?” he asked. “You own the inn?”

“I... Yes.” Technically she lived in the attic. The more rooms she had available for guests, the more money she would make. At least in theory.

Money was the number one reason she cleaned the pigsties herself, rather than hiring a maid. She was saving her pennies to turn every plain, ordinary room into a themed paradise. Then Strawberry Valley residents would happily pay to stay just for fun.

Again, in theory.

So far she’d decided on six themes. (1) Four seasons—the weather, not the hotel chain. (2) An enchanted forest. (3) A techno dance club. (4) The underwater world of Atlantis. (5) A royal palace. And (6) an inner sanctum, aka a superhero’s wet dream.

Also up for consideration? A beach hut, an igloo, an insane asylum for her more daring patrons and a desert oasis.

With twenty-three rooms in total, she needed other ideas fast. And more money. A lot more money.

Maybe, when the transformations were completed, the feeling of accomplishment would finally chase away her anger and bitterness. Maybe she would feel alive. Happy.

“If any part of your stay was subpar,” she said, “I will personally—”

“No, everything has been great.” He looked over his shoulder and winked at her. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to get into trouble with the boss.”

Every pulse point in her body leaped with excitement. He’d winked at her. Her!

I think you’re perfect just the way you are.

Red alert! She would not read more into his words than he’d intended. Not this time. He was a flirt, plain and simple. Always had been, apparently always would be.

“Why would I get in trouble?” she asked.

“For not finishing the room.”

Oh. Right. “Well, as long as you plan to come back to the inn, I won’t fire myself. Not because I’m desperate to see you or anything,” she added in a rush. “I’m not.” Dang it! “I mean, I’m always glad to see you here. I mean, I just want your money.” Okay. Enough!

He laughed, his amber eyes twinkling.

Air caught in her throat and sizzled. He had the sexiest laugh on the planet. His entire face softened. He pulsed with new life; fresh and vibrant, he was the epitome of spring.

Then he frowned, as if he couldn’t believe he’d found humor in, well, anything.

Her brow furrowed with confusion. Why the doom and gloom?

“In that case,” he said, his tone flat, “I think I’ll stay another night.”

“Really?” She licked her lips. “What about your girlfriend?”

He stiffened. “She isn’t my—”

“No, don’t tell me. I’m sorry I asked. Your love life isn’t my business.”

“I live in Strawberry Valley. My love life is everyone’s business.”

His wry tone made her chuckle, and he stiffened all over again. Great. What had she done wrong this time?

“I’ll be alone tonight,” he said, looking anywhere but at her. “Apparently I hover over my dad when I’m home, so he’s asked for another night off. But I swear to you, this room will be clean in the morning.”

She snorted. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Doubting Dottie.” A pause, then, “Would you like a cup of coffee before you go?”

“Oh, uh, no, thank you.” While she no longer viewed Daniel through the wounded eyes of high school betrayal—he’d been a nice boy doing a nice thing for a vulnerable girl in desperate need of a white knight—she’d endured too much heartbreak over the years to risk getting to know him better and reigniting her crush.

Look at the way she’d reacted to him already.

He appeared...disappointed? No, of course not. A trick of the light, surely. “Well. See you around, Daniel.”

“Yeah. See you around, Dottie.” He returned his attention to his toiletry bag, dismissing her.

Irritation had her snapping, “My name is Dorothea.”

Before he could respond, she stepped into the hall and closed the door with a soft snick. Hands trembling, she hooked the vacuum to the cart and rolled the cargo to the supply room...where her younger sister Holly was smoking a cigarette.

Coughing, Dorothea claimed the cigarette and stubbed the tip into an ashtray.

“Hey!” Eighteen-year-old Holly glared at her. “I wasn’t done.”

“You mean you weren’t done giving our guests lung cancer and stinking up the inn?”

“Exactly.” Ever the smart aleck, Holly tossed a piece of gum in her mouth and popped a bubble in Dorothea’s face. “Besides, we don’t really have guests, now, do we? Since you took over, only four people have stayed here. Mayor Trueman and his side slice, and Daniel Porter and whatever bimbo he happens to be banging.”

Not true! A few months ago, Dorothea had hired Harlow Glass, and everyone in town had rented a room to witness the former bully’s downfall.

Good times.

Dorothea hadn’t wanted to like Harlow, but dang it, something bad had happened to the girl in the years since high school, and she’d changed. More than that, Harlow had done everything in her power to make amends, and eventually Dorothea had warmed up to her.

Now the beautiful brunette was married to reformed playboy Beck Ockley. The happy couple were expecting their first child in a few months.

A razor-sharp pang cut through Dorothea. Won’t think about my own—

Nope. Slam the breaks.

To ward off the oncoming pity party, she drew in a deep breath...slowly released it... Good, that was good.

She focused on her sister. Holly had pinned back the sides of her jet-black hair, the remaining locks tumbling all the way to the metal links anchored around her biceps. She’d paired a crimson corset top—her first pop of color in months—with a ruffled black skirt, ripped fishnet stockings and combat boots caked with mud Dorothea would have to clean from the floors.

In a town as small as Strawberry Valley, Oklahoma, Holly was a legend. Unique.

“My inn, my rules,” Dorothea said. “No smoking. Ever.” Besides, she suspected the teenager only ever lit up to aggravate her. Not once had Dorothea witnessed an actual puff.

“You’re worse than a Mogwai that’s been fed after midnight.”

A Gremlins reference? Seriously?

“No wonder Jazz left you,” her sister added.

Air hissed between her teeth. Holly might hate her guts, but the teenager loved to insult her, and this barb hit harder than most.

Rather than waiting for love, as Dorothea had dreamed, she’d settled for companionship, marrying the first guy to pay attention to her. Worse, she’d believed his words rather than his actions. I adore you and only want what’s best for you...for us.

Jazz Connors had been a master at manipulation. He’d cajoled and charmed...and then he’d cheated.

Holly had no idea. To this day, she idolized him and blamed Dorothea for the split. And that was the way Dorothea preferred it. The girl distrusted too many men already. Starting with their snake of a dad!

When Joe Mathis divorced their mother to marry his side slice, as Holly liked to say, he’d cut all ties with his daughters. Dorothea had been hurt, but Holly...she’d cried herself to sleep for weeks.

Carol had shut down so completely Dorothea was ultimately forced to step up and act as both mother and father. A role she’d played until the day she moved to the city.

Biggest mistake of my life.

She’d promised to stay in constant contact, but every time she’d visited, every time she’d called, Holly had treated her like, well, this. Insults and rancor had abounded.

Eventually Dorothea stopped coming around, and even stopped calling, unwilling to deal with a new bombardment of vitriol...not realizing until too late that young Holly had interpreted her move as yet another rejection.

Now Dorothea longed to repair their broken relationship without damaging her sister’s perception of Jazz. The two were like siblings. Loving siblings.

Jazz called Dorothea at least once a week to report the things Holly texted him—and also to beg Dorothea to give their marriage another chance.

He missed her worship and adoration, nothing more.

After saying “I do,” he’d somehow—and easily—convinced her to drop out of school, work two jobs and support him until he graduated. That way, he could get a job at a news station and one day become the state’s premier meteorologist. Then Dorothea could return to school. And after she graduated, Jazz would do her a favor and recommend her to his boss.

I’m such a fool. He’d finished school and gotten a job, no problem. But before she could return to school, he’d also gotten his side slice.

“Jazz and I didn’t love each other,” she finally said, whisper-soft. “Love is the difference between success and failure.”

“Love is a myth,” Holly said, her tone as dry as the last two Oklahoma summers. She arched a brow, the silver hoop pierced at the edge glinting in the light. “Sex is what makes or breaks a relationship.”

“Holly!” Dorothea had lost her virginity to Jazz. In freaking college. “You’re too young to be having...you know.” She thought of high school Daniel and his parade of girlfriends. “Teenage boys are fickle. They come and go, and leave heartbreak in their wake.”

Her sister rolled her eyes, eyes the same bright green as Dorothea’s. “You aren’t my mom, and this isn’t a teaching moment. Stop acting as if you care about me.”

“I do care.” She reached out, intending to hug the girl. “I care a lot.”

“Too bad, so sad.” Her sister darted out of range and popped another bubble. “I don’t care about you.”

Dorothea spun so quickly she’d probably experience whiplash in the morning. Tears burned her eyes, and she blinked rapidly, hoping to prevent a spill down her cheeks. She’d been hurt many times in her life. She’d faced rejection after rejection. But this...

“I stopped caring when you decided to act like Dad,” Holly added, her tone flat.

Her sister had scented blood, hadn’t she? Had gotten hold of an emotional knife and intended to twist the blade while it was buried deep inside Dorothea’s heart.

“I know I’ve said this before, but I’m sorry.” She wrapped her arms around her middle. “I should have come back to see you more often. I should have called more often. Going radio silent just to prevent another fight was cowardly and—”

“Thanks, but no, thanks. I’m not interested in hearing this again.” Holly popped another bubble. “Your should have is too little, too late.”

Twist. Dorothea decided to change course before she bled out. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“Shouldn’t you stay out of my business?” Holly marched out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her.

Twist, twist.

Feeling a hundred years older and a thousand pounds heavier, Dorothea pasted a smile on her face and headed to the lobby to place the Be Back Soon sign on the reception desk. Then she dialed Mrs. Hathaway’s room. The widow took over guest services at odd times in exchange for room and board.

“I’m headed out,” she said. “Can you—”

“Sure, sure. Just got to find my denture cream.”

Dorothea muttered a hasty goodbye as Carol rounded the corner, her bag rolling behind her. A dark bob framed her ageless features, and a bright green dress flattered her larger figure. If Dorothea wore that dress, she’d look like a watermelon. While she’d inherited her mother’s not-quite-delicate bone structure, her shorter height did her no favors.

I think you’re perfect just the way you are.

For a moment, she fought the urge to run into her mother’s arms and sob. Carol loved her and always found a way to comfort her on the worst days of her life.

“I’m single and ready to mingle!” Carol’s sunny smile only brightened when she met Dorothea’s gaze. “Life is good.”

This woman...oh, this woman. She was so wonderful, kind, loving—and utterly clueless. Purposely clueless. When the going got tough, Carol got going, retreating to her room or even out of town to check out mentally, leaving Dorothea to deal with everything on her own.

“Mom, did you know Holly ditched class this morning? Worse, I caught her sm—”

“Let me stop you there. She didn’t ditch. I gave her permission to stay home. Everyone deserves a break now and then.” Carol patted her shoulder. “Are you ready to go? I don’t want to miss the welcome reception.”

Translation: I don’t want to deal with sibling rivalry.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

During the entire hour-and-a-half drive to the city, Carol chatted about nothing important. Only when they reached the luxurious hotel did she change her tune, leaning over to kiss Dorothea’s cheek. “Do something fun while I’m gone. Something spontaneous and maybe even wild. Okay?”

Dorothea flinched. “I’ll try.”

“Don’t try. Do.”

The entire drive home, she remained thoughtful. Fun, spontaneous and wild. Three words no one had ever used to describe her. In fact, her friend Ryanne had referred to her as Doro Downer since her return, and Lyndie had teased her about being a fuddy-duddy. They’d invited her to multiple girls’ nights, shopping sprees and spa days, but she’d always said no. Holly and the inn came first.

And look where that mind-set had gotten her. Hated, broke and miserable.

Maybe her mother was right. Maybe it was time for a change—time to be fun, spontaneous and wild. To put herself first. For once!

No, not maybe. Definitely.

But I don’t wanna be fun, spontaneous or wild, part of her cried. With change came risk. With risk came failure. With failure came hurt.

Or...with risk came success. With success came joy. She could use a little joy in her life.

She wasn’t feeling particularly brave or strong, but dang it, what did she have to lose?

To achieve a different result, you had to do something different. She desperately craved a better life. No, not just better, but the complete opposite of what she had. Therefore she had to do something different.

Maybe...maybe it was time to go against her instincts and do what came unnaturally.

Yes. Yes! That was what she would do. What came unnaturally. Starting today.

CHAPTER TWO

OUT WITH THE old Dorothea, in with the new Dorothea. It was time to shuck off the chains of her past and walk, no run, to a better future.

Yeah! Long past time. She paced the length of her attic room, her hand pressed against the rose tattooed over her heart. A thorny vine twined with Christmas holly and wrapped around her entire breast, forming a complete circle. A constant reminder of the best and worst moments of her life.

Love and loss.

Fresh start...fun...spontaneous...wild. No more regrets.

What should she do?

Old Dorothea would spend the night texting her sister apologies. New Dorothea would...

Stop apologizing? Yes! For sure. What was done was done. New Dorothea would stop trying to rebuild a relationship she’d ruined and start trying to build a stronger one. No, not trying. Doing. She wouldn’t sulk or cry. Ever. She would go out. Finally. Maybe to a bar.

Definitely to a bar!

Ryanne owned the Scratching Post and drew crowds from Strawberry Valley as well as two neighboring towns, Blueberry Hill and Grapevine. New Dorothea would dance, meet good-looking men and actually flirt.

Is that a wallet in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

She would charm, well, everyone, her beguiling wit on dazzling display.

A girl could dream, anyway. In reality, both New and Old Dorothea had never flirted with anyone, and charm was beyond her.

So. Slight tweak to her plan. Instead of going to a public place, she’d stay here.

Old Dorothea would stay here. You’re New Dorothea.

Yes, but there was an eligible bachelor two floors down...

She sucked in a breath. That was right. Daniel Porter. The one who’d gotten away. The ultimate conquest. The star of her wildest fantasies.

I think you’re perfect just the way you are.

Problem: he’d been with a woman just last night. There was a little bit of an ick factor. What was the term? Oh, yeah, sloppy seconds.

Okay, that was pretty offensive.

Forget his past. The present situation was simple. Her crush couldn’t be reignited—because it had never died. The shy high schooler trapped inside her still wanted him. So did the needy girl who’d never tasted fruit from the forbidden tree.

Truth was truth. Only Daniel would do.

Biggest obstacle: she hadn’t magically morphed into Daniel’s type. He dated ex-cheerleaders. Thin beauties who belonged in the pages of a magazine. Successful women who’d actually finished college and now enjoyed high-powered careers, or at least had prospects.

Were successful women better in bed? Yeah. Probably. Confidence was sexy, no matter a person’s sex.

Dorothea had nothing to offer. Except maybe an orgasm. Or twelve. But then, orgasms were the point, the whole point and nothing but the point.

A tremor of excitement and nervousness swept through her. Mmm, orgasms...

Small obstacle: she’d never had a one-night stand. She’d only ever been with Jazz, so it had been a while. Some nights she ached so badly, so deeply, nothing assuaged her. Ached for an orgasm, yes, but mostly companionship. Having strong arms banded around her, holding her close, the rest of the world a distant memory...yes, please and thank you.

A night with Daniel could be fun, spontaneous and wild, far beyond her most wanton dreams. And really, what man would turn down a no-strings encounter, even with a woman he had no interest in dating?

No one!

Was she going to do this?

He would be alone, ripe for the plucking.

Why not? she decided. What did she have to lose? Besides her pride. And her peace of mind.

You have no pride or peace of mind.

True. She wiped damp palms on her scrubs, her mind continuing to whirl. To win him, she would have to do something epic. Tiptoeing to his door, softly knocking and stuttering as she tried to form a complete sentence would only turn him off.

Maybe she should call him and—No. Too impersonal.

She could show up at his door with a pizza and—Nope. Too friend-zoney.

She could show up at his door wearing lingerie, and only lingerie...

Wrong! She owned...oh...zero pieces of lingerie. Pretty bras and panties were too expensive for a woman with no one to impress.

Dang it, showing up in a T-shirt and jeans wasn’t fun, spontaneous or wild. Neither was her standard after-work attire—pajamas.

What if she showed up at his door in a raincoat and a (fake) smile? As nervous as she’d be, fake was all he’d get.

Straight men responded to a woman’s nakedness, right? Before her accident, Jazz had seemed to like her body. A lot.

Once inside Daniel’s room, she could drop the coat, revealing her body to him. Her soft, now scarred body. In the light. All of her flaws would be spotlighted.

Nope. No way. Never. Can’t do it. Won’t do it.

Coward! If you want a different life, you have to do something different. Be strong. Be brave.

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.

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, he scanned left...right... The hallway was empty, no signs of danger.

As many times as he’d stayed at the inn, Dorothea had only ever spoken to him while cleaning his room. Which had always prompted his early-morning departures. There’d been no reason to grapple with temptation.

“I’m fine,” she said, and gulped. Her shallow inhalations came a little too quickly, and her cheeks grew chalk white. “Super fine.”

How was her tone shrill and breathy at the same time?

He relaxed his battle stance, though his confusion remained. “Why are you here?”

“I...uh... Do you need more towels?”

“Towels?” His gaze roamed over the rest of her, as if drawn by an invisible force—disappointment struck. She wore a bulky, ankle-length raincoat, hiding the body underneath. Had a storm rolled in? He listened but heard no claps of thunder. “No, thank you. I’m good.”

“Okay.” She licked her porn-star lips and toyed with the tie around her waist. “Yes, I’ll have coffee with you.”

Coffee? “Now?”

A defiant nod, those corkscrew curls bouncing.

He barked out a laugh, surprised, amazed and delighted by her all over again. “What’s really going on, Dorothea?”

Her eyes widened. “My name. You remembered.” When he stared at her, expectant, she cleared her throat. “Right. The reason I’m here. I just... I wanted to talk to you.” The color returned to her cheeks, a sexy blush spilling over her skin. “May I come in? Please. Before someone sees me.”

Mistake. That blush gave a man all kinds of ideas.

Besides, what could Miss Mathis have to say to him? He ran through a mental checklist of possible problems. His bill—nope, already paid in full. His father’s health—nope, Daniel would have been called directly.

If he wanted answers, he’d have to deal with Dorothea...alone...with a bed nearby...

Swallowing a curse, he stepped aside.

She rushed past him as if her feet were on fire, the scent of lavender strengthening. His mouth watered.

I could eat her up.

But he wouldn’t. Wouldn’t even take a nibble.

“Shut the door. Please,” she said, a tremor in her voice.

He hesitated but ultimately obeyed. “Would you like a beer while the coffee brews?”

“Yes, please.” She spotted the six-pack he’d brought with him, claimed one of the bottles and popped the cap.

He watched with fascination as she drained the contents.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist and belched softly into her fist. “Thanks. I needed that.”

He tried not to smile as he grabbed the pot. “Let’s get you that coffee.”

“No worries. I’m not thirsty.” She placed the empty bottle on the dresser. Her gaze darted around the room, a little wild, a lot nervous. She began to pace in front of him. She wasn’t wearing shoes, revealing toenails painted yellow and orange, like her fingernails.

More curious by the second, he eased onto the edge of the bed. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“All right.” Her tongue slipped over her lips, moistening both the upper and lower, and the fly of his jeans tightened. In an effort to keep his hands to himself, he fisted the comforter. “I can’t really tell you. I have to show you.”

“Show me, then.” And leave. She had to leave. Soon.

“Yes,” she croaked. Her trembling worsened as she untied the raincoat...

The material fell to the floor.

Daniel’s heart stopped beating. His brain short-circuited. Dorothea Mathis was gloriously, wonderfully naked; she had more curves than he’d suspected, generous curves, gorgeous curves.

Was he drooling? He might be drooling.

She wasn’t a living doll, he decided, but a 1950s pinup. Lead me not into temptation... She had the kind of body other women abhorred but men utterly adored. He adored. To his shock, and delight, a vine with thorns and holly was etched around the outside of one breast, ending in a pink rosebud just over her heart.

He wanted to touch. He needed to touch.

A moment of rational thought intruded. Strawberry Valley girls were off-limits...his dad...disappointment... But...

Dorothea’s soft, lush curves deserved to be touched. And licked. The freckles on her body were visible, the perfect treasure map for his tongue.

I’ll start up top and work my way down. Slowly.

She had a handful of scars on her abdomen and thighs, beautiful badges of strength and survival. More paths for his tongue to follow.

As he studied her, drinking her in, one of her arms draped over her breasts, shielding them from his view. With her free hand, she covered the apex of her thighs and, no shit, he almost whimpered. Such bounty should never be covered.

“I want...to sleep with you,” she stammered. “One time. Only one time. Afterward, I don’t want to speak with you about it. Or about anything. We’ll avoid each other for the rest of our lives.”

One night of no-strings sex? Yes, please. He wanted her. Here. Now.

For hours and hours...

No. No, no, no. If he slept with the only maid at the only inn in town, he’d have to stay in the city with all future dates, over an hour away from his dad. What if Virgil had another heart attack?

Daniel leaped off the bed to swipe up the raincoat. A darker blush stained Dorothea’s cheeks...and spread...and though he wanted to watch the color deepen, he fit the material around her shoulders.

“You...you don’t want me.” Horror contorted her features as she spun and raced to the door.

His reflexes were well honed; they had to be. They were the only reason he hadn’t come home from his tours of duty in a box. Before she could exit, he raced behind her and flattened his hands on the door frame to keep her inside the room.

“Don’t run,” he croaked. “I like the chase.”

Tremors rubbed her against him. “So...you want me?”

Do. Not. Answer. “I’m in a state of shock.” And awe.

He battled an insane urge to trace his nose along her nape...to inhale the lavender scent of her skin...to taste every inch of her. The heat she projected stroked him, sensitizing already desperate nerve endings.

The mask of humanity he’d managed to don before reentering society began to chip.

Off-kilter, he backed away from her. She remained in place, clutching the lapels of her coat.

“Look at me,” Daniel commanded softly.

After an eternity-long hesitation, she turned. Her gaze remained on his feet. Which was probably a good thing. Those shamrock eyes might have been his undoing.

“Why me, Dorothea?” She’d shown no interest in him before. “Why now?”

She chewed on her bottom lip and said, “Right now I don’t really know. You talk too much.”

Most people complained he didn’t talk enough. But then, Dorothea wasn’t here to get to know him. And he wasn’t upset about that—really. He hadn’t wanted to get to know any of his recent dates.

“You didn’t answer my questions,” he said.

“So?” The coat gaped just enough to reveal a swell of delectable cleavage as she shifted from one foot to the other. “Are we going to do this or not?”

Yes!

No! Momentary pleasure, lifelong complications. “I—”

“Oh my gosh. You actually hesitated,” she squeaked. “There’s a naked girl right in front of you, and you have to think about sleeping with her.”

“You aren’t my usual type.” He couldn’t get involved with a Strawberry Valley girl and risk hurting his dad. No matter how badly he wanted the girl in question.

She flinched, clearly misunderstanding his meaning.

“I prefer city girls, the ones I have to chase,” he added. Which only made her flinch again. Okay, what the hell was wrong with him?

Tears welled in her eyes, clinging to her wealth of black lashes—gutting him. When Harlow Glass had tortured Dorothea in the school hallways, her cheeks had burned bright red but her eyes had remained dry.

I hurt her worse than a bully.

“Dorothea,” he said, stepping toward her.

“No!” She held out her arm to ward him off. “I’m not stick thin or sophisticated. I’m too easy, and you’re not into pity screwing. Trust me, I get it.” She spun once more, tore open the door and rushed into the hall.

This time, he let her go. Even though his senses devolved into hunt mode, just as he’d expected, the compulsion to go after her nearly overwhelming him.

Resist!

What if, when he caught her—and he would—he didn’t carry her back to his room but took what she’d offered, wherever they happened to be?

Biting his tongue until he tasted blood, he kicked the door shut.

Silence greeted him. He waited for the past to resurface, but thoughts of Dorothea drowned out the screams. Her little pink nipples had puckered in the cold, eager for his mouth. A dark thatch of curls had shielded the portal to paradise. Her legs had been toned but soft, long enough to wrap around him and strong enough to hold on to him until the end of the ride.

Excitement lingered, growing more powerful by the second, and curiosity held him in a vise grip. The Dorothea he knew would never show up at a man’s door naked, requesting sex.

Maybe he didn’t actually know her. Maybe he should learn more about her. The more he learned, the less intrigued he’d be. He could forget this night had ever happened.

He snatched his cell from the nightstand and dialed Jude, LPH’s tech expert.

Jude answered after the first ring, proving he hadn’t been sleeping, either. “What?”

Good ole Jude. His friend had no tolerance for bull, or pleasantries. “Brusque” had become his only setting. And Daniel understood. Jude had lost the bottom half of his left leg in battle. A major blow, no doubt about it. But the worst was yet to come. During his recovery, his wife and twin daughters had been killed by a drunk driver.

The loss of his leg had devastated him. The loss of his family had changed him. He no longer laughed or smiled; he was like Daniel, only much worse.

“Do me a favor and find out everything you can about Dorothea Mathis. She’s a Strawberry Valley resident. Owns the Strawberry Inn.”

The faint click-clack of typing registered, as if the guy had already been seated in front of his wall of computers. “Who’s the client, and how soon does he—she?—want the report?”

“I’m the client, and I’d like the report ASAP.”

The typing stopped. “So this is personal,” Jude said with no inflection of emotion. “That’s new.”

“Extenuating circumstances,” he muttered.

“She do you wrong?”

I’m not stick thin or sophisticated. I’m too easy, and you’re not into pity screwing. Trust me, I get it.

“The opposite,” he said.

Another pause. “Do you want to know the names of the men she’s slept with? Or just a list of any criminal acts she might have committed?”

He snorted. “If she’s gotten so much as a parking ticket, I’ll be shocked.”

“So she’s a good girl.”

“I don’t know what she is,” he admitted. Those corkscrew curls...pure innocence. Those heart-shaped lips...pure decadence. Those soft curves...mine, all mine.

“Tell Brock this is a hands-off situation,” he said before the words had time to process.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Brock was the privileged rich boy who’d grown up ignored by his parents. He was covered in tatts and piercings and tended to avoid girls who reminded him of the debutants he’d been expected to marry. He preferred the wild ones...those willing to proposition a man.

“Warning received,” Jude said. “Dorothea Mathis belongs to you.”

He ground his teeth. “You are seriously irritating, you know that?”

“Yes, and that’s one of my better qualities.”

True. “Just get me the details.” Those lips...those curves... “And make it fast.”

CHAPTER THREE

FOR THREE DAYS, Dorothea sported blue nails—for sadness—as she struggled to rebuild her decimated self-esteem with healthy living. She jogged an extra five miles every evening, the increase in oxygen making her feel stronger. Even smarter! She avoided sugar with the same indomitable willpower she used to tune out her sister’s insults, improving her mood. And last but not least, she worked from sunup to sundown, taking pride in a job well done.

Why should she care whether or not Daniel Porter desired her? He was shallow, and she had depth. She had shucked off her fears and gone after what she’d wanted, while he had clung to old habits. No regrets!

To be honest, she was glad he’d turned her down. She’d never had a one-night stand, had only suspected she would despise running into Daniel after they’d hooked up. Now she knew beyond a doubt.

They hadn’t kissed or touched, but he’d seen her naked, and that was plenty bad enough.

After she finished cleaning her last room of the day, she strode to her own, ready to gather her gear and run another five miles. No, she would run an extra ten miles tonight. The more she sweat, the more toxins she would expel and the better she would feel.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she spotted Daniel in front of her door and froze. He was here. Why the heck was he here?

The horror of her imagination had failed to do this first sighting justice.

“Open up,” he said, not yet realizing she stood behind him. “We need to talk.”

Talk? Face-to-face? Now?

No. Not now, not ever. He looked too good. Good enough to devour. His dark hair stuck out in sexy spikes, and the thick stubble on his jaw suggested he hadn’t shaved since their last interaction. A leather band covered each of his wrists, and his black tee hugged his muscular biceps, the cotton stretched to the max. Ripped jeans and steel-toed boots only added to his appeal.

Meanwhile, she wore scrubs stained from a hard day’s work. There wasn’t a drop of makeup on her face, and several wayward curls had escaped the messy bun on the crown of her head.

Oh, what the heck. An encounter had to happen sooner or later. They lived in the same small town, for goodness’ sake. Why not get his apology over with? And that was why he was here, wasn’t it? To apologize for his boorish behavior. So she looked her worst. So what? She would be checking a worry off her ever-growing list.

Brave and strong, she took a step forward.

Her knees almost buckled as the look of horror he’d donned when she’d dropped her raincoat constantly refreshed in her mind.

Nope. Can’t do this.

Heart karate-kicking her ribs, she tiptoed down the steps. At the bottom, she leaped into a full-blown sprint, racing down the hall and through the lobby, the outdated decor making her cringe. The peeling wallpaper boasted strawberry vines that had faded just enough to look like dangling testicles. Anything wooden had nicks. Only the chandeliers were new, the gorgeous ruby and emerald crystals shaped to resemble wild strawberries. A Christmas gift from Jessie Kay West for hosting a last-minute party.

Holly sat behind the reception desk and called her name. Dorothea skidded to a stop, willing to risk anything—even a confrontation with Daniel—to help her sister.

“Is something wrong?”

“Just wanted you to know I’m taking tomorrow off,” Holly said.

The good times never stopped. “Mrs. Hathaway has a doctor appointment in the morning, so I need you here.” Tomorrow was parent-teacher conference day at Strawberry Valley High. For once, her sister could work an entire day, allowing Dorothea to attend in their mother’s place. “Without you, I’ll have to close the inn.”

“How cute.” Holly popped a bubble as she stared down at her phone, her fingers dancing over the keyboard. “You thought I was asking for permission.”

“This is a family business, Halls. We—”

“Aren’t a family. We’re strangers.”

Only five words, but they utterly shredded Dorothea. She whispered, “I want to be more. I’m striving to be more.”

“Well, you can quit that like you quit Strawberry Valley, college and your marriage. As soon as I graduate, I’m gone, and I’m not ever coming back.”

Dorothea swallowed a cry of despair, a countdown clock appearing in the back of her mind. Three months. She had three months to win her sister...or she would lose her forever.

“I love you, Holly. I’ll always love you.”

Her sister swiveled the chair in the opposite direction. Message received. The conversation had officially ended.

“However you feel about me,” she persisted, a lump growing in her throat, “you still have to work tomorrow.”

Silence. Thick, oppressive silence.

Disheartened, Dorothea strode outside. The bell over the door tinkled, and cool air embraced her. She’d go...somewhere. She was New Dorothea, after all, and she would do something other than wallow.

She made her way to the parking lot across the street. Her car keys—

Were still in her room. Crap! She switched direction, heading for the town square. What she’d do when she got there, she had no idea. Every shop had already closed for the night.

The scent of wild strawberries wafted from the fields that surrounded the entire town, resurrecting what should have been happy memories. As a child, she’d run through those fields, laughing merrily, untouched by troubles as her dad gave chase.

He’d loved her then.

At least, she’d thought he loved her. If he had felt the smallest bit of affection for her, he would have stayed in contact after he’d divorced Carol.

For a long time, Dorothea had blamed herself for his abandonment. She’d wondered if her appearance or weight had disappointed him. But then, she used to blame herself for Jazz’s infidelity, too. If only she’d worked harder to bring in more money, fixed her hair a different way, lost more weight, tried harder in bed, cooked better, offered more stimulating conversation, something, anything, she would have been enough.

But the fault didn’t rest on her shoulders. Even though she was the one constant in all her failed relationships.

Fighting a wave of depression, she focused on the hodgepodge charm of her surroundings. Four-bulb lampposts illuminated historic buildings intermixed with modern ones. While the inn possessed the elegance of an antebellum structure, the local grocery store was housed in a metal warehouse with a tin roof. Across the street, a row of box-shaped homes contained a hardware store, a “gourmet” café, an antiques store and a dry cleaner. The theater had a copper awning, and gargoyles perched along a balcony.

A whitewashed bungalow was home to Rhinestone Cowgirl, the town’s premier jewelry store. Around the corner was Lintz Auto Shop. Just down the street was Strawberry Valley Community Church, a white stone chapel with massive stained-glass windows.

Out of habit, her gaze lifted to the sky. No stars in sight, the bright pinpricks of lights obscured by cirrostratus clouds. A whitish veil with a smooth sheetlike appearance.

“Dorothea!”

A car idled beside her, she realized, Lyndie Scott behind the wheel.

Warm relief washed through her. “Hey, you. What are you doing out so late?”

The strawberry blonde was as beautiful as ever with wide amber eyes and flawless porcelain skin, but...she looked sad. She always looked sad, even when smiling. At the age of twenty-one, Lyndie had married the police chief of Blueberry Hill. By twenty-three, she had become a widow.

Dorothea had only seen pictures of her friend with Chief Carrington; their relationship had taken place during her years away. She hoped they had loved each other deeply, madly, the way Dorothea had always yearned to be loved, but she suspected the couple had had their fair share of problems. Otherwise Lyndie would have kept her married name? Maybe?

“I actually came by the inn a few hours ago.” Lyndie gazed at her with concern. “Are you all right? Your sister said you didn’t want to be disturbed because you had a case of—” she glanced over her shoulder and whispered “—raging diarrhea.”

Dorothea nearly choked on her tongue. “Holly lied.” What else had the girl told the townspeople? Chronic flatulence? Hemorrhoids and anal fissures? “I promise I’m perfectly healthy.”

Lyndie pressed her lips together only to burst into laughter. “I’m sorry! I am. But oh, wow, your sister is a character.”

“Yeah, a character in a horror novel.” Though Dorothea had done a lousy job of keeping up with her dear friends while living in the city—she’d worked too much and foolishly poured all her free time into Jazz—the two had called and texted her often. Tidbits here and there about what they were up to, or inside jokes about their high school days. For instance, the time they created the ten commitments for any relationship, even though they were invisible to boys.

A boy shalt not:

Lie to anyone, ever, not even to flatter;

Cheat with so much as a look;

Steal even when desperate;

Harm others in any way;

Make excuses for bad behavior.

He shalt:

Compliment when merited;

Help when needed;

Treat others with kindness, always;

Consult you when making big decisions;

Do his best, not just what’s good enough.

Looking back, she comprehended Lyndie and Ryanne had seen through Jazz’s charisma to the slimeball within. By reminding her oh, so subtly of the list, they’d hoped she would see the truth.

She had, only far too late.

“Ryanne has the night off,” Lyndie said, “and she’s fixin’ me breakfast for dinner. Of course, by ‘me’ I mean ‘us.’ You’re coming, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

A fun, spontaneous night with friends? “You don’t have to drag me kicking and screaming. I’m in!” She climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up.

They drove to the Scratching Post a few miles outside of town, once owned and operated by Ryanne’s fourth stepdad, Earl.

Her mother—Selma Martinez-Wade-Lewis-Scott-Hernandez-Montgomery—had married Earl after divorcing Lyndie’s father for reasons neither girl had ever discussed with Dorothea. In fact, both girls tended to act cagey whenever the subject came up, so she’d stopped asking questions. Eventually she’d stopped feeling hurt by the secrecy, too.

Whatever had happened, the two had obviously been hurt deeply. Dorothea flattened her palm over her tattoo. Some hurts worsened when they were discussed, never able to heal.

Ryanne lived directly above the bar. She’d moved in a couple years ago to take care of Earl, who’d later died of cancer.

What seemed to be millions of cars littered the parking lot. Inside the smoky, two-story warehouse, crowds of people stretched wall-to-wall. A few months ago, Ryanne had begun selling a house-made fruit cocktail moonshine; now patrons came to the Scratching Post in droves.

Directly behind the counter, a narrow hallway led to offices as well as a secret stairwell guarded by a weathered door and some kind of weird-looking digital lock. Lyndie punched in the code known to very few people, and together they climbed to the top, where they found another lock. This time, Lyndie knocked.

When you lived above a bar, you had to take precautions.

“Come in,” Ryanne called from inside.

Lyndie punched in a second code and entered the apartment, Dorothea at her heels. The sound of clanging pots and pans drew them across the great room and into a spacious, industrial kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances, everything chrome or stainless steel.

The scent of maple and bacon saturated the air, and her mouth watered. Her stomach growled.

The gorgeous Ryanne bustled from stove to sink. She had long, dark hair, even darker eyes and flawless golden-brown skin. In a pink tank top and skinny jeans, her hourglass figure was on perfect display.

A cloud of steam rose from the pan, painting her in a dreamy haze as she looked up and smiled in welcome. “Good girl, Lyndie. You managed to corral us a wild filly.”

Me? Wild?

“Yes, ma’am, I surely did.” Lyndie patted herself on the back. “I didn’t even have to hog-tie her.”

Dorothea loved seeing the reserved redhead come out of her shell. “I’m not that bad,” she said, only to sigh. “Okay, I’m worse. Sorry.”

“Hey. Don’t worry about it. We understand.” Lyndie gave one of Dorothea’s fallen curls a tug. “Your heart is still in the process of mending.”

She offered a half smile, which was all she could currently manage. Lyndie and Ryanne knew the bare bones about her past: she’d gotten married and divorced after Jazz cheated on her. The pair had no idea she’d discovered the affair only because Jazz’s girlfriend had wanted Dorothea out of the picture. They had no idea she’d walked in on the couple mid-act and had run out of the apartment in horror—only to fall down a flight of stairs.

And lose her baby.

A knot tangled in her throat. Don’t think about the baby.

Too late. The memories had been banging on the door of her mind, waiting for a chance to overtake her. She’d been five months pregnant, but because of a wonky cycle and a few extra pounds, she had only just found out.

Falling down the stairs had caused her to deliver her precious baby prematurely. Though the little girl was already dead, she’d had to give her a name. She’d chosen Rose. Rose Holly Connors.

Rose...dead...beyond hope.

A pang in her chest. Dorothea flattened a hand over the tattoo on her breast. She would forever carry her baby close to her heart.

If Rose had survived, she might be walking by now. Pang. If she’d gone to term, she might be crawling. PANG.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Lyndie asked her.

“Excuse me. I need to use the bathroom.” Fighting tears, Dorothea shut herself inside the small enclosure. After splashing cold water on her face, she breathed in and out with purpose until her heart rate calmed and the pangs subsided.

By the time she rejoined her friends, she had her wayward thoughts back under lock and key.

Lyndie smiled at her before settling on a chair behind the counter. “You and me, Dorothea, we’re the first two members of the very exclusive Broken Hearts Club. Ryanne, honey, you need to pick a man, marry him, then have your heart broken by losing him. Then you can join us.”

Ryanne munched on a crunchy piece of bacon. “Sounds like a perfectly sane reason to begin and end a marriage. Consider me on board.”

Dorothea sat next to Lyndie and raised her hand, as if she were a student eager to give an answer. “Oh! Oh! I get to be your maid of honor, and I get first pick at the groomsmen.”

Her dark eyes sparkled. “Sorry, chica, but me and my imaginary guy are eloping. There’s no way I’m doing the white dress and flowers thing.” She shuddered with distaste. “I’m saving my money to travel the world and—Wait a sec. Did you say you want to do a groomsman?”

“Ohhh. Good catch.” Lyndie bumped Dorothea’s shoulder. “Spill!”

“Okay, okay, but first...” She extended her hand to shake. “Let me introduce you to New Dorothea. I’m fun, spontaneous and wild, and I plan to hook me a man-fish. A really hot one!” Daniel had turned her down, yes, but there were other man-fish in the Testosterone Sea. “My first requirement is easy. He has to live in the city.”

No one else in Strawberry Valley would see her naked. That way, she could walk the streets with her head held high rather than cringing in embarrassment.

“Hook you a—” Ryanne burst out laughing, and Lyndie grinned.

The sight of her friends’ amusement warmed Dorothea. As much as she’d missed the town, she’d missed this. No, she’d missed this more. Since her return, she’d mostly stayed cooped up inside the inn, too afraid to live, blaming her shattered relationship with Holly and her failure with Jazz. No more!

“You got anyone in particular in mind?” Ryanne asked.

Her cheeks flamed with heat. “Not yet.” Next time, she would pick a sure thing. For a relationship, not just sex. She would prove to Holly—and herself!—that men could stick around for the long haul.

Lyndie leaned over to snag a piece of bacon. “How can we help?”

“I don’t know. Point out the good ones, I guess?” So far, her bait had only hooked a shark.

“Whoa.” Ryanne spread her arms. “You’re saying good guys aren’t just a myth, like assassin werewolves and millionaire vampires?”

Lyndie snorted. This time, Dorothea was the one to laugh. Ryanne had always loved video games involving fantastical nocturnal creatures.

“Good can be a mask for evil,” Lyndie said when Dorothea sobered. “If you find an honorable man—hello, oxymoron—never let go.”

“I won’t have to worry about hanging on to him,” Dorothea replied. “Because he’ll be too busy clinging to me!”

Ryanne wiggled her brows before pouring a glass of orange juice. “I bet there will be plenty of hotties at the spring festival next month. You guys going? Way I hear it, Daniel Porter’s company is overseeing security, and Jase Hollister, Beck Ockley and Lincoln West are bringing friends to run the kissing booth.”

Beck Ockley, the husband of Harlow Glass.

He’s so rich, her mom once said, he buys a new boat whenever he gets the old one wet. Too bad he’s as dumb as a box of rocks. Only a fool would choose to spend the rest of his life with a woman like Harlow.

Carol refused to believe Harlow had changed. “Maybe,” Dorothea finally said. Not to see Daniel in action, of course, but to check out that kissing booth. “Scratch that. Yes.” She nodded. “I’m going, and you guys are, too.”

Lyndie’s nod held a scootch less enthusiasm. “Fine. I’ll be your incompetent wingwoman.”

“Bet I’ll be more incompetent than you.” Ryanne grabbed a carton of milk and a stick of butter from the fridge and asked Dorothea, “How do you want your eggs?”

Mimicking a meme she’d read earlier, she said, “In a cake, please.” She’d run five miles this morning, and she had internal wounds in need of soothing. Why not indulge her sweet tooth for once?

Ryanne snickered. “I have a chocolate ice-cream cake in the freezer.”

“You’ve got a chocolate ice-cream cake on the premises?” Lyndie jumped to her feet and basically shoved Ryanne out of the way mid-race to the freezer. “Gimme!”

Ryanne gathered three spoons. “I’ve never seen this chocolate-addicted side of you, Scott.”

“I usually only unleash her in private. But the fact that I’m willing to share with you should make you feel special.”

As soon as Lyndie placed the dessert on the counter, Dorothea crumbled the maple-glazed bacon over the top.

“Hey! What—” Lyndie began at the same time Ryanne said, “You can’t—”

“Trust me,” Dorothea interjected. “You’re about to weep with rapture. Bacon makes everything better, even cake.”

They dug in and moaned with bliss, Dorothea a little more heartily than the others. The salty-sugary treat went straight to her head in a dizzying, delicious rush.

“Who knew pigs in cream would rock so hard?” Ryanne said.

“I did.” Control nowhere to be found, Dorothea shoveled in another bite. “This is heaven on Earth.”

“Agreed.” The familiar voice startled—and horrified—her.

Heart thundering in her chest, she jumped to her feet. “Daniel.” Daniel Porter. Here. “I don’t understand.”

A glaring Ryanne extended her spoon as if it were a weapon. “How did you get in?”

“I knocked. You didn’t answer, but I heard voices and knew you were back here.” He shrugged, unabashed. “Your lock is a joke, by the way.”

“You actually dismantled—” Dorothea shook her head. “But why?”

He ignored her, saying to Ryanne, “I’ve already called the man who will replace the outdated lock with something even I can’t bypass. He’s tall, blond and has blue eyes. His name is Jude. Please don’t hurt him with your deadly spoon.”

“I don’t care what he looks like, or what his name is. If he shows up, he’ll be trespassing, just like you, and he’ll get locked up. I’m calling the...cops,” Ryanne finished lamely, shooting Lyndie an apologetic look.

Lyndie stared down at her wringing hands, her cheeks now chalk white. Fear radiated from her.

Fear? Just how bad had things been with Chief Carrington?

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving.” Daniel’s intense, amber gaze finally locked on Dorothea. “But first I’d like to speak with you.”

The air in her lungs turned to steam and evaporated; she began to wheeze, the urge to both fight and flee screwing with her head. “No, thank you? I mean, no. I’m having a girls’ night.” Translation: leave! Please.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “One way or another, I’m picking up where our last conversation ended. You sure you want to have an audience for that?”

He wouldn’t dare!

Who was she kidding? He would probably dare in a heartbeat.

“You guys had a conversation?” Ryanne lowered her spoon and arched a brow at Dorothea. “I’d love to hear the main topic...or were you guys too busy grunting to use actual words?”

Lyndie’s eyes widened like saucers. “Is he the raging diarrhea you were having?”

Kill me. Kill me now. Could this night get any worse?

She’d known a meeting had to happen sooner or later. Postponing it had been a mistake. If she allowed Daniel to say his piece now, she could say goodbye. Forever.

“Fine. If you’ll follow me...” Chin high, the rest of her trembling, she strode past him.

Heat pulsed from him as he followed her. Goose bumps broke out over her skin.

Once she reached the front door, hopefully out of the others’ hearing range, she faced him. Crap! He was so close she could have tripped over his shadow.

Bones threatening to melt, she moved two steps back. “How did you find me?”

“How did you know I was looking for you?” he countered. “Did you, perhaps, see me at your door and run?”

“I... Well...” She licked her lips. His hooded gaze followed the motion of her tongue, and the heat he was throwing off cranked up about a thousand degrees. In the next instant, he was looking at her as no man ever had. Not even her ex-husband. As if she were a mystery he had to solve. A dessert he wanted to eat. A treasure he expected to claim.

Her hands fisted. Someone needed to tell him a look like that made promises he couldn’t keep. And dang it, she hated that look almost as much as she loved it. It meant nothing to him but everything to her.

“Dorothea,” he prompted, “did you run away from me?”

Lying would lead to complications. How could she be expected to keep falsehoods straight when she could barely remember her name in this man’s presence? Still, there was no way she would admit to her cowardice.

“What I did or didn’t do doesn’t matter.” As she spoke, she waved her hands through the air to punctuate each word. A bad habit she’d fought most of her life, whenever her emotions got the better of her. “Tell me why you’re here.”

He closed what little distance separated them, and she backed up another step, then another, determined to remain at arm’s length. It wasn’t long before she smacked into a wall, and crap, he just kept coming until they were only a whisper apart.

A dark, dangerous whisper...

Her tremors redoubled as she breathed him in. He smelled like her favorite mix of essential oils: sandalwood, lavender and vanilla. And there was a good reason for that. She made soap as a special gift for the inn’s guests. A mistake, she realized now. She wanted to breathe him in forever.

“I’m here for you.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth. Out came his tongue, licking away a smear of chocolate. “I want to take you back to the inn and give you that orgasm you asked for—plus a couple more.”

What! He’s here to pleasure me?

“I didn’t... I mean...” Wet heat branded her core. “You’re too late? Stop tasting me?” Questions? Really?

“Mmm. You sure you want me to stop?” His voice deepened to a sensual purr. “Let me assuage my curiosity and find out if you’re this sweet all over. Let me see the exquisite body that haunts my dreams.”

The—exquisite—body in question experienced a thousand different reactions at once, namely tingling skin, hardening nipples and a quivering belly. Ohhhh! Her blood began to sizzle in her veins.

Daniel Porter had not just implied he wanted to go down on her...right? She was mistaken?

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” she said.

“Tell me you still want one night with me.” He kissed her knuckles, leaving a white-hot ember behind. “This time my answer will be yes.”

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 a good strategy for you. Your face attracts us, but your personality repels us. Stay quiet, and you’ll stay lucky.”

Ouch, that stung—mostly because it was accurate.

He wrapped his fingers around her wrists and caressed his thumb over her racing pulse, internal wound forgotten as he marveled. Compared to his, her bones were small and delicate. Her skin radiated pure, silken heat.

“Am I going to get lucky tonight?” he asked.

Her gaze remained on their hands, where they touched. “No?”

A question rather than a statement of fact. What sweet progress. “I’ll take your no as a maybe.”

“Don’t. I—”

“Too late. Besides, if I were in the habit of giving up easily, I would have died the time I took five slugs to the chest.”

She gasped. “You almost died?”

“Multiple times. Kiss my scars and make them better?”

Now a strangled sound left her. “I... You—” She drew in a deep breath, slowly released it and visibly calmed. “You know what? Let’s never discuss this again. Next time we see each other, let’s pretend we’re strangers.”

“Counteroffer. Let’s discuss this all night. Next time we see each other, let’s pretend we’re lovers and we’re allergic to our clothing.”

Her lips pursed. “I’m not playing games with you, Daniel.”

“Not yet.” He ghosted his knuckles along the curve of her jaw, relishing her softness and warmth. “But soon, I hope.”

She leaned into him, realized what she’d done and batted his hand away. “Your sudden desire for me—”

“Trust me, it isn’t sudden.”

“—is insulting,” she finished. “Wait.” She shook her head, as if she needed to reset her brain and replay his words. “What?”

Why not tell her about the first time? “I remember driving past your bus stop one morning back in high school. You were watching your feet as you kicked a pebble. The rumble of my truck’s engine drew your attention, and you glanced up, smiled shyly. You even blushed.” Just like now, this moment. “I got hard just looking at you.”

“You did?” Wonder lit her eyes, the air between them charging with electricity. Then she growled and stomped her foot. “You haven’t changed. You always say the right things, building up a girl’s hopes, then you crush her with disappointment.”

“Always? Name one other time I’ve crushed your hopes.” And he had changed. Losing loved ones had chipped away at his happiness. Killing enemy soldiers had left a stain on his soul, even though the government had sanctioned his actions.

“In school you—”

When she said no more, he prompted, “What?”

“Never mind. If you want me now,” she said, “you’re going to have to prove it. And I don’t mean with a hard...you know.”

“You know?” He snickered. “Say it. Tell me what it’s called.”

“You don’t think I will? Fine.” Up went her chin. “Penis. Penis, penis, penis.”

He laughed—again—and then she laughed. Their eyes met and they both quieted. Tension mounted quickly. Lightning strikes of sensation shot through him. Perhaps her body acted as a conductor; she jolted as if she’d just been hit.

“You should go,” she croaked, stepping to the side.

Leaving held no appeal, but there was a time for war, and a time for retreat. If he continued to push, he’d only orchestrate an ambush—for himself.

“This isn’t over, Dorothea. We’ll talk soon.”

“No, I—”

He pressed a finger to her lips, saying, “Soon.” Then he left the apartment before she could contradict him.

Outside, cool night air failed to temper the heat of his desire.

He was used to being turned down by ice queens. At first. In the past, he’d always loved to romance a succinct no into an enthusiastic yes. But Dorothea wasn’t made of ice. She couldn’t be. She smoldered. And yet he suspected turning her no into a yes would be far more satisfying—even if he’d rather have her yes now than later.

He climbed into his ’79 Chevy pickup and headed into town. Twelve years ago, he and his dad rebuilt the engine. The thing guzzled gasoline like Brock guzzled beer, but it was part of his family.

Out of habit, or instinct, whatever, he parked in the lot across from the Strawberry Inn. Then he remembered he hadn’t rented a room tonight. Why not jog home and burn off a little excess energy?

Couldn’t hurt. He exited, popped the bones in his neck and took off.

By the halfway mark, his heart rate finally spiked for a reason other than desire or even his usual PTSD. Tension seeped from his pores, and his mind cleared of every thought but one. Since his honorable resignation from the military, he’d moved from one woman—or life raft—to another. Should he really drag Dorothea into his crazy?

He remembered how sweet the chocolate tasted on her soft skin.

Yes, he really should drag her into his crazy. Wasn’t like she had to stay with him. One night wasn’t a big deal. No harm, no foul. Although...

Maybe he could convince her to give him two nights? Possibly a week. An aberration from his usual MO, sure, but she was an aberration. Someone he’d known since childhood. He shouldn’t just bang, bail and oh, well. And it wasn’t like she had her hopes and dreams pinned on a commitment. The night she’d come to him, she’d asked for sex, nothing more.

A wealth of oak and hickory trees replaced the line of buildings. The tops seemed to reach the sky, shielding the golden glow of the moon. He—

Snap.

The sound of a breaking limb.

Daniel dived to the ground, at the same time reaching for his Glock. Over the years, his eyesight had grown accustomed to the dark; he could now pick up details other people missed. Though he expected to see enemy forces marching closer...he saw a dog? He—she?—hobbled out from behind a bush, spotted him and froze, utterly petrified.

He took a moment to breathe as his too-tight throat loosened. This wasn’t hostile territory. No threat advanced. But someone did need his help.

As he stood, the dog bolted, only to whimper and stop.

Cooing in a gentle voice, hoping to soothe the animal, he closed the distance. A Chihuahua. He/she cowered and peed in the grass.

“I’m not going to hurt you, little guy...girl?” Daniel used the flashlight app on his phone. Girl. Both of her back legs were mangled but scabbed. She’d been attacked, probably days ago.

What had gotten her? Coyotes ran rampant out here. So did shit humans willing to use innocent animals as bait in a dogfight.

Rage scalded him. Another whimper; she must sense the darkness of his emotions.

Daniel breathed in, out, and forced himself to calm. He knew nothing about dogs, but he’d dealt with plenty of scared, wounded soldiers. Easing beside her, he started talking. He told her all about his day, even about Dorothea, allowing her to get used to his presence. After a while, she stopped cowering and weakly nuzzled his hand.

Right—that—second. She broke his freaking heart. How long since she’d been petted? Or fed?

His mother had been afraid of dogs, no matter their size, and he remembered one of his high school girlfriends complaining about her parents’ pet. Filthy creature, she’d said with a sneer. Always chews on my shoes and poops in my closet.

Actions unhurried and measured, he picked up the dog, his grip as light as possible. She couldn’t weigh more than five pounds. He decided to take her to the local vet. Dr. Vandercamp lived a few streets away from his dad.

“What’s your name, little girl?” She wore no collar. “I bet it’s something menacing like Killer or She-beast. You Chihuahuas are known for your tempers, right? Well, I’m going to call you Princess.” Nicknames mattered. Just ask Dorothea. Nicknames built you up or tore you down.

Jude was once called Priest. While some soldiers had girlfriends in every port, he’d remained faithful to his wife. Happily so.

Brock was sometimes likened to a bulldozer. The Brocdozer. He’d tended to mow down anything in his way.

Daniel was known as Mr. Clean. When a situation got dirty, he rushed in and cleaned up the mess.

Irony at its finest. He couldn’t clean up the mess he’d made of his life.

When Daniel reached his dad’s neighborhood, he quickened his step. The housing subdivision had three streets and a grand total of twelve homes, each centered on a one-acre plot. Some of the homes resembled barns, while others were more traditional two-story colonials.

Dr. Vandercamp lived in one of the barns. The porch light was off. To discourage visitors? Oh, well. Daniel knocked on the door. Hard.

Several minutes passed before the lights flipped on and the old man—

Nope, not the old man, but his son, Brett, who was Daniel’s age. Right. He remembered Virgil telling him that Brett had become a vet, just like his dad, and that he’d taken over the old man’s practice.

Brett wore a pink T-shirt that read “Save the Boobies,” a pair of boxers and a scowl. “What do you want, Porter?”

Far from intimidated, Daniel said, “I found this little beauty a few miles back. She’s injured. Do you have the tools to care for her here, or do you need to go to your office?” Subtext: Princess was getting treatment tonight.

Brett’s gruff exterior was suddenly replaced by caring concern. “Poor darling. Don’t you worry. I’ve got what I need here.”

Good. “I’ll pay for everything.”

An-n-nd goodbye concern. “Considering you made a house call in the middle of the night, you’re lucky I’m not going to make you pay double.” The guy looked the little Chihuahua over with a critical eye. “She’s malnourished, and she’ll need to be hooked to an IV for the rest of the night. Maybe tomorrow, too.”

Daniel reluctantly handed her over, knowing she would be terrified of the new human as well as the new situation. And he was right. She peed on him.

“You’re going to be okay, aren’t you, sweet girl? Yes, you are. Oh, yes, you are.” Brett’s hazel gaze flipped up to Daniel. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

“You don’t have my number.”

“Do you really think getting it will be difficult?” The door shut in his face.

“Thank you,” Daniel called.

He jogged to his dad’s house. When he’d first arrived in town, the colonial had been a run-down mess. Before starting LPH, Daniel had redone the trim, replaced the roof and painted absolutely everything.

A quiet entry proved unnecessary. Jude and Brock sat in the living room, exactly where he’d left them. They spent a lot of time here, discussing work and watching Virgil whenever Daniel had to be gone for an extended period.

“Why do you reek of urine?” Jude looked him over and frowned. “Better question. Why do you have a streak of blood on your shirt?”

The guy noticed everything. “I found an injured dog and took her to the vet. Where’s my dad?”

“In bed. Told us to use our inside voices or he’d put buckshot in our asses.” Brock grinned a sinner’s grin. Completely unrepentant. “Does he not know he’s partially deaf and wouldn’t be able to hear us if we shouted?” Of course, he shouted the question.

No bellow of warning came from Virgil’s bedroom.

Daniel stalked to the kitchen, grabbed a beer and returned to the living room, falling into one of the chairs. What a day.

Beside him, Jude balanced a laptop on his thighs, his prosthetic limb propped against the coffee table. With his pale, shaggy hair, navy blue eyes and golden tan, he could have passed for a surfer—if there had been anything lighthearted about him. The right side of his face bore the same shrapnel scars Daniel possessed, though Jude’s were worse; one cut through his lip, giving him a permanent scowl.

“How’d it go with your girl?” Jude asked.

My girl. Not really. “I failed worse than Brock when he tried to pick up an entire bridal party.”

Brock, who occupied the other end of the couch, laughed and fluffed the cushion under his neck. He kept his jet-black hair cut close to his scalp and, no matter how often he shaved, always sported a five-o’clock shadow. His eyes were so pale a green they sometimes appeared neon.

“Why are you grumbling about a rejection?” the guy asked. “You’re no longer on the sidelines. You’re now in the game.”

Next time we see each other, let’s pretend we’re strangers.

Daniel drained half the beer. “Her defense might be stronger than my offense.”

“Gotta admit,” Jude said, casting the beer a death glare. “She’s not your usual type.”

The glare, Daniel understood. A drunken frat boy was the one who’d killed his family. The idiot had driven one hundred miles per hour down an overpass at night and slammed into Constance Laurent’s minivan.

But Daniel wasn’t a frat boy, and he wanted to help his friend get past his past, not coddle him.

He drained the rest of the beer and said, “I know she’s not my usual type. She’s better.” Sexier, with a fiercer temper.

“Dude. If you’re this enamored of her after...what?” Brock spread his arms. “Two conversations with her? You’re in trouble. Take it from me. I’ve been divorced twice—”

“From the same woman,” Daniel interjected.

“Still counts. Anyway. The three of us, we are high maintenance, no doubt about it, and we’re never going to make a romantic relationship work long-term until we get our heads screwed on properly.”

“I have no interest in making a romantic relationship work long-term,” Jude grumbled.

Grumble was all he did anymore. But then, he wasn’t living; he was surviving.

Daniel had been doing the same, hadn’t he? Moving from girl to girl. He sighed. “You implying my head is on crooked?”

Brock gave him a pitying look. “My friend, I’m flat-out telling you. Your head is only hanging on by a thread.”

Maybe, maybe not. But probably. Funny thing, though. He’d never been more certain about a woman. He wanted Dorothea in his bed, but he also wanted to talk with her, to laugh with her...

Unfortunately, he had a feeling he would do almost anything to get what he wanted. Consequences be damned. Which proved Brock’s claim. Daniel’s head was hanging on by a thread.

But no matter. He wasn’t a freaking mansel in distress, waiting for his white knightress to come and save him.

He’d have fun with Dorothea, be distracted by the chase. If she succumbed, great. If not, no big deal. One way or another, he would move on. As always.

CHAPTER FIVE

HUFFING AND PUFFING, Dorothea increased her speed for the final mile of her morning run. She’d decided to go ten miles rather than her usual five, hoping to energize her body and clear her mind. Daniel’s offer? Not even a blip.

Okay, maybe a blip.

He’d said he fantasized about her. He’d called her curves “beautiful.” Told her that her body haunted his dreams.

Maybe I should give him a chance?

Ugh! What are you doing? Softening? Stay hard!

Last night Daniel had been as hard as a rock for her...

Shivers danced through her limbs, and she swallowed a groan. Come on! She wasn’t special to him. He would use and discard her.

You planned to use and discard him first.

Yeah, well, that was different, because—why?

Just because!

A cramp in her side slowed her, but her mind continued to whirl. Daniel confused her. He’d rejected her but had later claimed to desire her. He’d offered her a single night of passion only to leave when she finally began to maybe kinda sorta consider it.

Enough! Give no more thought to this.

The more you thought about something, the more power it had over you.

When she reached the inn, she decided she wasn’t ready to adult yet and paced along the sidewalk. Would Holly be stationed at the counter, as commanded? Or had her sister abandoned her, as threatened?

With Dorothea’s luck? I was abandoned without a moment’s consideration.

With a sigh, she leaned against a large white column and watched as the sun rose in the distance. The cloudless sky blazed with magnificent shades of gold, pink and purple. Such beauty! The air wasn’t hotter than a goat’s butt in a pepper patch, or colder than a penguin’s balls.

Break out those short shorts, y’all, but keep a raincoat within reach.

This evening, a thunderstorm would roll in, no doubt about it, and it would be the first of many. Tornado season had officially kicked off, and the possibility of a cyclone would only strengthen throughout the week.

The greater the storms, the more time Jazz would spend on TV screens throughout Oklahoma. Resentment flared within her, the urge to punch something—or someone—strong.

No more regrets. Let go of the past and march into the future.

Right. Dorothea drew in a deep breath. As she released it, she straightened. She would adult whether she wanted to or not. She would shower and—whimper—she would interact with other people.

A loud rumble suddenly assaulted her ears, growing in volume, and the inn began to shake. Earthquake! Dust plumed. Her heart galloped into a faster rhythm.

She stumbled but managed to remain upright. A second later, the shaking stopped, but her heartbeat failed to slow. While Strawberry Valley only registered the bigger ones, quakes had become a way of life. Some people blamed fracking. Others blamed a previously undiscovered fault line.

At long last, Dorothea entered the inn. She’d painted her nails red this morning—anger—and now flattened her palm over her tattoo as she studied the interior, searching for any damage. Nothing appeared to be broken and Holly—

Wasn’t behind the counter.

Dorothea gnashed her molars as she phoned Mrs. Hathaway, who’d promised to man the desk until her doctor appointment, to ask if she could come sooner and return sooner, as well. Then she set up the Be Back Soon sign and stalked to her room. After a quick shower, she dressed in a pale green cotton blouse to match her eyes, and a pair of stonewashed jeans she’d cut into shorts when the denim had ripped at the knees. Recycling old clothes was a great penny saver.

She drove to the high school for the parent-teacher conferences. According to her mother, there was no reason to go and a thousand reasons to avoid it, because every teacher she met would complain about Holly, and Dorothea’s blood would boil. But she was determined to grin and bear it. Someone had to keep up with Holly’s life to ensure she wasn’t being bullied for her unique wardrobe choices. Someone had to check her academic progress, offer support and show her just how deeply she was loved.

Unfortunately, the first four meetings rolled out exactly as Carol had predicted. The teachers complained about Holly’s lack of focus.

“I’ll talk to her,” Dorothea vowed to each one.

When anyone mentioned Holly’s terrible attitude, she said, “We’re working on it.”

When her sister’s abysmal grades came up, she said, “I’ll find her a tutor.”

When Holly’s constant threats to drop out and become a streetwise hooker with secret hopes of being rescued by an icy billionaire only she could melt was mentioned, Dorothea said, “It’s good to have goals, yeah?”

Mr. Jonathan Hillcrest, the fifth and final teacher, saved the day. Even though he was a few years older than Dorothea, they’d played in the band together when they were in high school. The popular crowd had considered him a nerd, just like her. Kindred spirits unite!

While Dorothea had retained her supposed “nerdiness,” he’d grown out of his. Tall and lean with sandy-colored hair, he had a construction worker’s tan, and adorable laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. His nose was a little too long, but it worked in his favor, giving him an aristocratic vibe.

She thought she recalled a rumor that he and his girlfriend of two years had broken up a few months ago.

“I have to tell you, Dottie. Holly has so much potential. She’s so smart. She just needs to apply herself.” He sat at his desk, the surface cluttered with papers. “Any tips for how I can reach her?”

She decided not to correct his use of the hated nickname. The meeting wasn’t about her. “Are you kidding me? I need tips.”

He chuckled, and she grinned.

“And please, call me Dorothea.”

Twining his fingers over his middle, he leaned back in his chair. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you smile.”

Her eyes widened. He’d noticed her? Before this?

Then he shocked her further, saying, “It looks good on you.”

What! It did?

“Thank you,” she replied, her tone soft, her cheeks burning. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Not kind. Honest.” Now unwilling to meet her gaze, he cleared his throat and stacked a set of papers at the corner of his desk. “Anyway. We were talking about Holly.”

“Right.” Dorothea hooked a lock of hair behind her ear. How to explain she’d been back home for nearly a year, but her sister had yet to forgive her for leaving in the first place?

“I know your family owns the Strawberry Inn, and I wonder if Holly maybe...works too much?” His hesitation lessened the sting of his words. “She rarely turns in her assignments. I’ve offered her numerous extensions, but she always declines, stating she’s far too busy to pencil me into her schedule.”

Guilt pricked at Dorothea. Holly had zero free time, the way Dorothea had once had zero free time. The way she now had zero free time. And she had only perpetuated the problem.

When her sister asked for a day off, she should have given it to her. She remembered the teenage horror of being forced to turn down every after-school invitation. Not that she’d been invited anywhere by anyone other than Ryanne and Lyndie.

Making a split-second decision, she said, “Consider Holly fired, effective immediately.” The theme rooms could wait. Every penny she’d saved could be used to hire a new receptionist. “I want the best for her. Underneath her insults, she has a good heart.”

He nodded as she spoke. “I agree.”

Those two swords fertilized Dorothea’s hopes, helping them grow. If she and Mr. Hillcrest teamed up, surrounding her sister with love and acceptance, Holly would have nowhere to run.

Together, they brainstormed ways to help Holly engage with the class. At one point, he stopped Dorothea to ask for her number. “So I can keep you apprised of my progress.”

How kind. She rattled off the digits.

A harried knock echoed inside the room, and they jolted in unison. The door swung open, an irritated-looking woman stalking into the classroom. She tapped on the screen of her phone. “My meeting was scheduled to begin six minutes ago. I’ve been pacing the hall, waving at you through the glass partition, doing my best to be patient, but I have a job, too, and I can’t be late.”

“I’m so sorry.” Dorothea jumped to her feet. “I lost track of time. I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I’m leaving.” She extended her hand to Mr. Hillcrest. “Thank you again, Mr. Hillcrest. I—”

“Call me Jonathan. Please.”

She inclined her head before darting into the hall. As she left the building and made her way across the parking lot, her gaze lifted to the sky out of habit. Over the past few years, Oklahoma had been dubbed the home of the quakenado. Storms, tornadoes and earthquakes, oh my! She loved to predict what would come next.

The thunderstorm she’d predicted now brewed, a thick wall of cloud stretching as far as the eye could see; the heavy veil of humidity suggested there would, in fact, be tornadic activity, too.

A horn blasted.

She yelped and skidded to a stop. A minivan sped past her. Yikes! She’d been so wrapped up in weather-watching she’d lost track of her surroundings.

“Sorry,” she called.

Heart thudding, she settled behind the wheel of her car. The same car she’d had since she was sixteen years old. A granny mobile, kids had called it. Once, those same kids had used shoe polish to write the words oink oink on her windshield.

Ugh. No more thinking about the past.

Since she planned to fire Holly later today, she needed to stop at Copy Copy to create the perfect flyer for a new hire...

Wanted: Receptionist for the Strawberry Inn.

If you can:

* Speak to strangers

* Answer a phone

* Show up on time

* Type complete sentences

You have the skills we need.

Contact Dorothea Mathis to schedule an interview.

Excellent! Up next, posting the flyers and setting Holly free.

Would Dorothea be met with hugs or insults?

She heaved a sigh. Like she really had to wonder.

* * *

DOROTHEA RETURNED TO the inn and stopped short in the lobby. Her little sis had actually listened to her! Holly rather than Mrs. Hathaway manned the desk. If “manned” was defined as staring at a cell phone and chewing gum. Still, it was progress.

“Good afternoon.” Dorothea approached her sister the way she would approach a wounded animal.

Holly popped a bubble. “Daniel Porter came by to see you.”

The air gushed from her lungs. “What’d he want?”

“He looked tee-icked, but he wouldn’t tell me what the problem was. I bet he’s going to complain about his last stay.”

Or discuss his offer.

Head fogging, she said, “Enough about Daniel. Let’s talk about you.”

“Nope. I’m busy.”

“Too bad.” If it’s broken, fix it. Dorothea braced herself for an onslaught of insults and said, “I met with your teachers today.”

“So? Would you like a medal?”

Ignore. Continue. “I was told you haven’t been turning in your assignments.”

Holly never even glanced up. “That sounds like a me problem.”

Anger sparked. “I’m giving you the rest of the school year off. That means no more working this desk. Now you can devote yourself to your studies.” Good. Her tone remained calm, collected. “You can use your free time to get caught up...and afterward you can have a little fun.”

Holly pressed a button on her phone with enough force to crack the plastic case, ending the game. Her emerald gaze jerked up at last and narrowed. “You’re firing me?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t.”

“I can, and I did.”

“Well, I’m hiring myself back. You aren’t the boss of me.”

“Actually, I am,” Dorothea said with just enough sneer in her voice to shock them both. “Mom gave the inn to me, not you, and my decisions are final. You’re fired, little girl. You’re welcome!”

Holly hurled her phone across the lobby—the phone Dorothea paid for—and leaped to her feet. “You’re being stupid. You need me.”

Was she freaking kidding? “You are lazy, incompetent, destructive and entitled. In what way do I need you?”

Uh, maybe take it down a notch?

No! New Dorothea didn’t take crap.

Holly pointed an accusing finger at her. “You’re just desperate to get rid of me. Admit it!”

“I’m not—”

“You are!” Foot stomp.

Sweet Lord in heaven. Knife fighting with a serial killer would have been easier than arguing with a teenage girl. “I’m desperate to repair our relationship, Halls. I’m desperate to do right by you. I’m desperate—”

“I don’t care!” Once again her sister stomped her foot like a five-year-old child. “You and Mom worked here during your school years. Therefore I will work here during my school years. Got it?”

So much fury trapped inside one little body, her usual antipathy toward Dorothea nowhere to be found. I’m actually...getting to her?

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “When tradition does more harm than good, it’s time to try something else.”

Holly bristled. “Tradition isn’t the problem. You are. You’re miserable, and you want everyone around you to be miserable, too. I bet that’s why Jazz left you.”

Wow. Low blow. Jazz had been happy with her...at first. And he’d truly seemed to love her. He’d called and texted anytime he was away, just to tell her how much he missed her. When they were together, he’d watched her as if the sight of her gave him great pleasure. If she’d been near, his hands had been on her.

But it had been a trick, only a trick. A long con.

After everything had gone down the toilet, she’d wondered if he’d married her because she’d been the only woman in creation dumb enough to quit school in order to pay his bills. If she’d been a free ride—in more ways than one.

Sure, he still called her at least once a week to talk about Holly and beg Dorothea for a second chance, saying he’d made a mistake, blah, blah, blah, that he missed her more every day, that he’d lost the best thing that had ever happened to him, that he’d only slept with Charity Sparks—his coanchor—because he’d feared she would get him fired if he refused her advances. As if he were a Victorian maiden with a pushy beau. He’d said he needed his job in order to provide for Dorothea and the baby.

If that were true, why had he insisted she continue to work, saving money, rather than return to school?

Truth was, he hadn’t wanted Dorothea to return to school—to become competition. Now he just wanted to keep her on the hook. Well, good luck with that. He’d made her feel like garbage when she was a prize. More than that, his actions had led to the worst day of her life. He meant nothing to her. Less than nothing.

Holly glared at her. “You want to run the inn without me. Fine. Do it. When you fail, and you will, I’ll laugh in your face, not just behind your back. Meanwhile, I’ll be sure to get caught up in my favorite class. Assholeology 101.”

Can’t win. She hadn’t reached her sister at all, had she? Rather than wilt, she forged ahead. “If today is any indication, you’re well on your way to a solid A plus.”

Her sister’s jaw dropped. Dorothea walked away before she said something to further widen the gulf between them.

Once enclosed in her room, she pressed her palm against her rose tattoo and focused on her surroundings—her sanctuary. She’d decorated the space with Grandma Ellie’s antiques: a floral-print couch, a pink velvet settee and a royal blue porcelain side table painted with...of course...roses. Those flowers were the reason she’d named—

Sickness churned deep in her stomach, and she forced her thoughts back to Grandma Ellie, who lived in heaven now; the woman was probably speaking with angels right this very second. You go down there and slap some sense into my former son-in-law. He’s actin’ nuttier than a Porta Potty at a peanut festival. No one treats my grandbabies like that!

Dorothea missed her spunky grandmother with every fiber of her being.

Disheartened—again—she showered and dressed in a clean pair of scrubs; they were made to survive daily washings and vast amounts of bleach. This pair happened to be purple, one of her favorite colors. She swiped her lips with cherry-flavored lip gloss before heading to the storage closet on the bottom floor. Along the way, she anchored her thick mass of curls into a sloppy, wet knot on the crown of her head.

As she cleaned the first block of rooms, music spilling from her iPod and setting the pace, she tried not to lament her initial attempts to improve her life. With Holly...and Daniel.

Time to figure out what to do about him.

To be fair, he wasn’t exactly a failure. He’d offered her exactly what she’d asked for—a single night of pleasure.

Not enough for me. Not anymore.

Just once, Dorothea wanted to be the girl the guy desired deeply, madly...and long-term. She longed to be first choice, the prize and not the consolation. She yearned to matter. To mean more to a man than his job, his bank account or the opinion of his family. What she didn’t want? To sleep with a man and later see him fawning all over another woman.

Been there, done that.

What had a lot better odds of success: the local tackle shop selling bait and calling it sushi.

A hard knock sounded, jolting her. She ripped out her earbuds and spun. A common occurrence lately. This time she had to swallow a yelp or a moan, she wasn’t sure which. Daniel had pushed her cart aside, giving her a full frontal view of masculine perfection. His black tee stretched across wide shoulders and hugged well-defined biceps while his dark jeans did naughty things to his lower body. The wind had left his hair in charming disarray, and her fingers ached to comb through the strands. His beard stubble had grown thicker, making him look rough, tough and bad to the bone.

He looked so danged good, like a sexy outlaw who followed no rules but his own...and he was seeing her in her scrubs and without a speck of makeup.

Oh, what the heck did it matter? She no longer had any interest in catching his attention. Did she?

She lifted her chin, all drink me in—but don’t you dare touch.

Daniel smiled at her, slow and devastating and utterly wicked. Pleasure unfurled deep inside her, delicious warmth spilling through her whole body.

He held a large bouquet of dew-kissed roses. One of every color, with the exception of pink, which had two buds.

The moisture in her mouth dried, and she shook her head. The roses couldn’t be for her. He couldn’t know what that particular flower meant to her.

And according to Lyndie and Ryanne, flowers were cliché, a generic gift given without much thought for the recipient.

“Hello, Dorothea.”

“Hi.” To mask her sudden cascade of tremors, she ripped the sheets from the bed. Cooter Bowright had checked in last night and, though he didn’t know it, he’d competed with Daniel for the title of Worst Guest Ever, wrecking the room. “Holly mentioned you wanted to speak with me.”

“Among other things.” The huskiness of his voice proved to be a weapon as powerful as any touch. “These are for you. I thought your favorite color might be pink, because of your tattoo, but decided to cover all the bases, just in case, because of your fingernails.” He walked around her, placed the flowers on the nightstand and helped her fit the clean sheet around the edges of the mattress.

The roses are for me. And he noticed my tattoo and my nails. Goose bumps spread from head to toe.

Dang him! “They’re beautiful.” Like my curves? “Thank you,” she muttered. She gathered the supplies she needed and headed to the bathroom. A hint for him to leave.

Hinges squeaked. Then a soft snick sounded. Then an ominous click. She sucked in a breath. He’d just shut and locked the front door, hadn’t he?

He appeared in the bathroom doorway and crossed his arms over his chest. Before she could protest, he said, “You smell amazing, like lavender and...what’s the other scent?”

“Scents. Sweet marjoram and ylang-ylang. I like blending essential oils.” Those particular scents happened to be known for relieving stress...and stoking desire. Which had nothing to do with her choice to basically soak herself in them. Of course.

“I like you. I want to start over with you, Dorothea. I want to go on a date with you, get to know you better.”

Her heart leaped with excitement... “What about your dad?”

“We’ll have dinner in the city. He’ll never know.”

...only to fall into her ankles.

There was no denying the truth any longer. She still wanted Daniel. Actually, she wanted him more than ever. He hadn’t just called her curves beautiful; he’d backed up his words with actions; he’d chased her, bringing her a gift. Something Jazz had never done. And she understood Daniel’s reasons for wanting to hide their association from his dad. She really did. But that understanding failed to soothe the fears and hurt his answer had sparked. What if, deep down, he was simply ashamed of her?

What if he only liked the challenge she represented?

For a moment, only a moment, Dorothea allowed herself to ponder what things would be like if Daniel were proud of her. They’d go to dinner, but not in the city. No, he would surprise her with a picnic in the middle of Strawberry Valley. Then they would go hiking. Oh! Bowling. They would trash talk, of course, and decide the winner would receive a bone-melting kiss...in the location of his or her choosing.

“One date,” he said. “Give me a chance.”

“No, thanks,” she croaked. “I’m not interested.” The words resounded inside her head, shaming her. Lies were Jazz’s thing, not hers. “Fine. I’m interested, but what I want isn’t what I need. I won’t date you.”

He listened to her without reaction, seeming to ponder her words. “Tell me why.”

“Why?” she parroted like a fool.

“Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?”

“I know you’ll hurt me.” As soon as he finished with her, her hard-won self-esteem—if she had any left—would take yet another beating.

His gaze hardened, pinning her in place. “If we discuss the terms of our relationship up front, the chances of either of us getting hurt diminish significantly.”

Please! As if she would ever be able to hurt him. “We wouldn’t have a relationship, not really. And I can already guess your terms. One, we’ll sleep together and never speak again. Two, see term number one.” And oh, wow. The bitterness in her tone astounded her. She had once demanded he have a one-night stand with her, zero strings. Now she hated him for offering the same to her?

When had she become such a hypocrite?

“We’ll sleep together once...twice...a dozen times.” He hiked a shoulder in a shrug. “The number is negotiable as long as we both accept where the relationship—because yes, we’d have one—is headed. But why must we never speak again?”

“A dozen times?” She struggled to breathe. And she understood where the “relationship” would be headed, all right. Nowhere.

“Or more,” he said. “Like I told you, I’m flexible. I’m also waiting for an answer to my question. Why must we never speak after we have sex? I happen to like speaking with you.”

He did?

Thou shalt compliment when merited.

Red alert! Danger, danger.

She cleared her throat. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Daniel, but I don’t like speaking with you.” Truth. Conversations with him tended to end disastrously for her.

Again he gave no reaction, as if he’d expected resistance and had come prepared to forge ahead regardless. “I’m happy to do all the talking, then.” He held out his arms, the last sane man in the universe. “See how easy I am to get along with?”

Double dang him! He was too charming for his own good. No, he was too charming for her good.

He tapped two fingers against the stubble on his chin. “I have a brilliant idea. Which happens to be the only kind of idea I ever have. Why don’t we focus on getting to know each other today, and speak about sex tomorrow?”

I’m not delighted by his persistence. And his ego is absolutely, positively not charming.

She grabbed the glass cleaner and a new rag. See Dorothea fake nonchalance. “No way, no how.”

“All right, then, we’ll talk about sex today.”

She nearly choked on her tongue as she faced the mirror. Her reflection had enormous green eyes and bright pink cheeks. Soft, open lips, ready to be kissed...

Spray, spray, spray. Wipe, wipe, wipe.

“I don’t know about you,” he said, the husky note back in his voice, “but I’m imagining you seated on that counter...naked.”

This. This was the tone he would use in bed. The one he would use to whisper into a woman’s ear, driving her wild with raw, primitive passion.

“Your legs are spread, and I’m—”

“Fine!” she blurted out. “You can get to know me today. Okay? All right?” Anything to shut him up. If he continued to weave such an intoxicating picture, her resistance would shatter. She would end up in his arms, the consequences an afterthought. “What would you like to know?”

His eyelids were heavy, almost drowsy. “For starters, what’s your favorite color?”

Spray, spray. Wipe, wipe. Could he see how fervently she trembled? “I like pink in the morning, blue in the afternoon and gold in the evening.”

The corners of his lips quirked up, as if a smile was attempting to sneak past his usual frown. “That’s pretty specific. I would have guessed red, the color of your fingernails.”

“Well, my color favorites change according to the position of the sun. And the nail colors aren’t based on what I like but on my mood.”

One of his brows winged up. “Please tell me red is for passion.”

She fought a smile of her own. “Nope. Red is anger. I don’t actually have a color for—” She pressed her lips together. Crap! She’d basically admitted passion had no identifier and therefore no place in her life.

He could have teased her. Or come on to her, flirting more obviously. Instead, he quieted, different emotions whirling behind his eyes. Intrigue. Desire. Confusion.

“What do yellow and orange mean?” he finally asked. “Actually, tell me all the colors.”

Why not? “Yellow is hopeful, orange nervousness. Green is irritated, pink happy. Blue is sad, purple determined.” She stopped, pressed her lips together. Sharing these details made her feel exposed. Wanting the spotlight taken off herself, she said, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Yellow. No matter the time of day.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s bright? Mellow?”

“You don’t know?” To her, yellow represented the rise of the sun. The start of a new day. A clean slate.

“Never really thought about why. I like what I like.” He crossed his arms, his biceps straining the tee. “How’d you get the nickname Dottie? Those adorable freckles?”

“Adorable? As if! But yes, that’s exactly why, and I hate it. I’ve always hated it.”

“I think it’s endearing. More than that, Dorothea doesn’t fit you. It’s the name of a ninety-year-old crazy cat lady. So why have you stuck with it?”

“Never really thought about why,” she said, mimicking him. “I like what I like.”

His grin bloomed full force, causing her hormones to sing and dance with bliss. “Well, I’m a rebel, so I’m gonna mix things up and call you...Thea. Yeah. Thea. Short and incredibly sweet.”

She gulped. He was incredibly sweet. Feigning nonchalance, she said, “All right. I’ll call you Danny.”

He laughed with delight. “Look at us. We’ve got pet names for each other already.” Then his amusement died a swift death, his smile fading.

Why the change?

“Did you always want to run the inn?” he asked, switching gears.

“No,” she replied, and cringed. Her mother would be devastated if she found out Dorothea saw the job as, well, a job rather than a passion. “I wanted to be a meteorologist.”

“So why aren’t you a meteorologist?”

Let me count the ways... “It’s a long story.” Her guts churned as years of bad memories whisked through her mind.

“No worries. I’ve got time.”

“Too bad. I’ve got no inclination.”

He thought for a moment, nodded. “That’s fair. There are things I never share with others.”

“Never?” Not with anyone?

“Never.” Did he realize his gaze had glazed over, the color seeping from his cheeks? Did he know he was rubbing a small scar on his cheek?

That scar...she thought she remembered his dad talking about Daniel’s face being lacerated by shrapnel.

Did his secrets have anything to do with his many missions overseas?

She ran the rag over the faucet, the inside of the sink. “Did you always want to be in the military?” Wait. She had to stop asking him such personal questions. Nowhere in her Make Daniel Go Bye-Bye plan did she get to know him better.

“As a little boy, I ruthlessly and relentlessly led my toys into war. Stuffed animals against action figures. I’d be working my way to general if my dad’s health hadn’t deteriorated.”

Her heart melted as she pictured little Daniel commanding his furry or plastic troops. She’d played with Barbies, sending them into rainstorms and tornadoes—the washing machine and the dryer.