Can't Hardly Breathe

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.