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!
