Hard to Handle

by Jessica Lemmon

  And now he was thinking of kissing her. Again.

  He shook his head to wipe away the memories of the intense kisses they’d shared in the past: the sound of her truncated breaths against his ear, the feel of her fingernails spearing into his hair. He tracked back to the bed, jaw set, brain focused squarely on the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. He pulled back the covers intending to bury the tempting vision of her breasts bursting from the top of her dress, but she rolled onto her side before he could.

  “Unzip,” Sadie demanded, her manicured nails fumbling at the back of her dress. When he hesitated, Sadie shot him a displeased look over her shoulder, crinkling her heavily made-up eyes at him.

  Even sexier when she’s angry, he thought with a groan.

  Aiden reached for the zipper, ignoring his impulse to go slowly, listen to every snick as he examined all of her smooth, porcelain flesh beneath the bridesmaid’s dress. It’d been too long since he’d been allowed to touch this woman. Too. Effing. Long. The zipper parted to reveal what appeared to be a sleeveless white straitjacket with about a hundred hooks.

  “Now this.” She did a backward point.

  Aiden paused. The thing looked as penetrable as Fort Knox. “Can’t you sleep in it?”

  “Just do it. Nothing you haven’t seen before.” She turned her head at an awkward angle so she could look at him. A little pleat formed on her brow as if she was reconsidering. “I mean, not me, but other girls.” She flopped her head onto the pillow with a whump.

  Thanks for the reminder, Aiden thought tersely.

  He and Sadie hadn’t had a chance to get that far. Okay, that wasn’t true. They’d had plenty of chances. Each time they saw one another, the dates had lasted at least six or seven hours. Or overnight. They couldn’t seem to escape one another, or stop talking, or stop touching. She’d seen him stripped down to his briefs, and he’d seen her bare legs poking out of one of his T-shirts, but they’d always stopped short of going further. Both of them had been hurt before and neither of them was anxious to repeat their painful pasts.

  So, yes, Sadie was right. He hadn’t technically seen her naked, but he had felt enough of her bare flesh under his palms to give his imagination a hell of a show.

  He scooted the bedside lamp closer to investigate the contraption she’d bound herself in. He could dismantle a car; surely he could handle this. Turns out he had to make the thing tighter before the hooks would release. Each time, Sadie grunted, until he got halfway down her back and she blew out a whooshing breath. He made quick work of the rest.

  “Thank God.” She sat up, one hand covering the sagging top of her gown, withdrew the corset, and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor. “I owe you, Downey. Now help me out of this dress and go away.”

  He swallowed thickly, recognizing the painful familiarity of the moment. The night she was on his couch and slipped her bra out from underneath her tank top. He’d clutched her to him, and she’d panted against his neck as her nipples abraded his bare chest. It was then she’d hesitated. Wordlessly, but he’d felt the slightest bit of tension creep into her shoulders. He backed off, but didn’t let her go, tucking her into bed against him and sleeping next to her through the night.

  That was his Sadie. Minx on the outside, lamb on the inside. Seeing this side of her again, being reminded of what they’d had—what he’d thrown away…

  Man. It hurt.

  “I’m too tipsy to do it myself,” she growled. Despite her efforts to keep it out, vulnerability leaked into her voice. Aiden’s weakness was her trust in him; her showing who she really was. He gripped her elbows and helped her to her feet, stopping short of crushing her lips with his and admitting he was wrong a hundred ways from Sunday.

  He steadied her elbows as she wiggled out of the dress with a perfunctory “No looking.” He obeyed, keeping his eyes focused out the bedroom window. But with the bedside lamp on, he couldn’t see out the window, only himself reflected in the pane, and Sadie’s thong panties as she stepped out of the dress. He shut his eyes and reminded his johnson to remain at ease.

  “Aiden.”

  “Yes.”

  “I need you to get my pajamas for me.”

  “Okay.”

  “No peeking while I crawl into bed.”

  This was the side of Sadie people didn’t see. Her modest side. Everyone assumed they knew her—with her litany of first dates and explosive personality, Sadie was mistaken as confident and outgoing. Which she was, both of those things. She was also modest, careful. Fragile. And despite the increasing pressure in his pants, Aiden vowed to honor her request.

  “Okay,” he muttered.

  “Promise,” she commanded, brushing against his arm as she turned. Something very soft grazed his skin and he tried to convince himself it wasn’t what he thought it was.

  “Promise,” he said through clenched teeth.

  When he heard the wisp of sheets he opened his eyes. Sadie wore the comforter over her breasts and pointed with one arm. “The big suitcase,” she said around a yawn.

  The big suitcase also had a big lock. The key, he assumed, was in her purse. He approached The Purse, which was about the size of a small country, and stopped short. Going through a woman’s purse was a lot like sticking a hand in the garbage disposal. While he was pretty sure he’d be able to get what he needed out of it, there was the risk of losing a digit while rooting around in there.

  He glanced back at Sadie, who had lain back and shut her eyes. Her breathing was already steady and deep. Making a snap decision, he walked to his room and dug a T-shirt out of his duffel bag. When he returned, he wondered if it was even worth it to wake her. But then he thought of her waking in only her panties—a thought that had him swallowing a lump of lust—and worried she might think something had happened tonight. He regarded the gray shirt in his hand. Not that she’d be thrilled about waking in one of his tees. Again.

  Was that night on auto-repeat?

  Ignoring the overwhelming sense of déjà vu, he stretched the neck and slipped the shirt over her sprayed hair, feeding first one arm into a sleeve followed by the other. Now the tricky part. Looking up at the ceiling, he palmed her back and pulled her toward him. But as he started to tug the shirt down, Sadie’s arms clamped around his neck, her breasts smashing against his cardboard dress shirt.

  A sound emitted from his throat he was pretty sure was a growl.

  “I loved you,” Sadie said, her eyes wide and earnest. “And you blew it.” That said, she tugged the shirt to her waist, flopped onto one side, and pulled the covers over her head.

  Aiden’s shoulders slumped, heavy from the weight of her admission. She loved him. Or at least she used to. He’d had his suspicions but had never known. Would it have changed how he ended things between them? Would he have confessed the same?

  Of course he would’ve.

  And you blew it.

  He had. Completely effing stepped in it.

  And now it was too late. Sadie probably never would have told him what she just had if she hadn’t been marinating in champagne tonight. As much as he’d love to deny hearing her say it, there was part of him glad to know the truth. The masochistic part of him, apparently. He’d earned the pain fair and square, but Sadie…Sadie had come out the other side. She was okay now, or would be after a couple of Advil in the morning. Her journey with him in it had reached an end. Now he was a bystander and couldn’t allow himself to be anything more. Asking her to take another chance on him was wrong. Maybe more wrong than the way he’d ended things with her last year.

  After several seconds, he finally stood from the edge of the bed, as heavy as if he’d strapped a pair of anvils onto his back. At the door, he hesitated over the switch, watching her take a few deep breaths. One night, a long, long time ago, he’d been right next to her, feeling as hopeful about their future as he felt devastated now.

  If only time were reversible. If only he knew then what he knew now.

  If only.

  Most useless tw
o words ever.

  * * *

  Stupid champagne.

  Sadie downed the last sip of her coffee and dragged her suitcase to the car. She hauled it ungracefully into her trunk and vowed to call Crickitt and give her what-for for pulling the Aiden-and-Sadie-slumber-party bit.

  Only she couldn’t. Because Crickitt and Shane were on their honeymoon having the blissful, married time of their lives. She stalked back into the house, doing a once-over to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind. That’s when she spotted Aiden’s T-shirt.

  When she’d woken up wearing it, she’d tossed it aside and run around packing with the one single goal: get the hell out of the cabin before he woke up and offered breakfast. The morning was already beginning to smack of the morning they’d spent together a year ago—a morning she wouldn’t dare repeat.

  She held the soft cotton between her fingers, recalling the night he’d tenderly dressed her and curled up next to her to sleep. That morning she’d woken to his shirtless back, traced the length of the scar with her fingers, and come to the terrifying realization that if he’d died in that motorcycle accident before she met him, she’d have missed out on knowing Aiden Downey.

  Yeah. Well. He’s fine, she reminded herself. And so are you.

  Yippee-skippy. Everyone was fine.

  She tromped to the room he’d slept in. Empty. Turned out Aiden was an early riser nowadays. She threw the wadded-up shirt onto the rumpled bedding, shutting out the memory of what the length of his seminude body looked like taking up half a bed.

  Time to go.

  Outside, she shut the trunk and reached for the driver’s side door handle. Aiden’s motorcycle, Sheila, stood on the driveway, her orange glittery paint job sparkling in the sun. She shook her head. Just seeing it there reminded her that Aiden had wrecked once before. Damn death machine. Why did he ride it all the way down here? Wasn’t there a safer mode of transportation for a six-hour trip?

  She reminded herself she didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Not after what had gone down between them. Not after the phone call that tore her heart out, left her weeping and curled into the fetal position.

  But then you got up.

  Hell yeah, she did.

  Aiden appeared from the woods wearing a white shirt with the sleeves cut off. She could see the entire length of his torso as he jogged to her and a flash of something…a tattoo? Doesn’t matter. His steps slowed, and he palmed his side, puffing and watching her as if he was afraid to come any closer.

  That’s when the memory of what she’d said to him last night hit her like a freight train. She’d looked into his ethereal green eyes and confessed she loved him. Wow. Stupid.

  By the hurt-slash-reproachful look on his face, it was the moment he was recalling now, too. He started walking toward her, but before he got any closer, Sadie clambered into the car, started it, and drove down the lane. She stopped short of turning onto the steep mountain road and allowed herself a final glance back. In the rearview mirror, she saw Aiden pace over to his bike, run a hand through his long hair, and then, noticing her hesitation, raise a hand and wave good-bye.

  Sadie didn’t wave back, turning down the tree-lined road and driving as fast as she dared. Good-bye between she and Aiden had happened a long time ago.

  And that was something else she wasn’t willing to repeat.

  Chapter 2

  Sadie stepped out of her car and smiled up at the too-warm August sun. It’d been a month and a half since Shane and Crickitt’s wedding. Since one of the worst hangovers of her life. Since she’d woken the next morning in one of Aiden Downey’s T-shirts.

  Her epic dose of melancholy could be laid squarely at Crickitt’s feet. Indirectly, of course. Any woman as happy as Sadie’s best friend hadn’t meant to create a virtual vortex of happiness that sucked everyone in around her. With that kind of joy flooding the air, Sadie had only been able to feel two things: thrilled beyond compare for Crickitt and Shane, and anguished over her own failed relationship with the man she thought she’d loved.

  That wiped the smile right off her face.

  Sadie pushed the memory back into a drawer and filed it under L for “Leave it Alone.” The same place she’d filed the day Trey called to confess he couldn’t marry her because he was in love with her sister. Funny how memories from that drawer unfiled and spread themselves out for her at the worst possible times.

  Not today.

  That’s right. NOT today. Aiden could wreak havoc on her subconscious another time. But today, she needed her A game when she walked into Axle’s.

  The custom motorcycle shop stood before her, her own personal Mount Doom. One of five stores in Ohio, Axle’s in Osborn was the first store, the highest-grossing store, and the store where the man himself continued to work.

  She’d tracked the company’s sales and orders for years, but Axle Zoller’s second-in-command, Harry Truman, insisted on sticking with List for their motorcycle parts and supplies. She often wondered if he did it just to spite her. She’d worked hard to schmooze Harry, but made the mistake of addressing him as “Mr. President.” Turned out the man had no sense of humor. Seemed a silly reason to pay more for lower-quality products, but no matter. Harry Truman had recently been impeached.

  With President Harry Truman out of the picture, Sadie knew she had to swoop in before Axle replaced him. She was confident she could charm Axle into signing with Midwest Motorcycle Supplies.

  Sadie peered into the side mirror of her car and checked her reflection. Her blonde hair hung in loose waves from where she’d slept on it wet, and her freckles were out in droves thanks to a weekend visit to the pool. Deep magenta lipstick accented her wide mouth, and a thick layer of black mascara coated her lashes. She adjusted her wardrobe, a black pencil skirt paired with a Harley-Davidson polo shirt.

  She strode to the shop, her heels almost sinking into the soft black asphalt baking in the ninety-eight-degree day. Her thoughts returned to her goal, sending her adrenal glands into silly spins. No one at MMS had knocked Perry Bradford off his number one pedestal since he started six years ago. Landing Axle’s would shove her over his numbers by thousands of dollars.

  Do or die time.

  Inside the store, chilly air wafted the smell of fresh leather into her nostrils. Various splashy signage and displays showcased List parts and swag, along with the unmistakable orange and black of Harley-Davidson.

  Axle spotted her from his position behind the special order counter, signaling he’d be with her in a minute. She waved back, heading to a particularly impressive shelf stocked with List’s bold black and white boxes. Of course the major brands were all represented: Harley, Suzuki, Kawasaki. Sadie didn’t dream that MMS parts would take the place of the big guys. What she wanted was the chunk of pie belonging to the off brands. MMS and List were both respected brands, but beneath their glossy exterior, Sadie knew List’s parts were substandard.

  Axle’s deep baritone echoed across the store a few minutes later. “Come on back, Sadie.”

  Determination lengthening her stride, Sadie stood tall and proud in her studded black heels, lifting her to almost five foot six. Axle angled down a long corridor and led her to a cramped office, its shelves sagging under the weight of hardcover books on everything from bike repair to Catcher in the Rye.

  He hulked over his desk, long gray braid trailing down his back, tree-trunk legs testing the task chair’s weight limit. He was also a former boxer, which one would guess given the way his massive chest nearly burst the seams of his shirt.

  Smoothing his thick, walrus-like moustache, Axle folded meaty hands in front of him on the desk and addressed Sadie with a quick lift of his eyebrows.

  Sadie smiled, her confidence soaring. Axle liked her. She’d cultivated a careful professional relationship with him for the past three years, just waiting for the day Truman left. Axle endured her persistence, never once asking her to leave him alone. A good sign.

  “Let me stop you there.” Axle’s flat gray eyes
gave no hint as to what he was about to say. “You’re going to pitch this to my new second-in-command.” He gave her a gruff smile…or at least she thought he did. His moustache twitched on one side. “I’ll go get him.”

  “But—” was all Sadie got out before Axle was out of his office. He moved fast for a big guy. She adjusted her skirt and mentally reviewed her sales pitch. The one she’d be giving to a newcomer. Whom she knew nothing about.

  She’d need to be professional, of course. And not as familiar as she would have been with Axle. If the guy was a recent college graduate or CEO type, she’d have a lot of glossing over to do to explain her less-than-professional attire. She grimaced down at the silver studs on her feet. Why hadn’t she worn sensible pumps?

  Taking a breath, she considered the more likely scenario: that Axle had hired someone like himself. Someone with a penchant for hogs, an admiration for irreverent T-shirt sayings, and a strong head for business. Axle wasn’t stupid. Far from it. She’d learned his IQ hovered around genius level though she couldn’t dredge up the figure. Sadie’s talent with numbers extended only to the ones with dollar signs before them.

  She leaned and peeked through the doorway and down the hall, and caught a glimpse of an arm behind Axle, who came toward her like a tank in Tiananmen Square, his big body obscuring the rest of the man behind him.

  No matter who the new guy was, Sadie had just one chance to impress him, not insult him, and get a sample of his penmanship on the bottom line. Sadie straightened in the out-of-date, stained guest chair. Sure she could be prickly, smart-mouthed, and sarcastic. But she also could be charming. And she knew her stuff. She could handle whoever came through that door.

  Then Axle entered, his new second-in-command at his side, and Sadie felt the blood drain from her face.