The Harder They Fall

by Jill Shalvis

  “That makes no sense,” she said, twisting her hands in the sheet and pulling it up to her chin. “What’s so wrong with the man you are that you can’t let yourself enjoy a...”

  She trailed off and he smiled grimly. “Enjoy a what? What exactly is this between us?”

  Mute, she stared at him.

  “See?” he pressed, giving in to the urge to be close and sinking to her bed to sit at her hip. “Even you know better.” He reached for her hands. “This thing between us has a life of its own.”

  It’s uncontrollable, Trisha thought. And it scares us equally. Me, because eventually he’ll walk away, and him, because he’s afraid he won’t be able to.

  But she wanted him, had to have him. And she knew how badly he wanted her. Dressed as he was, in just lightweight sweatpants and nothing else, there was little he could hide from her. He was magnificent, she thought, with his vital and able body so nearly bare for her to see. It made her ache, the rippled strength, the easy, graceful way of moving he had. The hard planes of his chest, the flat belly, his long, powerful legs, the unmistakable and impressive hardness between them. Desire slammed into her just from looking at him.

  He made her feel needy and strong at the same time, and she’d never in her life felt that way. Nor had she ever wanted anyone quite as desperately as she wanted him.

  Well, she’d just have to make sure she didn’t restrain him in any way, make sure he felt he could just turn it off at any time. Though it would hurt, it was the only way to play this, or she’d lose him. “Haven’t you ever had an affair before, Hunter?”

  He looked startled. “I—uh...”

  With a little laugh, she squeezed his hands. “It’s a simple question. Yes or no?”

  “Yes,” he said through his teeth.

  “Then what’s the problem? Are you telling me you analyzed each one so carefully beforehand? Worried and fretted about its demise before it even got started?”

  “Yes.” But his lips curved. “See? We’re too different.” His eyes deepened, darkened, and he leaned closer. “Send me away, Trisha.”

  “No,” she whispered, pulling her hands from his and wrapping her arms around his neck. “No,” she said again. “Not tonight.” And she kissed him.

  Nine

  At the first contact of her lips on his, Hunter’s entire body stiffened with shock. She took her mouth away, trailed it over his clenched jaw. “Just go with it, Hunter,” she murmured throatily. “Let it take us.”

  “For how long?” he demanded softly as his hands came up to hold her upper arms.

  “Do you need a game plan?” But she sighed when he remained silent. “Of course you do. Fine,” she whispered, fighting his resistance and pressing her face into his neck to inhale his delicious male scent. “For tonight, then. Just tonight.”

  “Just tonight?”

  No. “Yes.” Then she held her breath, waiting. God, it would kill her in the morning, to let him go. But for all his careful plans and strategies, he was like a wild bird who couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow himself to be contained. To try to hold him would end this before they’d even started, and she had no intention of letting that happen. Not when she was this close.

  Give him his freedom, she thought desperately, and he won’t run away. He wouldn’t be able to, she assured herself, because he felt this pull between them every bit as strongly as she did. “Just for tonight, Hunter. Please...” Her lips moved over his face. With her teeth, she gently pulled on his ear.

  He groaned, then gently eased her back, following her down, down, down on the bed. “We shouldn’t.”

  “Yes, we should,” she gasped as he let the full length of his body slide against hers.

  Sinking his fingers into her hair, he stared into her eyes as if unsure what to do next.

  “Kiss me, Hunter,” she whispered, arching up to him just to feel his body tighten against hers. “Just start there and see what happens.”

  She didn’t know what she had expected, a slightly fumbling, unsure kiss ... an awkwardness ... ineptness.

  She got none of those things.

  Warm and tender and erotic, Hunter’s masterful lips seduced hers, kissing her with a promise of things to come, giving without reserve, in a way she was beginning to anticipate. Giving in to the impulse, she ran her hands over him, reveling in the deep, needy sound he let out.

  Dragging his mouth from hers, he kissed a trail down her throat, buried his face in her neck. “Mmmm.” Warm, wet openmouthed kisses were planted in the curve of her neck, over her shoulder. “God, you smell good.”

  She clutched at him, helpless to do much else as passion and desire raced through her. Her blood pounded in her veins, roared through her heart as the anticipation and hope built to an almost unbearable level.

  His hands slid around her waist, so gently she melted against him. Again, his mouth captured hers, in a sweet, searing kiss that quickly escalated until they both panted breathlessly, their hands grappling as they blindly reached out to touch.

  Hunter lifted his head, pierced her with eyes so painfully green she felt she could see all the way to his soul. “I don’t want you to regret this,” he said, his voice gravelly.

  “I won’t.”

  “Trisha—”

  “I’m a big girl, Hunter, capable of knowing what’s right for me. And this is it.” But he didn’t kiss her again. Desperate, she pulled at him, but he resisted. Something wild pummeled her suddenly, a fear so great it stole her breath. He was going to leave her, just stand up and go when she needed him so fiercely she ached with it.

  Her hands gripped his shoulders, jerked him back down next to her. “Please, Hunter,” she whispered, pulling him closer, closer still, until their bodies lay side by side, limbs intertwined. In case he still wanted to move away, she fisted her hands in his hair. “Don’t go.”

  His arms slipped around her once again, tightened on her. “I’m right here.” He kissed her again. “I’m right here,” he repeated softly, his mouth fusing with hers, building and building a pressure inside her, sending her to a place beyond reason.

  Her urgency seemed to spark his own. She felt his hands smooth down her spine, over her bottom, cupping and squeezing gently, before gliding under her T-shirt to touch skin to skin. “Please,” she heard herself whispering. “Oh, please.”

  He stroked her back with terrifying tenderness, his eyes alight with a desire she’d waited so desperately to see. She heard his harsh intake of breath as he shifted over her, pressing hips to hips, felt the muscles in his shoulders bunch as he moved down. Then, through the thin cotton of her shirt, he nuzzled her, gently nipping with his teeth.

  Her hands ran over his shoulders, his chest, over the sleek muscles of his back, pressing, urging. In response, his body moved against hers in a rhythm as old as time. Long, lean fingers skimmed up her thigh, raising the shirt as they went, over her hip, past the indentation of her waist, high on her ribs.

  Trisha held her breath, watching his bent head drink in the sight of her. Gently, he cupped a breast, his thumb gliding over the hard, aching tip. Her head fell back against the arm that held her to him, as an intense, sharp need left her limp. Then he took her pebbled nipple into his mouth, his tongue slowly circling it teasingly, until she thought she would die of the pleasure. When he sucked her into his mouth, hard, she felt nothing but a bright burst of raw desire.

  Hunter looked at her flushed face, at her glorious body spread out before him. He’d been trying to regain some semblance of control, but it was slipping, badly. Drinking in the sight of her body, bathed softly in moonlight, almost undid him. The virginal white of her T-shirt flirted with the creamy, soft texture of her skin. Her full, curved breasts, still damp from his tongue, made his mouth water, the lush flare of her hips made his fingers itch to touch. White bikini panties covered her feminine secrets. Demure, yet incredibly sensual. The powerful combination electrified him. “Trisha, you’re so beautiful.” The choppy little sounds escaping her lips were t
he sexiest he’d ever heard. Lightly, gently, he cupped her.

  She whimpered his name, gripping him tight.

  His control shattered.

  He wrapped Trisha in his arms, pressed her hard into the bedding, and crushed his mouth to hers. Kissing her with a heated thoroughness didn’t diminish the need, instead it fueled it. So did the endearingly awkward way she held him so close he could hardly breathe. He didn’t mind one bit. Reaching down, he slid his fingers under cotton, through soft curls, and found her slick and hot for him.

  She gasped. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders.

  He thrust gently into her and groaned at the exquisite wet, velvety feel of her. Tight, he thought, so unbelievably tight. Lightly, but sure and utterly relentless, he moved his fingers until his name tumbled from her lips, her voice low, shaky ... anxious.

  “It’s all right,” he whispered against her skin. “I want to feel you explode, Trisha. Come for me.” Then he kissed her fiercely, while his touch had her quivering, panting. In the next instant the delicious tension in her shattered as she surrendered with a wordless cry of wonder.

  He held back, waiting until she was lost in the storm, trembling and shuddering, before he patiently started again, dipping his head to lave at her breast.

  Trisha could hardly stand it. Drowning in the endless waves of pleasure, she couldn’t catch her breath. Within seconds she felt herself trembling again, so close, so very close....

  Above her, Hunter went still.

  With hungry, desperate desire pounding her, blood raging through her veins, Trisha couldn’t think beyond her own need. She gripped his arms. Beneath her fingers, she felt him quiver and knew he was holding back purposely. “Hunter.”

  Lifting his head, he stared at her, his mouth still wet from kissing her breast. “The alarm,” he said thickly.

  She let out a little laugh. She’d heard bells, too, they’d been ringing in her head ever since he first kissed her so hotly. “It’s not real—” She stiffened.

  They were real. She heard them now. Only it wasn’t a bell, but a siren, loud and getting louder.

  With regret and an unleashed fire burning in his eyes, Hunter’s gaze ran down the length of her exposed body. “They’re coming here.”

  The siren came closer, got louder.

  “No,” she whispered. “No!” Reflexively, she clamped her thighs tight, holding his hand against her.

  Hunter sighed and dropped his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry, Trisha.”

  She didn’t relax her thighs, still imprisoning his hand against the hot, desperate part of her that needed him. She couldn’t. A sound of wordless remorse left his lips as he tenderly pried open her legs. With a last, soft kiss to her lips, he sat up, slowly, regretfully.

  From her window came the flash of red-and-white lights. The siren wailed once loudly, then cut.

  “But...” Her hips were still mindlessly rocking, her body still tingled and ached and wanted.... Dammit, she felt like crying.

  Then Hunter reached for her, ran the pad of his thumb once lightly over her lips before pulling her shirt back down to her thighs. “Someone must have called them when the alarm went off,” he said quietly, his voice not quite steady as he stood and walked to the door.

  From far below came the sound of voices.

  “I’ll go tell them what happened.”

  Still sprawled on the bed, she could only stare at him. Was she the only one rendered positively speechless by what had just happened, by what had almost happened?

  No. Even in the dark, she could see the blatant evidence of his own raging desire.

  “I still want you,” she whispered.

  “Trisha—God, I’m sorry. But I’ve got to go before they come up here looking for the fire.”

  “Come back?” she whispered, but he’d turned away and didn’t hear her. The skin of his sleek back glistened, and she knew no matter what he wanted to think, he wasn’t immune to what had taken place between them.

  She ached to touch him.

  “Try to go back to sleep,” he said quietly, then turned back to her. “It’s late.”

  Her gaze rose to his face and she realized the awful truth. He wasn’t coming back. Already, he’d reestablished his distance. Her only comfort was that barely checked hunger flickering in his eyes.

  Fine, he wanted to suffer alone, she’d let him. Pride refused to allow her to beg him. But it was difficult, knowing he was leaving, and that every inch of her still trembled for his touch. “Good-bye, Hunter.”

  For one last interminable moment, he looked at her. Stark need shimmered there, for her. So did something else, something deeper. Basic affection, yes, but even more. It thrilled, even as it terrified. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. Anything she said now would have him bolting, running scared.

  “Trisha.”

  Her name spoken so sweetly made her heart thump. But then his lashes lowered, and he masked his emotions from her. “Good night,” he whispered, and he left.

  He still feared this, she realized. The loss of control wasn’t acceptable to him.

  Sleep, he’d suggested.

  “Yeah, right,” she muttered with a shaky sigh. “I’ll be able to get some sleep now.” Trisha punched her pillow, burrowed deeply into her blankets, and tried not to remember what his mere touch had done to her. Or how good his body had felt against hers.

  Tried not to think about something even more disturbing: She was falling in love with him, if she wasn’t already there.

  “So,” Celia asked with a sly smile when Trisha made it into work the next day, “did the basket do the trick? Did it do something for you?”

  “It did something, all right.” It had given her a ridiculous headache, among other things. Trisha slipped out of her coat and moved into the shop. The scent of lilacs and wood filled the air. Music drummed, pulsing pleasantly. From deep inside, an inner peace worked its way through Trisha’s tense body. Her slight hangover began to fade.

  Here, at least, she could relax.

  She hoped.

  “You don’t look so well,” Celia said, moving close, looking worried. Her hair today was red, still spiky, with an interesting white streak down one side. Her one-piece bodysuit, jet-black and vinyl, matched her black-lacquered fingernails. Somehow, in the way only Celia could carry off, she looked gorgeous. “What’s the matter, honey?”

  “Late night,” Trisha muttered, shrugging off the concern. It just might make her fall apart.

  “You didn’t sleep well?”

  She hadn’t slept at all once Hunter had left her, her body so charged and fired up, it wouldn’t, couldn’t relax. Finally she’d hugged her pillow tight, imagined it was Hunter’s long, lean, hard body, and dozed fitfully until dawn.

  His car, bent fender and all, had been gone when she awoke.

  “Trisha?” came Celia’s worried voice.

  “I’m fine.” She sighed, turned, and faced her closest—and only—friend. Celia had been there through thick and thin—always. Even when Trisha had moved from California early on, they’d kept in touch with constant letters. In late high-school years, when Uncle Victor had been reassigned and Trisha had moved back, their friendship had continued as if they’d never been separated. Never in Trisha’s life had making friends been easy, never, except with Celia. “The basket was wonderful, and it definitely worked—for a while.”

  “Awhile?”

  Trisha took a deep breath. “Until Hunter arrived, found me passed out cold in the bed with the fire alarm blaring.”

  “Oh my God.” Celia, a woman never startled or ruffled, stared at her, eyes huge. With unmistakable hope, she asked, “Did he take advantage?”

  “Celia! I wasn’t drunk.”

  “I didn’t think you were,” Celia said faithfully, dropping all pretense of trying to sort through a box of new merchandise. “What happened? Did you do the deed?”

  “Celia.”

  “Sorry. No, I’m not. Tell me.”

  “I
guess the smoke from all the candles set off the alarm, but I fell asleep so fast...”

  “You were very tired.”

  “Thanks,” Trisha said with a tight smile. “But I think I made a fool of myself when I did wake up.”

  “No, I’m sure you didn’t.”

  To stall, Trisha bent, dipped into the new shipment, and pulled out a midnight-blue boxer pajama set. “Actually, I did. I pretty much threw myself at him.”

  “Really? Does the scientist do other things as well as he kisses?”

  Trisha carefully hung up the pajamas and dug farther into the box. “How do you know how he kisses?” she asked, amused at the salacious look on Celia’s face.

  “I saw you the other day in your closet of an office, remember? I saw that dreamy, ‘I’m lost in lust’ look on your face. Besides, with a body like that, it’d be a shame if he didn’t know how to use it.”

  Oh, he knew how to use it, all right. Her legs went weak just thinking about it. “The point is,” Trisha said primly, “I threw myself at him. I don’t think he’s used to that.”

  “No man in his right mind would complain.”

  “Maybe not,” she conceded. “But Hunter is different. He seems to have trouble with my lifestyle.”

  “Well, then he doesn’t know you very well, does he?” Celia reached for Trisha’s hand. “It bugs you. What he thinks gets to you.”

  “A little.”

  “It shouldn’t.”

  “I know, I can’t seem to help myself.” Trisha shrugged. “I think about him far too much.”

  Celia’s eyes softened in understanding. “You’re falling for him. You’re falling for a man like you’ve always said you never would.”

  “No.”

  “‘A steady relationship is not for me,’ you’ve always said. You’ve avoided them like the plague. Only a date here and there, and only when I beg you.” Celia looked at her, amazed. And concerned. “And now, out of the blue, you go for the very opposite of yourself—an uptight, conceited intellectual who—”

  “He’s not conceited.”

  Celia gave her a long look. “Fine. But he is—”