The Harder They Fall

by Jill Shalvis

  Again he moaned, knowing he’d lost before she’d even started. That she’d pushed him to the limit and drawn him in. Never mind his good intentions of holding back so she wouldn’t get hurt, it was too late to save her feelings, and it sure as hell was too late to save his. The temptation of what she offered—love and affection—was simply too much to refuse.

  Knowing it was wrong, that he shouldn’t, he drew her even closer, slowly rolling his hips to hers.

  “Finally,” she breathed against his mouth. “Hunter ... tell me.”

  For a minute fear flashed through him, rendering him mute. Scared, he was so damned scared. Of her. Of himself. Of this. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured even as he held her close with his one hand. “Please, don’t make me hurt you.”

  “You won’t,” she whispered. “You can’t. Love me, Hunter.”

  Her heart broke a little at the anguish on his beautiful face, at the mixture of desire and nervousness she saw in his eyes, and she almost gave in and offered to release him, but this was too important. If she failed, everything between them was over, but if she won ... She eased down into the circle of his arm, fitting herself to him, then lifted her gaze to his.

  “I love you,” she whispered, raising a bent knee over his thigh, brushing lightly over his lap.

  “It’s not love,” he maintained through gritted teeth. “It’s physical need. I want you, Trisha, there’s no doubt.” His hips surged upward in proof. “I’m insane with the wanting. I’ve wanted you ever since I saw you that first day in black vinyl and that damn leopard-spotted top with plaster dust all over it.” His eyes glazed with the memory. “My body is desperate to be sheathed inside you, but it’s lust, Trisha. Just lust. If you still want me, then, God, please, take me now before you kill me. But nothing will change after we go up in flames in each other’s arms. It’ll still be just lust.”

  Liquid heat shimmered up her spine, making her weak. “Is that what we’ll do?” she asked breathlessly. “Go up in flames?”

  “Oh, yeah. And more.”

  “Show me,” she begged softly, pressing close. “Show me.”

  “But—”

  “This is happening because of me, Hunter. I won’t regret this, I promise. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Do you?” he wondered out loud, his voice rough with emotion. “Well, Lord help us both, because I sure don’t.” Gently, he nudged her up a little so he could kiss her, and kiss her he did, long and slow and deep. It went on, erotic, tender, warm, and with just that kiss, he became the seducer, and she the seduced.

  His hand moved slowly over her, easy and light, but she didn’t want gentleness, not now. Irrational as it was, she wanted heat, speed, consuming passion. She wanted to erase the fear of his leaving her, which was silly, since he still lay cuffed to the bed. He was going nowhere. It didn’t matter, the urgency couldn’t be denied. With awkward fingers, she reared up and yanked off her top, tossing it behind her to the floor.

  She lowered her hands to explore his warm, hard chest. He reached for her, and again encountered the barrier of the cuffs. With a muttered oath, he arched his hips against her. “Let me go,” he demanded. “I want to touch you.”

  “Not yet.” Hardly able to breathe, she straddled him, tore frantically at the fastening of his trousers. “First this,” she said as his free hand lifted up to cup a breast, his long, sure fingers brushing over the tip.

  With him touching her like that, her fingers, still struggling to undress him, stumbled, and refused to function.

  He had to help her, and between his one hand and her badly shaking ones, she finally managed to free him and slide his pants off. Standing, she stripped off the rest of her clothes, vibrantly aware of his watching her every movement.

  “First I show you how much more than lust this is.”

  She moved close again, greedily touching his shoulders, his chest, down his tensed belly, her hair sweeping in her fingers’ path as she bent low to her task, dabbling tiny, nipping kisses as she went.

  He murmured her name on a ragged breath.

  “I love you,” she said, her heart breaking a little over the strained torment on his handsome face. “Let yourself love me back, Hunter.”

  “No,” he whispered roughly, shaking his head back and forth. “Not love—God!” He let out on an explosive sigh and bucked when her lips slid over his belly to a lean hip. “Definitely n-not love,” he managed tightly, arching his back with a strangled sound when she kissed her way across the top of his thigh. “Just ... lust,” he gasped.

  “No.” She continued her exquisite torturing of his damp, sleek skin with her mouth.

  With his limited mobility, he caressed her breasts, molded their shape, alternately worshiping and teasing until her hips rocked against the bedding. He had no idea how much more of this he could stand. Her body seemed to be made for him, the creamy texture, the incredible shape, the sweet taste ... he’d never wanted anyone so much. The force of his need scared the hell out of him, but what terrified him even more was the thought of stopping.

  Yet stop he must, before he caved in completely. He was only a breath away from begging. “Lust,” he whispered one more time, but she just shook her head and continued her trek over his body with her mouth. He was losing it, completely losing it. Her wild hair caressed his chest, his belly, his thighs, and his every muscle tensed. “Trisha,” he whispered desperately, his willpower starting to break.

  Gripping her head, he started to pull her up, desperate to taste her again, to kiss that full, sexy mouth, but she resisted, dragging her lips down his taut thighs. Then back up again, pausing at their apex. He felt her warm breath on him and he knew he’d die if she left him now.

  “Oh, please,” he groaned, his fingers entwining in her hair.

  Her mouth, hot and wet, had him writhing against the constraint of the handcuffs. He’d never felt like this, never. Torment. Exhilaration. Control was out of the question. Tugging her up, he looked deep into her eyes, dizzy with arousal and confusion. “God, Trisha, what are you doing to me?”

  Her smile was watery, and filled with such heart-wrenching love and warmth, his own eyes stung. “I’m making love to you,” she whispered. “Do you like it?”

  “No,” he lied, his voice as harsh as his breathing. Closing his eyes so he couldn’t see her delectable body didn’t help. He could still feel her. “Uncuff me.”

  “I love you,” she whispered again. “I’ll never stop, you know. You can trust me.”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll just have to keep telling you,” she said gently. “And showing you.” Forcing the issue, she rose up and sank onto him with tantalizing slowness, taking him into her, one glorious inch at a time. “And showing, and showing...”

  He moaned, grabbed her hip with his hand, but instead of pushing her away, he drove into her again, hard and deep.

  Her cry of triumph washed over him. “I love you,” she gasped, gripping his shoulders. “So much.”

  “Just don’t stop,” he entreated, then moaned low in his throat when she rocked her hips. His fingers touched her intimately, desperate to bring her to the same pitch of arousal he was at. Almost immediately her muscles clenched around him and she cried out, lost in her release. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen, he thought, dazed, staring up at her. He’d never experienced anything like this. Blood pounded through his body, claimed his senses.

  Her fingers dug into his chest as she braced herself on shaking arms and looked down at him, eyes glazed. “Your turn,” she whispered.

  No, he tried to say. No. “Yes,” he said thickly, plunging into her once, twice, a third time. And despite his intentions, his body rejoiced. His emotions shattered. His heart opened, his wounded soul stirred, and as he burst into oblivion he heard himself call out her name, heard her own helpless response as she shuddered and came again.

  When he could open his eyes, he realized Trisha lay collapsed in a damp heap on top of him, trembling.
He shook, too, though the slight weight of her soothed him beyond belief. He went to wrap his arms around her.

  And came up against the steel handcuffs.

  At the clank of steel, Trisha stiffened, then rose off him, studiously avoiding his gaze. Without a word, she reached up and pressed the lever on the cuff. They snapped open.

  He’d never been locked in.

  Before he could reach for her, she’d scooped up her clothes and left the room.

  “So much for your promise to never leave me,” Hunter said lightly a minute later, when he found her sitting in a tight ball on the porch bench.

  She didn’t answer.

  It started low in his belly, the first stirring of an anger he rarely acknowledged. To calm himself, he looked around.

  Night had fallen, the full moon allowing him a good view of her drawn face. But she didn’t move, didn’t look at him, and he found himself simmering. “Do I need to handcuff and seduce you to get you to talk?”

  Her eyes closed. “I’m sorry.”

  The way she’d withdrawn into herself, when he wanted—no, needed—answers only further angered him. “Trisha, what the hell just happened?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” he asked, amazed. “You—” The air whooshed out of his lungs. “You don’t know.”

  She shook her head miserably, and though it rarely happened, he did indeed lose his calm. “Dammit, you sure as hell do! I’m beginning to see that you always know exactly what you’re doing, no matter how it looks. Beneath that flighty, lackadaisical exterior lives a woman who knows exactly what she wants.”

  She flinched. “I deserved that.”

  Hunter, still stunned by what had been the most sensuous, erotic experience of his life, sank to the bench beside her. He felt so many things, he didn’t know where to start, but his anger seemed as good a place as any. “You tied me to your bed to get your way,” he said, still disbelieving.

  “Not tied, exactly.”

  In spite of himself, he flushed. To be so caught up in the passion she had engendered in him ... so enslaved to feelings that he never realized he could have freed himself—it mortified him. “I think I should be furious.”

  “Yes,” she said dully. “You should.”

  Oh, he was angry, all right, but so much more as well. “Strange as this is to say since it’s the least of my worries right now, all I can think is: How many men have you done that to?”

  Her head jerked up in surprise as she at last looked at him. “Not that I expect you to believe me, but you’re the first, Hunter.”

  “That’s something, I suppose,” he said with a sigh, looking down at his wrist and remembering what it had been like to be helplessly aroused when he didn’t want to be ... and how that very feeling had turned him on even more.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered suddenly. “It was very wrong, and I’m so sorry.” She hid her face in her hands. “I’m so embarrassed. I don’t suppose you’ll just go away?”

  He laughed shortly. “You tied me up—or let me think I was tied up—seduced me until I was begging you, and now you’re embarrassed?”

  Her voice was muffled by her hands. “Can’t we just forget it?”

  He’d never forget it. “I doubt that.” Each moment that passed saw him madder—at himself. He’d done this to himself, and now it had to stop. He couldn’t let her go on feeling the way she thought she felt about him. Not when he wouldn’t let himself return those feelings. To do so would be a big mistake.

  Yet he couldn’t stop himself from asking to hear it again, to watch her when she told him how she felt. Slowly, he turned her to him. “You said you loved me.”

  “I do.”

  So simple. So easy. So genuine, he wanted suddenly, inexplicably, to cry. His anger couldn’t hold up in the face of this. “How—” He had to clear his throat. “How do you know?”

  Unbearable sorrow stared at him from her dark eyes. “I just do.”

  Couldn’t she see that wasn’t enough? “How?” he demanded roughly. “How do you ‘just know’?”

  Her shoulders lifted helplessly. “Because you’re never not in my thoughts. I think about you until I can’t get anything else done, then I think about you some more. I see you and my heart starts pounding for no reason ... until you look at me. Then I melt, just completely melt.” She inhaled deeply and shook her head, as if amused at herself. “All you have to do is say my name and I get warm and shivery at the same time.”

  “It’s lust,” he whispered.

  “No,” she denied. “Lust is different from this. Lust is just the flesh.” She lifted a hand to her chest. “Every part of me—my body, my heart, my soul—they all crave you, Hunter. It’s never been like that for me before, and while that’s scary, it just feels right. So very right. For the first time in my life I feel happy, sated, relaxed. And terrified.”

  He let his breath out slowly. “Well, I understand the terrified part pretty well.”

  She shrugged, her cheeks a little red, as if her admission had embarrassed her. “I guess you don’t understand the rest.”

  “That’s not true. I feel some of those things, I had just hoped it was a bad strain of the flu. Something that would pass.” Though he had an unnerving suspicion that it wouldn’t.

  She let out a little laugh, then fell silent.

  He wanted to do several things at once; wanted to throttle her and make her take back the words she’d said, the words he knew he’d never forget. Those three little words that had struck panic in his heart. He also, ridiculous as it seemed, wanted to get down on his knees and beg her to say them again, wanted to know those feelings weren’t just a response to the physical attraction between them. Wanted to know she’d feel that way forever.

  But most of all, he wanted to grab her and yank her close, and not let her go.

  Did he love her?

  Good Lord, how could he be thinking like this? Hadn’t two fiancées taught him anything? He wasn’t cut out for this. But damn Trisha for making him want what he couldn’t have.

  “How mad are you?”

  “I have no idea,” he said finally, then sighed. “You tried to force me to admit something I wasn’t ready to admit. I told you before, I didn’t want to hurt you, but—”

  “I know,” she said quickly. “You don’t feel it back, it’s just lust. And it was wrong of me to try to prove you loved me.” Leaping off the bench, she clasped her hands, avoided his gaze. “I gave you my word I’d never do that to you again, not that I expect you to believe it.”

  He stood up too. “I believe everything you say,” he told her quite honestly.

  “Why?”

  When she looked at him like that, there was no way he could maintain any sort of righteous anger. Had no one ever trusted her before? Believed in her? Of course not, he thought, remembering how she’d grown up. “I believe you because you’ve never lied to me before. You’ve always been refreshingly honest, Trisha. It’s one of the things I like most about you. I don’t expect you to suddenly change your ways and start lying now.”

  “I see.” She opened her front door, stepped inside.

  “Trisha?”

  Hesitating, she looked at him.

  There was so much more they had to discuss. Her past and her fear of moving, for one. For he could never consider selling this place until he knew she’d be all right, and he had to sell. He knew that for certain now. Then there was the little matter of her thinking she was in love with him. He couldn’t leave her knowing she thought that.

  From his back pocket, he lifted the pair of now-harmless handcuffs, dangling them from his fingers. Safe in his front pocket was the key. “That was some first date.”

  Her face reddened. “Yes, well...”

  The cuffs clanked noisily as he swung them. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if I kept these as a souvenir.”

  “I didn’t think you’d want any reminders.”

  Surprised, he looked at her. “It’s not
likely I’ll forget it, with or without the cuffs.”

  She bit her lip and looked full of regret.

  “Don’t,” he said softly. “I’m trying to tell you I don’t want to forget tonight, any more than you do.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’ll never forget making love to you,” he told her, watching her eyes darken. “Never.”

  She smiled sadly and disappeared behind her door.

  Fourteen

  Two days. Two long, restless, nightmarish days.

  Eating and sleeping had become a luxury Hunter’s body didn’t seem to want. His project and his NASA team had kept him busy in the lab for nearly forty-eight hours, starting the morning after his most interesting “date” with Trisha.

  He’d not seen her since, staggering into bed late and rising far before the sun. And she’d not answered his many phone messages to her machine. When, out of worry, he called Leather and Lace, Celia answered, and told him in a kind but firm voice that Trisha was busy.

  Not surprisingly, she hadn’t returned his call.

  There’d been no more disasters, no holes in the floors, no fires, no lipstick messages. And no beautiful woman sprawled out on her rear in Rollerblades, looking up at him with dark, laughing, mischievous eyes.

  The handcuffs sat harmlessly on his dresser, making him wonder if it had all been a dream.

  Some dream. He still couldn’t think about that night without his body reacting in the expected, uncomfortable manner.

  God, he missed her. What made it even more unbearable was that he didn’t want to. He tried, quite desperately, to keep his mind off her. And with his mission coming up, and so much left to do before they launched, it should have been easy.

  Yet even as he led his team through the required prelaunch procedures and pored over his research data, some of his mind remained on that almost unbelievable evening he’d spent with Trisha. The way her hair had fallen over him, tickling his skin. How her lips had felt gliding lightly over every inch of him. How, despite her boldness, he’d known by her awkward, fumbling fingers that she’d never done anything like that before.