The Harder You Fall

by Gena Showalter

  "That kind of devotion is so rare," she said, a wistful edge to her tone. "It's precious. A real treasure."

  He would be just as devoted to her. If she asked for the moon and stars, he would do everything in his power to procure both. But the time constraint he'd placed on their relationship... He'd never before resented his need to contain his happiness to short bursts, living in misery the rest of the year, but he hated it now.

  "Tessa was incredibly smart--" he continued.

  "Hey! I'm smart!" A pause. "Sometimes."

  "You're smart all the time. When I said you two were nothing alike, I meant in looks and temperament, nothing else."

  She nodded, satisfied. "Just so you know, you saved yourself from a beating."

  He fought a smile. "Her family placed little importance on education and she ended up dropping out her senior year of high school." Amusement gone in a blink, his next words contained an edge. "She was never diagnosed, but I think she was bipolar. She had days of manic happiness, and days--weeks--of severe depression. Her emotions were a roller coaster."

  "Um, don't take this the wrong way, but she sounds a little difficult. What made you stay with her? Love isn't always enough."

  "The days she was happy, she glowed. She would laugh and dance and play. She could make me laugh, and for a little while I'd actually feel like the kid I was supposed to be, something no one else had ever done for me." And maybe he'd suffered from white-knight syndrome. If he could save her, the way he'd failed to save his mom, he would be worthy of happiness.

  Another pause, this one thick with tension. "How do I make you feel?"

  "Crazy." When she stiffened, he reached over, took her hand. "Impossibly hard. Wild. Unsure. Young again. Impossibly hard. Hungry. Calm. Impossibly hard. In other words...crazy."

  She tightened her grip on him. They remained silent--and connected--the rest of the drive. He wondered what thoughts rolled through her mind but knew guessing would do him no good. She was a complex woman who possessed a logic he was only just coming to understand. She was a wealth of contradictions--independent but starved for affection, as tough as stone and yet as soft as marshmallows. Both things he lo--

  Liked about her. Only liked.

  The restaurant he'd chosen happened to be located in the middle of a historic hotel. The black-and-white marble floor mesmerized. Towering columns at every doorway enchanted, and a tin ceiling awed, reflecting light from two massive chandeliers.

  "A hotel? A little presumptuous." Jessie Kay gave his shoulder a teasing bump. "But not exactly unwelcome."

  "I'm a lot hopeful. But we're not here for a room. When I finally get you into bed, it'll be my own." And they wouldn't leave for days. Maybe weeks.

  Her breath caught, a sensual reaction, one that fueled his own, making him harden painfully--pretty much a constant state now.

  "This is our first real date," he said. "It could be the start of something great, and I hope our surroundings reflect that."

  "West," she said softly, reaching out to trace her fingertips over the shell of his ear. "I hereby dub you Most Romantic Man Ever."

  He nuzzled her cheek. "Only with you."

  "You aren't crazy--you're crazy for me."

  A hostess interrupted them, almost earning a snarl from him when Jessie Kay dropped her arm to her side. The girl led them through a spacious room lit by hundreds of candles. The dark walls and carpet only added to the dim, dreamlike feel. As he'd requested when he called to make the reservation, their table was in a corner in back, as far away from other guests as possible.

  He ordered the oldest red for Jessie Kay, despite her protests.

  "Jase and Beck will drink in front of me, but only occasionally, and they're always uncomfortable about it. I don't want my hang-ups to deprive you of something you enjoy."

  "All right, but no wine. Gross. This girl likes whiskey, scotch and bourbon."

  He changed the order and as she sipped her whiskey, he sipped his water, leaning back in his chair to study the woman he was so determined to have. The soft, luminous candlelight looked good on her. But then, everything did.

  "Have you ever been in love?" he asked.

  "I've been in love with the idea of love."

  "No special man?"

  "No. Though I should probably admit I once told Brook Lynn I wanted to marry Jase."

  "No." He gave a violent shake of his head as every cell in his body screamed in protest. "You shouldn't admit that. Not ever again."

  She shrugged, all it is what it is. "I craved security, that was all. An easy way to save Brook Lynn from the mess I'd made of our lives."

  "You didn't make her life a mess. You didn't make her decisions for her."

  "No, but I didn't make those decisions easy for her, either. Honestly, I was like a noose around her neck."

  "Now you're one of the lights of her life."

  The waiter arrived to take their order and West didn't appreciate the way the guy's gaze lingered on Jessie Kay. Anger hit, but he breathed through it--with the unwitting aid of Jessie Kay.

  "I want to make it clear he's paying," she told the guy, and pointed to West. "Right?"

  "Of course," West replied.

  She brightened. "I'd like the double-lobster dinner, please, with extra butter. But nix the side of vegetables and add a side of lobster. Oh, and crab legs. And a skewer of shrimp."

  The waiter laughed as if she'd just told a joke, but she continued to stare at him expectantly, and he frowned. "Would you, uh, like a salad before your meal?"

  "Rabbits eat lettuce. I am not a rabbit." She actually shuddered. "I'll have the lobster bisque. With a side of lobster."

  Now the waiter appeared confused. "You'd like one of your lobsters brought out with your soup?"

  "Don't talk crazy. I want an additional lobster. No one ever puts enough meat in the soup."

  West covered a laugh behind his hand. He ordered "the same" because why not? "I want to point out I remembered your desire for lobsters the day at the diner."

  "Patting yourself on the back to woo me?" In a stage whisper she said, "It's working."

  "Have to admit, I'm a little jealous of seafood right now."

  "You should be." She took another sip of her whiskey. "If I could, I'd marry a Maine lobster and have little lobster babies. If the right Alaskan king crab came along, I could be convinced to have a torrid affair."

  He chuckled. "You're the first woman I've ever dated who isn't afraid to eat in front of me."

  "Well, I know what it's like to go hungry. As teenagers, Brook Lynn and I often survived on canned goods given to us by the church. Sometimes there were other families in worse shape, so we'd opt not to take anything. I'm never afraid to eat when given the opportunity."

  Though he ached for the kid she'd been and the trials she'd faced, he welcomed the peek into her past. It only strengthened his admiration for her. "Have you made a decision about us, Jessie Kay?"

  She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, the pale strands a lovely contrast to the bronze of her skin, and shook her head in negation. "You want the full truth?"

  "Please."

  "Both choices seem right, but at the same time, both choices seem wrong. Either way, I know I'm going to get hurt. Just in different ways."

  Hurting her was exactly what he didn't want to do. He scrubbed a hand down his face.

  The fix was simple. Pardon himself. Try for something real. Solid. Lasting.

  Something more.

  But could he? He would become responsible for Jessie Kay's happiness, yet he wasn't sure he could identify happiness if it bit him on the ass.

  He asked, "Are you looking for a guarantee we'll last forever?"

  "No, but I'd like a chance at forever." She opened her mouth to say more, snapped it closed. Open, closed.

  He regarded her from across the table, drinking in the flicker of candlelight across her skin. Gold twined with shadows, both licking at her. Since the moment he'd met her, his desire for her h
ad only grown stronger day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. And, really, no matter how he crunched the numbers, relief didn't wait in his future--unless he gave her what she wanted.

  What part of him wanted, too.

  "Let's not talk about the future right now, okay?" she said. "Let's just enjoy each other."

  "All right." Knowing her--and he was beginning to--she hoped to take the pressure off him, something he understood. He didn't want her feeling pressured, either.

  "So...did you win your game today?"

  "We did. Three to one."

  "I'm only surprised you didn't score a dozen more. The ball belongs to you."

  He winked at her. "My mind was on other things. The ball wasn't what I wanted."

  "Ha! I have no illusions. If you had to pick between a soccer ball and me, I'd have my ass handed to me in a hurry."

  He traced his finger over the rim of his water glass, imagining the fingertip trailing over different parts of her. "Kitten, the only hand on your ass will be mine. After I kick the ball out the door."

  She blushed the sweetest shade of rose and glanced away from him, suddenly--enchantingly--shy. "You have a talent. Making kind things sound dirty."

  He winked at her. "We should resume your soccer lessons."

  She arched a brow at him. "Will you actually work with me or Mr. Miyagi me?"

  The grumble in her voice made him smile. "I'll be hands-on from this point forward. You have my word."

  "When I'm good enough, I want to play on your team."

  "No." He could have sidestepped the issue, but he wanted no confusion between them.

  "No?" She snapped her fingers. "Just like that?"

  "No." His hard, flat tone left no room for argument. "Just like that."

  "Dang, that's so harsh."

  "I don't want you playing coed. You could be harmed."

  "How did I not realize you were a chauvinist?" She glared daggers at him. "I'm not some delicate Southern belle, you know. You've heard of my temper, right? It's infamous in twelve counties!"

  "I've heard stories about your temper, yes," he said, "but I've never actually seen an example."

  "Of course you haven't. You're still alive."

  He leveled her with a hard stare. "If your temper is bad, mine is worse. I'm not some tame house cat who will stand idly by while you're injured. If some guy shoves you, I will go for his throat. If some guy steals the ball from you, I will still go for his throat."

  Any other woman would have shrunk back in fear, might have even thrown down her napkin and walked away, afraid of such intense aggression. But not Jessie Kay.

  She leaned back in her chair, eyeing him with something akin to awe. "You'd get in trouble."

  "I wouldn't care."

  The awe only magnified. "That's mighty possessive of you, sugar bear."

  "I protect what's mine." He had to. As a kid, he'd had very little, allowed to take only what he could fit inside a single suitcase whenever he switched foster homes. A small suitcase, at that. He'd had to make a choice. Clothes or toys. Clothes had won, every time. Need before want. And if he'd wanted to keep the things that he'd needed, he'd had to defend them against other boys. "I want you to be mine."

  She nibbled on her bottom lip, a nervous habit. Her teeth were adorable, the two in front set slightly ahead of the others.

  The appetizers arrived. When the waiter wandered off, neither of them dug in. They continued to stare at each other, tension thick between them, making it difficult to breathe in a way he'd grown used to, even craved.

  You know what you have to do...

  Could he do it? He didn't have to like it. He just had to live with it.

  Would he grow to resent her for forcing him to deny Jase and Tessa their due?

  It didn't matter, he supposed, because he absolutely could not live without her.

  "I'm going to be difficult to manage," he told her. "I'll be obsessed with your whereabouts and safety. I'll hover."

  She went still, not even seeming to breathe. "You already are, and you already do."

  "You think I've been bad? Kitten, you've only had a taste. I've limited myself to a handful of calls and texts a day." If they were together, he would stop counting and contact her whenever the urge struck. Just to make sure she was safe, that she wasn't upset with him or anyone else. "I'll insist you stick to a schedule, and I'll be pissed if ever you're late. Can you deal?"

  "Again, I'm already dealing. But in the interest of full disclosure, I should probably confess I purposely screwed with your schedule."

  He frowned. "Explain."

  "Well, I've called and texted when I knew you had phone conferences."

  "And you did this...why?"

  "To show you the joys of spontaneity."

  Had she said anything else, he might have gotten angry. But his marshmallow girl wanted everyone around her happy. How could he fault her?

  "Just...don't do it again," he said.

  "I won't. Maybe. Okay, I probably will."

  Never try to change perfection. "Either way, I accept your terms."

  Her brow wrinkled with confusion...and hope. "I don't understand."

  "We'll be together," he said. He would give her what she wanted--and fight any resentment--but in return, she would have to give him what he wanted. "You and me, Jessie Kay. Indefinitely. No time limit. I'm yours. And you...you are mine."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  JESSIE KAY THRUMMED with excitement. West had just...he'd just agreed...

  They were going to be together? No limits?

  "West," she said, staggered to the depths of her soul. "I don't know what to say."

  Compromise with you because your wants are just as important to him as his.

  See his future in your eyes.

  Check and check.

  "Say yes, kitten."

  "Yes." He'd done the unexpected. He'd compromised. He'd set himself free of his self-imposed prison sentence--for her. To have a future with her. He'd placed value on her. A value he'd never placed on any of the others. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes."

  Satisfaction flared in the dark eyes she saw every night in her dreams...then he picked up his spoon and began to eat his soup.

  Her stomach curled into knots, and she only managed a few bites of the creamy indulgence before giving up. She had experience in the bedroom, and she shouldn't be nervous about what was to come but, yeah, she was nervous. She'd never been with a man like West. So devoted to time management. So OCD about his workspace. So...possessive and aggressive with her alone, and maybe even just a little twisted in the most delicious ways.

  "Not hungry?" he asked.

  Not even a little, not anymore. Not for the food in front of her. "I guess I expected you to carry me home and ravish me." When she realized she'd grumbled the words, she blushed. "I didn't think we'd continue as if nothing had changed."

  "Who says I'm not ravishing you right this very second?"

  The silk of his tone... She shivered. Heck, maybe he was ravishing her.

  The waiter arrived with the rest of their meal, and as she picked at her food, West cleaned his plate, meticulous with every bite. She wondered...was he this meticulous in bed?

  Great! Another shiver, this one strong enough to rattle the legs of her chair.

  He motioned for the waiter and ordered dessert. Just to torture her, she was sure.

  "If you try to feed me by hand," she said, "I'll shove my fork in your eye. I swear I will."

  "Mmm. There's the temper I've been looking forward to seeing."

  "You don't sound afraid." She regarded him over the rim of her whiskey glass. "I'll have to change that."

  "I'm only afraid of naked women," he said, deadpan. "Terrified of them."

  Good try, funny man. "Are you trying to tell me you don't know what to do with them?"

  His smile was slow, but oh, so wicked. "Will you teach me?"

  He was going to be the death of her, wasn't he?

  She kicked
off her shoe and ran her toes up...up...toward the holy grail. But he clasped onto her foot, stopping her, and began to massage the arch, using her tricks against her. She tried not to moan.

  His dessert arrived an eternity later--a rich chocolate souffle--but he paid it no heed, choosing instead to maintain his hold on her.

  "Problem?" she asked.

  "Yes. You're too sexy for your own good. The world would be a safer place if I locked you in my bedroom."

  She flattened her hand over her heart. "Not that. Anything but that."

  "Yes, that." He released her and threw money on the table. "Starting now."

  He stood and helped her to her feet after she'd righted her shoe. His arm wrapped around her waist to hold her steady, his fingers curved over her hipbone. A protective, possessive clasp.

  He led her outside, the cold air kissing her fever-hot skin. After he opened the car door for her, he walked to the other side.

  Breathless, she withdrew her phone to fire off a quick text to him.

  Guess what? I'm not wearing any panties.

  Amusement glimmered in his eyes as he paused to pluck his phone from his pocket...but as he read the screen, his back went ramrod straight. His gaze flipped up to meet hers, narrowed and hot, and she slowly traced a fingertip along the seam of her lips--sucked that fingertip deep into her mouth.

  He nearly wrenched his own door from its hinges. Seated, the engine purring, he said, "If we wreck, you're to blame."

  Reaching out, she traced the seam of his lips with her now-moist fingertip. A kiss by proxy. "If we survive the drive, what's going to happen when we get home?" She needed to know, to prepare. Would they go to her room or to his? Would they jump right into bed or spend time talking?

  As the questions reverberated in her mind, her nerves kicked back up and she kind of wanted to puke.

  Wouldn't that be a whole lot of sexy?

  He probably expected her to be the best lay in town. But if she rocked the mattress mambo, wouldn't someone have already locked her down?

  What if she was the worst lay in town?

  "I'm going to be on you, all over you," he said in warning. "We're going to rid ourselves of months of frustration, no matter how long it takes us. That's what we're going to do."

  Unless, of course, she failed him.

  "West." Was it hot in here? When had the car become a sauna? She pulled at the bust line of her dress, saying, "I've got to tell you something you're not going to like hearing.

  He stiffened, only to relax a second later. "It doesn't matter, whatever it is."