Hard to Handle

by Lori Foster

  “Decide what?”

  “If we should go someplace private or if it’d be safer to stay here on the floor with you.”

  Safer? Her chin went up. “For your information, I have no interest in molesting you as your brunette did. You can relax about that.”

  “You’re here.” He took a step closer. “There’s no way in hell I’m going to relax.”

  He looked almost pained, which made Stasia soften. “Am I really such a threat?”

  “Threat? No.” He looked at her mouth, then down her body. “Lose the coat.”

  Instead, she pulled the lapels together. “I don’t think so.”

  “Yeah, maybe it’s better that you don’t.” He inhaled deeply, and put both hands on her shoulders. “I’m already fighting to keep my hands off you.”

  Talk about throwing around the sexuality! “Harley.” She glanced at his big hands on her shoulders. “You’re touching me.”

  “Not even close, honey.”

  Those gravelly words drew her gaze up to his face again, and Stasia was stunned to see him looking so fierce. Trying to be cavalier, she said, “You’re not making any sense. Not even close to what?”

  His thumbs caressed. “To how and where I want to touch you. But right here in the middle of the floor probably isn’t the best place.”

  “We can agree on that much.”

  He glanced around the room, scowled at the photographer who again stood nearby, his camera at the ready, and said, “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  His jaw flexed. “Someplace more private.”

  Stasia stood her ground. “Whoa. I’m not budging, not if you plan to…”

  Looking down at her, he whispered, “Have my hands on you?”

  “Yeah.” Heat rolled over her, almost weakening her resolve. “Not if you plan to do that.”

  “Not just yet. But there’s a magazine doing a piece on me and the photographer is just hoping to get another shot, since you ran off the first model.”

  “That girl?” So she hadn’t been a date? “You weren’t really with her?”

  “Did it look like I was?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “Good.” The corners of his mouth tilted. “I met her about five minutes before you walked up. I danced with her so another woman would leave me alone, and so the photographer could take enough shots to be satisfied.”

  Stasia wasn’t sure if that made Harley’s behavior better or worse. “Poor Harley, under so much pressure.”

  “You have no idea.” He touched her jaw. “Crystal claimed to understand, but she still wasn’t happy to have the evening end so soon.”

  Lifting her brows, Stasia said, “She left a hickey on your neck.”

  “Yeah?” He put fingertips to his throat, then dropped his hand. “But she never touched my mouth, so you can’t use that argument again.”

  “What argument?”

  “That I should kiss you first—if I want to kiss you.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I do, Stasia.” He stared down at her mouth. “I will. But not here.”

  Again, Stasia resisted his effort to lead her away. “I already told you, Harley, I didn’t come here for that.”

  With his eyes up on the ceiling and his mood disgruntled, he turned to her again. He put his hands on his hips and appeared to be counting.

  Finally he muttered, “Well hell.”

  “What?”

  His shoulders lifted. “Photographer or not, your purpose or not, seems I just don’t care.” He moved closer. “I’m still going to kiss you.”

  “Now wait a minute.” Stasia started to back up, but on the crowded floor, there wasn’t much room to maneuver.

  Locking his gaze on hers, Harley stalked her, moving forward as she scrambled back. “Afraid of me?”

  “No, but I know my own limits.”

  “Meaning you want to kiss me, too?”

  “I’m taking the Fifth on that one, Harley.” When she bumped into the wall and couldn’t retreat any farther, she straightened and said, “Harley,” as a warning.

  He gave a faint smile and, mimicking her, said, “Stasia.”

  He stood so close, she had to tip her head way back to see him. “I really don’t think—”

  “We had an agreement,” he interrupted.

  “Yes, I know.” She tried not to think of how badly she wanted that kiss. “We agreed that we wouldn’t see each other again. Believe me, I remember.”

  He braced his hands on the wall beside her head. “But here you are.”

  “If you’d stop deliberately flustering me, I could explain why.”

  His attention moved to her mouth. “Not just yet.” And then he bent toward her. Just before his mouth touched hers, he said, “I told you good-bye. That should have been it. Since it wasn’t, don’t ask me to hold back.” His breath teased her lips. “Not again. Not this time.”

  THE kiss was…everything Harley remembered it to be. And damn, but it felt right, as right as breathing or sleeping—but a hell of a lot more energizing.

  Holding her face in his hands, Harley adjusted to give himself better access. Her lips opened and he deepened the kiss, tasting her with his tongue, not slow and seductive as he’d first intended, but frenzied and fast, practically devouring her. Against his chest, even through her thick coat, he could feel the frantic pounding of her heart.

  He’d more or less told her to stay away.

  At the moment, he was damn glad she hadn’t.

  Wishing she were naked, Harley tangled his fingers in her thick hair and kissed her until they were both breathless.

  Her fingers twisted in the front of his shirt, trying to draw him closer when he was already smashed up against her. Thinking of her stretched out on a bed, his for the taking, he eased back and whispered, “Stasia, baby, do you have a room?”

  Her mouth followed his. “Not yet.”

  Had she come straight to him then, as soon as she got into town? The thought excited him.

  Or did she not need a room because she planned to leave as quickly as she’d arrived?

  Disliking that idea, Harley said between kisses, “We’ll get you a room. Right now.”

  “Now?”

  He heard her confusion, and though he felt like a cad, he wanted to play off of it. “Yes, Stasia. Now. Tonight.” He looked into her heavy eyes. “Unless you want me to take you right here in the bar?”

  “Take me?” Frowning, she pulled back, licked her lips. “Don’t be absurd.”

  Absurd? “You know you want it, too.”

  Always brutally honest, she said, “I want you. Yes.” After a second, she looked up at him. “But have you forgotten your preferences?”

  “No.” Hell no. The thought of her stretched out, straining, accepting…damn, Harley got a boner. He touched her cheek. “I swear, you’ll love it.”

  And just that easily, she retreated. Hands pressed to his chest, she gave a shaky laugh. “Sorry, Harley, but it ain’t happening.”

  He’d see about that. Given the way she’d responded to a simple kiss, the fact that she admitted to wanting him, it was only a matter of time.

  When he just watched her, waiting, she gave a crooked smile. “I keep telling you that I didn’t come here for that.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you.” He didn’t want to believe her. What else could she possible want?

  She folded her hands behind her and struck a more relaxed pose against the wall. “Actually, I was looking for a job.”

  Something akin to disappointment stabbed into Harley. “A job?”

  Nodding, she confirmed, “Here in Harmony.”

  “In Harmony?” He felt like a deranged parrot, repeating her every word.

  “That’s right.”

  Anger straightened his spine. “With who?”

  “Actually, Harley…” A wide smile put dimples in her cheeks, giving Harley warning. “With you.”

  Harley drew back—and a camera flash
went off in his peripheral vision. The photographer was still lurking around, and the bastard had just caught Harley in a state of shock.

  For a man who kept his emotions underwraps, being exposed, caught off guard, was unacceptable.

  He’d have to do something about it, and that meant doing something about Stasia.

  Like having her.

  Enough times to get her out of his system, but on his terms.

  He smiled at her. “I see.”

  BARBER sauntered up to the bar and ordered a beer. Because it’d be his third of the night, he made a mental note to find himself a ride back to his motel—either with a woman, which would be his preference, but if fate dealt a losing hand, then with one of the fighters who abstained from alcohol.

  He’d made friends with many of the fighters, and sparred with a lot of them, too. The contrast of full-go physical activity to late nights performing kept him in good shape.

  But damn Harley, he was right. He was getting old, at least too old to keep up the grueling schedule of late. Hell, five years ago, pulling two all-nighters in a row wouldn’t have fazed him.

  Especially when Dakota kept him company.

  But Dakota was now married to a good guy, and whenever he put in extra hours, he spent the following day with a headache and a churning gut.

  “Shit.”

  “Ah…excuse me?”

  At the intrusion of that squeaky little voice, Barber pivoted on the bar stool. He found himself looking down at a very short gal sporting a red button nose and chapped lips, bundled head to toe in bulky outerwear. On her head sat the most ridiculous hat he’d ever seen.

  He stared at it in awe. Black velour felt with an asymmetrical fit, a pleated brim, and finished off with a silk band and of all things, a turkey feather, it was worthy of a little staring.

  When the girl cleared her throat, Barber brought his gaze to her face. Clearly, she’d just come in from the outdoors. As he looked her over, her bottom lip trembled—from cold or something more, he couldn’t say.

  She looked to be a little chunky—maybe. Hard to tell under the boxy coat that hung well past her knees. Bright green eyes stayed glued to his face. Round cheeks and a rounder chin lent her an impish appearance.

  Though she appeared a little bedraggled, she still screamed style, from her perfect makeup to her manicured nails, now clenched in tight hands, trying to find warmth.

  Normally, she wasn’t at all a woman to catch his attention…except that she also had beautiful long red hair. It spilled out from under the hideous hat, falling down her back, over her shoulders, wavy and thick.

  Intriguing.

  Interest sparked. Barber relished the familiar feel of fresh, instantaneous chemistry.

  He locked gazes with her. “Hello there.”

  She swallowed audibly. “You cursed.”

  He hooked his boots on the bottom rung of the stool and leaned back against the bar. “Not at you, sweetheart. I didn’t even know you were lurking there behind me.”

  “Oh.” She licked her lips nervously.

  He made a tsking sound. “Shouldn’t do that.”

  Startled eyes met his again. “What?”

  “Lick your lips that way.” Just saying it tightened his abdomen. Damn. Maybe it was the combined thoughts of Dakota and missed opportunities with the reality of aging, but he was in a bad way, in desperate need of a little relief. “They’re already chapped. Licking will only make ’em worse.”

  “Oh.” She licked them again.

  Barber narrowed his eyes, and resisted further comment on licking and mouths and any other thoughts guaranteed to give him a boner. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  Her shoulders went back—which thrust her breasts forward. “I’m here to audition.”

  When Barber started to speak, she stuck up a palm. “I know, I’m horribly late and I apologize for that. Public transit isn’t entirely reliable and I don’t have a vehicle of my own at hand. It took me several minutes to get the coat clerk to hold my luggage for me. And then finding you in this crush wasn’t easy.”

  She spoke fast in inane chatter. Barber despised inane chatter. Except that now, it was sort of…cute. “Been rough, huh?”

  “Frustrating for sure. And it did put me behind schedule. But I want to audition nonetheless, and you should hear me. It’s an imposition, I know, and for that I’m sorry. But I’m here and you’re here, so—”

  Barber leaned in close, stealing her thunder, her breath and her nerve. Near enough to kiss her, he whispered, “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  He shrugged, and to keep her from fainting or fleeing, he settled back again with a smile. “On the merit of that hat alone, I’ll hear you.”

  “Oh.” Her hands went to her hat. “Yes. Thank you.”

  Picking up his beer, he took another deep drink, then gestured at her. “Go ahead.”

  Eyes widening, she dropped her hands and looked around at the crowded bar. “Here?”

  Demure women rarely—like maybe never—turned him on. Today, the personality trait pushed all his buttons. Measuring her reactions, Barber gave another shrug. “Why not?”

  “But…I assumed…that is…” Her bottom lip started quivering again. In a near-desperate plea, she leaned in to say, “I’d truly prefer someplace more private.”

  Now that deserved another drink. Barber finished off his glass and set it down for the bartender to refill. “All right, doll. I’ll bite.” Relaxing on the stool, he put his elbows back on the bar and let his knees angle out.

  Her gaze went straight to his crotch, but shot away with the speed of light. Bright color stained her fair cheeks.

  Enjoying her, Barber asked, “I’m all willing, but just how private do you think we need to be?”

  Just when he thought she’d either faint or run away, she pursed her pucker and stared him straight in the eyes. “Private enough that you can actually hear me, and that I won’t be distracted with all the noise.”

  “Maybe you’re confused, honey—”

  “No disrespect intended, but I am not your honey and it’s very unprofessional to refer to me as such.”

  Barber slapped a hand over his heart. “I’ve been smote through and through.”

  “What?”

  When he left the bar stool, she stumbled back several steps. “Listen up, sugar. I am who I am, and I speak how I speak. If you want in on the gig, you have to get used to it.”

  Her round chin firmed. “Fine.”

  “And we often perform in bars. If a little noise throws you off, that’s a big problem, a real indication that you aren’t cut out for what we do.”

  Her lips joined the chin in firming. The redness of her nose deepened. “I see.”

  “If crowds make you shy about your voice, for certain you can’t—”

  She inhaled a broken breath. “You’ve made your point, okay? I get it.”

  Ah hell. Barber saw the tears hanging on her lashes, willed them not to fall, but she blinked and that was that. They trickled down, over those smooth cheeks and to the corners of her sexy mouth.

  Great. Just freaking great.

  As she swiped away the wet tracks forming down her face, he accused, “You’re crying.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  He gave her an incredulous look. “Yeah, you are.”

  She sniffled, started digging in her pockets, and said, “Ignore it, please. I’m tired and out of sorts, that’s all.”

  Snatching up a paper napkin from the bar, Barber thrust it toward her. “Oh yeah, it’s real easy to ignore a babe bawling.”

  She went rigid from head to toes. “I am not a babe!”

  Barber eyed her. “Fine. You’re not a babe. Just the opposite. A hag, even.”

  “Now listen here—”

  Relieved to see anger replace the weeping, Barber fought a laugh. “Take it easy already.” He watched as she mopped her face, and then loudly blew her red nose. “Better?”

  “It’s nothin
g. Don’t concern yourself.” She held the now messy napkin in a fist at her side. “Shall I sing for you now?”

  She had to be kidding. Barber worked his jaw. “At this point, I think I need the privacy.” He looked around, spotted Roger, and said, “Come on.”

  CHAPTER 12

  TRUSTING her to follow him, Barber wove his way through hordes of customers across the crowded floor. When he stopped in front of Roger, the girl bumped into his back.

  Eyes closed, Barber counted to five, then turned to face her. “I see you made it.”

  She hastened back a step and said in accusation, “You’re taller, so you could see your way better. If I hadn’t stuck close, I’d have lost you.”

  “Got it.” He turned to Roger with a “help me” look. “Got someplace private I can use for a minute?”

  Jumping the gun on the wrong assumption, Roger glanced at the girl, then at Barber. “Seriously?”

  Barber rolled his eyes. “It’s an audition, Rog. And if you make her cry again, I’ll brain you.”

  “She was crying?” He looked at her more closely.

  The girl gasped, which made Roger smile.

  “Ignore Barber,” he said. “He’s sometimes surly like that.” Roger held out his hand. “I apologize for any unintentional disrespect.”

  “Thank you.” All prim and proper, she took his hand. “I assume you’re the proprietor?”

  “Roger Sims. Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m Jasmine Petri. It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Sims.”

  “Call me Roger. Any friend of Barber’s, and all that.”

  “Thank you, Roger. But Mr. Henry and I aren’t truly acquainted. Yet.”

  Barber wanted to knock their heads together. “Can we wrap up these social niceties, or what?”

  Jasmine said, “I see exactly what you mean, Roger.” Then to Barber, “I’m sorry that common courtesy is so distressing to you.”

  Roger laughed.

  After glaring at him, Barber asked Jasmine, “Do you want to audition or not?”

  “I do.”

  Great. “So Roger, do you have a damn empty room or not?”

  Mimicking the girl, Roger said, “I do.” With a smile, he said, “Follow me.”

  Digging out a hefty key ring, Roger led them to a locked hallway, let them inside, and said, “Use any room you want. I’ll relock the outside here, but it should open from the inside without a problem. Be sure the door shuts tight, though, if you would.”