Jill Shalvis - The Harder They Fall

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.

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.

It was very difficult to continue feeling any sort of indignation over that night, but anger was all that kept him from admitting he might be wrong about the depth of his feelings for her.

He knew she thought she’d gambled on that night, and lost. It was why she’d made herself scarce. But Hunter was a man who liked to think everything through completely, and he liked to do this in his own time, in his own way. He’d done little but think, but he’d come to no definite conclusion – another troubling fact.

Since when could he not come to a definitive conclusion? Since when had things not been either black or white, but a muddled gray?

The fear in the pit of his belly didn’t abate on the third day, and as he walked out of the lab late that night, he thought he just might be exhausted enough to fall into his bed and crash. He hoped.

The lot was nearly empty. He waved at the guard and walked toward his car, pulling out his keys. It had been the day from hell, where nothing had gone right, and everything that could go wrong had. Finally, after consuming an entire roll of antacid tablets, which Heidi had been kind enough to procure for him, he was forced to admit it: The overwhelming fear wouldn’t go away until he faced it – and Trisha.

But doing that would make him think about his feelings for her, and those feelings went far deeper than he would have thought possible. In fact, he thought while inhaling a big gulp of air and even more antacids, it was quite possible he loved her every bit as much as she claimed to love him.

“You look as though you’ve been punched in the gut.”

In the relative dark of the half-moon and deserted parking lot, Hunter jerked and turned.

“Sorry.” Celia, with her spiked light green hair and rows of silver jewelry, waved and smiled at him, looking far from apologetic. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Hmm,” he said noncommittally, unlocking his car. “I suppose I should be surprised to see you, but somehow I’m not.”

“There’s that famous wit. The one that got you that reputation for, what is it they call you? Devil?” A wide grin flashed in the dark.

He hated that nickname. “Nasty job, cajoling money out of very wealthy, lonely women. But someone’s got to do it.”

“Ah, sarcasm.” She nodded, her hair bobbing. “That’s something I understand well. You hate your reputation, and I guess, given what I know about you, I can see why.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s not easy for you to have people get to know you, is it?”

Startled by her perceptiveness, he glanced at her. “Thought you sold panties. Didn’t know you were a shrink as well.”

Uninsulted, she laughed and slipped her hands into the back pockets of her bright red leather pants. “I’m a whole heck of a lot of things, Dr. Adams. But at the moment, mostly, I’m worried about my best friend.”

That made two of them.

“What I want to know,” she said, “is what are you going to do about it?”

Tossing his briefcase into the car, he straightened and sighed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve been working night and day.”

“Hmmph.”

He felt like a six-year-old, duly chastised. “I’ve been trying to call her.”

The dark look she shot him told him what he already knew – not good enough.

“Do you have any idea what she’s doing at this very minute?” Celia asked.

He’d thought he’d been in a state of real fear for the last few days, but it was nothing compared with the terror that gripped him now. “God, what has she done?”

Celia laughed, but sobered quickly. “I should let you find out the hard way, I really should. But, well, she…”

“She what?” he asked in an ominous voice that none of the entire ten thousand employees of the lab would have been able to ignore. “Just tell me.”

“She’s moving out. Tonight.”

Hunter completed the normally ten-minute drive in less than four. Taking the stairs to Trisha’s apartment three at a time, he debated for maybe a millisecond about knocking. Then forsook the niceties and stormed in.

She sat on the couch, a faraway expression on her face as she stroked Duff in her lap. Immediately he saw her surrounded by a sea of empty boxes.

His sigh of relief sounded loud in the silent room. “I caught you in time, then,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets to keep them off her.

Her gaze leaped to his, though she didn’t move a muscle. “I didn’t hear you knock.”

“That’s because I didn’t.” She sounded distant, cool, and so damn familiar he wanted to draw her up and gather her close. Instead, he stepped into the room and leaned against the wall. “What’s going on, Trisha?”

Her eyes drank in the sight of him, and he knew what she saw. Ruffled hair, haphazardly knotted tie, haggard features. Work. Too much work, that’s all that was wrong with him.

This insane panic at the sight of the moving boxes was all due to too much work

Oh, like hell. Lying was impossible, especially to himself. In two strides, he was standing in front of her; then, ignoring her startled squeak of surprise, he hauled her up, wrapped her in his arms, and looked at her.

Her voice, when she spoke, was shaking. “Hunter -”

He kissed her, thoroughly. Ah, this, this was what he’d wanted, needed, craved beyond belief all week, and he buried his face in her neck, pressing her close. Dragging his lips over her soft skin, he listened to her ragged breathing. As his hands slid over her, pulling her closer still, a little sound of pleasure rose from her throat and she fisted her hands in his hair to bring his face back to hers.

The kiss consumed him.

He lost himself in it, in the feel of her against him. “Trisha,” he groaned, and took her mouth again.

Then she shoved him away, hard.

Chest heaving, she stared at him. He stared back, aroused, stunned, terrified all at once.

“Is this some more of that lust we talked about?” she demanded.

No. God, no. “Yes.”

“Go away,” she whispered, putting a trembling hand to her chest.

That little vulnerable gesture tore at him. “I can’t.”

“You’ve managed well enough these past few days.” With a suspicious sheen to her eyes, she turned away and knelt before a box.

“I needed to think.” That sounded lame, even to his own ears. “Trisha, I -”

“I needed to think too,” she said quietly. “And this is best – for both of us, I think.”

Suddenly he knew exactly how she’d felt the other night when she’d had a panic attack. His windpipe tightened, cutting off his air. “Moving? That’s the answer?”

She nodded and reached for the closest bookshelf at her side. Grabbing a handful of books, she tossed them into the box. Blindly, since her scalding tears didn’t allow for much vision, she grabbed another handful, blinking frantically to hold back the flow.

“Trisha.”

Lord, that voice. He dropped to his knees beside her, silently took the books from her hands, and set them aside. Turning back, he touched her shoulders until she looked at him. “I don’t want you to move because of me.”

She waited, but he said nothing else. No vow of love, or even undying lust. Nothing that gave away one iota of feeling, except for the torment shining in his deep green eyes. So he hadn’t gotten over his fear yet, damn him. She loved him, more than her own life, but what else could she do? “I’m not moving for you,” she managed. “I’m doing it for me.”