Jill Shalvis - The Harder They Fall

“How much do you need?” he asked more gently, sighing as he glanced at his watch. Five minutes until his staff meeting, and if he didn’t get rid of her before then, he would hear about it for the rest of the week. He’d never understand why his personal life riveted his staff members so.

His mother smiled at him, her eyes shining with warmth and affection. “You’re so good to me, Hunter. You always have been.”

He got out his checkbook.

“What are you going to do with the place?”

“Maybe I’ll live in it.”

His mother laughed. “You? In a house like that?”

He stilled, though he knew she didn’t mean anything hurtful by the comment. “Would that be so ridiculous, me wanting and having a home?”

She laughed again and patted his arm. “We Adamses weren’t meant to be tied down by such mundane chores as taking care of a house.”

He knew that philosophy well, he’d grown up on it. Still, something deep within him yearned for things to be different.

“Besides,” his mother continued with raised eyebrows, “if you were meant to have a place like that, neither Sally nor Darlene would have left you standing at the altar.”

“Nice, Mother.”

“Look, darling, we all know you’re not cut out for that kind of life. Mowing lawns, chasing children… watching football.”

She had no idea what kind of life he was cut out for, she’d never known, but he didn’t feel like reminding her of that. Especially when, as he handed her a check, his secretary popped her head into his office.

“Everyone’s here, Dr. Adams – oh, hello, Mrs. Adams.” Heidi, his usually reserved secretary, stopped in her hurried tracks and flashed a smile.

“Thanks -” Hunter started to say, then ended on a silent moan when six members of his staff crowded into the office behind her. Every one of their conservative tongues waggled at the sight of his mother, looking twenty years younger than her fifty-three years, and casually stretching her mile-long legs.

It took him twenty minutes after she left to calm them down enough to conduct his crucial meeting, and another twenty to finish answering the deluge of questions about his mother and her television career.

To top off his irritation, he returned home only to find his wanderlust-driven father sprawled on his bed, booted feet on the spread, and food and drink scattered around the previously spotless room.

“I thought you were in Paris,” Hunter said wearily, wondering why his parents couldn’t be grown-up as he imagined other parents were. He didn’t bother to ask how his father had gotten in. Where there was a chance, Patrick O’reilly Adams could find a way.

“I was.” His father stretched lazily. “All that money you make and you live in this hotel. Well, at least it’s got class.” He glanced around at the tasteful and expensive decor.

Hunter tipped his head back and studied the ornate ceiling, wondering what he had done to deserve having to deal with both parents in one day.

“Eloise has been busy, I understand,” his father said casually.

“She’s dead,” Hunter said flatly, smelling need, greed, and a whole host of things that aggravated the hell out of him.

“Yeah. But she left you quite a package.”

The package that made up one Trisha Malloy filled Hunter’s head – soft brown eyes, flowing brown hair… and black vinyl.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Funny… your ex-wife asked me the same thing today.”

“Your mother?… Your mother came sniffing around? Figures,” he said with disgust.

“Guess she beat you to it.” Hunter shoved his father’s feet off the bed.

“You’re going to sell the duplex, of course.”

“Maybe.”

His father laughed. “No offense, son, but what in the world would you do with a place like that? You don’t want to live there.”

Was it such a joke that he had a secret fantasy to do exactly that? The place needed work, certainly, but that was superficial stuff. Beneath the dilapidated exterior was a beautifully structured home with more character than he’d seen in some time. It sat in South Pasadena, an affluent area, only minutes from work. So it was the eyesore of the entire block, but he could fix that. And he could turn it from a duplex into a single-family house with no trouble at all.

“My God,” Patrick said, studying his son. “You do want to live there.” He laughed again.

Hunter bit back his sigh. He had a ton of work to do, plus enough reading to keep him up all night. “Was there something you needed?”

Of course there was.

“Well, now that you mention it…” His father stretched again and sighed. “I find myself rather short of funds.”

Hunter closed his eyes and started counting silently.

It was going to be a long – and expensive – night.

By the time Hunter got back to the duplex the following weekend, the gaping hole in the bathroom ceiling had been repaired and the downstairs living space cleared of dust and dirt, courtesy of his efficient cleaning crew.

The pathetic reproductions, however, remained. Regardless, a shimmer of something he almost didn’t recognize went through him – hope. The hardwood floors were a wreck, the painted walls were old and peeling, but somehow the place drew him. Despite its appearance, the house was alive with personality.

It was a home waiting to happen.

A home. A real home such as he’d never had, such as he’d only dreamed about.

“I guess I’ll have to get a real peephole now, since you’ve covered up the one in my floor.”

Trisha. Hunter hadn’t known what to expect, more vinyl maybe, or leather. He certainly didn’t expect to see her standing in the doorway wearing a short, full sundress that revealed a set of lean, toned legs a mile longer than the city limits.

She smiled, parting full red lips. “How am I going to see what’s going on down here?”

“You should be thanking me. Another guy might not have bothered to catch you.”

Trisha walked into the cluttered living room and laughed, a full-throated, easy laugh that made Hunter think of a clear mountain spring.

“Good point,” she said. A hint of white, frothy lace peeked out from the low, snug bodice of her dress, making his mouth dry.

He shifted his weight with uncharacteristic nervousness as she appraised the length of his body with undisguised admiration. “I didn’t know you had to be so strong to look at things under a microscope.”

“I spend very little time looking under a microscope.”

“Hmm. Then what do you do?” she asked.

“Lots of things. Fly.”

“In space?”

He had to smile at her incredulous tone. “Sometimes.”

“You’re an astronaut.”

He should have been used to the way people were impressed by his occupation. After all, he’d exploited it enough times to fund his research. “I’m also a physicist and a space scientist for Jet Propulsion Laboratories, which works under NASA’s direct supervision.” He was also a JPL payload specialist and a principal investigator, which meant he was the department head, but listing all his various responsibilities always sounded so overwhelming and pretentious.

“Wow.” She smiled at him. “That explains the attitude.”

“Attitude?”

Her smile widened at his stiff tone. “Yeah, definitely attitude.”

“I don’t have -” He broke off when she laughed. No. He would not respond to her gibe. Not when it was obvious anything he said would only confirm her opinion about him.

“I guess they train you pretty hard when you go into space, don’t they?”

Again, he saw that heavy-lidded, sensuous stare, telling him she was as painfully aware of him as he was of her. He didn’t think that was a good thing, since he had no desire to be aware of her in the first place.

“Do you have to work out every day?”

“We do train hard,” he acknowledged, “but I’ve come up with a new addition for that training. Catching screaming females as they fall through the ceiling. The more you catch, the stronger you get.”

“You do have a sense of humor. Oh, I’m so glad,” she said with so much surprise, Hunter actually felt like laughing.

“It came with the doctorate.”

Again she laughed, and he found himself smiling along with her. It wasn’t often Hunter had such a casual conversation, even less often that he wanted to. It felt strange.

“I’m glad you can enjoy funny things.” She gave him an indecipherable glance. “It might help.”

“Help? With what?”

Slowly, she drew her pouty lower lip through her teeth. “Did I tell you I’m a bit… clumsy?”

“You didn’t have to,” he said wryly. “It’s obvious.”

“Well, then… you’ll appreciate how I managed to leave my freezer open last night. By accident, of course.” She flashed him a full smile. “It sort of defrosted.”

“It… defrosted?”

“By the time I woke up this morning, the kitchen floor had rotted right through.”

He stared at her.

“The good news is,” she continued brightly, “I now have a new peephole – right into your kitchen.”

He groaned. “You’re kidding.”

“You don’t happen to cook in the nude, do you?”

“Well, do you?” Trisha wanted to know, her eyes brimming with curiosity. “Cook in the nude?”

The damn woman actually looked hopeful! “No, of course not,” Hunter said curtly, picturing the new disaster she’d left for him to deal with. Did chaos follow her everywhere? Of course it did, she was Trisha Malloy, wasn’t she?

“Didn’t think you did.”

Her obvious disappointment had him shaking his head. She was incredible. And he was actually considering… No. It would be temporary only. Forget her huge, sad eyes. He’d find a way to break her lease. He’d buy her out if he had to.

“Well, I’ve got to be off to the shop,” Trisha announced.