Jill Shalvis - The Harder They Fall

Beneath the bikini lay a soft, creamy ivory chemise, delicately lined in fine lace – with snaps at the crotch.

His every muscle tightened.

In a rare but fatally stupid move, he’d kissed Trisha Malloy. And she’d kissed him back, with such breath-stopping, sweet-tasting hunger that he got hard just thinking about it. No denying it, a dangerous attraction existed between them, dangerous because he had no intention of acting on it

A woman was the last thing his life needed, especially a woman so opposite himself as Trisha. He hoped she felt the same way. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he knew women tended to think very differently than he did.

Didn’t he have two ex-fiancées to prove that?

He had no need for a woman, other than for the obvious, quick diversion, and only then with someone equally uninterested in any sort of permanence. He ran across that sort of woman surprisingly often in the sophisticated circle of acquaintances associated with the lab. Understated, elegant, intelligent, and wealthy in their own right, they often provided entertainment as well as funding for his projects.

Trisha Malloy was not that sort of woman. He’d seen the flash of intelligence in her eyes, but nothing about her was understated or wealthy. And as for elegant… he glanced down at the scrap of leather still in his fingers.

The sudden blare of music had him dropping the bikini.

Then came her soft, musical voice, the only voice in his history that could make his insides tighten in anticipation.

“Looking for me?” she wanted to know.

Hunter whirled to face Trisha. At the sight of her, his mouth went dry and his greeting croaked out, going unheard over the roar of the music.

Her hair had gone wild in the light wind, the long wavy brown strands flying everywhere. Neatly encased in a body-hugging black dress that showed off her every sensuous curve, she swayed gently to the beat of the music. “How’s it going up here?” she asked with a secret little smile.

“I – uh…” Oh, great. He’d lost his ability to form a complete sentence. “Fine,” he managed.

“Doesn’t look like you’ve done much.”

“I had to buy supplies and discuss the problem with a contractor.”

“When does he start?”

“Who?” He just wouldn’t look at her; that should keep his brain functioning.

“The contractor,” she said patiently. “When will he get here?”

“ I’m going to fix this floor.”

“You?”

She looked annoyingly incredulous. “It’s just a matter of following procedures.”

“Which, I imagine, you’re good at.”

Another jab, but this one offered with a sweet little smile that addled his brain. “I can do this,” he said more stiffly than he intended.

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Tell me.”

“Fine. I just didn’t think you were going to attempt this by yourself. In fact, I think I’m better suited for this than you.”

“You?” He laughed when she nodded her head. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a walking disaster area!” He crossed his arms in a gesture he recognized as ridiculously childish. Dropping them purposely, he said with forced calm, “I’m not going to let you handle the construction here.”

“Why? Because I’m female? Or because I don’t have a Ph.D.?”

“Neither,” Hunter said, taking note of the sudden coolness in her tone.

“Why, then?”

“Because you have a habit of creating chaos in everything you do.”

She ignored him and danced into the kitchen.

Her perfectly showcased rear continued to rock to the beat of the music as she surveyed the mess her refrigerator had made of the floor. Hunter slammed his hands into his pockets and studied the ceiling.

He would not, no matter what, kiss her mouth again.

It would be the death of him. She represented everything he couldn’t deal with; lack of control, recklessness, frivolous behavior – he wouldn’t be able to take it.

If only her eyes, and the intelligence he caught behind them, didn’t draw him so. “Trisha.”

“Can’t hear you,” she sang out, still refusing to look at him.

He spun her around gently, then backed her to the counter, bracketing her hips. Beneath his hands, he felt nothing but warm, soft woman, which made concentration difficult, but he had to get his point across. “For the record, I never said anything about you not having a Ph.D. That doesn’t matter to me.” Unable to help himself, he pulled her flush against him just to feel more of her, telling himself he had to hold her to keep her still.

Her sigh just about undid him. “So it’s because I’m a woman?”

He dipped his head to her neck, dragging his open mouth lightly down her throat and over her shoulder, taking her weight when her knees buckled. “I never said that either.” Lord, she felt good, so right in his arms. Her hands ran over his skin so gently, he nearly moaned at the contact.

For that interminable moment he forgot to resist her, forgot he didn’t want this. Then she lifted her head and looked at him, really looked at him, as if she could see into the farthest recesses of his mind.

With a perceptiveness that shocked him, she said quietly, “I want you and I know you want me. What makes this wrong is the fact that you don’t want to want me.”

Hunter went still, but didn’t break eye contact. He couldn’t because he was inexplicably drawn by the despair he saw reflected in her gaze. Without thinking, he tightened his grip on her, wanting to comfort.

“You can’t break my lease,” she whispered, pushing out from between him and the counter. “I won’t leave.”

“Did I say anything about your lease?”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Let’s get the floor fixed first,” he suggested.

He was patronizing her, putting her off, and nothing could have infuriated her more. She straightened, pride nearly choking her. “I told you, I can fix this floor. And since I ruined it -”

“Fine. We’ll both fix it,” he said, eyebrows creased as if deep in thought. “I’ll need more than two hands.”

Trisha crossed her arms and glared at him, trying to forget the feel of his chest beneath her fingers, the warm, resilient skin that covered surprisingly tough muscle. “How condescending of you! First you insinuate that I couldn’t possibly do the job, now you’re saying you’ll allow me to help you?”

He grimaced and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Ouch. Did I say all that?”

“Yes!”

He sighed. “All right. We’ll work as equals. Does that work for you?”

“Yes. Fine.”

“Fine,” he repeated. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

“Because you say so?”

“Because,” he said, his patience clearly gone, “it’s too late to start tonight. Do you think you can manage to keep all the other floors in the place intact until then?”

Trisha opened her mouth to retort, then realized that they’d been practically shouting to hear each other over the music.

She moved into the living room and flicked at the volume control just as Hunter followed her, yelling, “And when we do fix it, we’ll do it my way or -”

As his voice echoed loudly into the now-silent living room, he blinked in surprise. Trisha laughed at the discomfort on his face. “We’ll do it your way or what?”

“Or… Oh, hell.” His glance was wry, self-deprecating. “You drive me crazy.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” she noted dryly, hiding the sting his words caused. This was what she’d fought to win her freedom for? To be stuck with a neighbor who reminded her daily of her failings? No, thank you. Right then and there she’d have called him prim and proper, just for the pleasure of riling him again, except for one little thing.