The Harder They Fall

Twelve

Luckily for Trisha’s life, driving had become second nature. Her thoughts, far from the road, raced. She felt exhausted and bone-deep weary, both from too many emotions and too little sleep.

But suddenly things seemed different, less dire. Even more surprising, she felt so strangely light, so amazingly unburdened. Nothing had been resolved, and certainly Hunter could still decide to sell the duplex and walk right out of her life, but the weight of her past didn’t seem so overwhelming anymore.

For some reason, having Hunter say the horrors out loud had put things in a less painful perspective. The past could no longer hurt her. The only thing that could do that now would be Hunter walking away before they even started.

What was and could be between them held her thoughts now, and she instinctively knew, if Hunter let it, it would be the best thing that had ever happened to her.

She opened Leather and Lace, having beat Celia in for the first time all week. She flipped on the lights, the heater, and some music before settling herself to open her new shipment. She stared down into the box, stunned.

The local distributor she’d used was not new. In fact, they used him frequently, and often the shipments came with bonus items as a thank-you for the business. This shipment, given what had caught her eye, was no exception.

She’d gotten a bonus, all right.

Just then Celia walked into the shop, her hair a startling platinum blond. “Hey, sweetie. I’ve been worried sick. I called all night and -” She broke off. “You look like hell. Face drawn and stressed and – are you laughing?”

“Yes,” Trisha said, shaking with it. “But not at you. Come in here and look at this stuff. And don’t remind me that I’m mad at you. We’ll discuss that whole issue later.”

“But why didn’t you return my calls? I was worried -”

“Celia, what the hell is this for?” From the box in front of her, she pulled out a leather whip.

Celia let out a startled laugh as she studied their new stock. “Why did you order that?”

“I didn’t, and in case you’re interested, I had my hands full with the man you decided to spill my guts to. Thanks a lot, by the way.”

“He deserved to know, Trisha. He looked sick, thinking he’d done something to set you off.”

“Well, he did.” Trisha dug deeper into the box, past a chain-link bra-and-panty set. “He’s thinking about selling the duplex, but I suppose you figured that out by yourself.”

“Trisha.” Celia laid a hand on her arm. “I think he’s as scared as you are.”

“Of what?”

“Your feelings for each other.”

Trisha dropped a selection of silk scarves and looked at her friend. “I’m not afraid.”

“You’re both scared silly and you know it. He wants to run like hell, yet he can’t because he wants to stay at the same time. It’s like going on a date in quicksand, you know?”

“Great. Now you tell me.” Trisha rolled her eyes. “I have a date with him in the deepest, wettest quicksand you’ve ever seen – tonight.”

Celia smiled. “Bring these.” She pulled out several beautiful scarves. “You can always tie each other up so neither one of you can run.”

Trisha laughed, a little uneasily. “I don’t think he planned on asking me out, not really.” This was the embarrassing part, but what the heck, she couldn’t humiliate herself more than she already had the day before. “I sort of corralled him into it, to tell you the truth.”

“Then you’ll really need these.” She dropped the scarves into Trisha’s lap. “Hold him hostage until he admits his feelings.”

She’d need more than silk to hold that man down. As huge and powerful as he was, she couldn’t imagine anyone keeping him against his will.

“Oh, good Lord, is that a – it is.” Gingerly, Celia reached into the box and lifted a wooden paddle. “Wow. Heavy thing, isn’t it? What did you want this for, besides the obvious, I mean.”

Trisha had to laugh at the speculative look Celia gave the paddle as she weighed it carefully in her hand. “I didn’t order these things. They came extra. And oh, my God – look at this.” She held up a pair of handcuffs.

“Oooh,” Celia said, convulsing with laughter. “Give me a pair. I’ve got a date tonight, too, and he’s willing as hell.”

“You’re sick.” But for the next half hour they pulled out an assortment of sex toys, giggling and snorting hysterically like a pair of schoolgirls.

They laughed all the harder when their first customer appeared, caught a look at some of the devices in the box, and wanted to know how much they cost.

All in all, it was a surprisingly good day, made all the better for Trisha when she got home and still no “For Sale” sign had been posted.

Feeling generous toward the world, and more than a little smug since she’d had a stellar day at the store, her mood was light It would have been even lighter if she’d remembered to stop at the post office to mail back her shipment of wicked toys, but oh well.

Organization was not a strong suit.

Before she got out of the car, she twisted in her seat to grab the box in question, unwilling to leave it in her car overnight. Just her luck, they’d get stolen and she’d have to report a list of missing sex toys.

Laughing a little at herself, Trisha went inside her apartment. Not messy, yet far from spotless, it definitely had that lived-in look. Books and magazines littered the coffee table, but why clean them up before she’d finished reading them? In the middle of the chaos lay Duff, fast asleep on his back, spread-eagled.

“Just like a man,” she told him, scratching his belly until he awoke to rub his head affectionately against her.

With over an hour to kill before her so-called date with Hunter, and her mood so light and unexpectedly carefree, she looked around for something fun to do. “I need to try something different,” she said aloud as she raided her disarrayed hall closet.

Duff followed curiously.

“Something challenging, something fun. Something that I won’t have to think about. They’re in here somewhere… ah, here they are.”

Triumphantly, she held up a pair of Rollerblades. She’d purchased them several months before and had never quite gathered the nerve to try them. She had that nerve now. “Hey,” she said to a clearly startled Duff, “anyone who can sort through that box of sensual stimulators can certainly learn to Rollerblade.”

Duff stared at her doubtfully and walked away. With a shrug, Trisha padded herself up and headed out. On the driveway she carefully put on the skates and took a deep breath.

Wobbling, she headed down the slight slope. At the bottom of the driveway, as if standing watch, sat Duff. As she headed toward him, gathering momentum, she waved her arms and murmured, “Oh, dear.”

Gaining more speed, she yelled, “Move, Duff!”

He crouched, but because of his complete faith in Trisha, he didn’t move.

“Get out of the way!” she called to him, wildly waving her arms now, ankles trembling with the effort to stay upright.

Too chicken to fall on the ground, and even more afraid to keep going, Trisha did the only sensible thing.

She closed her eyes and screamed.

Duff screamed back and, at the last instant, raced up the closest tree.

Trisha, not as lucky, crashed directly into the trunk of the tree, which rained leaves and twigs down onto her.

It took her a minute to regain her senses, and while she was doing so, she lay still on the sidewalk, sprawled gracelessly on her back, her eyes closed from the brightness of the setting sun. A mental inventory told her nothing was broken – except her pride.

A car engine revved close by, then the vehicle pulled into the driveway a little recklessly. The door slammed, footsteps slapped on the ground as they ran to her.

Leather shoes, Trisha reflected, her eyes still closed. Which meant only one person she could think of. She braced herself for the impact of that incredible voice.

“My God, Trisha.” It was low and concerned, and every bit as sexy as she remembered. She heard his knees hit the ground beside her, pictured the new holes in his pants, and marveled at the amount of dry-cleaning damages she owed this man.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he demanded as his large, gentle hands touched her.

Hysterical laughter threatened. Blading definitely was not one of those things that was as easy as it looked.

“You’re crazy,” he muttered, his fingers skimming down the backs of her legs. “Absolutely bonkers. Which makes me bonkers. God, Trisha. Say something.”

That’s when the giggles hit her – the kind that couldn’t be subdued.

“Please talk to me.” His hands shifted to her arms, carefully checking each limb, each joint. “You’re shaking.”

Yeah, she was shaking, she was laughing so hard she couldn’t talk. Would she ever stop making a fool of herself in front of him? Unable to help herself, she continued to choke on laughter until her ribs ached. Images came to her, of all the idiotic things she’d recently done – falling into his arms while he’d been going to the bathroom, ruining the kitchen floor, accidentally setting off the fire alarm. She remembered the indescribable expression on his face that night as the sound of approaching fire trucks interrupted their lovemaking.

Hunching herself into a ball and grabbing her stomach, she let loose with another round of laughter.

Hunter swore, a little desperately. His hands, low on her back, obviously checking for broken ribs, stilled. “I don’t think anything’s broken,” he said in a hoarse voice. “But I’m calling an ambulance anyway.”

“No,” she gasped, getting ahold of herself with some effort. Lifting her head, she wiped her tears of mirth away. “Did you see it, Hunter? Did you see that terrific slide into the tree? Come on, admit it, I’m the most graceful person you know.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re – you’re laughing.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t be crying, not now.” She sniffed and ran a finger beneath her eye, checking. “My mascara is going to run before our date.”

“You’re laughing.” He shook his head. “I was sick… and you’re laughing.”

“You have to admit, it was pretty funny. I smashed into the tree at full speed.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Trisha, you’re going to be the death of me, I swear it.” He swiped a hand hard over his face. “Did you know you just about gave me a heart attack? I’m cruising down the street and I see you slam yourself face-first into a tree. God.” He rubbed his chest and she suddenly cheered even more.

“You care about me,” she said, grinning from ear to ear.

He looked at her, shaking his head. “I have absolutely no idea why. I’ve never been so attracted to someone who laughed at me constantly.”

So attracted. Her heart soared at the telling words, but she faked a wince. “That tree… was pretty hard,” she said softly, wrinkling her forehead as if in sudden pain. “I think I’m feeling… dizzy.”

He looked at her doubtfully. “Are you?”

“Yeah. Real dizzy.” For effect, she swooned a little.

Though he dropped the doubtful act, he clearly saw right through her. Still, he opened his arms. She went willingly, sighing as they folded around her with delicious strength and warmth. He pulled her close and she ducked her face under his chin, pressing against his throat and neck, inhaling deeply.

“Trisha?”

“Hmm?” She was in heaven.

“You’re not hurting one little bit, are you?”

“No. Not really,” she murmured, hugging him close. His arms tightened imperceptibly.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” he demanded in a low whisper. “And you’re slowly driving me into that same state.”

“I gave you an out,” she whispered. “I told you to stay out of my life, but you didn’t listen.”

“I’m going to live to regret that decision, believe me. But later, not now.” His head dipped down, a fraction of an inch from her lips, and her heart started beating hard and fast in anticipation.

“Just a date,” she said softly. “It’s just one little date.” But oh, she wanted so much, much more. “You can handle that, can’t you?”

His lips met hers in answer.

“Mew.”

She’d forgotten Duff. Pulling back with dismay, Trisha glanced upward at a second, more pitiful cry. “Oh, no, Duff. I’m sorry, boy. Come down here.”

Hunter rose spryly and shook his head as the badly frightened cat backed higher up the tree. “He’s not coming down, Trisha. He’s really scared.”

Trisha had gotten Duff the day she moved into her apartment. They were a team, a family, and she had to get him down safely. “Then I’ll have to go get him,” she declared, reaching her arms up for the lowest branch of the towering oak tree.

“You can’t do that.”

In exasperation, she turned to Hunter, who stared at her with a mixture of pique and sympathy. “Why not?”

“Because you’re still wearing Rollerblades.”

That was easily fixed, and she bent to unlace them, but he pulled her back up. “No way. You’ll likely kill yourself on my property. Come on now, move.” He set her aside and reached for the branch.

“You’re going to get him?” she asked.

“Yes.” With weary resignation, he shoved up the sleeves of his shirt. He hauled himself up that first branch with a lithe ease that startled her. Before her eyes, he nimbly climbed the tree, reaching Duff in less than a minute.

It took a great deal of balance, and more than a few muttered curses when a frightened Duff lashed out with razor-sharp claws, but Hunter finally managed to coax the cat into his arms and down the tree.

Trisha grabbed Duff, hugging and kissing the humiliated cat before letting him go. She raised shiny, grateful eyes to Hunter, looking so lovely, his breath caught.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, beaming.

She still wore her helmet and pads, though she’d removed her skates. When he thought about her crash into the tree, and how serious it could have been, his heart rate sped up. Or maybe it raced in reaction to the way she was looking at him.

Heat filled her gaze as he watched, and again his heart reacted. Definitely the way she looked at him, he decided. Which didn’t make it any easier to accept. He didn’t want to be affected by this woman.

He could control this. He didn’t have to feel this way.

Oh, sure. And he didn’t need air to stay alive either. “Promise me you aren’t going to ride hell-bent for leather down that driveway again.”

“At least not until I learn how to brake,” she said solemnly, lifting her hand in promise as she looked at him. Then she gasped. “You’re hurt. Oh, I’m sorry.” She grabbed his arm and carefully pushed up the sleeve, which had fallen over several nasty, bleeding cuts.

Her hair fell over him, smelling clean and flowery. Her warm breath tickled his skin. Her concerned murmur made him feel more wanted and cared for than he’d felt in a long time. He was falling for her, he realized, quite hopelessly. And right then and there he knew he had to get away, now, before things got any further out of control.

Trisha lifted her head and smiled gently at him.

Run, he thought. Run now.

“Come inside,” she said. “Let’s clean these up.”

Before his brain could protest, his feet had taken over, following Trisha up the stairs.

There were more than just a few cuts, Hunter realized as Trisha led him down the hallway of her apartment. Each of them had made itself known by the time she’d sat him down in her bathroom and pulled out a first-aid kit.

As she dabbed antiseptic on his arm, carefully watching his face for any sign of pain, she asked, “You okay?”

“It’s just a few cat scratches, Trisha. I’ll live.” But the ones on his chest, the ones she hadn’t yet discovered, were burning like wildfire. “I’ll just go downstairs and shower and change,” he said casually, but she put a hand to his searing chest to stop him.

He couldn’t control his wince.

“Wait a minute.” She reached for the buttons on his shirt.

Grabbing her fingers, he said, “I’m fine. Let me just-”

“Hunter,” she said quietly, moving from his side to stand between his outstretched legs. “The blood is starting to seep through your shirt – oh, Hunter,” she breathed, gingerly pulling the material sticking to his skin. She leaned close and peered down his shirt.

Her wild hair dusted his face, the scent of her teased his nostrils. She stood between his tensed thighs. Seemingly of their own volition, his hands came up to bracket her hips. At the unexpected contact she started, and stared at him, mouth open slightly as if she could hardly breathe.

“Duff got you good,” she whispered unsteadily.

“Trisha,” he said, just as unevenly, “let me up.” He’d clean himself up in his own place, knowing if he let her touch him, he’d lose his already very tenuous grip on his control.

Just a date, he reminded himself. One little date.

But her nimble fingers again reached for the buttons on his shirt, releasing them one at a time. When she freed the last one, she spread the material wide, exposing the expanse of his chest to her gaze.

She drew a sharp breath.

In spite of the considerable discomfort of four bright, deep gouges running from collarbone to belly button, his body tightened uncontrollably. The air around them hummed with the charge of sexual excitement.

“Oh, my,” she whispered, not looking at the scratches, but at him. Her breath quickened.

And his body tightened further, making his trousers damned uncomfortable. “Nothing you haven’t seen before,” he tried to quip, but his throat was suddenly parched, and his voice croaked.

“It was dark last time.” She laid a hand on him, a warm, caressing hand, and his fingers convulsed on her hips. “Hunter, you’re so beautiful.”

He let out a sound, half laugh, half groan, then hissed when she swiped at the nasty scratches with the antiseptic. “That hurt worse than the damn thing did in the first place.”

“I’m sorry.” She pushed his shirt the rest of the way off his shoulders and continued to minister to him. “Hunter, about tonight -” She stopped and moistened her lips.

“What about it?”

“I… don’t want it to be just a date.”

“What do you want it to be?”

“More.” Everything she felt swam in those eyes and quite suddenly, his heart skipped a beat. “So much more,” she whispered.

Something close to panic overwhelmed him. He’d been down this road before, with women much more suited to him than the almost desperately wild Trisha Malloy. “I can’t.”

“Why? I might make a mess of things sometimes, and maybe drive you crazy once in a while, but I’d never demand things from you like your family does, I promise.”

God, he didn’t want to hurt her. But better now than later. “I’ve told you, it’s not you. It’s me. I -”

“If it’s fear of getting hurt,” she said in a hushed voice, “I’d never desert you at the altar. Or anytime, for that matter.”

“I… just can’t.”

She glanced down at his lap. Confusion clouded her eyes as she obviously wondered why he couldn’t, when his body seemed so willing. “It’s not me you want?”

Unwanted tenderness washed over him. “It’s not that simple, Trisha.”

“Yes, it is. You either want me or you don’t.”

“You can see that I do,” he said tightly.

“No,” she denied. “I can see that you’re hard, impressively so, by the way, but I don’t know that it’s for me.”

He didn’t want it to be for her. God, he didn’t. The last thing he needed right now was to be betrayed by his own raging libido. “I’ve let things go on like this for too long. I should have said something before.”

“About what?”

“I should have warned you,” he said, wanting to kick himself. “Especially when we agreed to go out. But I can’t… I don’t…” Hell. “A date is all I can offer you,” he said finally. “Anything more is out of the question.”

“Why?”

Again, she glanced down at his hardness, clearly confused, and he wanted to groan and laugh at the same time. She thought he was telling her he couldn’t have sex, but he was trying to tell her that a relationship was out of the question. He just didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“If you have problems,” she said carefully, slowly, obviously measuring each and every word. “We’ll get around it”

“No,” he said. “We can’t.”

Her stubborn gaze met his. “Surely you can’t think I’m out just for the physical aspect of a relationship. I’m vain, but not that vain, I hope.”

He wanted to laugh, but this was too important. “It has nothing to do with that,” he said. “I’m -” He glanced down at his tented trousers. “I’m functioning perfectly fine.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed.

“Tonight was a mistake,” he said gently. “I thought I could handle just the one date, but I can’t.”

“So take two.” A sweet smile crossed her face. “Or three.”

How was he supposed to resist her? “Trisha, this is difficult, the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, but -”

“No.” Biting her lip, suddenly awkward, she set down the antiseptic bottle and backed away from him.

He rose, needing to explain, but she lifted a hand to ward him off. “How dense I am,” she said with a little mirthless laugh. “You’ve been trying to explain this to me and I just keep missing the point.”

“No,” he said firmly. “It’s my fault.”

“Gallant to the end. Well, let me make it easier for you,” she whispered. “I’ll go. Excuse me.” She ran from the room.

While he appreciated the great rear view of her biker shorts as she left the room – and what they covered as well – it didn’t tell him a thing about the woman. Or how badly he’d hurt her.

Rising, he followed her into her bedroom, where she paced with nervous energy. “Trisha?”

“I’m sorry.” She whirled to face him, her hands clasped behind her back.

“You’ve already said that. It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, I mean I’m sorry for this.” Before he realized what she was doing, she’d come forward, taken one of his hands in hers.

Something clicked and cold metal hit his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” she said once more as he stared down at his wrist in utter surprise.

She’d handcuffed his left hand to the footboard of her bed.