The Harder They Fall

Fifteen

She dreamed of Hunter that night, dreamed of his fathomless green eyes, of his sweet, yet wicked smile, of the intensity that always simmered just beneath his surface.

She dreamed of his incredible mouth on hers, soft at first, then more seductive. Her body reacted, arched up against the bedding… and came in contact with a warm, hard, strong body.

“It’s me,” he said in a husky whisper, startling her fully awake.

Hunter.

In the silvery light she saw his face, saw the tense lines of fear and need warring with good sense.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” he said softly.

He wore only a T-shirt and sweatpants. Kneeling by the bed, he leaned close and dipped his mouth to the frantically racing pulse at the base of her neck, then groaned at his first taste of her. “God, Trisha, don’t… I don’t think I can stand it if you… Please, don’t make me go.”

As if she could.

“Trisha?”

In answer, she moved back and made room. He lay down in the warm space, half covering her body with his own, the blankets still between them. His powerful arms shook slightly as he drew her to him.

“I dreamed you were gone,” he whispered raggedly. “I had to come make sure.”

“I thought you were gone.”

In her arms, he shivered, though he felt warm to the touch. “I tried to go.” He pulled her tighter. “Couldn’t.”

He expected her to leave him. He’d been waiting for it, so sure he would be left once again. In fact, he’d done everything in his power to chase her away, to ensure that she would go. Well, she thought with a deep breath, this test was about to come to an end.

“I’m here,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m right here.”

“I can’t stop thinking of you… of what you do to me.” He untied his sweats and drew her hand inside to his very solid erection. “I need you, Trisha. So much.” He moaned when she stroked him. “God. Please.”

She murmured, knowing she could no more refuse him than stop breathing. With a sigh of relief, he stripped off his shirt, pulled the covers back from between them. At the sight of her, he let out a strangled breath.

She was naked.

“I didn’t finish my laundry,” she said inanely, thinking she needed to explain why she’d chosen to sleep in the buff. “And -”

“You’re so beautiful.” His hands cupped the soft curves of her breasts, a sound of pure male satisfaction coming from deep in his throat when he found the tips hard and pebbly. “Last time you took care of me.” His lips kissed their way over her collarbone. “This time it’s for you. All for you.”

She wanted to deny that, wanted it to be for him, too, but then his lips replaced his fingers, slowly surrounding her breasts, and she couldn’t speak at all, much less think.

His talented fingers didn’t stay idle, but worked their way down her belly with featherlight strokes, making her shiver with anticipation. “Hunter…”

“Shhh,” he murmured against her skin. “Just feel.”

Then he drew her nipple hard into his mouth at the same instant as he slipped a finger inside her, and she had to bite back her scream, writhing against the bed.

“No.” Lifting his head, he whispered roughly, “Don’t hold back, Trisha. I want it all.” Then he tugged rhythmically on her with his mouth, his fingers matching the motions below.

Arching back, she fisted her hands in the sheets. The sharp, searing need stunned her. It rained over her in waves, and she knew it wasn’t just her, that Hunter felt it too. He trembled with it.

“Let go,” he whispered again, his thumb brushing against the very core of her.

Utterly incapable of fighting it any longer, she let herself go with a soft cry he immediately swallowed with his mouth.

“Yes,” he whispered triumphantly, shifting lower, lower, then lower still. His hands were everywhere. His teeth nipped her inner thigh, and she squirmed and pushed to get closer, to rush him, to ease the insane renewed need. He just held her down gently with his arms, then splayed her legs wide, his nimble, deft tongue tracing over her knowingly.

“Hunter.” It was all she could manage, and even then, it came out more like a muffled sob. He explored her slowly, relentlessly, with a thoroughness that left her gasping, each nerve and muscle clenched tight, trembling, waiting, wanting. So close, so desperately close.

Then he stopped.

“Not yet,” he panted, rearing up to shuck his sweats. “I want to be inside you when you come again.” He shuddered as he came back to her, his hips moving rhythmically.

With torturous slowness, he sank into her. Steel into wet velvet, and she rocked against him, desperate now for more.

“Don’t move,” he gasped, dropping his forehead to hers, gripping her hips to hold her still. “I want – slow. I want this to last. God, don’t move… I can’t -”

“Hunter,” she cried out, lifting her hips. She couldn’t keep still, tried but just couldn’t. That she’d reduced this strong man to a trembling mass of muscle empowered her. Moving against him, she sucked in her breath at the surge of dangerous heat, the unleashed hunger. “Now, please, now.”

His control was slipping, she knew that by the fierce concentration on his face. She strove to shatter the rest and took his mouth with hers.

He groaned, but still didn’t move.

She expected the slap of fear, knew it stemmed from the strength of her love for him, from her knowledge that he wouldn’t allow himself to return that love.

She just didn’t expect him to feel the fear too.

He went stiff in her arms, his face drawn and tormented. “No,” he said hoarsely, levering himself up. “I shouldn’t have come. Dammit, I shouldn’t have come.”

Her fear was nothing compared with his, she thought with a burst of raw emotion that stung her eyes. “Yes, you should have. I’m right here, Hunter. Love me.”

His eyes, shimmering with a bleak despair, met hers.

He was going to refuse, and she couldn’t allow it. Lifting her legs around his waist, she pulled him back to her, met his mouth for a long, drugging, fervent kiss. “I’m right here,” she whispered again, clutching his wide, damp shoulders. “I’m right here.”

With a groan, he scooped her close and whispered her name hoarsely, driving himself into her, shattering them both as they shared a drenching, volcanic climax.

She awoke to a blaring alarm clock, the bright sun, and the noisy chirping of birds.

Jerking upright, Trisha stared at her room, trying to get her bearings. She was alone, and if it hadn’t been for the sweet ache between her thighs, she might have thought she’d dreamed the entire night.

She might as well have, for all the good it would do her. Obviously, Hunter Adams had decided she wasn’t worth the possible pain, and she had only herself to blame if her heart broke now.

On the other side of her room, her alarm still blared, and given that it was nearly ten o’clock, she had to assume the thing had been blaring for nearly three hours.

How could she have slept that way?

Easy – exhaustion, mental and physical.

Her quick shower didn’t help much, nor did Celia’s amused, knowing glance when Trisha dashed into the store, hours late.

“You had a delivery this morning,” Celia said casually. “It’s on your desk.”

Trisha nodded reluctantly, wondering what crazy shipment she’d received today. Without much energy, she moved toward her office.

She’d tried to prepare herself for the realization that Hunter couldn’t handle love, but she hadn’t been successful. It still hurt. But the truth remained; no matter how patient she was, he just wouldn’t allow himself to feel.

She told herself it was okay to grieve, but that she had to move on. Had to, or she’d never get over it. She’d been hurt before, by people who did claim to love her, so this shouldn’t have come as such a big surprise.

What did come as a surprise was the single red rose on her desk with the card that simply read, The house is not for sale.

Trisha stared at the card with hands that suddenly didn’t seem steady. What did this mean? Obviously, Hunter had turned down the offer, taken the house off the market.

But why?

For once, Trisha’s mind strayed far from the store as she worked. Would he come to her bed tonight?

If he did, would she let him?

She thought of the tortured glaze to his eyes, of the tension in his glorious body, of the aching emotion in his voice, and knew she would. The ravenous, dark hunger they shared for each other, the way he wrung things from her no one else ever had… Oh, yes. She’d have him again if he wanted. She’d do anything to ease his anguish.

Though it was the night when she and Celia always went out for dinner and a movie, Celia sent her home, saying she looked like she needed sleep.

Trisha needed something all right, only it wasn’t sleep.

Walking up her stairs, she paused with a frown when she found her front door locked. She never locked it, and not because she didn’t care about her apartment. She left it open because she could so rarely find her key.

It couldn’t have been a burglar. One, she had nothing of value to take, and two, what kind of a thief locked up after himself?

It took her more than a minute to locate the nearly forgotten key in her huge, overstuffed purse. Then, still frowning, she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Silence. Slightly messy, just as she had left it.

Duff sat on the couch, waiting, and she sighed, her body relaxing. “Hi, sweetie. It’s so nice to have you here when I get home.” She dumped her purse and sank down next to him. He crawled onto her lap with a low purr, rubbed his face against her, then settled down for a petting.

“You love me,” she whispered, choking up. “It’s enough for me. It is.”

She hunched over him, hugging him close, soaking in the unconditional love that only an animal can provide. “Thanks.” She smiled. “This self-pity thing really has to go. I’m fine. My life is fine.”

Yeah. Everything was just peachy.

Then she heard it. A small, unidentifiable noise from down the hall that made her freeze.

With Duff right there on the couch next to her, there was no reason for a noise, and she remained tense on the couch for a long moment. Finally, she shrugged lightly, stroking the sleek cat. “Oh, Duff.” She laughed. “My nerves are shot.”

But a minute later she heard the noise again – the distinct sound of her bedsprings. She stiffened, glancing at Duff, who merely licked his chops and proceeded to wash his face.

With a snort of disgust for her feline watchdog, she slowly rose, listening. Nothing.

Duff didn’t so much as raise a single hair.

Just her overworked imagination, that’s all.

Shrugging out of the blazer she wore, she stretched, then shivered. The early evening had gotten chilly, and her sleeveless lace shell wasn’t nearly warm enough. Sweats, she decided. Glamourless, baggy sweats, and a big bowl of popcorn. No, make that chocolate, and lots of it.

But she came to a dead stop in the doorway of her bedroom, speechless.

Sprawled across her bed, wearing nothing but a lazy grin and her handcuffs, lay Hunter.