The Harder They Fall

Five

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.

No one prim and proper could possibly kiss with as much talent as Dr. Hunter Adams possessed. “Does everything have to be your way, Dr. Adams?”

Frowning, he crossed his arms. “You like to be contrary.”

“Yeah, I do.” It was a wonderful defense, as was sarcasm. It usually held most people sufficiently at bay, but not this man. “Just like you like to be in control.”

He raked his fingers through his blond military-cut hair, looking frustrated. The way it stuck up only made him more attractive. “Control is a good thing,” he told her grimly, as if he were trying to convince himself. He moved to the door. “A very good thing.”

As he started to shut it behind him she smiled wickedly and called out, “If you’re going to cook breakfast in the nude tomorrow, will you knock on the walls so I don’t miss it?”

His shoulders went tense, and his face, just before the door covered it, was entertainingly dark.

She waited for the slam of the wood.

But he cheated her, shutting it very quietly.

Trisha saved Sundays to rejuvenate herself. After six fast-paced days, she needed peace. Oh, she loved the shop, wouldn’t consider giving it up. But the worries and stress that came with running her own business never faded.

To please herself, she never rose before ten o’clock. This was mostly a reaction to the way her aunt Hilda had made her rise at the crack of dawn to go to mass and pray for her “wild” soul.

So when a knock came at her door at six A.M., Trisha merely groaned, flopped over, and covered her head with a pillow.

No way would she get up. That delivery – or whatever it was – would simply have to wait. Or better yet, go away.

“Come on, sleepyhead, you’ve got a floor to repair with me this morning.”

No. It couldn’t be. Her brain was just playing some sick sort of joke on her.

“I even brought you coffee as a peace offering.”

Good Lord, it was. She would recognize that voice anywhere, even before sunrise on a Sunday morning. She swore – quite unladylike.

He made a sound that passed for a laugh, assuring her it wasn’t a nightmare. Not him, not this morning, she thought. Not when she felt too groggy to deal with him properly. “Go away,” she said succinctly.

“Can’t do that.” The bed sank at her hip. The heat from his body warmed hers. “You promised to help me.”

Trisha burrowed deeper and wished she’d bolted the top lock of her front door. “It’s not even daylight yet!”

“This is the best time of the day. I’ve already run three miles and showered,” he claimed with sickening cheer.

He jogged? God save her from frisky scientists. “Bully for you. Go run another three.”

“I guess you’re not much of a morning person.”

“Good guess.”

His big hand settled into the middle of her back, jolting her from lazy contentment into sharp awareness. She knew he must have felt her sudden rigidity by the tone of his next words. “What’s the matter?” he asked innocently. “Didn’t you sleep well?”

No, damn him. His deep green eyes and all the mysteries behind them had haunted her well into the night. She pressed the pillow tighter on her head. “I can’t believe you used the key I gave you to come in here like this. I’m changing my locks.”

“I like to be in control, remember?”

She offered him a not very polite suggestion about what he could do with that control and where he could take it.

Hunter made a noise that again sounded suspiciously like a laugh. But that couldn’t be, she thought from beneath her pillow, because he never laughed.

He tugged on the pillow. “Come on, get up. It’s not good for the body to lounge around in bed.”

In one fluid move, she jerked the pillow off her head and tried to smack him with it, but he easily warded off the blow, grabbed the pillow, and tossed it harmlessly to the floor. Then he grinned at her.

“My body is fine,” she grated.

His eyes darkened, and his mouth opened, but whatever he was going to say got smothered with her second pillow to his face.

He grunted at the impact.

“What if I hadn’t been alone in this bed?” she demanded.

With great care, he removed the pillow from his face and set it gently on her bed. She had no idea where the question had come from, but given the displeased look on his face, it was far too late to take it back.

What if she hadn’t been alone? The very idea was a joke – she was always alone. That’s how she wanted it, with only herself to answer to. No rules.

“If you hadn’t been alone,” Hunter said quietly, his face completely void of expression as he leaned over her, “then I guess I’d have two helpers – I mean co-workers – in fixing that floor.”

She snorted, sat up, and shoved him off the bed. “Next time, knock.”

With a natural agility, he caught his balance and rose. “I’m hoping there isn’t a next time.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning if you’d stop destroying this place, I wouldn’t have to keep fixing it.”

Trisha hated being clumsy. She also hated doing stupid things, but she tended to being the one and doing the other because she often acted without thinking things through. Impulsive, she thought with disgust. And she had yet to learn how to curb her insatiable curiosity. It was what had caused her to fall out of the hole in the bathroom into Hunter’s very capable arms in the first place, and it was what had caused her to defrost her refrigerator in the middle of the night because she couldn’t sleep and didn’t feel like reading.

But as much as she hated her own faults, she hated having them pointed out to her even more. “Maybe you should think twice about moving in downstairs. I could be dangerous to your health.”

“No doubt. But you’re not that lucky.”

“You’re taking your chances,” she said a little desperately. “I could set the place on fire next.”

He ignored her. Silently, he headed to her bedroom door, his body gliding smoothly, easily. Apparently, the man did indeed own a pair of jeans, and they were something. Snug and faded, they fit him like a glove, hugging his lean hips, his powerful thighs, those long legs. So did the T-shirt he wore, the one that revealed the sculpted arms that swung with elegant confidence as he walked.

Not fair, she thought to herself, not fair that a man as annoying as he was could have been given such innate grace, such fluidity of movement.

Where the hell was her stuffy scientist?

More sleep was what she needed, she decided as her body tingled with a yearning she didn’t want. Lots more sleep.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”

She cleared her throat, aware that she’d been staring at him walk away, her mouth open. But she didn’t want to get up still in a fog, and risk the chance that she might jump him in her still-sleepy state. “Why don’t you start without me,” she suggested hopefully, holding the sheet up to her chin.

He gave her a long, thorough look.

Trisha returned the even gaze, refusing even to think about what she must look like sans makeup, her hair rioting around her face.

“Start without you? I already did.” Now his lips curved slightly at the edges. “You missed the breakfast peep show.”

“You mean…?”

He nodded. “Yep. Made eggs and toast in the buff and you missed it.”

She didn’t believe him, of course. He was too proper for that. But a nagging sense of doubt held her, as did the dimple of humor tugging at the corner of his mouth. Could he have? That mouthwatering physique moving in all sorts of interesting ways as he worked a frying pan?

“Guess you’ll have to find a new hole to watch through,” he said casually. “I think I’ve developed a new habit.”

Her mouth dropped open as he shut the door.

It took her hours, hours of fetching and holding and generally being useless before Trisha dared to ask her first question of Hunter. “How come you didn’t just hire a contractor?”

Plaster dust coated his short hair, but instead of making him look ridiculous and juvenile, the white powder blended like silver hair would have, giving him an elegant air. All the more annoying, because Trisha had no doubts as far as her looks were concerned.

She looked like a wreck.

“I didn’t hire one because it wasn’t necessary,” he said patiently, inspecting the box of easy-set linoleum tiles they’d purchased. “I’m perfectly capable of doing this.”

On his knees in the kitchen, with a leather tool belt slung low on his hips, his T-shirt streaked with flooring compound, he definitely looked capable. But then again, Trisha suspected he would look capable doing just about anything. “Did you really cook eggs in the nude this morning?”

He didn’t even blink, nor did he stop what he was doing. “I don’t lie, Trisha.”

Maybe she would have to find a new peephole. “When was the last time you were up in space?”

“Two months ago.”

“What did you do up there?” she asked.

He sighed. “You’re just full of questions this morning, aren’t you?”

She grinned and shrugged. “I have this mean curiosity streak.”

“And I wondered how you got yourself into so much trouble.” He shook his head.

“Well? What did you do up there?”

He sighed again. “I was the payload specialist for the last space-shuttle mission.”

“What was the mission?”

“Mars. Our studies of the Martian analogue samples we obtained led us to some rather critical conclusions concerning meteorological phenomena on that planet.”

She stared at him and wondered if he’d spoken in English. “When do you go up again?”

“Maybe next year. I hope.”

Trisha thought of how wonderfully exciting his life must be. What a thrill it must give him to be doing important work for the space program. And how dangerous it was. “Do you ever get scared?”

Setting down the box of tiles, he looked at her. His expression was normally intense, focused, whether he was working or just walking, for that matter. But that concentration faded now as he focused on her. “Scared?” he repeated.

“Yeah. As in for your life.”

“Sometimes,” he said softly. “Being out there can get a little terrifying.”

“Being right here on Earth can get a little terrifying too.”

“I know.”

It unnerved Trisha that the man she thought of as stern and unbending could feel the same emotions she felt, emotions like fear, loneliness… need.

Unsettled and needing some distance, she rose from her stiff knees and crossed the floor to the table where she had set their drinks.

Hunter, remaining on his knees in front of the refrigerator, picked up the glue for the tile and began to read the directions. Duff came over to him, sniffing at the can. Without breaking his concentration, Hunter reached out and stroked the cat’s back.

Trisha stared at him, watching carefully for any sign that it was all an act. That he couldn’t possibly be pleased to be on his knees in her kitchen wasting away a Sunday because of her stupid mistake, that he couldn’t possibly enjoy having her cat crawl all over him.

But he wasn’t acting, he was just being. And it confused the hell out of her. Even when he was speaking to her in the low, dry tone that said he was annoyed – she knew he wasn’t really, but just naturally quiet. And the way he looked at her, his eyes all dark and serious and… hot. It took her breath away.

So why did he keep up the pretense of wanting his distance? He did have a sense of humor, a great one. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, he liked being with her.

And dammit, she wanted him to kiss her again. Setting down her drink, she asked, “What does your family think of your profession?”

“They try not to.”

“Not to what?”

“They try not to think about me or what I do.”

She caught a flash of pain rising up from deep within him, but it disappeared so fast she couldn’t be sure. He was reading again. “I’d think they’d be proud.”

“Think again.”

She wasn’t getting anywhere along that road. “I bet your job makes you seem attractive to a lot of women.”

He kept his gaze on the can of glue, but she could tell by the stiffness of his shoulders, he was no longer trying to read. “Yeah, that’s why I took it.”

She was getting used to this by now, his dry but deliberately provocative answers. But since she herself was the master of defense by sarcasm, he was out of his league. “So I can expect a lot of traffic coming in and out downstairs?”

Now he dropped his head between his shoulders and studied Duff, who had settled on his legs. “Awfully curious about someone you don’t like much, aren’t you?” he asked finally.

“I never said I didn’t like you,” she said cheerfully. But she was going to learn something about this close-mouthed, private man if it killed her. “Why would you move in here when you could probably afford to buy your own place, one that’s already fixed up?”

“Are you going to ask me questions all day long?”

“Probably.”

He sighed. “You haven’t stopped talking since I woke you up this morning.”

“Well, you woke me up.”

“Don’t remind me,” he said.

“Then you gave me caffeine,” she added.

“You’d talk nonstop with or without caffeine.”

True enough, but she resented the observation anyway. “I just want to know more about you.”

Sighing again, he rolled to his feet with ease. “All right, obviously you’re not going to leave me alone until we resolve this. What is it exactly that you want to know?”

Everything. “Why aren’t your parents happy about what you do?”

Again, that flash of emotion in his gaze, the one that made her want to hug him. “My parents wanted me to follow in their footsteps.”

“Which are?”

“They’re creative,” he said carefully. “An actress and an artist.”

The very opposite of him and his technical kind of intelligence. “So they don’t necessarily disapprove, they just don’t understand what you do.”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

It caused him anguish. How well she could sympathize with not being understood. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, dazed by this unexpected discovery of common ground. “I would think they’d be very proud of you.”

He took a step toward her; Trisha couldn’t look away. The music rocked softly. Duff, in the background, meowed for dinner. Down below, on the street, a car honked. None of those sounds registered.

The moment spun out as the intimacy between them grew, enveloping them in a private cocoon. Hunter took another step, stopping a breath away.

Trisha tipped her head back, her pulse already ragged. In anticipation, her mouth parted.

Hunter leaned close, murmuring her name.

Then her phone rang, and broke the spell.