The Harder They Fall Read online

  “Heavy, no,” he admitted. “But that vinyl was slippery. You’re lucky I didn’t drop you right in the toilet.”

  A giggle escaped her at the memory of the indescribable look on Hunter’s face yesterday, but it quickly backed up in her throat when she watched his gaze roam down the length of the two-piece teal bodysuit she wore.

  “No vinyl today, I see.”

  There’d been a time when she’d been made to wear nothing but school uniforms, then the most conservative of business clothes while attending college. Now she dressed for herself, and no one else, and if that meant she went a little wild sometimes, what did it matter? She liked it. “No, no vinyl today.” Because she knew he disapproved of her, she didn’t bother to explain that she didn’t like vinyl either.

  He cleared his throat. “About the hole—”

  Her phone rang, and Trisha hesitated. It was late Sunday afternoon and that could mean only one person. Her uncle Victor. No way would she answer it this week. No way would he make her feel guilty or depressed about her life and how she’d chosen to lead it.

  Ring, ring, ring.

  No way, she repeated to herself as her hand itched to stop the ringing. Not even if the man was still grieving ... oh, hell. She was stubborn, not heartless. Shoving both the cat and the red lace teddy she still held at the baffled doctor, she whirled for the phone.

  Hunter stared down at the burden in his hands. Duff immediately demanded, loudly, to be released, and Hunter let him go. But the soft, satiny thing ... God.

  He could picture her in it, all that thick, flowing hair behind her, shimmering eyes, that tight body filling out the silk.

  What was it she’d called him? The stuffy scientist? He was well aware that he’d come off formal and reserved. But she’d unnerved the hell out of him in the bathroom the day before, and now he was flustered beyond belief from just fingering the woman’s underwear.

  What was it about this chatty, crazy lady that did that to him?

  His department would enjoy this. The Devil himself, flustered by a wild pixie of a woman who didn’t know how to dress, whose apartment looked like a cyclone had hit it. Who sold underwear for a living.

  Order. After having grown up in this very sort of environment, with a flighty actress for a mother and a wanderlust-struck artist for a father, Hunter liked order in his life. Apparently, Trisha didn’t know the meaning of the word. Unwanted memories stung him. How many times had he been willing to sacrifice his needs for the people in his life, only to have them throw those needs back in his face?

  Well, no more. He wanted organization, control, routine, and he’d get it. But being here, with this woman who somehow drove him to forget what he wanted and needed, was dangerous. His insides tightening uncomfortably, he straightened and set down the lingerie. He needed out of this house, badly.

  “They hung up before I got there.” Trisha replaced the receiver and looked immensely relieved. She sighed deeply, and in doing so, brought his attention to her bare stomach. Her flat, tanned, bare stomach.

  “You mentioned your lease before,” Hunter said carefully, a little desperately.

  She stiffened. “What about it?”

  “I’ll buy it out,” he said recklessly.

  Her expression didn’t change. “Absolutely not.”

  Two

  “Think about it,” Hunter suggested while hopelessness coursed through his veins. What if she wouldn’t leave? “I’ll make a very generous offer.”

  “No.” Trisha lifted her shoulders, stretching her top high on her ribs, outlining the firm curves of her breasts. “You’re stuck with me.”

  He had to take a deep breath and turn away. Concentrating on the mess that was her home helped. That is, until he focused in on the red and black satin teddies strewn over her couch. Of their own accord, his fingers reached out and scooped one up, the satin rubbing sensuously over his skin.

  Not your type, he had to repeat to himself, over and over again, like a mantra.

  It didn’t work.

  Following a method he’d perfected long ago when something or someone upset him, he closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten, waiting for the visions of this insane woman wearing nothing but silk to go away.

  “What are you doing?” he heard her ask, but he just kept counting. Four, five, six...

  “Are you ... counting?”

  Moving around him, she stared at him with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “You are. You’re counting.” She laughed, a light musical sound that had him grating his teeth.

  “Seven.”

  He hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud, but she laughed again. “Dr. Adams, you can’t be serious.”

  “Show me the hole,” he managed to say, rather politely, he thought.

  But she just kept that infuriating smile in place and didn’t move. “You know what? I think you just play at this stodgy, superiority thing to intimidate people.”

  “What?”

  “It probably works with your ... whatever you scientists call your assistants,” she went on, undisturbed by his glare. “But here, Dr. Adams, in my apartment, we’re equals.”

  “I own the place.” Where the hell had that come from? I own the place. Good Lord, he sounded just like the intolerant jerk she thought he was. “I mean—”

  “I know what you mean.” She turned from him, entirely without the show of temper he expected, and sauntered back over to her stereo in her teal workout clothes that so nicely encased her—

  The stereo blared even louder as Trisha turned it up with a flick of her wrist, her face carefully devoid of that carefree expression he’d come to expect from her.

  He’d hurt her feelings. “Trisha.”

  There was no way he could hear himself think, much less have a conversation over the music, which he knew she’d turned up on purpose. “Trisha—”

  Smiling sweetly, she moved past him, grabbing the teddy from his hand as she went. The satiny material slid slowly through his fingers. Her thick hair brushed his arm.

  He still couldn’t think, but now it wasn’t the music that echoed in his brain. Nope. It was the scent of this irritating, sexy woman floating over him. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, knowing he had to straighten this matter out. “Trisha.”

  No one could hear a thing over that noise, and certainly not Ms. Malloy, who was obviously ignoring him. “Trisha, please. Could you turn that down?”

  She didn’t look at him, just started singing as she scooped her shipment off the couch one item at a time, draping them over her arm.

  “Trisha?”

  “Sorry,” she sang out with a smile, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Can’t hear you.”

  Moved by a temper he didn’t know he possessed, Hunter stalked to the door. Women, he reminded himself harshly, rarely fitted into his life, and this was proof positive. “Forget it,” he muttered. “I’ll send a contractor.”

  Once in the fresh air, free of the bewitching scent of that woman, Hunter sighed gratefully. He’d nearly tossed his good intentions aside and done what his body seemed to be aching to do—kiss the living daylights out of her. But he’d made it out safe, without making a fool of himself, close as it had been. After all, his self-control rivaled the best of the best.

  So why then, he wondered a bit desperately as he drove to his lab, couldn’t he get the sight of Trisha Malloy, his new and irritating tenant with the soft smile and wild ways, out of his head?

  Hunter sent a contractor and a cleaning crew to his new duplex, and then had dreams about the place every night for a week. Maybe nightmares was a better word, for the place seemed to obsess him. Or rather, the tenant in it did. What was it about the woman who dressed so outrageously? Was it her huge, sweet eyes and generous, smiling mouth, which seemed to clash with the image she projected?

  Maybe it was even baser than that, nothing more than her husky voice and incredibly lush body.

  Whatever it was, he had to admit, he was fascinated in a way he hadn