The Harder They Fall Read online

  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, wh