Hard to Handle (3 page)

Harley studied her. “So it's mostly guys you work for, huh?” When she looked confused, he explained, “You're referring to a guy.
His
goals,
his
confidence…”

“Oh. That was just as an example. I've worked for some women, too.” Then she thought about it. “But you know, yeah, I have mostly worked with men. I always have a choice of clients, male and female, so I guess I just gravitate more to male clients.”

Harley settled back in his seat and crossed his arms. He forgot that he was still in his underwear. “Do tell.”

She compressed her lips, her thoughts hidden, then, as Harley watched, she shook off some unpleasant memory. “It doesn't matter.”

“No?”

“The thing is, most people, men and woman alike, can get in a rut and then it's nearly impossible for them to be objective about what they want or need, and how to get it. With agreed-upon time frames, I work with them to stay focused on positive creativity, balance their lives, and achieve their goals.”

“By telling them what they should and shouldn't do?”

“I guess you could say that, but I do it in nonjudgmental, unbiased ways, and with their ultimate goals always in the forefront of my mind. It's always about what the client wants and needs, not what I think is right or wrong.”

Incredible. “And your morals and ethics don't factor in?”

“I'm a professional, Harley. I keep my own personal preferences out of the equation.”

He'd never heard of anything so bizarre. And he doubted anyone could be professional enough to keep personality out of it. “People pay you for that?”

“Absolutely. I get a good salary, plus all my expenses. But I have a high success rate, so I'm worth every penny.”

For only a flicker of time, Harley wondered what advice she'd give him. But he snuffed that bizarre idea real quick. He kept his own counsel and he didn't want a busybody woman, even if he suddenly realized she was pretty hot, to go dicking around with his head. “When do you have to travel again?”

“Usually, as soon as spring arrives, I get back to work.” She pleated her napkin and shrugged. “But I recently hit a glitch, so this year, I'm probably going to take an extended hiatus.”

Harley waited, but Anastasia didn't expound on the “glitch.”

She dusted off her hands and looked up at him. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you have a goal? One particular thing that you're focused on?”

Harley didn't hesitate. He was a highly motivated man who had plenty of goals. Most of them shifted in importance from day to day, sometimes hour to hour, depending on what was happening in his life.

But his number-one goal never altered. “I'm going to win an SBC title belt.”

“Wow.” Showing no signs of doubt, Anastasia said, “I've watched a few competitions. Winning the belt seems like a tall order. The fighters are pretty impressive, and title fights are hard to come by.”

“They have to be earned.”

“I take it you have a solid plan on how to reach that goal?”

“Damn right.” Had she seen any of his competitions? Did Anastasia know of his missed opportunities?

“Great. You seem really positive, Harley, and you're obviously more than capable.” Leaning closer, she said, “But let's assume you'd had several disappointments in that regard. That's where I'd step in and give you some direction.”

Before he could laugh, she added, “And no, I'm not talking about your training. That's not my expertise at all. But so much can influence us—family, friends, work.”

He'd learned that the hard way. “You aren't kidding.”

“Those outside influences can easily throw us off track and cause us to make mistakes, if we let them.”

Harley heard himself say, “Some things are out of our control,” and then he could have strangled himself.

He did
not
share maudlin thoughts.

He did not complain aloud.

And he never, ever admitted to a loss of control.

Tilting her head, Anastasia measured his words. “I agree. But in those cases, how we react to the circumstances can make all the difference between success and failure. Sometimes it takes an objective outsider to see what you can't.”

“Maybe.” Disgusted with himself, Harley finished off his coffee in one long drink, and stood. He should never have accepted Anastasia's invitation. He knew better than to get chatty with women. It was his number-one rule.

Abrupt and not caring, Harley said, “It's getting late, Anastasia. My pants done yet?”

A
NASTASIA
stared up at him, and Harley had the awful suspicion that she took him apart, analyzed all the pieces, and made conclusions on him in record time.

“What?” he asked with a little more heat than he intended.

A crooked smile appeared. “Nothing.”

“What?” he asked again.

She shook her head. “I just got caught in your eyes for a second there. You have…really intense eyes.”

As his temper racked up another notch, he crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at her. “My
eyes
?”

“Pfft.”
She waved a hand at him. “Don't act like you haven't heard it before, Harley. With eyes like yours, I'm sure you've had plenty of comments.”

“Maybe.” Refusing to let her rile him, Harley calmed his breathing and wrestled for the upper hand. “But usually those type comments come from women who are in my bed.”

A surprised laugh burst out of her. “I can imagine!” In rapid order, her expression changed from humor to appalled embarrassment and she held up both hands. “No, wait, I don't want to imagine.”

Harley caught her wrists and, very gently, tugged her a little closer. She was very fine boned. And warm to the touch.

Now this was more like it. Seeing Anastasia wide-eyed, like a deer caught in the headlights, put him at ease. He asked in a low murmur, “Why not?”

She looked at his mouth and swayed toward him. “Why not what?”

Harley smiled. Why had he thought Anastasia would be different? She melted as easily as every other woman.

He was both relieved—and disappointed. “Why don't you want to imagine me in bed with a woman?”

Her gaze jerked up to his. She snorted and pulled away. “I'm too young for those type images, that's why.”

Quickly turning away, she headed for the dryer, and the moment of hot sexual tension evaporated as if it had never been. “You know, Harley, not many people consider daybreak late, but your clothes should be dry by now. I'll get them for you.”

So he had her on the run. Nice. But she'd recaptured her relaxed air and that annoying obliviousness to his state of undress. Not that he wanted her chasing after him.

Or did he?

While Anastasia went to retrieve his clothes from the dryer, Harley followed after her, automatically watching the sway of her hips, her loose-limbed gait.

Odd that he'd never before noticed the sexy way she had of moving. Of course, her lack of layers made it more obvious now.

“Dry and warm. Perfect.” She turned and almost bumped into him. With a startled expression, she said, “Good grief, Harley. You're like a Ninja. I didn't hear you move.”

Feeling provoked for reasons he couldn't name, Harley looked down at her, but said nothing.

And he didn't retreat.

With a laugh and a roll of her eyes, Anastasia moved back, and then handed over the clothes. “You're dangerous, Harley, but I still want to thank you for chopping all that wood. It would have taken me all day.”

It would have taken her all week, but he didn't point that out. He stepped into his pants. “Dangerous?”

“And you know it, so don't pretend otherwise.”

“Funny thing, Anastasia, you don't seem threatened.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well, I'm more immune than most, I guess.”

“How so?”

“If I told you, it'd irritate you.”

That
irritated him. “If you told me what?”

Sighing, and appearing very put-upon, she said, “You really want to do this?”

Yeah, he definitely…No wait. Harley yanked up his zipper. “Explain
this
.”

She waved a hand. “Banter back and forth. Get into the reasons why neither of us wants to get involved with the other.” She wrinkled her nose. “Hash out our innermost feelings.”

“God, no.” Given half a chance, Anastasia Hedrick could do what lethal light heavyweight fighters couldn't.

She could scare him.

Her hand touched his shoulder, caressed, and finally patted—much like she might have touched an angry mutt. “That's what I thought.”

In some indefinable way, Anastasia grew more infuriating, and sexy, with every passing second.

Harley pulled on his shirt and did a rapid change in topic. “Thanks for the cookies.”

“It's the least I could do.”

With his shirt on but unbuttoned, Harley headed for the door.

Anastasia stayed close. “Let's just hope the storms blow through and the electricity stays on.”

“Yeah.” He put his wallet and cell phone back in his jeans pocket.

Hands laced together in front of her, Anastasia fidgeted. “Well, if I don't see you again, good luck in your fight.”

He gave her a quick look. “I'm scheduled here till the end of the month.”

“Another two weeks, I know. But out here, I don't see anyone that often.”

“By choice?”

“Pretty much.” She smiled up at him. “You're only half a mile away, and I seldom see you. After today, I figure the odds of running into you just deteriorated to slim and none, and Slim's out of town. So I wanted to wish you luck before you go.”

She'd used a lot of words to say something simple. “You think I'll avoid you.”

She didn't have to confirm it for him; her expression said it all.

“Come on, Harley, stop thinking of me as a dummy. I'm a little more intuitive than you'd like, so yes, I know you'll avoid me.”

And he would have. But now…“Will you miss me when I'm gone?”

The blunt question seemed to throw her, and she paused for a heartbeat. “I'll watch you on pay-per-view.”

So she
did
watch. For unknown reasons, that gave Harley a lot of satisfaction. Perhaps because it meant she wasn't so disinterested after all. “And wish I was closer?”

That got her laughing. “You're incorrigible.”

True. Maybe he wasn't the draw for her at all. Maybe she was just a fan of the sport. To find out, Harley asked, “You follow MMA competitions?”

“Not really. I've never gotten into any sport too much, but especially not the brutal stuff. I've only watched on the nights you're fighting, and truthfully, I still don't understand all the rules.”

He leaned against the wall. “But you still watch. When I fight.”

Her shoulders lifted. “I guess knowing someone makes it more interesting.”

Harley started to tell her just how interesting he could make things, and his cell phone rang. “Sorry. Excuse me a second.”

“Oh, sure.” Anastasia moved back to the dining table and began clearing it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, bro, how the hell are you?”

“Barber.” Harley glanced at his watch. “What are you doing up so early? Or haven't you been to bed yet?”

“I'll have you know I just left a warm bed.
Not
my own.”

“Braggart.” Harley grinned. “So you get laid, and then decide to call and pester me, huh?” Barber—who was
not
his brother—had the attitude and ability of a fighter, and the talent and career of a born musician. He was also funny as hell. From the start, they'd hit it off.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Dumbass. What if
I'd
been in bed?”

“You mean you aren't? Damn, man, I'm disappointed. You've just sunk drastically in my esteem.”

Harley glanced toward Anastasia, saw she had her back to him, and murmured, “Actually, like you, I left a warm bed not that long ago. Then I saw my landlord chopping wood and stopped to help.”

“Landlord, huh? Well ain't you a regular Boy Scout? I'm sure the guy appreciates it.”

Harley sent another quick look toward Anastasia. Glossy and thick, her dark hair lay over her shoulders. Humming, she pretended to be busy. With every movement, her sweatshirt pulled against tempting curves. “I'm sure she does.”

“She?” A lot of innuendo hung in that single word. “Now it's getting interesting.”

“Sorry, but it's not.” Not really. “So how about you? What's been happening? You wallowing in your new fame?” Barber's band had recently landed a deal with the SBC fighting organization to provide music tracks to the biggest events.

“I've been known to wallow,” Barber admitted. “Things have been crazy busy, but right now I'm chillin' and getting back to my roots. For the next month or so, the band and I are hanging out in Harmony, doing a gig for Roger's Rodeo. So I'm here—and you aren't. Dean said you were off licking your wounds. Sounds kinky and self-gratifying to me, but Dean wouldn't elaborate.”

“Dean's full of shit and you can tell him I said so.” They both respected Dean, so Barber took the comment as the good-natured gibe Harley meant it to be. “I was rehabbing my friggin' elbow, and you know it.”

“Still? Man, it seems like eons ago that you dislocated that bitch.”

“Six weeks.” Six long, agonizing weeks—and another missed opportunity at the title belt.

“So where are you? I'll come to you and you can share your stash of hot babes.”

Again, Harley's gaze went to Anastasia. In the small space, how could she not hear every word? “Sorry, no harems here, only a limited selection of snow bunnies.” He saw Anastasia smile, and it annoyed him.

Why wasn't she insulted?

Or more interested?

“Bullshit,” Barber said. “If that was the case, you wouldn't be there.”

“Maybe.” Harley relaxed back against the wall—and continued to watch Anastasia.

With nothing left to do, she tried to give him privacy by staring out a window. He couldn't stop himself from visually tracing the shape of her body.

The spark of deep interest ignited into a flame. That wouldn't do.

Making up his mind, Harley said, “You know what? I'm anxious to get into some real training. I could probably head out of here in under a week.”

“Don't cut your downtime short on my account. I'll be around for a while.”

Anastasia turned to look at him. He'd never before left the cabin early, so his sudden announcement had to have thrown her.

Not that she showed it.

She just analyzed him…and came to her own conclusions.

While keeping his attention on Anastasia, Harley assured Barber, “It's not a problem.”

The sooner he got away from her, the better off he'd be. He did not get involved with women like Anastasia.

He did not let women dissect him.

“I have a few things to take care of in town, but I should be done by the end of the week. Your lazy ass better be raring to go when I get there.”

Harley disconnected the call, and then said to Anastasia, “Sorry about that.”

“No problem.” She left the window and approached him.

“Something's come up.”

“I heard.”

Harley waited for the inquisition.

She said nothing, just smiled up at him.

Well hell. He gave in first. “I know I was scheduled until—”

“No biggie. I'll prorate your time here and mail you a reimbursement for the unused week.”

Like hell she would. He was the one breaking the contract, not her. “Keep it.”

She shrugged. “Fine.”

Damned, annoying woman
. Then he caught the teasing glint in her eyes. Jesus, when was the last time he let a woman get his goat? Especially a woman who only agreed with him?

He crossed his arms. “You like being unpredictable, don't you, Anastasia?”

“Absolutely.”

That she admitted it only made it worse. “You're not going to ask me a single question, are you? Even though every other woman would.”

“We've already concluded that I'm not every other woman, haven't we? At least, not where you're concerned.” She patted Harley's chest, surprising him. “If I'm unpredictable, then you're inscrutable.”

She made it sound like an insult. “I call it private.”

“Call it whatever you want, but you wear it like a coat of armor.” After stepping around him, Anastasia opened the door to peer out. “It's frigid, but the sleet has stopped for now.” She faced him again. “You better get going before the roads get too icy. Getting uphill to your cabin might not be too easy, even in a Jeep.”

Harley shrugged into his coat. “Worrying about me?”