The Harder They Fall (22 page)

“Is this some more of that lust we talked about?” she demanded.

No. God, no
. “Yes.”

“Go away,” she whispered, putting a trembling hand to her chest.

That little vulnerable gesture tore at him. “I can’t.”

“You’ve managed well enough these past few days.” With a suspicious sheen to her eyes, she turned away and knelt before a box.

“I needed to think.” That sounded lame, even to his own ears. “Trisha, I—”

“I needed to think too,” she said quietly. “And this is best—for both of us, I think.”

Suddenly he knew exactly how she’d felt the other night when she’d had a panic attack. His windpipe tightened, cutting off his air. “Moving? That’s the answer?”

She nodded and reached for the closest bookshelf at her side. Grabbing a handful of books, she tossed them into the box. Blindly, since her scalding tears didn’t allow for much vision, she grabbed another handful, blinking frantically to hold back the flow.

“Trisha.”

Lord, that voice. He dropped to his knees beside her, silently took the books from her hands, and set them aside. Turning back, he touched her shoulders until she looked at him. “I don’t want you to move because of me.”

She waited, but he said nothing else. No vow of love, or even undying lust. Nothing that gave away one iota of feeling, except for the torment shining in his deep green eyes. So he hadn’t gotten over his fear yet, damn him. She loved him, more than her own life, but what else could she do? “I’m not moving for you,” she managed. “I’m doing it for me.”

He grimaced. “You wouldn’t have considered moving before I came here.”

“Maybe not.” She tried to twist free, but he held her with a gentle yet firm grip. “I’m going to do this, Hunter.” Her heart sent up a protest, which she ruthlessly squelched. Instead she surveyed her beautiful wide-open apartment.

Much as she loved it, it was nothing compared with being near the man she had come to love beyond reason. The man who had such a fear of letting go, of being hurt, that he couldn’t allow himself to love her back.

“I can’t stay here,” she said quietly, swallowing her sob. “I’ll find another home.”

“Because of me?” Something flickered in his eyes. “You’re leaving the only real home you’ve ever had, because of
me
?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “You know I can’t stay, feeling the way I do.”

He took a deep breath, straightened his already impossibly straight shoulders. “I got a call today from the realtor. He found a buyer.”

No, she wouldn’t cry. “I see. That’s nice for you.”

His voice, when it ended the pained silence, sounded husky with emotion. “They intend to rent the place out, not live here. So I put a clause in the contract about your staying.”

Her entire body went rigid. “Oh.” Her fingernails dug painfully into her palms, holding the tears at bay. “That was thoughtful of you.”

His shoulders hunched, and since he already towered over her, she felt surrounded by him. “I don’t want you to leave because of me,” he said again very softly. He bent his head close to hers, rubbing his slightly rough cheek over her smooth one.

Guilt. It drove him in a way she understood all too well. Her aunt had been the queen of guilt, but Trisha had vowed not to be controlled by her emotions any longer. “You can’t always have your way, Hunter.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But I’m going to have my way in this. This place means everything to you and I won’t take it from you.” His voice, sure and steady, cracked. “And I won’t let you take it from yourself either.”

“I’m leaving,” she insisted, hardening herself to his anguish. “You can’t afford for me to stay. I’ll probably destroy something else by accident. Maybe the roof this time. I don’t know how, and I certainly won’t mean it, but it’ll just happen.”

“I don’t care—”

“I’m ready to move on anyway.”

He stood and reached for her hand, which she refused, pushing to her feet by herself. “Thought I’d try something completely different,” she said with a light shrug. “Maybe go on a long vacation first, to Tahiti or somewhere.”

He frowned. “By yourself?”

“Yeah.” She forced a smile past her aching heart. “Meet some new people. Then maybe a cruise to Alaska. Check out some glaciers.”

He looked horrified. “Glaciers?”

“Why not? I need a challenge.”

“Trisha,” he said slowly, “with your track record, I don’t think glaciers are a good idea.”

Oh, anger helped, it really did. “Despite what you think, I can handle myself.”

“I know,” he said with a sad smile. “And you’re quite good at it. You’ve had to be, with no one else to do the job.”

The tenderness in his gaze made her yearn and ache even more. “You have no right to do this,” she whispered. “No right at all.”

“Do what?”

“Be so ... kind. Caring. I want to hate you, Hunter. Please, let me.”

His sad smile broke her heart. “You know, we never had our little talk.”

“About?” She crossed her arms defensively, knowing damn well what.

“Remember that night you had your panic attack? I had some questions for you then, but you’ve managed to avoid me ever since.”

“
I’ve
avoided
you
?” she asked incredulously, and laughed.

“That’s right,” he said evenly. “You’re fine, as long as we’re talking about anything but yourself, your past.”

She hugged her arms closer to herself and wondered how they’d gotten to this point. “My past has nothing to do with the here and now.”

“Hmmph,” he said in obvious disagreement. Bending, he began to collapse the empty boxes with a quick efficiency. “Tahiti,” he muttered.

“Don’t fold up those boxes. I need them.”

He ignored her. “Know what I think?” he asked casually, folding yet another moving box. “I think you use this slightly wacky, wild-woman thing as a shield. I think it’s an effort for you to push yourself to live life to its fullest, because you never got the chance before.”

His hands stilled. His gaze met hers, held it. “Isn’t that right?” he asked softly.

Her only defense was sarcasm, and she usually used it well. “That would suit you just fine, wouldn’t it? If I was really someone else. But if you’re hoping that beneath this crazy facade lives a calm, elegant, and sophisticated woman, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Of course I’m not.”

“Really?” She let out a little laugh. “Tell me something. You like everything about me, every little thing?”

“Well...” His lips twitched. “Everything but the window rattling. If you’d just turn down the music, just a little bit...”

“Stop it,” she said quietly, not feeling like bantering. “I’m not your type, you’ve said that often enough. Don’t tease me about it.”

“Oh, you’re my type,” he said silkily. “I’m just not yours.” In the center of a sea of boxes, he turned around and lifted his hands. “Trisha, I’m not good at this, at keeping a woman happy for long. I’ve told you, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Too late for that. Much too late. But with Hunter looking at her, his eyes gentle and regretful, she couldn’t tell him so.

“Don’t move out of here,” he said suddenly, standing and touching her face. “Please, I’ll leave, but not you. You belong here, and I want to be able to picture you, happy in your home.”

He’d leave. He’d leave so she could stay. Some compromise, her heart cried, but what choice did she have?

“Please,” he whispered, dropping his hand from her. “Promise you’ll stay.”

“You’re still going to sell.”

It wasn’t a question, but he answered her with a curt nod. “Yes.”

Locking her knees together, she lifted her chin, prepared to be curt in return. But one look at him and the words dried up in her mouth. His expression, so carefully blank, told her he purposely, desperately hid his thoughts. Only the searing, tortured glaze in his eyes gave him away as he waited for her answer.

Everyone in his life left him or took from him. No one stayed of their own accord, just for him.

She’d be the first.

“Maybe I will stay a little longer,” she said slowly, heart thumping as she hoped to ease him somehow.

It worked. His body relaxed, the tension drained instantly, or most of it. There was still some left in his gaze as he looked at her for one long telling moment before turning and quietly walking out of her life.

The next day Trisha took a phone call from Sam Walters, the realtor. The minute he said his name, she couldn’t help but picture a little weasel, sniffing and chortling over the prospect of a huge sale. Gritting her teeth, she suffered the banalities of casual conversation until he got to the point of his call.

Thrilled at the imminent sale, he simply wanted to assure her that the prospective new owners did indeed want her to stay on as a tenant. And as
the previous owner
had stipulated in no uncertain terms, she would be allowed to transfer her current lease.

It seemed Hunter had been busy.

The offer far surpassed her hopes, she had to admit as she hung up the phone. But that’s not why she suddenly dropped her head to her desk and began to sob with helpless abandon.

No, it was the realtor’s parting words that threatened to shred apart her heart.

On top of allowing her to stay in her place for as long as she wished, the “previous owner” had taken care of one more thing.

Hunter Adams had done what he seemed to do best—taken care of those he felt responsible for. It was apparently the only way he had of showing his true feelings.

It certainly was the only evidence she had of how much he cared for her, but she’d take it and hold it dear to her heart nonetheless, knowing that for Hunter, it was a profound expression of his feelings, the most she was likely ever to receive.

He’d settled her rent with the new owners for the next five years.

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.