The Harder You Fall (9 page)

He'd offered Jessie Kay a one-night stand, and she'd responded with bitterness. Now he cursed the men who'd come before him. Yeah, even his friends. He then cursed himself. He hadn't slept with her, but he'd hurt her just the same when he'd suggested a hit-and-run. A one-and-done. A bang-and-bail. No wonder she'd rebuffed him so fervently.

Jase had been leaning against a wall when West emerged, had looked him up and down and arched a brow. “Is that for me? Dude, I'm flattered. I had no idea you felt that way. All right, you caught me. I had an inkling. You know I'm engaged to Brook Lynn, right?”

West had punched him in the shoulder. “You
wish
this was for you.”

“Only in your dreams. Listen. Your date is causing a scene, asking everyone where you are, searching the entire building for you. You're lucky I'm such a good friend or she would have burst in on you. Calm her down before I'm forced to kick her out. I don't want Beck or Harlow upset.”

He'd nodded his thanks and gone in search of Monica. She'd attempted to draw him into a conversation—
We have so much in common. A love of schedules, caramels and Mercedes
—but his taciturn demeanor had upset her. And how did she know about the schedules and candies? Google?

When he'd merely grunted one-word responses, she'd snapped, “Who's the blonde you dragged away?”

As if she had a right to be jealous. Angry, yes. She was his date, and he'd paid more attention to someone else. But not jealous. Not yet.

“She's the bride's best friend.” He'd offered no more.

Monica had taken it upon herself to approach Jessie Kay.

He'd almost called her back to his side, not wanting the woman he found cloying conversing with the woman he found fascinating—the woman he still wanted—but he'd pressed his lips together in a mulish line.

When he'd first gotten Jessie Kay inside that closet, he'd almost gone up in flames, and it hadn't been long before the last of his restraint had burned away. He'd pressed her against those shelves, kissing her more than a want—it had been a need. But he'd resisted. For the rest of her life, she would have regretted the timing, and he would have regretted her regret.

Might have been worth it.

The soft curves of her body had conformed to the hard planes of his, and now he only ached worse. For release. For her.

No one else would do.

Having her was an obsession. A sickness no drugs or therapy could cure.

She was
already
an addiction, wasn't she.

He couldn't walk away, not this time; he needed more of a specific woman, would do almost anything for a single taste.

His hands curled into fists. He hated feeling helpless, of free-falling into the unknown. With no parachute, he would crash.

Sometimes, you couldn't walk away from a crash. You could only crawl.

Panic hit him, but he fought it, counting the seconds on his watch.
One, two...ten...twenty...forty...
He almost had himself under control when Beck and Harlow emerged from the choir room, both smiling jaw-cracking smiles. It was clear they'd done more than talk. A lot more. Once pristine, they now sported flushed skin, mussed hair and wrinkled clothes.

Harlow noticed the stares and knowing grins and lost a little of her glow. “Oh...uh.”

“Harlow Adrienne Glass, Hag for short,” Jessie Kay exclaimed. “You sly little hussy. Seducing your groom while the pastor was waiting? Your lady balls are obviously bigger than mine. But let's compare just to be safe.”

The flush returned to Harlow's skin, and she sputtered, but hardly anyone else noticed her reaction. They were too busy wagging fingers at Jessie Kay.

West marveled, suddenly seeing Jessie Kay in a new light. She'd taken center stage to cut through tension and draw attention away from her friend, hadn't she?

This girl...she definitely had a gooey marshmallow center.

And West definitely had a sweet tooth.

Harlow focused on the pastor, who was doing his best not to laugh. “We didn't...we wouldn't... I mean, we came close, but...” She buried her face in the hollow of Beck's neck. “Help me.”

Beck rushed to the rescue, saying, “She attacked me, and I almost couldn't stop her from having her wicked way with me. We need to make an honest woman out of her as soon as possible, Pastor Washington. To preserve her tattered soul.”

Harlow gasped and slapped his chest. “You wretch!”

Beck caught her hand, winked and kissed the center of her palm. “You wouldn't have me any other way, dumpling.”

“I would. I so would.”

Everyone took their proper place, Beck and Harlow moving under the arch, the pastor stepping in front of them. Jessie Kay and Brook Lynn lined up at Harlow's left while Jase and West lined up at Beck's right. Dane, Kenna, Daphne, Brad and Hope claimed the front pew, with Monica sitting on the second, her gaze resting on West adoringly. Too adoringly for such a short acquaintance. He wished he'd resisted the urge to bring her.

Beck vowed to love, honor and cherish his woman, adding teasingly, “But I expect you to always obey me. I can't be budged on that. It's tradition.”

Harlow laughed gaily, now utterly unburdened by the weight of worry. “I'll obey you in...never.”

“Challenge accepted.” Beck kissed her as if he couldn't go without her taste a second longer.

“Not yet, young man.” Pastor Washington released a sigh of amusement and exasperation.

Beck didn't stop, and Harlow didn't try to make him. The joy the two projected thrilled West, even as it taunted him. What would he feel when he actually kissed Jessie Kay?

When. Not if. A mistake—or a truth?

He watched Jessie Kay as she watched the ceremony. Tears gleamed in her eyes, a few even streaking her cheeks. Not only did she have the marshmallow heart, she had romantic delusions. She was the kind of woman he usually avoided. But staying away was no longer an option.

Pastor Washington shook his head and muttered, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Jessie Kay must have sensed West's scrutiny. She glanced over at him. A moment of pure, electric heat arced between them, and the urge to stalk to her, grab her and carry her out vibrated in his bones. His mind flashed to a fantasy he hadn't known he had. Jessie Kay sitting beside him on a couch, his arm draped over her shoulders while they chatted, her hands moving with dramatic flair, making him laugh. Peace and happiness surrounded them. So much happiness.

Whatever expression he wore here and now affected her. She stepped toward him. He stepped toward her. They would meet in the middle and—

Beck and Harlow broke away at long last. Jase cheered, and Jessie Kay jolted. She returned to her spot in the bridesmaid's line. West cursed. Monica jumped to her feet and clapped, smiling at him as if
he'd
done something remarkable. Dane, Kenna, Daphne, Hope and Brad whooped.

Jessie Kay continued to stare at West and he continued to stare at her.

For a moment, one precious slice of life, West remembered what it was like to be whole again. To be a man with a future and a hope for something better. To want and to dream and to
expect
something better.

That. That was the true danger of being with Jessie Kay. He would have better, but he would be unable to keep better.

Two months. No more, no less.

CHAPTER SEVEN

O
N
M
ONDAY
,
Jessie Kay finished her lunchtime deliveries for You've Got It Coming and drove home with a lead foot. A nap awaited. If someone interrupted her snooze, well, they'd soon wish they were dead. Unless they offered her a box of chocolates and ten million dollars. Her forgiveness could be bought.

What a crap day this turned out to be. A mechanic she'd dated last year had placed an order. She'd dropped off the sandwich at Lintz Automotive—
Dr. Carburetor will see you now!
As she'd walked away, the guy had patted her butt as if he had every right. His friends had whistled and laughed.

Men sucked.
I'm done with all of them
.

Well, except for Daniel. He was so awesome he could almost pass for a woman.

Speaking of her new bestie, he'd confirmed for dinner tonight. Afterward, they would be watching the DVD of her choice.

Mental note:
ask him to bring those chocolates and all that money.

Half the money?

Whatever he could afford?

Fine. No money.

At home, she settled on the couch with a pillow and fuzzy blanket. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and—

The doorbell rang. Of course.

Grumbling, she marched to the door with every intention of committing cold-blooded murder...only to gasp when she saw what waited on her porch. The most beautiful bouquet of yellow and white flowers in the world, ever.

“For you.” Pearl Harris from Secret Garden was a strawberry-blonde with alabaster skin and the most adorable smattering of freckles across her nose. She handed over the bouquet, the scent of chocolate and vanilla wafting from the petals. “Girl, you've got yourself a
serious
admirer. He came in and designed the arrangement himself.”

“And
he
is...?” No one had
ever
sent her flowers.

“Like I'm really going to spoil the surprise. You'll have to open the card to find out.
If
he signed it. I tried to talk him into dictating to me, but he refused. Wrote every word himself, then sealed the envelope and added tape.” Pearl plucked out the card.

Jessie Kay balanced the vase against her hip and hurriedly claimed the card. Her hand was trembling.

Pearl leaned in closer. “Well? What does it say?”

“I'll be finding out on my own, thank you very much.” She stepped inside, the glass door closing behind her.

Pearl pouted.

Too bad. Jessie Kay closed the wooden door with a kick.

Her heart hammered as she set the vase on the kitchen table and ripped open the envelope.

Kitten,

I know I should apologize for my behavior—again—but I can't bring myself to regret putting my hands on you. I've never held anything quite so fine. Consider the flowers a token of my appreciation.

Yours,

Lincoln West

Oh, sweet heaven. Was he trying to kill her? Death by spontaneous combustion?

Beams of light filtered in from the bay window, lovingly caressing the flower petals. She couldn't stop smiling as she smelled the roses once, twice, three times, even as she grabbed her phone to send Mr. Lincoln West a text.

Your non-apology ACCEPTED. The flowers are gorgeous. Thank you  :-)   :-)

His response came a few seconds later.

I chose the flowers that smelled like candy. They reminded me of you—edible.

Her heart beat harder.

Her, a little shocked:
Are you flirting w/ me??

West:
Maybe a little. You're irresistible. You need to work on that.

Her:
And mess w/ perfection??? Nah

West:
Excellent point. The male species is doomed (and happy for it)

She clutched her phone close to her chest and twirled. Never, not in a million years, would she have guessed her relationship with West would evolve into near kisses in closets and flirting via text. An actual friendship was developing. And like West, she was having a little trouble regretting it...

* * *

O
N
W
EDNESDAY
,
THE
good mood West had going evaporated in a puff of smoke. Just boom, gone, leaving a frothing-at-the-mouth he-beast. It happened the moment the gossip train rolled through his office—Edna Mills, owner of Rhinestone Cowgirl, a jewelry store located around the corner of WOH Industries. Edna prattled on and on about spotting Jessie Kay and Daniel Porter at the Great Escape Café an hour before. The two had looked cozy while eating breakfast. The morning-after meal.

Had they spent the night together?

West wasn't sure why he cared. It wasn't like
he
was dating the girl. They'd almost kissed. They'd flirted. No more, no less. Big deal. He'd had more intimate contact with his pillow.

The problem—
had
to be the problem—was that he was sick and tired of dealing with happy couples. Beck and Harlow had opted not to travel for their honeymoon, instead holing up in their bedroom at the farmhouse. If West overheard one more role play of Thor and his mighty hammer...

Jase and Brook Lynn were no better. Plus, Brook Lynn had a furmance going on with her pet, Sparkles the World's Worst Dog.
Who's a good boy? You're a good boy, yes, yes, you are. Oh, Mommy loves you.

Hope had stayed the night once, bringing Steve, the world's other worst dog, and she'd talked nonstop about Bobby Yates, the cutest boy in her class.

Since the wedding, Monica had called once a day, despite the fact that he'd sidestepped when she'd tried to kiss him, and they'd ended up parting with an awkward hug at the door. He'd told himself, why settle for a substitute? Why not wait for Jessie Kay, the one he really wanted?

The one who might have spent the night with Daniel.

West rubbed the burn in his chest. He should call Monica, set up another date. Being with her would be easy. Two months of sex and fun and pretending he was a normal guy with a normal past—a reprieve before he returned to his misery. Could be just what he needed to clear his head.

The headboard of his bed suddenly
thump, thump, thumped
against the wall. With Beck's bedroom right next to his, West didn't have to wonder what was going on. Any minute now, the moans and groans would—

“Oh, Beck. Yes. Yes!”

Yeah. That. At least she hadn't called out, “Thor!”

He strode to the kitchen, only to grind to a halt when he spotted Jase and Brook Lynn making out on the table. The table he would now have to burn, along with his corneas.

Can't stay here.

He returned to his bedroom, swiped a bag from the closet. Cursing under his breath, he began to stuff clothes and toiletries inside.

Bang, bang, bang.

He stuffed faster, blindly grabbing anything he thought he might need. He'd spoken to the contractor on Monday, and plans for his home were being drafted. The only problem? The five-thousand-square-foot beauty would take a year to build—maybe longer.

He wouldn't survive.

At his desk, he swiped up the flash drive with details about the upcoming WOH Christmas party. Brook Lynn had become the company party planner, but she was so busy with her business and her wedding, Jase hadn't wanted any other burdens heaped on her “delicate” shoulders.

West scribbled a note—“Staying somewhere else for a while. You guys sicken me. Will let you know where I end up. W.” He taped the note to his bedroom door and beat feet to the Mercedes.

The night was dark and gloomy, the moon full and shrouded by wispy gray clouds. If he were living in a video game, he'd call it a werewolf moon and expect to be bitten by midnight. The ice had melted at least.

Where should he go? Harlow had lived in a trailer right here on the acreage for a while, but Beck had recently hidden it to stop her from spending the night in it every time he pissed her off.

He could go to the office, West supposed. This wouldn't be the first time he'd slept on the couch. But he had no desire to face Cora's inquisition. The woman could be relentless.

There was the Strawberry Inn, the only motel in town.

And by morning, everyone would know his business.

He could always go to Monica's.

His hands tightened on the wheel. Yeah. He'd go to Monica's and finally do what needed doing. Meaningless conversation, emotionless sex, uncomplicated relationship—in that order—but he didn't end up parked in Monica's driveway.

I'm in trouble.

He popped a caramel candy in his mouth, the sweet flavor centering him, reminding him of times his mom had held him close, cooing her love while they'd eaten the treats together.

I'm where I want to be. I'll deal with the consequences.

He clasped the handle of his duffel and headed to Jessie Kay's front door.

The poor side of Strawberry Valley was like the poor side of any other town, with small, run-down homes on small lots. A few yards were a hoarder's paradise, junk piled high. Others were filled with dead weeds, nothing manicured, nothing landscaped. Someone had made an attempt to clean up Jessie Kay's yard, but nothing short of a total reboot would help.

Same deal with the porch. At his feet, the cement was severely cracked and in front of him, rotted wood planks looked ready to collapse.

He had more money than he could ever spend, while Jessie Kay lived like this?

His too-hard knock boomed louder than he'd intended. A minute passed, then another. If she was out on a date with Daniel—or worse,
inside
with Daniel and simply distracted...

West knocked again, nearly taking the door off its hinges.

He remembered when Jessie Kay had dated Dorian Oliver, one of Beck's closest friends. The two hadn't lasted more than a few weeks and he'd always wondered if he was the cause. If Dorian had gotten tired of West's daily call, when he'd asked how things were going, his voice all snarl, zero polite.

Perhaps he should acquire Daniel's number.

Observe. Understand. Act.

He tested the knob, discovered it turned easily, and wanted to smile and curse at the same time. “Jessie Kay,” he called, stepping into the living room. There wasn't really a foyer. He expected warmth, but a chill pervaded, as if she hadn't turned on the heater. “You here?”

As he waited for her to stomp around the corner—maybe he'd interrupted a bubble bath, and she wore only a towel and drops of water—he studied her natural habitat. Well-worn furniture from early-era Goodwill, if he had to guess. Threadbare patches in the shag carpet. Yellowed wallpaper peeled at the corners. A pile of laundry consumed the end of the couch, and empty candy-bar wrappers and coke cans spilled over the coffee table.

A noise suddenly screeched from the back of the house. A cat being murdered?

He dropped his bag and surged forward. At the entrance of the kitchen, however, he stopped and choked back a laugh. There she was, alone, with earbuds in her ears. She sang along to...a song he couldn't identify.

“Gonna love you foreverrr...something something something...give it to you so goood.” As she dried a plate, she gyrated her hips in a dirty bump-and-grind.

Suddenly the desire to laugh abandoned him. Desire hit and hit hard.

Pale hair free of pins cascaded down her back, gleaming like melted honey as they swayed. The long-sleeve shirt she wore hung off one shoulder, baring skin so luscious his mouth watered for a taste. Her legs were covered by skintight pants that were tucked into a pair of calf-high boots with faux fur trim.

Those legs...he wanted them wrapped around his face and later, his waist.

She was every fantasy he'd never known he had, and his blood burned for her. His hands itched for contact.

As she belted out a high note, charming him even while making him cringe, she spun in a circle, intending to dance the plate to the rack. Spotting him, she released a scream sharp enough to burst his eardrums, jolted back, tripped and fell. As she gasped for breath, she held out the plate as if it were a deadly weapon.

“It's just me, kitten.”

“West? What the heck!” Glaring at him, she lowered the plate and yanked out the buds. “What are you doing here?”

“Would you believe me if I said I'm enjoying the show?”

She scowled at him. “If your goal was to give me a heart attack, congrats, mission accomplished.” Grimacing, she rubbed her lower back. “I think I bruised my pancreas.”

“It'll heal.” He offered her a hand up.

She ignored it, standing under her own steam. “If you're here for your sandwich, feel free to make a peanut butter and jelly. Pay no attention to the expiration dates. They're meaningless. Don't let the door hit you on the way out. Or do. Whatever.”

“We'll deal with the sandwich another day.” He noted the bouquet of flowers resting in the center of the table, and satisfaction urged him to pound on his chest like a gorilla. “Tonight our business revolves around a different topic.”

“All right. Enlighten me.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

In due time. “First, explain why your door was unlocked.”

“Because I like it that way.”

“Anyone could have walked in.”

Lips pursed, she waved the plate up and down his body. “Obviously.”

“You're not understanding me, kitten.” He claimed the dish and set it on the counter while staring down at her with enough menace to scare her to the bone. “Anyone could have walked in. They could have done
anything
to you.”

“Are you threatening me?” She raised her chin, unafraid, stubborn and beautiful, so damn beautiful. She was everything right in a world gone wrong.

A deception. All of his problems currently started and ended with Jessie Kay Dillon.