Hard to Handle (19 page)

“One dance,” Barber told him. “It'll do you some good, appease the damn photographer, and save me from your moping.”

“I don't mope, damn it.” He started for Barber.

The woman moved in front of him, smiled widely, and Harley had to admit she was appealing.

“I'm Crystal.” She planted both hands on his chest and started backing him out to the dance floor. A discreet amount of cleavage showed beneath a clinging V-necked sweater. “I've watched you fight. You're really good.”

Taking his gaze off her boobs, Harley asked, “You're a fan of the SBC?”

“
Love
it.” Without invitation, she draped her arms around his neck. “If it makes you more comfortable, we can talk about the competition and nothing more. Like most fans, I have my favorite fighters.”

“'S that right?” Harley looped his arms loosely around her waist. His hands rested on generous hips currently swaying to the music. “Like who?”

“Simon Evans is hot.”

He smirked. “Yeah, that's what I hear.”

“And Havoc is awesome.”

Amused by her, Harley said, “He has deadly elbows.”

“But they've got nothing on you. I'm giving you a year, tops, and then I think you'll overshadow them both.” She pushed up against Harley, letting him feel her curves, and her interest.

Unfortunately, it didn't stir him at all.

Well hell.

Picking up on his lack of interest, she said, “It's okay, honey. I won't insist. Dancing is more than enough for me.”

Might as well, Harley decided. It beat going home to sit in front of the television with his uncle, or being harassed by Barber and his unending wit. And it would put an end to the press for the night.

A bonus, that.

Barber and his band were off for the rest of the night, but recorded music blared from speakers, loud and heavy on the beat. The woman was soft and she smelled nice enough, like rich perfume. She stood about five-ten, tall enough that he didn't have stoop to hold her. She didn't wear an overabundance of makeup and she hadn't yet played grab-ass with him.

As the photographer closed in, Harley asked, “Why do you want to be in the pictures?”

“I do some local modeling, and this would be great exposure for my portfolio. Might even get me some national recognition.” She spared him a coy smile. “It never hurts to be in the proximity of a studly fighter.”

“Studly, huh?” Maybe her company would prove enjoyable, and if he gave it a chance, he might even find a stir of lust somewhere.

Though he doubted it. Even with the pep talk he'd just given himself, he felt more annoyance than anything else.

While in training, Harley took only one day off and tomorrow was it. If he didn't let off some steam tonight, he wouldn't get another chance for a week.

Making the effort, he asked Crystal, “You live around here?”

“No. My friends and I are taking a short break from college. One of them has family near here. We heard all about Havoc's gym and how so many of the fighters train here. Since we're all fans of the sport, we decided to tag along with her.”

To be safe, Harley asked, “You're how old?”

Her smile teased him. “Old enough for anything you might have in mind.”

“Since I only have a dance in mind, I suppose I can agree.”

Laughing, she said, “I'm twenty-two. No worries.”

When she hugged herself closer to him, swaying to the music, Harley lifted his wrist to check the time—and his gaze snagged on a small female body making its way through the crowd.

He stiffened. All over.

In places that Crystal misunderstood.

Just what the hell was Anastasia Bradley doing here, in town, in Roger's Rodeo? Harley tracked her every step.

She hadn't yet spotted him.

Then he saw her focus on Roger, and head in his direction.

His arms automatically tightened on Crystal, who took the gesture as encouragement.

The photographer had a field day.

Well hell. He really would have to kick Barber's ass for putting him in this predicament.

W
HEN
Stasia first walked into Roger's Rodeo, she wondered how she'd ever find Harley with so many people crammed inside. That is, if he was even at the bar. Sure, Satch had said that the fighters hung out there, but that didn't mean Harley was here, now, on this particular night.

Determination took her through the very busy, two-story bar. Under her feet, the floor shook with loud music and laughter. Muscular men who she assumed to be fighters mingled with a mostly female group. Occasionally one of them would give her an encouraging gesture, but she was here to see Harley, no one else.

The barest amount of research had shored up her decision to offer him assistance with his current goals. As she'd seen many times in her line of work, Harley was a man taken off the right path by the person closest to him. Even while well-meaning, family could be very destructive.

She needed more insight, more input, and a better knowledge of the sport. But she felt she already knew Harley. Much as he tried to conceal himself and his true nature, it shone through. During their ordeal in the storm, it had been doubly apparent.

Harley needed a nudge, and she was the woman to give it to him.

In the crowded bar, one man appeared to be overseeing things. Stasia headed for him, but when she got close, a taller woman with light brown hair stepped into her path with a deliberately careful smile. “Hello. May I help you?”

Drawing back, Stasia said, “I'm not sure. I'm looking for Harley Handleman. His uncle told me that he frequents this place a lot.”

The man leaned around the woman. “Harley is expecting you?”

“Well…no. He'll be shocked and probably displeased, but I don't plan to molest him or anything.”

Smiling, the man politely nudged the woman aside and then held out a hand. “I'm Roger Sims. I own the bar.” After shaking her hand, he put his arm around the woman. “This is my wife, Camille.”

“Nice to meet you,” Stasia said, a little confused by the introduction when she'd only wanted to find Harley.

“We sponsor the fighters,” Camille explained, “because my brother is Dean Conor, better known as Havoc.”

Small world, Stasia thought. “I've heard Harley and Barber mention him.”

“You know Barber too, then?”

In brief, Stasia said, “We met when he and Satch came to Echo Lake, more or less to rescue Harley after he got snowed in with me.”

“Sounds like you're friends, then.” Camille smiled. “I hope you don't mind that my husband and I feel protective of their privacy. They sometimes meet very pushy fans who refuse to back off.”

“I understand completely. And I promise not to be too much of a bother to him.”

Roger spoke again. “I can find Harley for you if you want.”

“No, that's okay.” If Harley was forewarned, he very well might dodge her. “If you could just point me in the right direction, that'd be great.”

“He's with Barber,” Camille said, “and they were sitting on the far side of the room.”

“Harley just finished filming an interview,” Roger told her, “and I think the photographer is still hanging around.”

Ah. If that was the case, then maybe Uncle Satch was wrong, and Harley didn't require coercion to go along with Satch's plan. Not that she'd had any intention of trying to convince him anyway.

In fact, if Satch knew her intent, he'd probably do his best to send her packing. “Thanks. I appreciate the help.”

Roger stopped her. “Would you like me to take your coat? I can check it for you.”

“That's okay. I don't really expect to be here too long.” She waved and headed off, but not before seeing Roger and Camille put their heads together for some private conversation.

About her? It seemed probable.

Getting through the crowd proved tricky because Stasia had to cross the dance floor and the gyrating bodies kept bumping into her. She hefted her purse strap higher on her shoulder, held her coat closed over her jeans and turtleneck, and with her head down, forged a path through the human congestion.

When she reached the other side, she found a vacant wall and stationed herself against it. From that vantage point she'd be able to look for Harley without being trampled.

After scanning the crowd multiple times, she finally spotted Barber. He sat at a small table in a recessed corner, entertaining a woman on his lap.

For the longest time, Stasia just watched him, even when he started making out with the woman. It fascinated her to see such a public display, never mind that no one else appeared to be paying them any mind.

Even at a distance, she could see that Barber seduced the woman with much success. Given half a chance, Stasia thought the woman might ravish Barber right on the spot.

Not that he was resisting all that much.

Was Harley off somewhere doing the same? Or did his training keep him from it? She hoped—

Suddenly, in mid-kiss, Barber looked up and caught her staring. The redhead tried to kiss him again, but he dodged her to stare blank-faced at Stasia.

Oops.
With her cheeks going hot, Stasia lifted a hand and gave a lame wave of greeting.

Barber appeared dumbfounded to see her, and then he quickly twisted around and searched the room until his gaze landed on someone specific.

Following his line of vision led Stasia to the sight of Harley on the dance floor, all cozy with a very lushly built young lady. Harley had the woman's wrists held in one of his at the small of her back, his other hand on her nape while she played vampire on his neck.

Stasia's stomach dropped, but she managed a cavalier smile as she looked back at Barber. Shoring up her daring, she headed for his table.

Barber was in such a hurry to get to his feet, he nearly dumped his date. “Anastasia. I didn't know you were here.”

The redhead glared at her.

“No reason you should.” Anxious to get the hell out of there with her composure intact, Stasia cleared her throat. “I'm so sorry to interrupt, Barber. I was looking for Harley, but I see he's otherwise occupied. If you could just give him a message for me—”

“You can give it to me yourself.”

Oh hell. Stasia winced at the tone of Harley's voice. The second he spoke, dread overtook every other expression on Barber's face, which didn't exactly reassure her either.

P
ASTING
on another firm smile, Stasia looked up at Harley. “Hi, Harley.”

Scorching heat shone in his blue eyes.

His blond hair was mussed, his nostrils slightly flared. He looked turned on, which made her feel about two feet tall because she'd walked in on something so blatantly sexual.

On the dance floor.

Good old Uncle Satch could just find himself another life coach. Harley was more than she could handle.

“Stasia.” The corners of his mouth tightened. “What are you doing here?”

The woman glued to his side watched her with territorial purpose. Somewhere beside them, a flash went off, and Harley turned to a photographer with a glare so hot, the poor guy retreated behind the crowd.

Barber and his redhead waited in silence.

Stasia felt…naked. Conspicuous. In front of the firing squad.

She straightened her shoulders. “Is it a restricted bar? I didn't realize.”

“I didn't mean that.” Harley took a step toward her. “I didn't expect to see you again.”

“Yes, you were real clear on that, and why. But I'm not here for that.”

“No?”

“Listen, why don't you get back to your…” She gestured toward his date. “…entertainment. Then if it's convenient, we can speak in the morning. I believe you have my phone number?”

She'd taken only half a step when Harley's fingers wound around her upper arm, not hard enough to hurt, but definitely firm enough to restrain.

So close that she could smell the other woman's perfume that clung to his clothes, Harley whispered, “Let's talk now.”

Awkward.

Very, very awkward.

Leaning back, Stasia looked around him and saw the disappointed young lady, arms crossed, waiting to see what her role would be.

Stasia's smile was starting to hurt, damn it. “That'd be rude, Harley. You already have company, and I don't mind waiting.”

“I mind.” Still holding on to her, he turned and faced the two women and Barber. “I need a few minutes.” Those words no sooner left his mouth than he shook his head. “Or an hour or two, actually.”

The girl puckered up. “Maybe I can get a rain check then?”

“No point. Enough pictures were taken.”

“Not by my measure.”

All but vibrating with some strange emotion, Harley said to Stasia, “Wait right here.”

“Sure, why not?”

Her comment must have given him second thoughts, because he said to Barber, “Keep her here, okay?”

“With chains if necessary,” Barber promised.

Harley strode off with the young lady, going only far enough to speak privately.

“Buck up, sweetheart,” Barber said to Stasia. “He wasn't interested in her anyway.”

“Odd. He looked very interested on the dance floor.”

“That was for the photographer.”

“If you say so.”

The girl was not happy. She put her hands on her hips and rattled off a long appeal. When Harley just shook his head, she tried plastering herself to him again.

“Tenacious, ain't she?” Barber asked.

“Very.”

“I sort of like that in a girl.”

Stasia rolled her eyes at the same time Harley pried the girl loose. He cupped her chin, said something that must've cajoled her, and came back to Stasia.

He opened his mouth, but she spoke first. “You're a snake charmer, aren't you?”

Barber laughed.

The redhead didn't. With a vicious glare at Stasia, she jerked herself away from Barber.

“Hey,” he called after her. “What'd I do?”

She went off in a huff to her friend. Together the two women exited the dance floor.

“Well hell,” Barber said, directing his comment at Stasia. “I didn't know it was an all or nothing sort of deal.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I have a weakness for redheads.”

“And blondes,” Harley said. “And brunettes in a pinch.”

“I was already primed, damn it!”

Hearing Barber speak so blatantly about his sexuality made Stasia uncomfortable. “This is ridiculous. I really am sorry, Barber. I didn't mean to run her off. Maybe if I leave—”

“You're not going anywhere,” Harley said. “Barber will survive.”

“Yeah, I will.” Barber winked at her. “Besides, she'll probably be back, and in the meantime, I have a few more women I need to talk to.”

“Spreading it around?” Harley asked.

“Interviewing, actually. I can line up ladies tonight to audition in the morning. Do me a favor, and don't let her run off anyone else.” He saluted them and left the floor.

Stasia watched him go—until Harley caught her chin and brought her face around to his. “I don't think I like you staring after Barber.”

“I wasn't. That is…” She sighed. “He's very sexual, isn't he?”

Mouth grim, Harley said, “You don't need to worry about Barber's sexuality.”

“He's throwing it around the room so that no one can miss it!”

For what felt like an eternity, Harley just stood there, spine straight, eyes narrowed as he looked at her.

Stasia squirmed under the impact of that laser gaze. “Forget Barber,” she finally said.

“Good idea.”

She gave him a quelling look. “Listen up, Harley, I'm not going to stand here while you try to intimidate me.”

“Intimidation had nothing to do with it. I'm just trying to decide.”

“Decide what?”

“If we should go someplace private or if it'd be safer to stay here on the floor with you.”

Safer? Her chin went up. “For your information, I have no interest in molesting you as your brunette did. You can relax about that.”

“You're here.” He took a step closer. “There's no way in hell I'm going to relax.”

He looked almost pained, which made Stasia soften. “Am I really such a threat?”

“Threat? No.” He looked at her mouth, then down her body. “Lose the coat.”

Instead, she pulled the lapels together. “I don't think so.”

“Yeah, maybe it's better that you don't.” He inhaled deeply, and put both hands on her shoulders. “I'm already fighting to keep my hands off you.”

Talk about throwing around the sexuality! “Harley.” She glanced at his big hands on her shoulders. “You're touching me.”

“Not even close, honey.”

Those gravelly words drew her gaze up to his face again, and Stasia was stunned to see him looking so fierce. Trying to be cavalier, she said, “You're not making any sense. Not even close to what?”

His thumbs caressed. “To how and where I want to touch you. But right here in the middle of the floor probably isn't the best place.”

“We can agree on that much.”

He glanced around the room, scowled at the photographer who again stood nearby, his camera at the ready, and said, “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

His jaw flexed. “Someplace more private.”

Stasia stood her ground. “Whoa. I'm not budging, not if you plan to…”

Looking down at her, he whispered, “Have my hands on you?”

“Yeah.” Heat rolled over her, almost weakening her resolve. “Not if you plan to do that.”

“Not just yet. But there's a magazine doing a piece on me and the photographer is just hoping to get another shot, since you ran off the first model.”

“That girl?” So she hadn't been a date? “You weren't really with her?”

“Did it look like I was?”

“Most definitely.”

“Good.” The corners of his mouth tilted. “I met her about five minutes before you walked up. I danced with her so another woman would leave me alone, and so the photographer could take enough shots to be satisfied.”

Stasia wasn't sure if that made Harley's behavior better or worse. “Poor Harley, under so much pressure.”

“You have no idea.” He touched her jaw. “Crystal claimed to understand, but she still wasn't happy to have the evening end so soon.”

Lifting her brows, Stasia said, “She left a hickey on your neck.”

“Yeah?” He put fingertips to his throat, then dropped his hand. “But she never touched my mouth, so you can't use that argument again.”

“What argument?”

“That I should kiss you first—if I want to kiss you.”

“Oh.”

“And I do, Stasia.” He stared down at her mouth. “I will. But not here.”

Again, Stasia resisted his effort to lead her away. “I already told you, Harley, I didn't come here for that.”

With his eyes up on the ceiling and his mood disgruntled, he turned to her again. He put his hands on his hips and appeared to be counting.

Finally he muttered, “Well hell.”

“What?”

His shoulders lifted. “Photographer or not, your purpose or not, seems I just don't care.” He moved closer. “I'm still going to kiss you.”

“Now wait a minute.” Stasia started to back up, but on the crowded floor, there wasn't much room to maneuver.

Locking his gaze on hers, Harley stalked her, moving forward as she scrambled back. “Afraid of me?”

“No, but I know my own limits.”

“Meaning you want to kiss me, too?”

“I'm taking the Fifth on that one, Harley.” When she bumped into the wall and couldn't retreat any farther, she straightened and said,
“Harley,”
as a warning.

He gave a faint smile and, mimicking her, said, “Stasia.”

He stood so close, she had to tip her head way back to see him. “I really don't think—”

“We had an agreement,” he interrupted.

“Yes, I know.” She tried not to think of how badly she wanted that kiss. “We agreed that we wouldn't see each other again. Believe me, I remember.”

He braced his hands on the wall beside her head. “But here you are.”

“If you'd stop deliberately flustering me, I could explain why.”

His attention moved to her mouth. “Not just yet.” And then he bent toward her. Just before his mouth touched hers, he said, “I told you good-bye. That should have been it. Since it wasn't, don't ask me to hold back.” His breath teased her lips. “Not again. Not this time.”

T
HE
kiss was…everything Harley remembered it to be. And damn, but it felt right, as right as breathing or sleeping—but a hell of a lot more energizing.

Holding her face in his hands, Harley adjusted to give himself better access. Her lips opened and he deepened the kiss, tasting her with his tongue, not slow and seductive as he'd first intended, but frenzied and fast, practically devouring her. Against his chest, even through her thick coat, he could feel the frantic pounding of her heart.

He'd more or less told her to stay away.

At the moment, he was damn glad she hadn't.

Wishing she were naked, Harley tangled his fingers in her thick hair and kissed her until they were both breathless.

Her fingers twisted in the front of his shirt, trying to draw him closer when he was already smashed up against her. Thinking of her stretched out on a bed, his for the taking, he eased back and whispered, “Stasia, baby, do you have a room?”

Her mouth followed his. “Not yet.”

Had she come straight to him then, as soon as she got into town? The thought excited him.

Or did she not need a room because she planned to leave as quickly as she'd arrived?

Disliking that idea, Harley said between kisses, “We'll get you a room. Right now.”

“Now?”

He heard her confusion, and though he felt like a cad, he wanted to play off of it. “Yes, Stasia. Now. Tonight.” He looked into her heavy eyes. “Unless you want me to take you right here in the bar?”

“Take me?” Frowning, she pulled back, licked her lips. “Don't be absurd.”

Absurd?
“You know you want it, too.”

Always brutally honest, she said, “I want you. Yes.” After a second, she looked up at him. “But have you forgotten your preferences?”

“No.” Hell no. The thought of her stretched out, straining, accepting…damn, Harley got a boner. He touched her cheek. “I swear, you'll love it.”

And just that easily, she retreated. Hands pressed to his chest, she gave a shaky laugh. “Sorry, Harley, but it ain't happening.”