Hard to Handle (33 page)

Taking deep breaths, she eased down. Her eyelids went heavy. Her lips opened. She panted.

Harley gripped her hips tighter and said through his teeth, “You're killing me, baby.”

She closed her eyes, braced herself—and pushed down.

Oh God.

Harley struggled with himself, but damn, it felt so good being deep inside her, so deep…He couldn't hold back any longer.

It didn't matter.

Giving up all control, Stasia dropped her head back and groaned. Harley drove up into her, guiding her hips, metering the pace, harder and faster. He brought his knees up and said urgently, “Lean back.”

She did, and the position lifted her breasts.

Harley growled. Seeing her, feeling her, watching her pleasure build was a big mind blow. She cried out in a sudden orgasm, and that was all it took. He joined her on a rush, and as she lay down over his chest, he cradled her close…and cherished her.

H
ARLEY
took his time regaining his wits this time. He felt it when he slipped from Stasia's body, but she didn't budge. She was a limp weight against him, their skin melded with sweat, the scent in the air heady and rich, filled with pleasure.

He could have slept like that, Harley realized, with Stasia as his blanket, comfortable atop him. But he had to dispose of the condom. Moving carefully, he turned her to his side. She mumbled something and curled up as if, having lost his body heat, she felt chilled.

A lump the size of a cantaloupe caught in his throat. He smoothed her hair, touched her soft mouth with his thumb. In the past few months, she'd given him hell, taken him on a damn chase, and numbed his mind with incredible sex.

She wanted to shove her idea of guidance down his throat, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Stasia was an intelligent, intuitive, honest woman. And she seemed to know him, better than most in fact.

The least he could do was consider her comments.

Harley left the bed and looked at her again. He realized she was dead center in the middle of the mattress. He smiled.

Not since Sandy had left him years ago for another man had he slept with a woman.
Slept.
Well, there was that night at the garage with Stasia, but he'd remained awake all night, listening for trouble, thinking—resisting.

He was so tired, he swayed on his feet.

Fuck it. He couldn't very well wake her and tell her to leave, and he'd feel like an ass camping out on the couch.

Besides, there was a terrible yearning inside him. He wanted to be beside her, to hold her and protect her. It would only mean what he wanted it to mean. Nothing more.

He controlled himself and his life. He could control this, whatever it was, too.

Harley pulled the displaced blankets up and over Stasia and went into the bathroom. After quietly cleaning up, he went out to make sure the house was locked up. Everything was quiet and still, peaceful in a way he'd never considered or noticed before.

Thoughts churning, he returned to the bedroom. Stasia still hogged the middle; that lump remained in his throat.

He turned off the lights, squeezed in beside her, and pulled her against his body. As if she'd slept with him for years, she adjusted herself to his body, got comfortable, and sighed back to deep sleep.

Harley wondered if he'd get any rest at all.

It was his last thought until morning sun came through a small opening in the curtains.

S
TASIA
woke with her nose against a hairy chest. Instinctively, she knew it was Harley, and before she'd even gotten her eyes open she was smiling.

Blond hair disheveled, light beard shadow covering his jaws, he looked incredible.

And peaceful.

She didn't have the heart to awaken him. And because she had no idea how he'd react to finding her still in his bed, she didn't have the nerve.

Feeling like a coward, she eased away from him and slid to the edge of the mattress. Harley stirred, turned to his back, and settled back to sleep.

He worked so hard, pushed his body to the limits, and let his uncle run him ragged. He divided his concentration between training, promotion, family duty, and friends. He had to be exhausted.

The sheet barely covered his lap, leaving his torso bare for her perusal. One big foot stuck out at the bottom. He raised an arm, and she looked at the paler underside of his heavily muscled arm, the softer armpit hair, the gentle way his lax hand rested with his fingers open.

She drew a shuddering breath.

Even after last night, seeing him again sent her heart into a tailspin. She knew she was head over heels in love with him, but she didn't really know what to do about it. Harley had never misled her, and she wasn't about to kick up a fuss.

But…God, it hurt.

Cool air sent a chill over her skin and she picked up his discarded sweatshirt from the night before, slipped out of his room, and eased the door closed again.

Had anything really changed between them? To her, it felt like a whole new dynamic had been added to their relationship. But she couldn't trust in her own perspective, and she knew it. For her, sex was a commitment.

For Harley, it was…sex.

To clear her head and get her bearings, Stasia needed caffeine in a very bad way. After pulling on the sweatshirt, which hung to her knees and helped to ward off the chill, she crept to the kitchen.

Everything about Harley's home screamed male domain. It was obvious men had decorated the house, and that men lived in it. The furnishings were masculine and heavy and dark. Everything was functional, but tasteful, and it suited Harley.

She found a jar of coffee in the cabinet above the sink, a coffee machine on the countertop, mugs, and sugar. Within minutes the scent of brewing coffee filled the air, rejuvenating her. Crossing her arms around herself, Stasia went to the kitchen window to watch the bright red sun rising over the snowy landscape.

What would happen today? How would Harley act? How should she act?

She honestly had no idea if he'd be pleased to find her still there, or wish her long gone. Either way, she had to be prepared. When he woke up, she hoped to already be dressed just in case her pride demanded a hasty exit.

The coffee machine hissed to a finish and Stasia hastily prepared a cup of morale-boosting caffeine.

She was just about to take her first drink when she heard a squeak behind her. Prepared to greet Harley, to bear his mood whatever it might be, she pasted on a firm, if uncertain, smile, and turned. “Good morning.”

At the sound of her voice, Harley's uncle drew back, let his gaze flash over her, head to toes, and glared daggers. “What are you doing here?”

The mug of steaming coffee slipped right out of Stasia's numb fingers. Glass shattered, and burning hot coffee splashed against her legs.

J
ARRED
from a sound sleep by the sound of breaking glass, Harley turned and looked at the other side of the bed.

Empty.

Sunlight poured into the room and a quick glance at the clock showed that morning had arrived. He'd slept through the night.

With Stasia.

Where the hell was she? He threw back the sheet and left the bed. Then he heard his uncle hiss, “Damn it, girl, look what you've done to yourself.”

Harley stalled. Oh hell.

What was his uncle doing home? Had Stasia left the bed naked? He glanced at the floor and saw all her clothes still piled there.

Harley charged down the hall, down the short flight of stairs and around the corner to the kitchen.

He came to a sudden stop.

His uncle held Stasia in his arms. She wore only Harley's sweatshirt, which in no way preserved her modesty. Crunching over broken glass while Stasia screeched and tried to free herself, Satch said, “Move, boy. She's burned herself.”

Slack-jawed, Harley stepped back while his uncle strode into the living room and put Stasia on a couch.

She scrambled fast to readjust the sweatshirt. “Harley!”

His uncle raced back into the kitchen.

“What the hell happened?”

Face pale, Stasia said, “I dropped my coffee and—”

Satch returned, dropped to one knee, and slapped wet rags against Stasia's bare legs even as he unleashed his temper on her. “You slept with him!”

Her gaze scuttled from Satch to Harley and back again. “Satch…”

“That wasn't our agreement, damn it.” He patted the wet towels into place over her thighs. “I didn't hire you for that.”

“
Hire
her?”

Stasia and Satch both jerked around to stare at him. Tears gathered in Stasia's eyes. Satch looked furious.

Harley glanced back into the kitchen at the shattered mug on the tile floor, the spilled coffee. He looked at his uncle, crouched in front of Stasia.

Icy control came to the fore.

Buck naked and uncaring, Harley strode to her. “First things first. How bad are you burned?”

“I'm okay.”

Satch snorted. “She dropped her mug and spilled steaming coffee all over her legs.”

Satch moved out of the way as Harley knelt in front of her. “Let me see.”

“Harley,” she implored, “you're naked.”

He lifted one cloth to look at her skin. It was bright red, raised, making him wince. “My uncle has seen me before.”

“Not in front of me!”

“Oh for God's sake.” Satch marched out of the room but returned moments later with Harley's jeans. “Put them on before she expires.”

Harley stood. He felt curiously detached, from himself and from the situation. As he pulled on the jeans, he eyed Stasia's overly composed posture. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No.” She smoothed out the towels on her legs. “I'm sorry, but the glass went everywhere.”

He glanced at his uncle. “Satch?”

“I'll clean it up.” He didn't move. “But first, why don't you tell me what she's doing here?”

Harley didn't look at him. “I don't have to explain myself to you.”

“You don't want to explain to anyone, do you? Not the press and not your own uncle.”

Harley's jaw clenched. “My private life is no one's business.”

“It becomes my business when I get confronted with a mostly naked girl making herself at home in our kitchen!”

“You weren't supposed to be here.” Harley took the cloths from her legs and went into the kitchen to soak them again in icy water. He avoided the glass that had scattered everywhere.

“So now I need to give you an itinerary? I got done early. That's all.”

“Give me a minute, damn it.”

Grumbling, Satch went in search of a broom and dustpan.

Harley came back to Stasia. As he gently placed the icy towels over her, he said, “It looks like you might get blisters.”

She swallowed. “Usually I take creamer, but you didn't have any, otherwise the coffee wouldn't have been so hot.”

His face felt frozen. Inside, acid burned in his guts. He stepped away from her and waited while his uncle cleaned up the bulk of the mess.

“The floor will have to be mopped.”

“I can do it,” Stasia offered, and Harley noticed that she watched him, waiting for an outburst.

Crossing his arms over his chest, fighting the urge to check her burns more carefully, Harley eyed his uncle. “So you hired Stasia? Mind if I ask what for?”

“She's a life coach.” Satch dumped broken glass into the trash with unnecessary flair.

“So?”

“I wanted her to work on you. I thought she could talk some sense into you.” His gaze zeroed in on Stasia. “I didn't expect her to be like all the rest.”

Offering no denials, saying nothing at all, Stasia stared at Harley. When he stayed quiet too, she slumped a little, then stiffened her shoulders with new resolve.

“I'm not working for Satch.”

“When you first got here, you told me you wanted to make me your newest job.” He walked a slow circle around her, wanting to touch her but not trusting himself. He didn't know what he wanted to do. “You've gone to the trouble of learning a lot about the sport.”

“Yes.”

Damn it, she was too calm, too collected to suit him. “A dedicated worker like you wouldn't take a job without knowing what she was getting into.”

Lifting the wet cloths off her thighs, Stasia stood and carried them to the sink. She avoided the remnants of spilled coffee. The boxy sweatshirt curved beneath her derriere, showcasing her long—and now burned—legs.

Still without a word, she left the kitchen and walked around Harley for the hallway.

He wanted to follow her so badly, resisting the urge cut into him. He turned on his uncle. “You overstepped yourself too far this time, Satch.”

His uncle responded in a fury, “You told me she wasn't your type!”

“Who is or isn't my type is none of your damn business.”

“I'm your manager.”

“Maybe that was a mistake, too.”

Falling back a step, Satch went pale. “What the hell are you saying?”

He felt like he'd just ripped the life from his uncle. But damn it, he hurt too much to temper his rage. Pushing off the wall, Harley walked over to Satch. “If you want to stay my manager, you will never again involve yourself in my personal life.”

“But—”

“Never. Is that understood?”

Suppressing his own fury, Satch nodded. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

Harley turned and almost ran into Stasia. In record time, she had dressed and now wore her coat. There was no color in her face or lips.