The Harder They Fall (2 page)

Duff seemed to match her grin, and Trisha laughed. “Can you imagine the look on that saintly woman’s face at the thought of her poor, orphaned niece selling lingerie? She’d have sprayed me with holy water and prayed for my soul for a month.”

Well, she wasn’t a frightened little mouse anymore, Trisha reminded herself. Living life to its fullest was her only goal—difficult as that creed might be. Letting loose with things such as her wardrobe didn’t come easy after years of being repressed. It didn’t come easy to remember she was free to think and feel what she wanted. But she would do it. She would create a full life for herself, and she would enjoy it.

Duff yawned and stretched, scattering a couple of invoices. Tired of working and worrying about money, Trisha lay back on the floor. She stretched, too, staring at the high-beamed ceiling, the plaster-coated brick walls. For a place nearly a century old, it was in remarkable shape. And she loved it beyond reason.

Maybe because she’d been forced to move nearly every year of her life while growing up. Maybe because she’d never been allowed to put down roots. It could have been a lot of things she wasn’t willing to think about now—whatever the reason, she didn’t ever want to leave.

But now she might have to.

For the first time all day Trisha allowed herself to think of the death of her landlord. Sadness filled her, as did the self-pity she’d managed to keep at bay.

Selfish as it was, Trisha had to face the bitter fact—Eloise’s death might mean the end of her time in the place where she’d been the happiest since ... ever. Sitting up, she pulled the closest box toward her and opened it.

Red silk and satin spilled out as she held up a gorgeous teddy, trimmed in delicate lace. Perfect for Leather and Lace. Perfect for her customers, all with someone to please. She forced her chin up. Just because she didn’t have someone special in her life didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate pretty things. Besides, she didn’t want someone in her life. Freedom. That’s what she wanted.

Duff, sensing her somber mood, climbed into her lap and pressed his head into her palm. Obliging, she scratched behind his ears, smiling a little when he started that rumbling purr she loved so much. Silly, she told herself, that a woman of twenty-five could feel her life had just begun, but it was true. Because of that, she had to live each moment to its fullest.

And now Hunter Adams wanted to change all that, force her to move once again. Just the thought had her unreasonably panicked. He had not been what she expected, not at all. A stuffy scientist, Eloise had told her, which had conjured up pictures of an old, graying man. But he’d been nothing like that. Young, built, with a powerful grace that spoke of great physical conditioning, but definitely not old or graying.

A sharp rap on the door had her lifting her head in surprise. No, she thought, rising from the floor to face the man she’d been thinking of, Hunter Adams was nothing like what she’d expected.

Briefly, she wished she’d changed after her workout, or had at least pulled on a sweatshirt over the revealing aerobic outfit she wore. Then she reminded herself that she no longer cared what people thought of her.

“Hello.” He had to shout over the music, and he didn’t look too happy about it. His elegant attire—dark silk dress shirt and perfectly draped matching trousers—which she was sure he’d consider casual, only succeeded in making him all the more masculine. So did that sun-kissed blond hair and serious expression that highlighted patrician, yet rugged features. Those clear green eyes narrowed in annoyance as the music shifted, speeding up in beat and increasing in volume, but he said nothing, just placed his hands on his hips and waited.

Ah, a man used to being in charge. This was likely to get good. Amused, Trisha moved to the stereo, complying with his silent demand. Okay, maybe the scientist could be a little stuffy, a little overbearing, if one let him. She could only imagine how he terrified his peers, but not her. Nope, never again would she let herself be terrified or intimidated by anyone.

Besides, it was hard to be intimidated by a man she’d seen with his pants unzipped.

As the music lowered in decibel level, so did his eyebrows. “How can you think with it so loud?”

“I can think just fine.” Crossing her arms, she watched as Duff stepped over her scattered papers and books to check out the new stranger. Without hesitation, the purring cat rubbed his head and body around Hunter’s legs, and a cloud of black cat hair rose.

Trisha bit her lip and kept her eyes on Hunter’s, hoping he wouldn’t notice. No such luck.

“Your cat sheds.”

The disapproval was apparent and Trisha’s amusement abruptly faded. She’d had enough disapproval to last a lifetime. Besides, any man who didn’t like cats, no matter how devastatingly handsome, didn’t belong in her apartment. “Was there something I could help you with?”

At her chilly tone, he glanced at her, something in his eyes catching her attention. Not humor, it couldn’t be, not in Dr. Hunter Adams’s eyes. Yet there it was.

Bending in one easy motion, he scooped up the cat, folded his arms around his considerable body, and scratched Duff behind the ears in his exact favorite spot.

She could hear Duff’s purr from across the room, and despite herself, Trisha melted on the spot.

“Planning on dropping through any ceilings today?” he asked evenly.

She’d never been one to hold a grudge, especially with a man who could charm her cat
and
laugh at himself. “Not today, no. What brings you out here?” A suspicion gripped her, seized her gut. “You’re not here with a ‘For Sale’ sign, are you?”

“No.” He put Duff down, and the cat immediately rolled onto his back at Hunter’s feet, obviously hoping for a friendly scratch on the belly. “But you must have a hole in your floor from ... where you fell. I thought I should look at it.”

Unable to help it, Trisha grinned. “I never did apologize for that.”

“Do you make that a habit, spying on men in bathrooms?”

Was that a faint blush in his cheeks? It couldn’t be, Trisha decided. Nothing would embarrass Dr. Adams. “Not often,” she replied with a little laugh. “And I am sorry if I startled you.”

“Startled?” He shook his head. “You damn near killed me.”

The man was huge. His wide shoulders and powerful build left no doubt that he was in excellent shape. “I’m not all that heavy,” she protested, scooping Duff up when he walked her way, looking for more attention.

“Heavy, no,” he admitted. “But that vinyl was slippery. You’re lucky I didn’t drop you right in the toilet.”

A giggle escaped her at the memory of the indescribable look on Hunter’s face yesterday, but it quickly backed up in her throat when she watched his gaze roam down the length of the two-piece teal bodysuit she wore.

“No vinyl today, I see.”

There’d been a time when she’d been made to wear nothing but school uniforms, then the most conservative of business clothes while attending college. Now she dressed for herself, and no one else, and if that meant she went a little wild sometimes, what did it matter? She liked it. “No, no vinyl today.” Because she knew he disapproved of her, she didn’t bother to explain that she didn’t like vinyl either.

He cleared his throat. “About the hole—”

Her phone rang, and Trisha hesitated. It was late Sunday afternoon and that could mean only one person. Her uncle Victor. No way would she answer it this week. No way would he make her feel guilty or depressed about her life and how she’d chosen to lead it.

Ring, ring, ring.

No way, she repeated to herself as her hand itched to stop the ringing. Not even if the man was still grieving ... oh, hell. She was stubborn, not heartless. Shoving both the cat and the red lace teddy she still held at the baffled doctor, she whirled for the phone.

Hunter stared down at the burden in his hands. Duff immediately demanded, loudly, to be released, and Hunter let him go. But the soft, satiny thing ... God.

He could picture her in it, all that thick, flowing hair behind her, shimmering eyes, that tight body filling out the silk.

What was it she’d called him? The stuffy scientist? He was well aware that he’d come off formal and reserved. But she’d unnerved the hell out of him in the bathroom the day before, and now he was flustered beyond belief from just fingering the woman’s underwear.

What was it about this chatty, crazy lady that did that to him?

His department would enjoy this. The Devil himself, flustered by a wild pixie of a woman who didn’t know how to dress, whose apartment looked like a cyclone had hit it. Who sold
underwear
for a living.

Order. After having grown up in this very sort of environment, with a flighty actress for a mother and a wanderlust-struck artist for a father, Hunter liked order in his life. Apparently, Trisha didn’t know the meaning of the word. Unwanted memories stung him. How many times had he been willing to sacrifice his needs for the people in his life, only to have them throw those needs back in his face?

Well, no more. He wanted organization, control, routine, and he’d get it. But being here, with this woman who somehow drove him to forget what he wanted and needed, was dangerous. His insides tightening uncomfortably, he straightened and set down the lingerie. He needed out of this house, badly.

“They hung up before I got there.” Trisha replaced the receiver and looked immensely relieved. She sighed deeply, and in doing so, brought his attention to her bare stomach. Her flat, tanned, bare stomach.

“You mentioned your lease before,” Hunter said carefully, a little desperately.

She stiffened. “What about it?”

“I’ll buy it out,” he said recklessly.

Her expression didn’t change. “Absolutely not.”

Two

“Think about it,” Hunter suggested while hopelessness coursed through his veins. What if she wouldn’t leave? “I’ll make a very generous offer.”

“No.” Trisha lifted her shoulders, stretching her top high on her ribs, outlining the firm curves of her breasts. “You’re stuck with me.”

He had to take a deep breath and turn away. Concentrating on the mess that was her home helped. That is, until he focused in on the red and black satin teddies strewn over her couch. Of their own accord, his fingers reached out and scooped one up, the satin rubbing sensuously over his skin.

Not your type, he had to repeat to himself, over and over again, like a mantra.

It didn’t work.

Following a method he’d perfected long ago when something or someone upset him, he closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten, waiting for the visions of this insane woman wearing nothing but silk to go away.

“What are you doing?” he heard her ask, but he just kept counting.
Four, five, six
...

“Are you ... counting?”

Moving around him, she stared at him with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “You are. You’re counting.” She laughed, a light musical sound that had him grating his teeth.

“Seven.”

He hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud, but she laughed again. “Dr. Adams, you can’t be serious.”

“Show me the hole,” he managed to say, rather politely, he thought.

But she just kept that infuriating smile in place and didn’t move. “You know what? I think you just play at this stodgy, superiority thing to intimidate people.”

“What?”

“It probably works with your ... whatever you scientists call your assistants,” she went on, undisturbed by his glare. “But here, Dr. Adams, in my apartment, we’re equals.”

“I own the place.” Where the hell had that come from?
I own the place
. Good Lord, he sounded just like the intolerant jerk she thought he was. “I mean—”

“I know what you mean.” She turned from him, entirely without the show of temper he expected, and sauntered back over to her stereo in her teal workout clothes that so nicely encased her—

The stereo blared even louder as Trisha turned it up with a flick of her wrist, her face carefully devoid of that carefree expression he’d come to expect from her.

He’d hurt her feelings. “Trisha.”

There was no way he could hear himself think, much less have a conversation over the music, which he knew she’d turned up on purpose. “Trisha—”

Smiling sweetly, she moved past him, grabbing the teddy from his hand as she went. The satiny material slid slowly through his fingers. Her thick hair brushed his arm.

He still couldn’t think, but now it wasn’t the music that echoed in his brain. Nope. It was the scent of this irritating, sexy woman floating over him. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, knowing he had to straighten this matter out. “Trisha.”

No one could hear a thing over that noise, and certainly not Ms. Malloy, who was obviously ignoring him. “Trisha, please. Could you turn that down?”

She didn’t look at him, just started singing as she scooped her shipment off the couch one item at a time, draping them over her arm.

“Trisha?”

“Sorry,” she sang out with a smile, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Can’t hear you.”

Moved by a temper he didn’t know he possessed, Hunter stalked to the door. Women, he reminded himself harshly, rarely fitted into his life, and this was proof positive. “Forget it,” he muttered. “I’ll send a contractor.”