The Harder They Fall (23 page)

“No.” Lifting his head, he whispered roughly, “Don’t hold back, Trisha. I want it all.” Then he tugged rhythmically on her with his mouth, his fingers matching the motions below.

Arching back, she fisted her hands in the sheets. The sharp, searing need stunned her. It rained over her in waves, and she knew it wasn’t just her, that Hunter felt it too. He trembled with it.

“Let go,” he whispered again, his thumb brushing against the very core of her.

Utterly incapable of fighting it any longer, she let herself go with a soft cry he immediately swallowed with his mouth.

“Yes,” he whispered triumphantly, shifting lower, lower, then lower still. His hands were everywhere. His teeth nipped her inner thigh, and she squirmed and pushed to get closer, to rush him, to ease the insane renewed need. He just held her down gently with his arms, then splayed her legs wide, his nimble, deft tongue tracing over her knowingly.

“Hunter.” It was all she could manage, and even then, it came out more like a muffled sob. He explored her slowly, relentlessly, with a thoroughness that left her gasping, each nerve and muscle clenched tight, trembling, waiting, wanting. So close, so desperately close.

Then he stopped.

“Not yet,” he panted, rearing up to shuck his sweats. “I want to be inside you when you come again.” He shuddered as he came back to her, his hips moving rhythmically.

With torturous slowness, he sank into her. Steel into wet velvet, and she rocked against him, desperate now for more.

“Don’t move,” he gasped, dropping his forehead to hers, gripping her hips to hold her still. “I want—
slow
. I want this to last. God, don’t move ... I can’t—”

“Hunter,” she cried out, lifting her hips. She couldn’t keep still, tried but just couldn’t. That she’d reduced this strong man to a trembling mass of muscle empowered her. Moving against him, she sucked in her breath at the surge of dangerous heat, the unleashed hunger. “Now, please, now.”

His control was slipping, she knew that by the fierce concentration on his face. She strove to shatter the rest and took his mouth with hers.

He groaned, but still didn’t move.

She expected the slap of fear, knew it stemmed from the strength of her love for him, from her knowledge that he wouldn’t allow himself to return that love.

She just didn’t expect him to feel the fear too.

He went stiff in her arms, his face drawn and tormented. “No,” he said hoarsely, levering himself up. “I shouldn’t have come. Dammit, I shouldn’t have come.”

Her fear was nothing compared with his, she thought with a burst of raw emotion that stung her eyes. “Yes, you should have. I’m right here, Hunter. Love me.”

His eyes, shimmering with a bleak despair, met hers.

He was going to refuse, and she couldn’t allow it. Lifting her legs around his waist, she pulled him back to her, met his mouth for a long, drugging, fervent kiss. “I’m right here,” she whispered again, clutching his wide, damp shoulders. “I’m right here.”

With a groan, he scooped her close and whispered her name hoarsely, driving himself into her, shattering them both as they shared a drenching, volcanic climax.

She awoke to a blaring alarm clock, the bright sun, and the noisy chirping of birds.

Jerking upright, Trisha stared at her room, trying to get her bearings. She was alone, and if it hadn’t been for the sweet ache between her thighs, she might have thought she’d dreamed the entire night.

She might as well have, for all the good it would do her. Obviously, Hunter Adams had decided she wasn’t worth the possible pain, and she had only herself to blame if her heart broke now.

On the other side of her room, her alarm still blared, and given that it was nearly ten o’clock, she had to assume the thing had been blaring for nearly three hours.

How could she have slept that way?

Easy—exhaustion, mental and physical.

Her quick shower didn’t help much, nor did Celia’s amused, knowing glance when Trisha dashed into the store, hours late.

“You had a delivery this morning,” Celia said casually. “It’s on your desk.”

Trisha nodded reluctantly, wondering what crazy shipment she’d received today. Without much energy, she moved toward her office.

She’d tried to prepare herself for the realization that Hunter couldn’t handle love, but she hadn’t been successful. It still hurt. But the truth remained; no matter how patient she was, he just wouldn’t allow himself to feel.

She told herself it was okay to grieve, but that she had to move on. Had to, or she’d never get over it. She’d been hurt before, by people who
did
claim to love her, so this shouldn’t have come as such a big surprise.

What did come as a surprise was the single red rose on her desk with the card that simply read,
The house is not for sale
.

Trisha stared at the card with hands that suddenly didn’t seem steady. What did this mean? Obviously, Hunter had turned down the offer, taken the house off the market.

But why?

For once, Trisha’s mind strayed far from the store as she worked. Would he come to her bed tonight?

If he did, would she let him?

She thought of the tortured glaze to his eyes, of the tension in his glorious body, of the aching emotion in his voice, and knew she would. The ravenous, dark hunger they shared for each other, the way he wrung things from her no one else ever had ... Oh, yes. She’d have him again if he wanted. She’d do anything to ease his anguish.

Though it was the night when she and Celia always went out for dinner and a movie, Celia sent her home, saying she looked like she needed sleep.

Trisha needed something all right, only it wasn’t sleep.

Walking up her stairs, she paused with a frown when she found her front door locked. She
never
locked it, and not because she didn’t care about her apartment. She left it open because she could so rarely find her key.

It couldn’t have been a burglar. One, she had nothing of value to take, and two, what kind of a thief locked up after himself?

It took her more than a minute to locate the nearly forgotten key in her huge, overstuffed purse. Then, still frowning, she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Silence. Slightly messy, just as she had left it.

Duff sat on the couch, waiting, and she sighed, her body relaxing. “Hi, sweetie. It’s so nice to have you here when I get home.” She dumped her purse and sank down next to him. He crawled onto her lap with a low purr, rubbed his face against her, then settled down for a petting.

“You love me,” she whispered, choking up. “It’s enough for me. It is.”

She hunched over him, hugging him close, soaking in the unconditional love that only an animal can provide. “Thanks.” She smiled. “This self-pity thing really has to go. I’m fine. My life is fine.”

Yeah. Everything was just peachy.

Then she heard it. A small, unidentifiable noise from down the hall that made her freeze.

With Duff right there on the couch next to her, there was no reason for a noise, and she remained tense on the couch for a long moment. Finally, she shrugged lightly, stroking the sleek cat. “Oh, Duff.” She laughed. “My nerves are shot.”

But a minute later she heard the noise again—the distinct sound of her bedsprings. She stiffened, glancing at Duff, who merely licked his chops and proceeded to wash his face.

With a snort of disgust for her feline watchdog, she slowly rose, listening. Nothing.

Duff didn’t so much as raise a single hair.

Just her overworked imagination, that’s all.

Shrugging out of the blazer she wore, she stretched, then shivered. The early evening had gotten chilly, and her sleeveless lace shell wasn’t nearly warm enough. Sweats, she decided. Glamourless, baggy sweats, and a big bowl of popcorn. No, make that chocolate, and lots of it.

But she came to a dead stop in the doorway of her bedroom, speechless.

Sprawled across her bed, wearing nothing but a lazy grin and her handcuffs, lay Hunter.

Sixteen

“Oh, my.”

His grin widened.

“I—I thought you were at work.”

“Nope.” With a lift of his wrist, he showed her the handcuff, which he’d used to cuff himself to her headboard. “No work. As you can see, I’m ... rather tied up at the moment.”

Trisha, eyes wide, drank in the sight of Hunter’s long, powerful body tied to the bed by his own will. Gloriously, magnificently nude. It was incredible,
he
was incredible. But what really caught her eye was the look in his. The calm, controlled certainty was back in those green depths, and added in was what she’d been waiting so long to see.

He winked.

Her knees wobbled. “Oh, my,” she said again.

He laughed.
Laughed
. To Trisha, it was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard. The fist that had clenched tight around her heart slowly loosened.

“Hunter,” she said quite steadily, in complete disregard of the pattering of her heart. “Not that you don’t look quite splendid...” She ran her eyes down the length of him. “But
what are you doing
?”

“Catching a cold.” His eyes shone with a teasing amusement, and much, much more. “Come here, Trisha.”

Again, her gaze ran over him, stretched out so comfortably, so relaxed, so ... ready, willing, and able.
Very
able, she thought as her breath stammered in her throat.

Her knees touched the bed without her having any conscious memory of walking across the room. Hunter watched, his gaze searing and laughing and needy all at the same time. It reminded her of Duff suddenly, and how he always sprawled on his back when he wanted his belly rubbed. But the man sprawled out before her had the sleek, powerful body of a cougar, not a housecat. Still, she laughed.

“Anybody ever tell you that you could seriously damage a man’s ego if you stare at him and laugh?” Hunter asked conversationally, not looking insulted in the least. “Especially when he’s in the altogether.”

“I’m sorry.” But she giggled again. “I didn’t quite have this in mind when you took the cuffs.”

“I know.” He reached up and grasped one of her hands with his free one. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you did that.”

“Trisha, I’m sorry.”

“For tying yourself to my bed?”

“No. For hurting you.”

Her amusement drained. “You didn’t do it on purpose.”

“No,” he agreed solemnly. “I didn’t. But it doesn’t change the fact that I withdrew when you needed me, refused to give you what I should have given from the beginning.”

“Give me what?”

“My heart.”

“Oh.
That
.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but of course it did. And his words touched her deeply. “You’ve done what you could.”

“No.” He swallowed and stared at her ceiling. “Even now you’re willing to think the best of me. Do you have any idea how humbling that is? Especially since I don’t deserve it.” With a deep breath, he met her gaze again. “I never gave you the same courtesy, Trisha. And all along, you thought that was because I didn’t feel anything for you. But I did, I
do
, I was just a coward.”

“Well...” She shrugged. “I am a little different. Compared to what you’re used to—”

“No,” he said in a harsh voice laced with soft tenderness. “Don’t defend me, it was unforgivable. Doubting you, doubting us...” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I haven’t been fair. I’ve purposely held back from you, while you gave me everything you had.”

She stared unblinking at their linked fingers. “Why are you telling me this now?” she whispered, afraid to hope, unable to hold it back.

He brought her knuckles to his mouth, kissed her gently. “I can’t do it anymore, Trisha. I’ve been lying to myself all along, telling myself I could control this, but I couldn’t. It terrified me, to feel so open, so ... exposed.”

“It was the handcuffs,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe.” He let out a little laugh. “Somehow you made me feel even more vulnerable, stripped of every ounce of control and all inhibitions.” He laughed again. “But God, it was good.”

“So you decided to come back for seconds.” She nodded to the cuffs.

“I thought maybe this would show how seriously I intended to fix the problem.” He shrugged, an eloquent smile playing about his lips. “The key is on top of your dresser. I’m not going anywhere now, unless you let me go.”

Helplessly, she smiled back. “What if I never do?”

His smile was slow and devastating. “I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

Was he offering her everything she’d ever wanted? “Why? What has changed?”

“Time. The constant nightmares of your leaving. Waking up alone in the mornings, when I knew I could have had you in my arms. Coming home at night and wishing you were there, waiting for me, blaring music and all.”

“I was,” she said quietly. “Waiting for you.”

“I was afraid,” he admitted. “So deathly afraid you’d turn me away. I’d done it to you often enough.”