The Harder They Fall Page 16

  It was very difficult to continue feeling any sort of indignation over that night, but anger was all that kept him from admitting he might be wrong about the depth of his feelings for her.

  He knew she thought she’d gambled on that night, and lost. It was why she’d made herself scarce. But Hunter was a man who liked to think everything through completely, and he liked to do this in his own time, in his own way. He’d done little but think, but he’d come to no definite conclusion—another troubling fact.

  Since when could he not come to a definitive conclusion? Since when had things not been either black or white, but a muddled gray?

  The fear in the pit of his belly didn’t abate on the third day, and as he walked out of the lab late that night, he thought he just might be exhausted enough to fall into his bed and crash. He hoped.

  The lot was nearly empty. He waved at the guard and walked toward his car, pulling out his keys. It had been the day from hell, where nothing had gone right, and everything that could go wrong had. Finally, after consuming an entire roll of antacid tablets, which Heidi had been kind enough to procure for him, he was forced to admit it: The overwhelming fear wouldn’t go away until he faced it—and Trisha.

  But doing that would make him think about his feelings for her, and those feelings went far deeper than he would have thought possible. In fact, he thought while inhaling a big gulp of air and even more antacids, it was quite possible he loved her every bit as much as she claimed to love him.

  “You look as though you’ve been punched in the gut.”

  In the relative dark of the half-moon and deserted parking lot, Hunter jerked and turned.

  “Sorry.” Celia, with her spiked light green hair and rows of silver jewelry, waved and smiled at him, looking far from apologetic. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Hmm,” he said noncommittally, unlocking his car. “I suppose I should be surprised to see you, but somehow I’m not.”

  “There’s that famous wit. The one that got you that reputation for, what is it they call you? Devil?” A wide grin flashed in the dark.

  He hated that nickname. “Nasty job, cajoling money out of very wealthy, lonely women. But someone’s got to do it.”

  “Ah, sarcasm.” She nodded, her hair bobbing. “That’s something I understand well. You hate your reputation, and I guess, given what I know about you, I can see why.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s not easy for you to have people get to know you, is it?”

  Startled by her perceptiveness, he glanced at her. “Thought you sold panties. Didn’t know you were a shrink as well.”

  Uninsulted, she laughed and slipped her hands into the back pockets of her bright red leather pants. “I’m a whole heck of a lot of things, Dr. Adams. But at the moment, mostly, I’m worried about my best friend.”

  That made two of them.

  “What I want to know,” she said, “is what are you going to do about it?”

  Tossing his briefcase into the car, he straightened and sighed. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve been working night and day.”

  “Hmmph.”

  He felt like a six-year-old, duly chastised. “I’ve been trying to call her.”

  The dark look she shot him told him what he already knew—not good enough.

  “Do you have any idea what she’s doing at this very minute?” Celia asked.

  He’d thought he’d been in a state of real fear for the last few days, but it was nothing compared with the terror that gripped him now. “God, what has she done?”

  Celia laughed, but sobered quickly. “I should let you find out the hard way, I really should. But, well, she...”

  “She what?” he asked in an ominous voice that none of the entire ten thousand employees of the lab would have been able to ignore. “Just tell me.”

  “She’s moving out. Tonight.”

  Hunter completed the normally ten-minute drive in less than four. Taking the stairs to Trisha’s apartment three at a time, he debated for maybe a millisecond about knocking. Then forsook the niceties and stormed in.

  She sat on the couch, a faraway expression on her face as she stroked Duff in her lap. Immediately he saw her surrounded by a sea of empty boxes.

  His sigh of relief sounded loud in the silent room. “I caught you in time, then,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets to keep them off her.

  Her gaze leaped to his, though she didn’t move a muscle. “I didn’t hear you knock.”

  “That’s because I didn’t.” She sounded distant, cool, and so damn familiar he wanted to draw her up and gather her close. Instead, he stepped into the room and leaned against the wall. “What’s going on, Trisha?”

  Her eyes drank in the sight of him, and he knew what she saw. Ruffled hair, haphazardly knotted tie, haggard features. Work. Too much work, that’s all that was wrong with him.

  This insane panic at the sight of the moving boxes was all due to too much work

  Oh, like hell. Lying was impossible, especially to himself. In two strides, he was standing in front of her; then, ignoring her startled squeak of surprise, he hauled her up, wrapped her in his arms, and looked at her.

  Her voice, when she spoke, was shaking. “Hunter—”

  He kissed her, thoroughly. Ah, this, this was what he’d wanted, needed, craved beyond belief all week, and he buried his face in her neck, pressing her close. Dragging his lips over her soft skin, he listened to her ragged breathing. As his hands slid over her, pulling her closer still, a little sound of pleasure rose from her throat and she fisted her hands in his hair to bring his face back to hers.

  The kiss consumed him.

  He lost himself in it, in the feel of her against him. “Trisha,” he groaned, and took her mouth again.

  Then she shoved him away, hard.

  Chest heaving, she stared at him. He stared back, aroused, stunned, terrified all at once.

  “Is this some more of that lust we talked about?” she demanded.

  No. God, no. “Yes.”

  “Go away,” she whispered, putting a trembling hand to her chest.

  That little vulnerable gesture tore at him. “I can’t.”

  “You’ve managed well enough these past few days.” With a suspicious sheen to her eyes, she turned away and knelt before a box.

  “I needed to think.” That sounded lame, even to his own ears. “Trisha, I—”

  “I needed to think too,” she said quietly. “And this is best—for both of us, I think.”

  Suddenly he knew exactly how she’d felt the other night when she’d had a panic attack. His windpipe tightened, cutting off his air. “Moving? That’s the answer?”

  She nodded and reached for the closest bookshelf at her side. Grabbing a handful of books, she tossed them into the box. Blindly, since her scalding tears didn’t allow for much vision, she grabbed another handful, blinking frantically to hold back the flow.

  “Trisha.”

  Lord, that voice. He dropped to his knees beside her, silently took the books from her hands, and set them aside. Turning back, he touched her shoulders until she looked at him. “I don’t want you to move because of me.”

  She waited, but he said nothing else. No vow of love, or even undying lust. Nothing that gave away one iota of feeling, except for the torment shining in his deep green eyes. So he hadn’t gotten over his fear yet, damn him. She loved him, more than her own life, but what else could she do? “I’m not moving for you,” she managed. “I’m doing it for me.”

  He grimaced. “You wouldn’t have considered moving before I came here.”

  “Maybe not.” She tried to twist free, but he held her with a gentle yet firm grip. “I’m going to do this, Hunter.” Her heart sent up a protest, which she ruthlessly squelched. Instead she surveyed her beautiful wide-open apartment.

  Much as she loved it, it was nothing compared with being near the man she had come to love beyond reason. The man who had such a f
ear of letting go, of being hurt, that he couldn’t allow himself to love her back.

  “I can’t stay here,” she said quietly, swallowing her sob. “I’ll find another home.”

  “Because of me?” Something flickered in his eyes. “You’re leaving the only real home you’ve ever had, because of me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “You know I can’t stay, feeling the way I do.”

  He took a deep breath, straightened his already impossibly straight shoulders. “I got a call today from the realtor. He found a buyer.”

  No, she wouldn’t cry. “I see. That’s nice for you.”

  His voice, when it ended the pained silence, sounded husky with emotion. “They intend to rent the place out, not live here. So I put a clause in the contract about your staying.”

  Her entire body went rigid. “Oh.” Her fingernails dug painfully into her palms, holding the tears at bay. “That was thoughtful of you.”

  His shoulders hunched, and since he already towered over her, she felt surrounded by him. “I don’t want you to leave because of me,” he said again very softly. He bent his head close to hers, rubbing his slightly rough cheek over her smooth one.

  Guilt. It drove him in a way she understood all too well. Her aunt had been the queen of guilt, but Trisha had vowed not to be controlled by her emotions any longer. “You can’t always have your way, Hunter.”

  “Maybe not,” he admitted. “But I’m going to have my way in this. This place means everything to you and I won’t take it from you.” His voice, sure and steady, cracked. “And I won’t let you take it from yourself either.”

  “I’m leaving,” she insisted, hardening herself to his anguish. “You can’t afford for me to stay. I’ll probably destroy something else by accident. Maybe the roof this time. I don’t know how, and I certainly won’t mean it, but it’ll just happen.”

  “I don’t care—”

  “I’m ready to move on anyway.”

  He stood and reached for her hand, which she refused, pushing to her feet by herself. “Thought I’d try something completely different,” she said with a light shrug. “Maybe go on a long vacation first, to Tahiti or somewhere.”

  He frowned. “By yourself?”

  “Yeah.” She forced a smile past her aching heart. “Meet some new people. Then maybe a cruise to Alaska. Check out some glaciers.”

  He looked horrified. “Glaciers?”

  “Why not? I need a challenge.”

  “Trisha,” he said slowly, “with your track record, I don’t think glaciers are a good idea.”

  Oh, anger helped, it really did. “Despite what you think, I can handle myself.”

  “I know,” he said with a sad smile. “And you’re quite good at it. You’ve had to be, with no one else to do the job.”

  The tenderness in his gaze made her yearn and ache even more. “You have no right to do this,” she whispered. “No right at all.”

  “Do what?”

  “Be so ... kind. Caring. I want to hate you, Hunter. Please, let me.”

  His sad smile broke her heart. “You know, we never had our little talk.”

  “About?” She crossed her arms defensively, knowing damn well what.

  “Remember that night you had your panic attack? I had some questions for you then, but you’ve managed to avoid me ever since.”

  “I’ve avoided you?” she asked incredulously, and laughed.

  “That’s right,” he said evenly. “You’re fine, as long as we’re talking about anything but yourself, your past.”

  She hugged her arms closer to herself and wondered how they’d gotten to this point. “My past has nothing to do with the here and now.”

  “Hmmph,” he said in obvious disagreement. Bending, he began to collapse the empty boxes with a quick efficiency. “Tahiti,” he muttered.

  “Don’t fold up those boxes. I need them.”

  He ignored her. “Know what I think?” he asked casually, folding yet another moving box. “I think you use this slightly wacky, wild-woman thing as a shield. I think it’s an effort for you to push yourself to live life to its fullest, because you never got the chance before.”

  His hands stilled. His gaze met hers, held it. “Isn’t that right?” he asked softly.

  Her only defense was sarcasm, and she usually used it well. “That would suit you just fine, wouldn’t it? If I was really someone else. But if you’re hoping that beneath this crazy facade lives a calm, elegant, and sophisticated woman, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  “Of course I’m not.”

  “Really?” She let out a little laugh. “Tell me something. You like everything about me, every little thing?”

  “Well...” His lips twitched. “Everything but the window rattling. If you’d just turn down the music, just a little bit...”

  “Stop it,” she said quietly, not feeling like bantering. “I’m not your type, you’ve said that often enough. Don’t tease me about it.”

  “Oh, you’re my type,” he said silkily. “I’m just not yours.” In the center of a sea of boxes, he turned around and lifted his hands. “Trisha, I’m not good at this, at keeping a woman happy for long. I’ve told you, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Too late for that. Much too late. But with Hunter looking at her, his eyes gentle and regretful, she couldn’t tell him so.

  “Don’t move out of here,” he said suddenly, standing and touching her face. “Please, I’ll leave, but not you. You belong here, and I want to be able to picture you, happy in your home.”

  He’d leave. He’d leave so she could stay. Some compromise, her heart cried, but what choice did she have?

  “Please,” he whispered, dropping his hand from her. “Promise you’ll stay.”

  “You’re still going to sell.”

  It wasn’t a question, but he answered her with a curt nod. “Yes.”

  Locking her knees together, she lifted her chin, prepared to be curt in return. But one look at him and the words dried up in her mouth. His expression, so carefully blank, told her he purposely, desperately hid his thoughts. Only the searing, tortured glaze in his eyes gave him away as he waited for her answer.

  Everyone in his life left him or took from him. No one stayed of their own accord, just for him.

  She’d be the first.

  “Maybe I will stay a little longer,” she said slowly, heart thumping as she hoped to ease him somehow.

  It worked. His body relaxed, the tension drained instantly, or most of it. There was still some left in his gaze as he looked at her for one long telling moment before turning and quietly walking out of her life.

  The next day Trisha took a phone call from Sam Walters, the realtor. The minute he said his name, she couldn’t help but picture a little weasel, sniffing and chortling over the prospect of a huge sale. Gritting her teeth, she suffered the banalities of casual conversation until he got to the point of his call.

  Thrilled at the imminent sale, he simply wanted to assure her that the prospective new owners did indeed want her to stay on as a tenant. And as the previous owner had stipulated in no uncertain terms, she would be allowed to transfer her current lease.

  It seemed Hunter had been busy.

  The offer far surpassed her hopes, she had to admit as she hung up the phone. But that’s not why she suddenly dropped her head to her desk and began to sob with helpless abandon.

  No, it was the realtor’s parting words that threatened to shred apart her heart.

  On top of allowing her to stay in her place for as long as she wished, the “previous owner” had taken care of one more thing.

  Hunter Adams had done what he seemed to do best—taken care of those he felt responsible for. It was apparently the only way he had of showing his true feelings.

  It certainly was the only evidence she had of how much he cared for her, but she’d take it and hold it dear to her heart nonetheless, knowing that for Hunter, it was a profound expression of his feelings, the most she was likely ever to r
eceive.

  He’d settled her rent with the new owners for the next five years.

  Fifteen

  She dreamed of Hunter that night, dreamed of his fathomless green eyes, of his sweet, yet wicked smile, of the intensity that always simmered just beneath his surface.

  She dreamed of his incredible mouth on hers, soft at first, then more seductive. Her body reacted, arched up against the bedding ... and came in contact with a warm, hard, strong body.

  “It’s me,” he said in a husky whisper, startling her fully awake.

  Hunter.

  In the silvery light she saw his face, saw the tense lines of fear and need warring with good sense.

  “I’m sorry if I scared you,” he said softly.

  He wore only a T-shirt and sweatpants. Kneeling by the bed, he leaned close and dipped his mouth to the frantically racing pulse at the base of her neck, then groaned at his first taste of her. “God, Trisha, don’t ... I don’t think I can stand it if you ... Please, don’t make me go.”

  As if she could.

  “Trisha?”

  In answer, she moved back and made room. He lay down in the warm space, half covering her body with his own, the blankets still between them. His powerful arms shook slightly as he drew her to him.

  “I dreamed you were gone,” he whispered raggedly. “I had to come make sure.”

  “I thought you were gone.”

  In her arms, he shivered, though he felt warm to the touch. “I tried to go.” He pulled her tighter. “Couldn’t.”

  He expected her to leave him. He’d been waiting for it, so sure he would be left once again. In fact, he’d done everything in his power to chase her away, to ensure that she would go. Well, she thought with a deep breath, this test was about to come to an end.

  “I’m here,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m right here.”

  “I can’t stop thinking of you ... of what you do to me.” He untied his sweats and drew her hand inside to his very solid erection. “I need you, Trisha. So much.” He moaned when she stroked him. “God. Please.”