The Harder They Fall

by Jill Shalvis

  He should have been used to the way people were impressed by his occupation. After all, he’d exploited it enough times to fund his research. “I’m also a physicist and a space scientist for Jet Propulsion Laboratories, which works under NASA’s direct supervision.” He was also a JPL payload specialist and a principal investigator, which meant he was the department head, but listing all his various responsibilities always sounded so overwhelming and pretentious.

  “Wow.” She smiled at him. “That explains the attitude.”

  “Attitude?”

  Her smile widened at his stiff tone. “Yeah, definitely attitude.”

  “I don’t have—” He broke off when she laughed. No. He would not respond to her gibe. Not when it was obvious anything he said would only confirm her opinion about him.

  “I guess they train you pretty hard when you go into space, don’t they?”

  Again, he saw that heavy-lidded, sensuous stare, telling him she was as painfully aware of him as he was of her. He didn’t think that was a good thing, since he had no desire to be aware of her in the first place.

  “Do you have to work out every day?”

  “We do train hard,” he acknowledged, “but I’ve come up with a new addition for that training. Catching screaming females as they fall through the ceiling. The more you catch, the stronger you get.”

  “You do have a sense of humor. Oh, I’m so glad,” she said with so much surprise, Hunter actually felt like laughing.

  “It came with the doctorate.”

  Again she laughed, and he found himself smiling along with her. It wasn’t often Hunter had such a casual conversation, even less often that he wanted to. It felt strange.

  “I’m glad you can enjoy funny things.” She gave him an indecipherable glance. “It might help.”

  “Help? With what?”

  Slowly, she drew her pouty lower lip through her teeth. “Did I tell you I’m a bit ... clumsy?”

  “You didn’t have to,” he said wryly. “It’s obvious.”

  “Well, then ... you’ll appreciate how I managed to leave my freezer open last night. By accident, of course.” She flashed him a full smile. “It sort of defrosted.”

  “It ... defrosted?”

  “By the time I woke up this morning, the kitchen floor had rotted right through.”

  He stared at her.

  “The good news is,” she continued brightly, “I now have a new peephole—right into your kitchen.”

  He groaned. “You’re kidding.”

  “You don’t happen to cook in the nude, do you?”

  Three

  “Well, do you?” Trisha wanted to know, her eyes brimming with curiosity. “Cook in the nude?”

  The damn woman actually looked hopeful! “No, of course not,” Hunter said curtly, picturing the new disaster she’d left for him to deal with. Did chaos follow her everywhere? Of course it did, she was Trisha Malloy, wasn’t she?

  “Didn’t think you did.”

  Her obvious disappointment had him shaking his head. She was incredible. And he was actually considering ... No. It would be temporary only. Forget her huge, sad eyes. He’d find a way to break her lease. He’d buy her out if he had to.

  “Well, I’ve got to be off to the shop,” Trisha announced.

  The mention of her shop brought up mental images of silk and satin, leather, and an entire host of erotic pictures that left him unaccustomedly hot under the collar.

  “I imagine you have work to do too,” she said. “You know scientists. All work and no play.”

  She was obviously referring to the stereotype of his kind as cold-blooded and ruthlessly single-minded workaholics. Many were. Hunter had a reputation for being just that; he knew this because he’d carefully cultivated the image.

  Yet it wasn’t true. He felt, and deeply. Probably deeper than most. Sometimes he could be stubborn, but only when he knew he was right. And as far as being cold, he simply didn’t choose to share his emotions with just anyone. He was picky. So picky, he had to admit to himself, that he hadn’t found anyone to share things with in some time. But he was cautious by nature. He found being distant the best way to deal with people—particularly females.

  All females, that is, except Trisha Malloy.

  It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep his distance from her. Suddenly he regretted the image he’d projected to her. “I’m not working today,” he said. “Other than here, that is.”

  She shrugged her shoulders in a way that lifted her dress to alarming heights on her trim thighs.

  Hunter forced his gaze up to her face. A flash of deep sorrow, of repressed fear, crossed her face, gone so quickly he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t imagined it. What in the world was wrong? Whatever it was, had he caused it? “I want to clear out this apartment,” he said slowly.

  “You do?”

  “Was there anything in here you wanted?”

  She looked around at what had been Eloise’s apartment, then sadly shook her head. “No, thank you, but ... no.”

  She wanted to say something else, he was sure of it, yet she’d changed her mind. “You sure?”

  Turning, she made her way to the door. “Sure enough. You renting this apartment out?”

  He hesitated. Tension emanated from her in waves. He hated the brief flash of need he glimpsed in her eyes, hated the sympathy that rose within him.

  “I’m not breaking my lease, you know.” She seemed suddenly small, vulnerable.

  “So you’ve said.”

  “You’re stuck with me.”

  “I’m beginning to realize that.” Having seen her place, he was sure she would leave for the right price, but didn’t mention that. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt her pride. Hunter understood pride well.

  Shrugging as if it didn’t matter, when he could see so clearly it did, she said with false cheer, “Well, I’ve got to go.” But she stood there, clinging to the doorknob. “You know, I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  “Did you think I was going to just disappear?”

  “One could hope,” she murmured. She bent, hiding her face as she petted Duff, who’d just strutted into the room.

  “Trisha—”

  She turned away, ignoring him.

  He bit back the urge to start counting, knowing she’d get a real kick out of that. “I can’t just vanish. I’m responsible for what happens here.”

  She scooped the cat close. “This isn’t your kind of place.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She lifted a dark brow. “I saw your face last time you were here, Dr. Adams, you can’t deny that you were ... disgusted.”

  “Hunter. And it wasn’t disgust.”

  Her red lips curved as she smiled in polite disbelief. He could remember the slippery feel of her in his arms, remember the startling realization that she’d caught him with his fly open. Could remember, too, how he’d felt touching her new shipment of silk, and picturing her in it. Oh, yes, he’d felt many things that day, but disgust hadn’t been one of them.

  “Dr. Adams—”

  “Hunter,” he repeated.

  Her eyes sparkled. “So casual,” she said. “And we’ve seen each other only three times.”

  She was laughing at him. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Okay, he could. But he was no longer gawky, skinny, too tall, and twelve. “Not all scientists are stuffy, you know.”

  “Really.”

  Her eyes dared him and he couldn’t resist. “Really.”

  “When was the last time you went line dancing?” she asked. “Or got a body part pierced?”

  He felt the color drain from his face, and she laughed.

  “You’re turning green, Hunter.”

  “Body piercing doesn’t appeal to me,” he said in a chilly voice that would have had his associates backing off in fear for their lives.

  Not Trisha.

  “Hmm.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Bought any CDs lately? Or traveled—
just for the heck of it?”

  “Just last week I went to China,” he said triumphantly.

  She shook her head and set down the black cat. “I saw that on the news. You went to promote international support for your program. And to solicit funds, which definitely doesn’t count”

  “Why not?”

  “I meant traveling for pleasure. Pleasure,” she said again, slowly, making the word roll off her tongue in a sinful way that had his stomach clenching. “What do you do for pleasure?”

  He could tell her what he wanted to do.

  “Okay, tell me this. How many pairs of jeans do you own?”

  The question threw him. “What?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Never mind. Even if you do have a pair, you probably have them starched and ironed.” She sobered. “What’s going to happen?”

  The bubbly, cheerful woman had him so completely flustered with the quick conversation changes, he could hardly keep up. Then there was the way she kept moistening her lips with little darts of her tongue, even as she let out those verbal shots he thought might be meant as insults. “What’s going to happen with what?”

  One corner of her red mouth quirked. “You’re definitely not a rocket scientist, are you?”

  That comment, he decided, was most positively meant as an insult, and he straightened, frowning.

  “I don’t want to leave this place.”

  “I know.” Though he had decided right then and there, with the sunlight pouring in the huge windows, with the wonderful, if a little scuffed, hardwood floor beneath his feet, that he didn’t want to leave either.

  He wanted to live here.

  He just didn’t want a wild female neighbor above him—he didn’t want a wild female anywhere near him—but until he figured a way to break the lease without hurting Trisha, he’d have to make do.

  “My lease—”

  “I know,” he said with a sigh. “You’re not breaking your lease.”

  “And neither are you.” Trisha tried with everything she had to hold back the hurt, yet she knew by the flicker of understanding in his gaze that he’d seen it. But she didn’t want compassion, she wanted permanence. “Why are you clearing out this apartment?”

  “Well...” He walked across the room, ran a finger over a particularly gaudy high-backed green sofa embroidered with red roses, making her smile when he shivered with distaste.

  But her amusement faded instantly at his next words.

  “I’m thinking of moving in.”

  “Moving in,” she repeated stupidly.

  “You sound thrilled,” he noted wryly.

  Thrilled? It was her worst nightmare. Her landlord would practically live with her, and he was self-righteous, unbending, stubborn ... gorgeous.

  Oh, get ahold of yourself, she thought furiously. Having Dr. Adams live below her would be like having Aunt Hilda and Uncle Victor back in charge of her life, no matter what her hormones believed.

  “You could leave,” he suggested with great expectation.

  “Never.”

  His eyebrows rose at her vehemence, but he said nothing.

  “I’m not leaving,” she said again firmly.

  He just looked at her.

  So he was one of those people who used silence as a weapon. She hated that. “I’m not leaving,” she said again, firmly. “I’m staying. Forever.” His words surprised her.

  “Don’t you think we’d make good neighbors?” he asked.

  His eyes mocked her, dared her to protest. But Trisha had adopted a new policy in her life, and she refused to be cowed by anyone. “I think we’d make rotten neighbors.”

  His gaze remained directly on her, his hands in his pockets, but she could feel the inexplicable sensual tug between them as if they had been wrapped around each other.

  She wasn’t sure it was an entirely bad feeling, which annoyed her into baiting him. “I won’t change my lifestyle.”

  Though he didn’t crack a smile, he was definitely amused. She could see it in the line of his straight shoulders, in his easy stance, in his shining green eyes. “You mean you’ll continue to peek through holes at me while I’m in the bathroom? You’ll crank your music until the windows shake? You’ll manage to destroy every floor in your apartment? Or...” And now his gaze did dip, ran with leisure over the peekaboo lace camisole revealed by her scoop neckline. His amusement vanished and the heat of his gaze scorched her skin. His voice seemed husky, thick. “You’ll continue to model your stock on a regular basis?”

  “All of the above,” she assured him softly, only marginally satisfied to see that his breathing was as uneven as hers. This is crazy. We don’t even like each other, and we’re hopelessly attracted.

  “Well, then,” he said in a soft voice. In a move that surprised her, he reached out and playfully tugged a strand of her hair. “I guess we’re in for an interesting time of it, aren’t we?”

  They were in for an interesting time, no doubt about it. In fact, Trisha thought about little else as she drove into work the following morning. And as she told her story, to her assistant and dearest friend in the world, she couldn’t help but wonder what would come of it.

  “He’s moving in?” Celia’s mouth fell open, revealing the pierced stud in her tongue. “The spacey scientist is moving in below you?”

  “He’s not a spacey scientist, Celia,” Trisha said, feeling a twinge of guilt as she replaced a stack of thigh-high stockings on the shelf. After all, hadn’t she called him that very thing before she’d met him? “He’s a space scientist. And his name is Hunter,” she added primly, sorry she’d given him the unfair nickname.

  Celia laughed and her jet-black spiked hair shook while the row of silver cuffed earrings lining her earlobe jangled. “Hell of a name for an old, stuffy, scrawny guy with spectacles.”

  “Uh ... he doesn’t wear spectacles.” No, Hunter’s green gaze had been sharp as a tack. And he’d been the furthest thing from scrawny she’d ever seen. “He’s not old either.” She set a sapphire silk push-up bra on a shelf, then yanked at her own scooped neckline, happy with her lace camisole, unhappy with how much of it showed out of her sundress.

  “Not there,” Celia said, moving the bra over on the shelf so that it complemented the matching swatch of panties. “There. So he’s not old and he doesn’t wear glasses. What does the spacey—er, space scientist do? Measure molecules?”

  Trisha pictured the undeniably sexy Hunter Adams hunched over a microscope. “Maybe.”

  “So, are there going to be rules where you live now? No music after nine o’clock and stuff? Good Lord, Trish, after what your God-fearing aunt Hilda did to you in the name of religion, I’d have thought you’d run screaming from another authority figure. Wait!” Celia pried a red satin teddy from Trisha’s crushing grip. “Now I know you’re upset. You’re mutilating the goods.”

  “I’m not upset.” A big, fat lie. She hadn’t lied to her friend since the third grade, when Aunt Hilda had prohibited her niece from playing with Celia simply because Celia’s father was from Puerto Rico and unemployed.

  “You’re lying to me,” Celia said with certainty, worry filling her dark eyes. Hastily, in the interest of damage control, she reached for the rest of the stock in front of Trisha. “I had a dream about this.”

  Trisha rolled her eyes.

  “No, I swear. There was this little mouse, and she had this great big mean aunt mouse who—” She broke off at Trisha’s long look. “Well, I did.”

  “You’ve been reading that dream-interpretation book again, by that New Age guru Dr. What’s-his-name, haven’t you?”

  “So?”

  “Honey, you have way too much time on your hands.”

  “Tell me what’s the matter,” Celia said stubbornly, uninsulted.

  “Nothing.” Trisha let Celia take over displaying the stock. How could she concentrate on silky underthings when at this very moment, her new neighbor—and the bane of her existence—was moving in? Rules? The very though
t had her insides tightening uncomfortably. She’d had enough rules to last her a lifetime. “No rules,” she vowed, not realizing she spoke out loud.

  “Right.” Celia smirked. “Landlords always have rules. And now you’re going to live with yours.”

  “I’m not living with him, just above him. And I’m a grown-up. I’ll do what I want.” A little sliver of doubt crept up her spine. Too many years under unrelentingly strict authority, she thought miserably. It wouldn’t start again, it wouldn’t.

  “It’s not an easy thing,” Celia commented, watching her carefully. “Doing what you want. Not when you’ve never been allowed to.”

  “I’m doing fine.”

  “Yeah. Now that Hilda’s dead and buried.” Her voice was soft and kind, and so was the hand she laid on Trisha’s arm. “I’m proud of you Trish, real proud. You’ve created a life for yourself, and you deserve that more than anyone I know. But as much as you pretend to be wild and free, just below the surface lives that repressed, frightened girl you used to be.”

  “I’m not repressed and frightened,” Trisha protested, self-consciously yanking down the upward-creeping hem of her dress. “Look,” she said, gesturing to the lace peeking out her cleavage. “Does this look like a woman who’s repressed?”

  Celia laughed, her eyes warm. “Sweetie, I know you. You’re constantly checking to make sure you’re not showing too much. Didn’t you just return that fabulous leopard shipment because it seemed too daring for the shop? Face it,” she said gently. “It’s not easy for you to let go.”

  “I’m selling lingerie, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, and you’re doing a wonderful job. But you’re still not comfortable with it. That’s okay, it’ll come. But let this landlord thing slide off your back. Don’t let him get to you. There’s always another place.”

  “No!” Trisha took a deep breath and forced herself not to yank up the bodice of her dress. She’d moved eighteen times in eighteen years and had promised herself never to do it again. She loved her place, and Eloise had wanted her to have it.

  She wouldn’t move. “I just want to be free to do what I want. That’s all. It’s not asking too much, I know that.”

  “Well, you’ve done what you want here,” Celia said, glancing around the shop. There were at least eight people milling around the small place and it was only noon. “We’re keeping our heads above water. Most businesses fail in their first year, but not this one. Thank God, since we’ve both grown fond of eating. Some of us more than others, of course,” she added with a grimace at Trisha’s lean, petite figure, then down at her own slightly too curvaceous one.