Hard to Resist: A Collection of Hard to Resist Romances

by Landish, Lauren

  What was he thinking, trying to set her up with a prick like me?

  She's too good for me. I should've walked away, but every time she told me no, it only made me want to chase her more.

  I shouldn’t have brought her into my life. I'm trouble, that's all I am, and I brought that to her doorstep.

  But I can’t let her go now, even if she hates me for it.

  She tempted me; now she's mine.

  Chapter 1

  Liam

  So much for ending it. I look over my shoulder at my Elle. I tried to do the right thing. That’s gotta count for something. She should’ve walked away. Now she’s mine. She has no fucking clue what she's gotten herself into. I don't give a shit though. I'm not letting her go now.

  Elle takes a deep breath as we sit on the sofa. She’s got her mug in both her hands and she brings it up to her chin and blows. She’s not looking at me. I know she’s still feeling a certain way about me doing that shit. I made her dinner, and we ate in mostly comfortable silence with my arm wrapped around her waist. I don't mind eating with my left hand if that means I can give her some of the comfort she needs. But she's still not quite right. It'll take time, but she'll forgive me for being an ass. I know she will.

  “You okay?” I ask as I wrap my arm around her hips and bring her a little closer. I’m careful not to tug her too hard so her cocoa doesn’t spill.

  She looks up at me with her beautiful eyes and it breaks my heart. “I don’t know that I’m going to be okay.”

  I lean forward and set my cup down on the coffee table. She will be, I'll make sure she will. “I said I’m sorry.” I put a hand on her thigh and keep eye contact with her. I wish she’d put her cup down, but she’s holding on to it for dear life.

  She shakes her head gently and her long dark hair shifts slightly. “I mean…” She clears her throat and puts the cup down before lifting her feet onto the sofa and hugging her knees. I let my hand fall to the sofa. She doesn’t look at me. “About my dad.”

  Her eyes go glassy and I don’t know what I should do. That’s something I just can’t make right. She needs time for that.

  “I’m sorry.” I kiss her hair and pull her into my lap, shifting my weight on the sofa and leaning back. Thankfully, she leans into me. I gently run my hand up and down her arm. “He loved you so much.” I remember how he showed me her picture for the first time. He was so fucking proud.

  It was the morning after I spent my first night in this place. I’d walked in with a bottle of scotch, thinking about my own father. I threw the key onto the counter and looked around the place. My old house kinda looked like it. But this place was almost completely empty. All that was here was the old kitchen set, joined by me and the scotch. And memories of my mother and father. Mostly of my dad, lying in that fucking hospital bed. I remember the beeping of the machines, and the lines on the screen that meant he was still alive.

  I drank a bit too much and passed out in the living room. I don’t even know why I went to his house. I made up some lame excuse. Hungover and looking like shit, he let me in though. First thing he did after making a pot of coffee was show me her picture.

  “Why…” She starts to ask something, but then shakes her head and reaches for the cup.

  “Why what?” I ask her. I don’t care what her question is; at this point, I’ll break the damn vow I made to him. She needs closure. And if I can give it to her, I will. “Why did he leave everything to you?” she asks and her voice croaks.

  She's quick to add, “It’s not about the money. It’s not that, it’s just...” She pushes away from me and grabs the cup again. She doesn’t drink it though, she just takes in a breath and stares straight ahead.

  “I know, I know.” I pet her back, helping to calm her a little. “You wanna know if you did something wrong. And you didn’t. I know you didn’t. He…” I trail off, remembering the note on my desk at the office. I wish I’d read it. Maybe he would’ve made some fucking sense in it. “I don’t know why. Maybe he felt like he owed me. He didn’t though.”

  She looks at me for a long moment. “Did you know?” she asks. “Did you know he was dying when you met him?”

  I can’t lie to her. “Yeah. I knew.”

  She nearly spills the cup. I take it from her and set it down. “How long?” she asks in a voice cracked with sadness as tears run down her face. “How long did he know?”

  “A while,” I answer her. I can see her heart breaking right in front of me. “Twelve weeks.”

  Her shoulders shake with a loud sob and she covers her face with her hands, trying to climb farther into my lap. Like she can't get close enough to me.

  “He told you, but not me!” she cries into my chest.

  I kiss her hair and shush her. “He didn’t want you to see him like that. He was hoping the treatments would work.”

  She takes in a ragged breath and says, “But I talked to him.” Her words are forced, and I can barely make them out. “He could have told me. I wish I'd been there. I would've wanted to be there with him!”

  No she doesn’t. She doesn’t know what it was like those last few days. I hired the nurses to do all that shit, but in the last week and a half, he could barely move. I know what she means, and I still wish he’d given her that choice.

  “He just wanted what was best for you.” I hold her for a while longer, while she cries it out of her system. After a while she looks up at me, pulling away from my embrace. Her face is red and her cheeks are tearstained. Somehow she looks even more beautiful.

  “But why you?” she asks.

  “I don’t know.” I answer her with the truth. “I offered him help. And he accepted.”

  She takes a few minutes to calm herself down.

  “I could’ve helped him,” she whispers. Her eyes close, but she doesn’t cry. She reaches for the cocoa and takes a small, cautious sip. “I wish I’d been there for him.”

  “You were with him. Every day he told me stories about you.”

  She looks back at me with vulnerability. “Can you tell me?” she asks weakly.

  “Tell you the stories?”

  “Please,” she whispers. I lean forward and take her lips with my own. My heart hurts so much for her.

  When I pull away and look down at her, her eyes are still closed and she’s leaning into my touch. I rub my thumb along the bare skin of her thigh. I wish I could take all that pain away.

  “Of course,” I say and tell her every damn story I can remember.

  I hold her small body and start with the first one he told me. It's easy to remember that one. And I just keep going. Some of them make her laugh, and a lot of them make her cry. But she lets me hold her the entire time, and just telling her what she meant to him makes the weight lift off my chest.

  When I finish the last story and look down at her, she’s passed out. Her chest rises and falls with steady breathing and I easily pick her small frame up and carry her to bed.

  I hold her close to me while I try to fall asleep, but it’s not till she rolls over and grips onto me, resting her face against my chest, that I’m able to drift off into a deep sleep with her.

  Prologue

  Liam

  That old man knew exactly what he was doing. He fucking set me up. All those times he talked about his sunshine, Elizabeth. All those pictures he showed me? Not to mention all the stories he’d tell me when I was keeping him company. Of course I fell for her before I even heard her voice.

  And now I’m fucked. She’s fucked. What was he thinking, trying to set her up with a no-good asshole like me? She’s too fucking good for me. He had to know it.

  I’m trouble, that’s all I am, and I brought that to her doorstep.

  Those gorgeous blue eyes stare back at me with something deeper in them than lust. I’ve finally won her over. Every bit of her.

  I’m a fucking prick for doing it. I know I should’ve let her down easy. I should’ve walked away and turned my back on her. Shit, I should’ve never chased
her.

  She’s a smart girl; she knows I’m no good for her. And it’s true. I’ve got a death threat in my back pocket in the form of her picture, and it’s all because of me.

  What was her father doing pulling this shit? He knew the hard truth about me. I shake my head, hating how I’m blaming him. The old man’s dead now. I’m such a piece of shit, trying to put this all on him and throw the blame on someone other than me.

  I pushed her to cave to me. I just needed a taste. And now that I’ve got her and a good fucking reason to leave this life behind, it’s all crashing down around me. But she’s here now, and she’s in danger.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, Liam, you need to stop it,” she says, and her soft, sweet voice is so damn soothing. Her small hand cups my cheek and I quickly nip her thumb playfully. She lets out a cute squeal, and her eyes quickly heat with desire. I try to give her a small smile, but I can’t force it.

  She bites down on her bottom lip and softly says, “You worry too much.” She looks up at me through her thick lashes. I can’t deny her. I’m addicted to her touch.

  I take her curvy body in my arms, feeling her soft, lush frame melt into me. “Only when it involves you,” I respond with more honesty than she’ll ever know.

  She gives me a sweet smile and nudges her nose against mine with her eyes closed. She wants me to take her right now. And I can’t deny her that wish. I take her lips with my own, and press my tongue against the seam of her full lips, as she yields to my touch with a kiss. She parts easily for me, spreading her legs and straddling me. She gives in so easily now.

  She's learned to trust me.

  She’s learned to love me and everything I do to her. If only she knew.

  “You don’t have to worry,” she says, and she’s nearly panting now, her voice trembling with need. “Just take care of me.”

  I know what she means by that.

  Fuck, it’s like a bullet to my heart how much she trusts me. I run my hand down my face and stare into her eyes. Her forehead is slightly pinched, and her mouth is parted. Her haze of desire is starting to be replaced with a look of confusion. She doesn’t know why I’m hesitating.

  I have to tell her. She’s going to fucking hate me. She’s going to know she was right about me all along.

  I nip her bottom lip, and my dick twitches as she closes her eyes and moans. Her hands tangle in my hair and I decide right then--I’m not going to let her go. Even if she hates me. I can’t risk it; I can’t risk her.

  One more night with her. Just one more night between us. And then I’ll tell her. She’s going to fucking hate me. But she’s not leaving. I can’t let her.

  They know she’s gotten to me. I can’t leave her now, it’s too late.

  She tempted me; now she’s mine.

  Chapter 2

  Lizzie

  The somber chime of church bells greets me as I step out of my car, a red 2015 Toyota Camry. My legs feel shaky as my shoes touch the ground, and for a moment, I’m hit by a surge of weakness as I lean against the car for support.

  I can’t do this.

  But I have to.

  For daddy.

  Every moment is a struggle, but I manage to stand up straight and close my car door. I take a moment to gather myself, breathing in deeply and fighting back tears before looking up into the dark clouds above.

  Why did you take him from me? I demand angrily. What did I do to deserve this? As if in response, there's a deep rumble in the distance, a dark foreboding sound that threatens to take even more from me. But I have nothing left. I feel numb and hollow.

  A loud crack splits the sky. He didn’t deserve to die! My stepfather was a good man. It’s not fair.

  Bitterly, I tear my eyes away from the unforgiving heavens and begin making my way through the parking lot. A cool breeze sweeps the area, causing the hem of my black dress to lift up around my thighs and goosebumps to rise on my flesh. Numbly, I ignore it and continue on.

  Ahead, I see people walking up the church steps and anxiety tightens around my heart. There are a lot of familiar faces, a few faces I’d rather not speak to, and some I don’t know. Even from this distance I can already see the pity in their eyes and hear their empty condolences. It angers me. A lot of them couldn’t give a fuck about my father. Or me. They’re just here to see me break down.

  I vow to put on a strong front, not let them see me cry.

  They’re all frauds, I think disdainfully. Half of these people disliked my dad when he was alive, and now they want to pretend like they care.

  It irks me, makes me angry. And I cling to that anger to keep me from being consumed with grief. I’m certain some of these people weren’t invited to the funeral, and yet here they are anyway.

  As I make it to the church steps, a familiar voice pierces my awareness. “Lizzie?”

  I spin around, my dress swirling around my legs, and see my childhood friend, Natalie Doubet, standing there with a large, silver tray of cookies in her hands. Garbed in a black lace dress, her dark blonde hair is pulled up into a severe bun and she's opted for subdued, conservative makeup.

  I'm awash with relief. Of all the people I recognize filing into the church, Natalie is the only one I’m happy to lay eyes on.

  “Nat!” I cry. I wish my lips would turn up into a smile, but they refuse.

  “Hey Lizzie,” she says, and her voice is soft, soothing. I just want to melt in her arms.

  I run up to her, my arms outstretched.

  “Whoa!” Natalie snaps, twisting her body to protect her delicious cargo. “Watch the cookies!”

  Despite feeling like shit, I laugh and gently reach out to stroke her arm. Good ol’ Nat and her testy temper. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I didn’t mean to snap at you, I just didn’t want you to get sugar cookies all over your dress.” Natalie nods at the church. I can see the sadness in Natalie's eyes as she looks at me, and I fight back the tears that threaten to stream down my face like a waterfall.

  “Let’s go find the reception so I can put these down and I’ll walk with you.”

  “Okay,” I manage.

  As we make our way into the church, I’m greeted by distant relatives and past acquaintances. I do my best to hold it together, fighting back tears as each person hugs me and offers their condolences. It’s impossibly hard, especially enduring the comments of the more fake and phony guests, and several times I almost start wailing with grief. Somehow, I survive the group without breaking down and then Nat and I head farther into the church.

  In the reception room there’s already a small crowd milling about, chatting in hushed tones. I lock eyes with more faces I haven't seen in years, and then look away. I know it’s only a matter of time before I’m surrounded and barraged with false sympathy again. I’m dreading every second of it.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Natalie says as soon as she sets the tray of cookies down on the refreshments table. She gives me a big, warm embrace, and once again, I’m fighting back tears. Will it ever end? “I knew Turner was getting up there in age,” she remarks, pulling away, “but he looked fine every time I saw him come into the bakery.”

  It’s a struggle to even speak. “He was here one day, and then gone the next,” I croak.

  Natalie shakes her head solemnly. “I know, right? It’s crazy.”

  A tear escapes my right eye and trails down my cheek. “I don’t understand,” I moan, angrily wiping away the offending tear with the back of my hand. “I thought cancer took time. I thought there were signs.” It hurts. It hurts so much to think there was nothing I could have done to save him. If only I could go back in time.

  Nat clamps a hand on my shoulder, her eyes clouded with sympathy. “I don’t know what to say, Liz, except... sometimes these things happen.”

  But why did it have to happen to him? I want to scream out. It’s not fair!

  “If you need anything while you’re in town, I don’t care what it is,” Nat continues, pulling me into another w
arm embrace, “I’m here for you.”

  “Thank you,” I say simply, swallowing the huge lump in my throat.

  After rubbing my back for a few moments, Natalie pulls away and peers at me. “You look good at least, like you lost a lot of weight.” She pauses and then adds, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to come off like that.”

  I brush away her worry. “You’re fine. I wasn’t eating much before the news, and I ate even less after I heard it. Stress, you know?” I had just finished with finals when I got the news. I have two semesters left until I’m done with my masters. There's a two month break before I have to go back. Until then, I'm here. Back in my hometown, mourning the death of the only family I ever had.

  Natalie gestures at her tray of goodies. “You should try one of my sugar cookies. I guarantee they’ll get you back on track.” She gestures to her stomach and adds, “They're a bit fattening.”

  I snicker at her little joke and roll my eyes. “You're beautiful.” She giggles and straightens the tray with a small smile.

  I glance at her baked morsels. While I’m not hungry, they do look delicious. Each cookie is a rich golden color, iced and dusted with multicolored powder. “I shouldn’t,” I say. “I’ve been trying to stay away from sugar. It only makes me feel jittery.”

  “Nonsense.” Natalie gently prods me toward the cookies. “Depriving yourself at a time like this isn’t going to help anything. You need something to help you feel better.”

  I take a cookie and take a small nibble. My eyes go wide a moment later. “These are delicious!” I exclaim before taking another bite, this time a larger one. My appetite has been in the shitter lately, but even I have to admit how tasty these things are. I don't know if it's because I'm starving, but I swear they're the best cookies I've ever eaten.

  “Aren’t they?” Natalie beams proudly. “They’re a customer favorite. I can hardly keep them on the racks. Within twenty minutes of putting out a fresh batch, they’re gone.”