The Harder They Fall

“Let’s get the floor fixed first,” he suggested.

He was patronizing her, putting her off, and nothing could have infuriated her more. She straightened, pride nearly choking her. “I told you, I can fix this floor. And since I ruined it -”

“Fine. We’ll both fix it,” he said, eyebrows creased as if deep in thought. “I’ll need more than two hands.”

Trisha crossed her arms and glared at him, trying to forget the feel of his chest beneath her fingers, the warm, resilient skin that covered surprisingly tough muscle. “How condescending of you! First you insinuate that I couldn’t possibly do the job, now you’re saying you’ll allow me to help you?”

He grimaced and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Ouch. Did I say all that?”

“Yes!”

He sighed. “All right. We’ll work as equals. Does that work for you?”

“Yes. Fine.”

“Fine,” he repeated. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

“Because you say so?”

“Because,” he said, his patience clearly gone, “it’s too late to start tonight. Do you think you can manage to keep all the other floors in the place intact until then?”

Trisha opened her mouth to retort, then realized that they’d been practically shouting to hear each other over the music.

She moved into the living room and flicked at the volume control just as Hunter followed her, yelling, “And when we do fix it, we’ll do it my way or -”

As his voice echoed loudly into the now-silent living room, he blinked in surprise. Trisha laughed at the discomfort on his face. “We’ll do it your way or what?”

“Or… Oh, hell.” His glance was wry, self-deprecating. “You drive me crazy.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” she noted dryly, hiding the sting his words caused. This was what she’d fought to win her freedom for? To be stuck with a neighbor who reminded her daily of her failings? No, thank you. Right then and there she’d have called him prim and proper, just for the pleasure of riling him again, except for one little thing.

No one prim and proper could possibly kiss with as much talent as Dr. Hunter Adams possessed. “Does everything have to be your way, Dr. Adams?”

Frowning, he crossed his arms. “You like to be contrary.”

“Yeah, I do.” It was a wonderful defense, as was sarcasm. It usually held most people sufficiently at bay, but not this man. “Just like you like to be in control.”

He raked his fingers through his blond military-cut hair, looking frustrated. The way it stuck up only made him more attractive. “Control is a good thing,” he told her grimly, as if he were trying to convince himself. He moved to the door. “A very good thing.”

As he started to shut it behind him she smiled wickedly and called out, “If you’re going to cook breakfast in the nude tomorrow, will you knock on the walls so I don’t miss it?”

His shoulders went tense, and his face, just before the door covered it, was entertainingly dark.

She waited for the slam of the wood.

But he cheated her, shutting it very quietly.

Trisha saved Sundays to rejuvenate herself. After six fast-paced days, she needed peace. Oh, she loved the shop, wouldn’t consider giving it up. But the worries and stress that came with running her own business never faded.

To please herself, she never rose before ten o’clock. This was mostly a reaction to the way her aunt Hilda had made her rise at the crack of dawn to go to mass and pray for her “wild” soul.

So when a knock came at her door at six A.M., Trisha merely groaned, flopped over, and covered her head with a pillow.

No way would she get up. That delivery – or whatever it was – would simply have to wait. Or better yet, go away.

“Come on, sleepyhead, you’ve got a floor to repair with me this morning.”

No. It couldn’t be. Her brain was just playing some sick sort of joke on her.

“I even brought you coffee as a peace offering.”

Good Lord, it was. She would recognize that voice anywhere, even before sunrise on a Sunday morning. She swore – quite unladylike.

He made a sound that passed for a laugh, assuring her it wasn’t a nightmare. Not him, not this morning, she thought. Not when she felt too groggy to deal with him properly. “Go away,” she said succinctly.

“Can’t do that.” The bed sank at her hip. The heat from his body warmed hers. “You promised to help me.”

Trisha burrowed deeper and wished she’d bolted the top lock of her front door. “It’s not even daylight yet!”

“This is the best time of the day. I’ve already run three miles and showered,” he claimed with sickening cheer.

He jogged? God save her from frisky scientists. “Bully for you. Go run another three.”

“I guess you’re not much of a morning person.”

“Good guess.”

His big hand settled into the middle of her back, jolting her from lazy contentment into sharp awareness. She knew he must have felt her sudden rigidity by the tone of his next words. “What’s the matter?” he asked innocently. “Didn’t you sleep well?”

No, damn him. His deep green eyes and all the mysteries behind them had haunted her well into the night. She pressed the pillow tighter on her head. “I can’t believe you used the key I gave you to come in here like this. I’m changing my locks.”

“I like to be in control, remember?”

She offered him a not very polite suggestion about what he could do with that control and where he could take it.

Hunter made a noise that again sounded suspiciously like a laugh. But that couldn’t be, she thought from beneath her pillow, because he never laughed.

He tugged on the pillow. “Come on, get up. It’s not good for the body to lounge around in bed.”

In one fluid move, she jerked the pillow off her head and tried to smack him with it, but he easily warded off the blow, grabbed the pillow, and tossed it harmlessly to the floor. Then he grinned at her.

“My body is fine,” she grated.

His eyes darkened, and his mouth opened, but whatever he was going to say got smothered with her second pillow to his face.

He grunted at the impact.

“What if I hadn’t been alone in this bed?” she demanded.

With great care, he removed the pillow from his face and set it gently on her bed. She had no idea where the question had come from, but given the displeased look on his face, it was far too late to take it back.

What if she hadn’t been alone? The very idea was a joke – she was always alone. That’s how she wanted it, with only herself to answer to. No rules.

“If you hadn’t been alone,” Hunter said quietly, his face completely void of expression as he leaned over her, “then I guess I’d have two helpers – I mean co-workers – in fixing that floor.”

She snorted, sat up, and shoved him off the bed. “Next time, knock.”

With a natural agility, he caught his balance and rose. “I’m hoping there isn’t a next time.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning if you’d stop destroying this place, I wouldn’t have to keep fixing it.”

Trisha hated being clumsy. She also hated doing stupid things, but she tended to being the one and doing the other because she often acted without thinking things through. Impulsive, she thought with disgust. And she had yet to learn how to curb her insatiable curiosity. It was what had caused her to fall out of the hole in the bathroom into Hunter’s very capable arms in the first place, and it was what had caused her to defrost her refrigerator in the middle of the night because she couldn’t sleep and didn’t feel like reading.