The Harder They Fall

Fine, he wanted to suffer alone, she’d let him. Pride refused to allow her to beg him. But it was difficult, knowing he was leaving, and that every inch of her still trembled for his touch. “Good-bye, Hunter.”

For one last interminable moment, he looked at her. Stark need shimmered there, for her. So did something else, something deeper. Basic affection, yes, but even more. It thrilled, even as it terrified. She opened her mouth, then shut it again. Anything she said now would have him bolting, running scared.

“Trisha.”

Her name spoken so sweetly made her heart thump. But then his lashes lowered, and he masked his emotions from her. “Good night,” he whispered, and he left.

He still feared this, she realized. The loss of control wasn’t acceptable to him.

Sleep, he’d suggested.

“Yeah, right,” she muttered with a shaky sigh. “I’ll be able to get some sleep now.” Trisha punched her pillow, burrowed deeply into her blankets, and tried not to remember what his mere touch had done to her. Or how good his body had felt against hers.

Tried not to think about something even more disturbing: She was falling in love with him, if she wasn’t already there.

“So,” Celia asked with a sly smile when Trisha made it into work the next day, “did the basket do the trick? Did it do something for you?”

“It did something, all right.” It had given her a ridiculous headache, among other things. Trisha slipped out of her coat and moved into the shop. The scent of lilacs and wood filled the air. Music drummed, pulsing pleasantly. From deep inside, an inner peace worked its way through Trisha’s tense body. Her slight hangover began to fade.

Here, at least, she could relax.

She hoped.

“You don’t look so well,” Celia said, moving close, looking worried. Her hair today was red, still spiky, with an interesting white streak down one side. Her one-piece bodysuit, jet-black and vinyl, matched her black-lacquered fingernails. Somehow, in the way only Celia could carry off, she looked gorgeous. “What’s the matter, honey?”

“Late night,” Trisha muttered, shrugging off the concern. It just might make her fall apart.

“You didn’t sleep well?”

She hadn’t slept at all once Hunter had left her, her body so charged and fired up, it wouldn’t, couldn’t relax. Finally she’d hugged her pillow tight, imagined it was Hunter’s long, lean, hard body, and dozed fitfully until dawn.

His car, bent fender and all, had been gone when she awoke.

“Trisha?” came Celia’s worried voice.

“I’m fine.” She sighed, turned, and faced her closest – and only – friend. Celia had been there through thick and thin – always. Even when Trisha had moved from California early on, they’d kept in touch with constant letters. In late high-school years, when Uncle Victor had been reassigned and Trisha had moved back, their friendship had continued as if they’d never been separated. Never in Trisha’s life had making friends been easy, never, except with Celia. “The basket was wonderful, and it definitely worked – for a while.”

“Awhile?”

Trisha took a deep breath. “Until Hunter arrived, found me passed out cold in the bed with the fire alarm blaring.”

“Oh my God.” Celia, a woman never startled or ruffled, stared at her, eyes huge. With unmistakable hope, she asked, “Did he take advantage?”

“Celia! I wasn’t drunk.”

“I didn’t think you were,” Celia said faithfully, dropping all pretense of trying to sort through a box of new merchandise. “What happened? Did you do the deed?”

“Celia.”

“Sorry. No, I’m not. Tell me.”

“I guess the smoke from all the candles set off the alarm, but I fell asleep so fast…”

“You were very tired.”

“Thanks,” Trisha said with a tight smile. “But I think I made a fool of myself when I did wake up.”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t.”

To stall, Trisha bent, dipped into the new shipment, and pulled out a midnight-blue boxer pajama set. “Actually, I did. I pretty much threw myself at him.”

“Really? Does the scientist do other things as well as he kisses?”

Trisha carefully hung up the pajamas and dug farther into the box. “How do you know how he kisses?” she asked, amused at the salacious look on Celia’s face.

“I saw you the other day in your closet of an office, remember? I saw that dreamy, ‘I’m lost in lust’ look on your face. Besides, with a body like that, it’d be a shame if he didn’t know how to use it.”

Oh, he knew how to use it, all right. Her legs went weak just thinking about it. “The point is,” Trisha said primly, “I threw myself at him. I don’t think he’s used to that.”

“No man in his right mind would complain.”

“Maybe not,” she conceded. “But Hunter is different. He seems to have trouble with my lifestyle.”

“Well, then he doesn’t know you very well, does he?” Celia reached for Trisha’s hand. “It bugs you. What he thinks gets to you.”

“A little.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“I know, I can’t seem to help myself.” Trisha shrugged. “I think about him far too much.”

Celia’s eyes softened in understanding. “You’re falling for him. You’re falling for a man like you’ve always said you never would.”

“No.”

“‘A steady relationship is not for me,’ you’ve always said. You’ve avoided them like the plague. Only a date here and there, and only when I beg you.” Celia looked at her, amazed. And concerned. “And now, out of the blue, you go for the very opposite of yourself – an uptight, conceited intellectual who -”

“He’s not conceited.”

Celia gave her a long look. “Fine. But he is -”

“I know, I know.” Trisha sighed. “He’s -” What had his secretary said about him? “Single-minded, a bit arrogant, and more than a little annoying. But it’s all just appearance, Celia. I know it is. It’s a cloak he wears, almost as if it’s protection. And think about it, a man like that would need protection. He’s affluent, wealthy, well- known. He’s probably hounded regularly.”

“Yeah,” Celia said dryly. “I bet it’s real tough looking as good as he does, and having money too! How awful for him. My sympathies.”

Trisha ignored that. “Beneath that cool, distant exterior, there’s so much more. He’s intelligent, funny, sensitive. Passionate.”

“Oh, man,” Celia breathed, staring at her. “You’re gone. Really gone.”

“Yeah,” Trisha said miserably, dropping the lacy garment she was holding to cover her eyes. “I am. And it’s just awful.”

“Don’t worry. If he hurts you, I’ll kill him.”

Trisha laughed weakly. “My hero.”

“Are you sure, Trish?” Celia asked suddenly, grabbing her hands, staring into her eyes. “Is he really the one?”

Another weak laugh came from her. “I’m sure he wouldn’t think so.”

“It’s what you think at this point that matters.”

“He’s the one,” she whispered.

“He’s very different from you, from what your hopes and dreams are,” Celia pointed out needlessly.

“My hopes and dreams were to be left alone to be as I wanted to be. But now… well, I’m still wanting to be as I am, but I don’t think I want to be alone. Does this make any sense?”