The Harder You Fall (8 page)

A girl also had the right to smack family. “You're just going to tell me to change my hideous dress, and I'm going to tell you I'm fixing to cancel your birth certificate.”

When Harlow had told her to wear whatever she wanted,
Jessie Kay had done just that, creating a blood red, off-the-shoulder, pencil-skirt dress that molded to her curves like a second skin...made from leftover material for drapes.

Scarlett O'Hara has nothing on me!

Jessie Kay was proud of her work, but she wasn't blind to its flaws. Years had passed since she'd sewn anything, and her skills were rusty.

West gave her another once—twice—over as fire smoldered in his eyes. “Why would I tell you to change?” His voice dipped, nothing but smoke and gravel as he added, “You and that dress are a fantasy come true.”

Uh, what the what now? Had Lincoln West just called her
a
fantasy
?

Almost can't process...

“Maybe you should take me to the ER. I'm pretty sure I just had a brain aneurism.” She rubbed her temples. “I'm hallucinating.”

“Hallucinating isn't a symptom, funny girl.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, snatched her hand and while Monica called his name, dragged Jessie Kay to a small room in back. A cleaning closet, the air sharp with antiseptic. What little space was available was consumed by overstuffed shelves.

“When did you decide to switch careers and become a caveman?” she asked.

“When you decided to switch careers and become a femme fatale.”

Have mercy on my soul.

He released her to run his fingers through his hair, leaving the strands in sexy spikes around his head. “Listen. I owe you an apology for the way I've treated you in the past. Even the way I've acted today. I shouldn't have manhandled you, and I'm very sorry.”

Her eyes widened. Seriously, what the heck had happened to this man? In five minutes, he'd upended everything she'd come to expect from him.

And he wasn't done! “I'm sorry for every hurtful thing I've ever said to you. I'm sorry for making you feel bad about who you are and what you've done. I'm sorry—”

“Stop. Just stop.” She placed her hands over her ears in case he failed to heed her order. “I don't understand what's happening.”

He gently removed her hands and held on tight to her wrists. “What's happening? I'm owning my mistakes and hoping you're in a forgiving mood.”

“You want to be my friend?” The words squeaked from her.

“Yes, I think I do.”

He
thinks
? “Here's the problem. You're a dog and I'm a cat, and we're never going to get along.”

One corner of his mouth quirked with lazy amusement, causing a flutter in her pulse. “I think you're wrong...kitten.”

Kitten
. A freakishly adorable nickname, and absolutely perfect for her while also absolutely unexpected.

Oh, she'd known he'd give her one sooner or later. He and his friends were old school and enjoyed renaming the women in their lives. Jase always called Brook Lynn “angel” and Beck called Harlow everything from “beauty” to “hag,” her initials. Well, HAG prewedding. But Jessie Kay had prepared herself for “demoness” or the always classic “bitch.”

“Dogs and cats can be friends,” he said, “especially when the dog minds his manners. I promise you, things will be different from now on.”

“Well.” Reeling, she could come up with no witty reply. “We could try, I guess.”

“Good.” His gaze dropped to her lips, heated a few more degrees. “Now all we have to do is decide what kind of friends we should be.”

Her heart started kicking up a fuss again, breath abandoning her lungs. “What do you mean?”

“Text frequently? Call each other occasionally? Only speak when we're with our other friends?” He backed her into a shelf and cans rattled, threatening to fall. “Or should we be friends with benefits?”

Aaand the tingles returned, sweeping over her skin and sinking deep, deep into bone. Her entire body ached with need so powerful it nearly felled her. How long since a man had focused the full scope of his masculinity on her? Too long and never like this. West took everything to the next level. Somehow he reduced her to a quivering mess of femininity and whoremones.

“I vote...we only speak when we're with our other friends,” she said, embarrassed by the breathless tremor in her voice.

“What if I want all of it?” He placed his hands at her temples and several of the cans rolled to the floor. “The texts, the calls...and the benefits.”

“No?” A question? Really? “No to the last.” Better. “You have a date.”

He scowled at her as if
she'd
done something wrong. “See, that's the real problem, kitten. I don't want her. I want you.”

* * *

W
EST
CALLED
HIMSELF
a thousand kinds of fool. He'd planned to apologize, return to the sanctuary, witness his friend's wedding and start the countdown with Monica. The moment he'd gotten Jessie Kay inside the closet, her pecans-and-cinnamon scent in his nose, those plans burned to ash. Only one thing mattered.

Getting his hands on her.

From day one, she'd been a vertical g-force too strong to deny, pulling, pulling,
pulling
him into a bottomless vortex. He'd fought it every minute of every day since meeting her, and he'd gotten nowhere fast. Why not give in? Stop the madness?

Just once...

“We've been dancing around this for months,” he said. “I'm scum for picking here and now to hash this out with you, and I'll care tomorrow. Right now, I think it's time we did something about our feelings.”

“I don't...” She began to soften against him, only to snap to attention. “No. Absolutely not. I can't.”

“You
won't.
”
But I can change your mind...

She nibbled on her bottom lip.

Something he would kill to do. So he did it. He leaned into her, caught her bottom lip between his teeth and ran the plump morsel through. “Do you want me, Jessie Kay?”

Her eyes closed for a moment, a shiver rocking her. “You say you'll care tomorrow, so I'll give you an answer then. As for today, I... I... I'm leaving.” But she made no effort to move away, and he knew. She did want him. As badly as he wanted her. “Yes. Leaving. Any moment now...”

Acting without thought—purely on instinct—he placed his hands on her waist and pressed her against the hard line of his body. “I want you to stay. I want you, period.”

“West.” The new tremor in her voice injected his every masculine instinct with adrenaline, jacking him up. “You said it yourself. You're scum. This is wrong.”

Anticipation raced denial to the tip of his tongue, and won by a photo finish. “Do you care?” He caressed his way to her ass and cupped the perfect globes, then urged her forward to rub her against the long length of his erection. The woman who'd tormented his days and invaded his dreams moaned a decadent sound of satisfaction, and it did something to him. Made his need for her
worse
.

She wasn't what he should want, but somehow she'd become everything he could not resist, and he was tired, so damn tired, of walking, hell, running away from her.

“Do you?” he insisted. “Say yes, and
I'll
be the one to leave. I don't want you to regret this.” He wanted her desperate for more.

She looked away from him, licked her lips. “Right at this moment? No. I don't care.” As soft as a whisper.

Triumph filled him, his clasp on her tightening.

“But tomorrow...” she added.

Yes. Tomorrow. He wasn't the only one who'd been running from the sizzle between them, but today, with her admission ringing in his ears, he wasn't letting her get away. One look at her, that's all it had taken to ruin his plans. Now she would pay the price. Now she would make everything better.

“I
will
regret it,” she said. “This is a mistake I've made too many times in the past.” Different emotions played over her features. Features so delicate he was consumed by the need to protect her from anything and anyone...but himself.

He saw misery, desire, fear, regret, hope and anger. The anger concerned him. This Southern belle could knock a man's testicles into his throat with a single swipe of her knee. Even still, West didn't walk away.

“For all we know, the world will end tomorrow. Let's focus on today. You tell me what you want me to do,” he said, nuzzling his nose against her cheek, “and I'll do it.”

More tremors rocked her. She traced her delicate hands up his tie and gave the knot a little shake, an action that was sexy, sweet and wicked all at once. “I want you...to go back to your date. You and I, we'll be friends as agreed, and we'll pretend this never happened.” She pushed him, but he didn't budge.

His date. Yeah, he'd forgotten about Monica before Jessie Kay had mentioned her a few minutes ago. But then, he'd gotten used to forgetting everything whenever the luscious blonde entered a room. Everything about her consumed every part of him, and it was more than irritating, it was a sickness to be cured, an obstacle to be overcome and an addiction to be avoided. If they did this, he would suffer from his own regrets, but there was no question he would love the ride.

He bunched up the hem of her skirt, his fingers brushing the silken heat of her bare thigh. Her breath hitched, driving him wild. “You've told me what you
think
you should want me to do.” He rasped the words against her mouth, hovering over her, not touching her but teasing with what could be. “Now tell me what you really want me to do.”

Navy blues peered up at him, beseeching; the fight drained out of her, leaving only need and raw vulnerability. “I'm only using you for sex—said no guy ever. But that's what you're going to do. Isn't it? You're going to use me and lose me, just like the others.”

Her features were utterly
ravaged
, and in that moment, he hated himself. Because she was right. Whether he took her for a single night or every night for two months, the end result would be the same. No matter how much it hurt her—no matter how much it hurt
him
—he would walk away.

CHAPTER SIX

D
ANGER
SIGNS
FLASHED
inside Jessie Kay's mind. Before, she'd wondered about West's feelings for her. Why he was so rude to her and why he'd tried to charm her at the diner. Now she had a pretty good idea. He wanted her, but he didn't want to want her. The same way she wanted him but didn't want to want him.

He couldn't have been clearer about his desire to go all the way if he'd pressed a massive erection between her legs—which he had. Even now she gasped with need, attempting to cut all ties with logic, common sense and self-preservation.

I know your parents don't want us to be together, Anna Grace. I'm from the wrong side of the tracks and you're...you. The one every girl wants to be, the one every boy wants to date. But when it comes to the man you marry, only one thing should matter. Who is willing to do anything to make you happy? That's me. I'm that man.

“Are you wanting a one-night stand?” Jessie Kay asked, hoping...praying for a denial.

“Yes.” West's voice was nothing but a rasp.

Well. His affirmation wasn't exactly a surprise, but it sure was disappointing. He would take her here and now, then return to his date, acting as if nothing had happened. Because it hadn't—not really. Not for him. Jessie Kay meant nothing to him. A moment of pleasure, easily forgotten.

I'm an appetizer, she's a meal.

I'm the drive-through, she's the five-star restaurant.

I'm the slut a man can bang, never the girl he'll take home to momma.

The knowledge hurt Jessie Kay deep inside, pouring salt on old wounds that festered. West hadn't asked her to be his date—and he never would.

“Do you have many of those?” she asked, trying to control her temper. “One-night stands, I mean.”

“No.” The grip he had on the hem of her dress tightened, pulling the material down, revealing the upper edge of her bra. “You would be the first.”

The firmness of his tone said she would also be the last. “Why make an exception for me? Because I'm
special
?”

He frowned at her sneering tone. “Because we'll be good together. Because I can't stop thinking about you.” Pretty words, but not really an answer. “I'll take care of you, Jessie Kay.”

Oh, he would, she had no doubt about that. But he would only take care of her until he finished with her and zipped up his pants. “Then what? We pretend it never happened?”

His eyes narrowed, flashes of fire under his lids. “Yes,” he hissed. “We pretend. We become the friends we were meant to be.”

Something inside her snapped, and she pounded her fists into his shoulders. “You think I'm easy to get and easy to walk away from. Well, I think you're a bastard. How about that?”

“I think you're a woman with needs. I know I'm a man with needs, and I know we can help each other out.”

Help each other out.
The phrase echoed inside her mind, again and again, more insulting each time. “I don't need your help, West. I take care of myself
very well
.”

“But you'll have more fun with me.”

“Don't be so sure. You haven't seen the things these fingers can do.”

His fury switched direction, now projecting a take-off-your-panties heat that singed her to the bone.

“I'm not looking for a one-night stand, or even a two-month affair,” she said. Not that he'd offered the latter. She swatted his shoulders again, just for good measure, and this time, he stepped back, putting distance between them. “I'm especially not interested in becoming your side slice.”

“You wouldn't be a side slice.” His lids lowered, looking heavy, and his lips softened. “You'd be the full meal.”

Dang him! She shivered. “Your girlfriend is waiting outside this room. You plan to screw me and return to her. You'll sleep with her tonight.”

“Monica isn't yet my girlfriend.”

Jessie Kay had begun to melt—
the brunette isn't his girlfriend; there's a chance I can win him
—only to stiffen.
Isn't yet
, he'd said. Yet. He intended to move forward with the girl. More than that, he hadn't disputed the rest of Jessie Kay's claims. He
would
return to Monica. He
would
sleep with her tonight.

Scratch an itch with me now, return to regular programming later.
Maybe, like Jase and Beck, he'd even decide to marry the girl who came after Jessie Kay.

Dark emotion flooded her, choking her until she almost couldn't breathe past the gloom. “The next man I'm with will value me. I will mean something to him.”

A flare of his nostrils. “You mean something to me.”

“Don't kid yourself. If I meant anything at all, you never would have put me in this position.”

He ran his hand down his face and backed away another step.

“Do you have any idea how bad it hurt when your friends discarded me, as if I'd dared to overstay my welcome? No,” she said with a shake of her head. “You don't, because you don't know me. You can't. Otherwise you wouldn't be trying to do the same thing.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, glaring down at his feet. “You're wrong,” he said, and for once, there was no emotion in his voice. “I do know what it's like to be discarded. But it doesn't stop the ache I have for you, the constant hunger nothing else has been able to satisfy.”

She couldn't allow herself to focus on those words.
Doesn't stop the ache I have for you...
She'd cave—could already feel her resistance melting again. “You're telling me a woman actually cut you loose?”

“Many women, but not the way you think.” He met her gaze dead-on, his features more ravaged by the second. “Not romantically.”

“Then how—” Ohhh. Emotionally. His foster moms, probably. Used for a monthly check, only to be given up when the money stopped flowing? Dang it, the ache returned and she would have sold her soul for a chance to comfort the boy he'd been...the man he was. “You know being with me right now would be wrong. You said so.”

“More and more, I don't care what's right. I just care about having you in my arms.”

The raggedness of his tone was a hot caress that left fire in its wake, burning her from the inside out. “Pretty words don't mean squat. Actions do.”

Want to enjoy your future?
Momma once asked.
Then treat your present with respect. Soon it will be your past.

West reached out, traced a finger over the seam of her lips before cupping the back of her neck. “What if I offered you two months rather than a single night?”

Her mouth went dry. “Have you ever dated a woman longer?”

“Yes. Tessa.”

“How long were you with her?”

“Three years.”

“You remained faithful?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“And since her, you've never dated a woman for more than two months?”

“That's right.”

She latched on to his wrist with every intention of pushing him away, but she ended up clinging to him, desperate for an anchor as she drifted away in an endless sea of temptation. “You would still be with Tessa if she'd lived?”

A slight hesitation before he gave a clipped nod.

The hesitation intrigued her. “Why the time limit now?”

He closed his eyes as he drew in a long, drawn-out breath. “Others have asked the same thing, but I don't talk about it. Not with anyone.”

“Too bad. Sharing your past and your secrets is something you do with friends—and the woman you claim to desire.”

He stared at her, silent. Despite the overhead light illuminating him, darkness still managed to cling to him. It was there in his eyes, ravaged and ravaging, shredding everything her desire for him had managed to revive, leaving her a hollowed-out, empty shell. The same feeling her parent's death had elicited. The same feeling she'd tried for years to fill and mask with parties and men, and oh, how easy it would be to slip back into old habits, to find solace in the familiar, if only for a little while.

“If you ever want to reconsider your answer,” she whispered, “we can revisit the terms of our friendship. Right now, if you ask me for two months, I'll say no. I deserve more. I deserve better.”

He nodded without hesitation. “You're right. You do.” With lightning speed, he threw a hammer-like fist into the row of cans beside her, sending several flying into the wall behind the shelf, leaving cracks and holes in the plaster.

Despite the action, she knew he hadn't lost control of his temper. Control radiated from his every pore, pulled at the angle of his jaw and shoulders and held him in a rigid clasp, granting no quarter. He'd known what he was doing and had hoped...to what? Scare her? Send her fleeing?

Please. She'd angered this man time and time again, dishing as many insults as she'd received. Heck, she'd probably dished more. But he'd never threatened her physically. Not in word, and not in deed. He had his faults—a whole lot of faults—but violence against women wasn't one of them. If anything, he treated women with deference, opening car doors, pulling out chairs, even for his enemies.

“Feel better?” she asked.

“No.” He pushed out a weighted breath. “But I do owe you yet another apology, kitten.”

Shivers, tingles. Heat. “Stop calling me by that ridiculous nickname.”

“You have claws. You're soft. And for just a second, I made you purr. You're a kitten, plain and simple. Now be a good kitty and allow me to offer that apology. I acted quixotically today—”

“Ugh. Big fancy words are stupid. They are
not
a turn-on.” They were. They so were. “Talk to me like I'm five and failing your class.”

His eyes narrowed. “Your nipples just hardened.”

Lord save me
. “First, you wouldn't talk to a five-year-old like that. Second, why the heck are you looking at my nipples? Stop.”

“I'm a man, and they just sat up and said hello. What was I supposed to do? Ignore them?”

“Yes!”

“Why are big words such a turn-on to you?”

“Why is the sky blue?”

“Molecules in the air scatter blue light from the sun.”

Aaand her nipples hardened further. Apparently, smart, smart-ass answers were also a turn-on.

“And now I need a drink,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I'm not going to live through the day.”

The way he'd said those words—
I need a drink
—pricked a land mine inside her head, the different emotions in his voice like shrapnel. Longing. Regret. Shame. Hatred.

“I know the score. You're a recovering drug addict, and alcohol is your gateway.” He'd once stated her past so plainly; she saw nothing wrong with stating his in the same manner. Besides, she'd seen him drink once before, at a party he'd thrown in Tessa's honor. He'd not been a happy drunk. “You don't need a drink,” she said, “you need a good, firm spanking.”

Wary now, he rubbed at the back of his neck. “How did you know about the drugs?”

“I overheard Brook Lynn and Jase talking—when I pressed my ear to their door.”

“Is that why you won't be with me? I'm a bad bet?”

“I won't be with you because you're an asshole with a mysterious time limit. And a girlfriend! I've decided to be angry on her behalf.”

“She's not my—”

“But I don't believe for one second you're a man who will one day succumb to the dark allure of drugs. The strength you needed to get clean...sugar bear,
that
is a major turn-on.”

He snorted, some of the tension leaving him. “You said friends share their pasts. I'll think about sharing mine with you, which is more than I've ever done for another.”

Her heart skipped a beat. More than he'd done for another...more than she'd ever expected him to do for her.

“Just remember. Your past isn't as tragic as mine,” she said, “so I can't possibly feel sorry for you.”

“Mine is far worse than yours. You should bawl like a baby.”

His hands settled on her hips and squeezed as if the foundation at his feet was crumbling and she was the only lifeline. A hold of possession, one that made her body liquefy even as her breasts swelled with a need she could no longer fight. Her spine softened and tilted forward, putting the most needy parts of her in contact with the most needy parts of him.

“Tell me...would you be the executor of the spanking?” He brushed the tip of his nose against hers, his warm breath fanning over her lips.

“If you were my man, trust me, I'd see to your discipline on a daily basis. I'm sweet like that.” She ran her hands up the lapels of his jacket, hoping to mask her trembling. “And now, I'm leaving. This conversation can't go anywhere but the danger zone.” She straightened his tie before heading for the door.

“Kitten,” he called as she placed her hand on the knob.

She paused, part of her hoping he would close the distance, yank her against him and claim her lips, steal her breath, put his big, beautiful hands on her, all over her...finally ending the torment she'd lived with since the moment they'd met. The other part of her, the part that hoped he'd want her today, tomorrow and every day after refused to budge.

“What?” she asked with a tremor.

“You still owe me a sandwich.”

* * *

T
HE
WEDDING
KICKED
off forty-seven minutes late, screwing up more of West's schedule. The lack of order bothered him, a thorn in his side, but he kept his mouth shut. His friends were more important than anything else. And he had a distraction, his mind continually returning to the cleaning closet.