The Harder They Fall Read Online Free PDF Page B

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 thought 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