Hard to Handle (25 page)

“Thank you. It was wonderful meeting her in person. I've been a fan ever since I first saw her perform. She's incredible.”

“I agree.”

“So do I.” Barber, the only one still sitting, tipped his head back to see her. “You've got some big shoes to fill, Jassy.”

Harley wanted to kick him.

Simon looked ready to throttle him.

Pasting on a very false smile, Jasmine said, “I only stopped by to ask you what time you wanted to see me tonight.”

“I was just chewing on that.” Barber rose out of his seat. “Why don't we sort out the details in the hall? That way if I have another verbal faux pas, I can spare myself the public flogging.”

“If you don't watch yourself,” Simon grumbled, “it's a very old-fashioned ass-kicking that you'll get.”

“One well deserved, I'm sure,” Jasmine said.

Barber took her arm and started her out of the room. Right before he went through the door, he glanced back at Harley with a wolfish expression and a bobbing of his eyebrows.

Harley shook his head. Instead of mellowing, Barber got more reprehensible with time.

Or maybe he really was still in love with Dakota, and this was his way of hiding it.

Simon strode to the door, removed the guard and let the door drop shut. “If deep down he wasn't such a good guy, I'd have to demolish him. But the truth is, he was a damn fine friend to Dakota when she needed one most. I sometimes wonder what would have happened to her without him around.”

Reclaiming his seat, Harley said, “I know what you mean. She really had it rough.”

“It made her the woman she is, and I love her, so I try not to dwell on it.”

“You just ensure no one will ever hurt her again. I get it.”

Not one to mince words, Simon nodded and then said, “I'm definitely retiring, Harley.”

Ah hell. There it was—the thing Harley most didn't want to hear.

“I figured.” While struggling with what he'd known would be inevitable, Harley dared another drink of the god-awful coffee. “I can't even say as I blame you.”

“It wasn't an easy decision. Both Dakota and I feel indebted to you—”

“Don't.” Harley couldn't say exactly why, but it insulted him to be thanked for doing what any honorable man would do. “The injury was my own damn fault, not yours, and not hers. I was caught off guard, and that's inexcusable on my part.”

“Still—”

“Believe me when I say I'd do it again in a heartbeat.”

Simon accepted that without another word. “I've been thinking about it, and since I won't be competing, I'd like to train you.”

“Yeah?”

“I'd enjoy it. Retiring doesn't mean I want completely out of it. Investing in you will be almost as good.”

“I appreciate that.” Harley knew Satch would be thrilled. Between Dean and Simon, he couldn't ask for a better core camp to get him ready for the competition.

He was about to say more when his cell phone rang. Standing, Harley pulled the slim phone out of his jeans pocket, glanced at the caller ID, and said to Simon, “It's Drew Black.”

The president of the SBC didn't make a lot of social calls. That he'd be calling Harley now could mean that some decisions had been made.

“About time.” Simon sat forward.

Assuming he was about to get the details on his next fight, Harley answered with anticipation. But after he and Drew got through the cordial small talk, Harley got a shocker.

The fight was sooner than he expected. And it was a straight shot for the title.

B
ARBER
had a difficult time listening to Jasmine's endless chatter about her shopping trip and girls' lunch out. But even in his distraction, wondering how much she'd heard before making her arrival known, he picked up on her enthusiasm and overall delight for her new wardrobe and new friends.

In the normal course of things, female chatter left his brain numb. But with Jasmine, it didn't matter what she said. Watching her lips move only made him want to kiss her more.

She was so animated in all she did, so…perky.

Comparisons came without his bidding.

Dakota had never been perky a day in her life.

Dakota filed her nails, but it took a very special occasion for her to suffer through a manicure.

Dakota was headstrong and iron-willed, and Barber couldn't recall ever seeing her cry.

He admired everything about her. He respected and adored her.

Until now, he'd really thought it'd take another woman just like Dakota to get him fired up. But damn…

When Jasmine spoke, she used her hands and changed her posture a lot. The movements were feminine and naturally flirtatious. Dakota never flirted. Barber wasn't sure she even knew how. When Jasmine shifted, her assets jiggled in a delicious way guaranteed to drag his already sidetracked brain into carnal supposition.

Everything about her was so unintentionally inviting that no way was Barber going to blame himself for his reactions.

Even the fact that Jasmine reveled in giving him hell, especially in front of his friends, turned him on. Why he liked that, Barber couldn't say. Maybe it was because most women were too accommodating, and after his recent taste of fame they were downright easy. That blind agreement suddenly seemed…boring.

“Anyway,” Jasmine said, “Dakota shared some of the song lyrics with me. Wasn't that nice of her? She said they were favorites of yours. I recognized them, of course, and I'm pretty sure I know all the words, but just in case, I'll look them over.”

“Good idea.”

“She really is nice. I wasn't expecting that.”

“She's great.”

“We all had so much fun, we've agreed to get together again real soon.”

“Yeah.” Barber barely registered her comments. Today she had her long hair in an intricate and feminine French braid. Little curls had escaped and teased her cheeks and neck. Dainty earrings hung from her earlobes. Her flesh-toned sweater didn't show a speck of skin, but it did emphasize the generous weight of her breasts.

This skirt was even longer than the one from last night, and Barber found himself musing on her thighs. Would they be as soft and lush as her breasts and ass?

God, he hoped so.

She put a hand to her chest. “The food was so good, I ate way too much.”

Barber looked at her glossy painted nails, the slim birthstone ring on her finger. He smelled the light fragrance of scented shampoo, and the subtler scent of warm female skin.

“I even got dessert,” she said. “Peach pie.”

“Peach, huh?” Man, he was sinking like a cement block.

Jasmine licked her lips. “It was heavenly. I could have eaten the whole pie.”

“That does it.” Unable to take it a second more, Barber caught her chin with his fingertips. “Sorry, sugar, but if you really want my attention, I have to alleviate the suspense.”

“The what?”

He kissed her.

It was like kissing a warm board.

For about three seconds.

She melted with a lot of enthusiasm. Her arms went around his neck and she squirreled up close to him with a soft moan.

Barber lost it. In a clumsy rush, he backed her to the door and leaned into her, opening her mouth with his tongue, squeezing her hip with strong fingers. All in all, going off the deep end fast and hard.

The door opened behind them and Jasmine almost toppled into the room.

Barber grabbed for her and missed.

Simon, standing in her path, ended up with her filling his arms.

Unfortunately, in his surprised effort to catch her, his right hand went where it wasn't invited to go. Simon tried to readjust, which only pulled Jasmine's sweater into an awkward twist that exposed a narrow strip of pale flesh across her waist.

Simon tried to release her, but with all of Jasmine's frantic readjustment, she couldn't quite regain her feet.

Barber took her arms and yanked her upright.

“Omigod,” Jasmine said, and humiliated heat poured off her.

“Now Jassy,” Barber said, hoping to soothe her embarrassment. “Simon just copped a small feel and it was an accident, so it hardly counts.” He straightened her sweater for her.

“Idiot!” Jasmine slapped his hands away and tried to do the straightening herself.

Both Harley and Simon stood there staring at Barber, their expressions a mix of hilarity, censure, and male understanding.

Finally, his expression fed up, Simon stepped around them. “For God's sake, Barber, you
have
a room.”

Harley whistled.

And Jasmine cried, “
Barber
,” and then, “damn it!”

She shoved him back and marched off down the hall, assumedly to her own room.

Still breathing hard, Barber watched her go. The back view was every bit as enticing as the front. Those perfectly padded hips swayed, more so with her anger. And she'd blasted him. Again.

Hell, she'd called him an idiot. Barber grinned. “God almighty, Harley. I think I'm losing it.”

“You lost it years ago.” Harley shook his head. “I have to go, too. Drew called.”

“Drew?” Barber stowed the lust and gave his friend the attention needed. “No way.”

“I have six weeks to prepare.” Harley couldn't hold back his pleasure.

“No shit?” Barber grinned in expectation. “Title fight?”

“Nothing but. Drew is skipping the buildup. He says the time is right, and I'm not about to disagree.”

Barber held out a fist. “Well hell, pound me up, dawg! This is cause for celebration, right?”

After rolling his eyes, Harley tapped the top of Barber's fist with his own. “Damn straight. And this time, I'm not going to let anything get in my way.”

Anything…or any one? Poor Stasia would have her work cut out for her now. “You'll have the belt, dude. This is double cause for celebration. Don't even think of bailing on me tonight.”

“I'll be there.”

“With Stasia?”

“Probably.” He punched Barber's shoulder. “After tonight, it's going to be all business.”

“And very little pleasure. I know.” As Harley left, Barber shook his head. Harley had been all business ever since he'd met him. The man had no real idea how to cut loose, which was why the idea of Harley and bondage had really thrown him. Kinky.

Barber grinned. The sly dawg. Maybe there was hope for Harley yet.

But with Satch always on guard, making sure that Harley kept it tight, he probably wouldn't have a chance to really sow wild oats.

Unless Stasia could help him with that.

Barber was betting on her, but in the meantime, he had his own business decisions to make.

Like whether or not to risk the peace in the band by hiring Jasmine Petri and having her, too.

S
TASIA
didn't want to blame Harley's distraction with her legs, but when the half-frozen mass hit his windshield, he was as shocked as her.

“Son-of-a-bitch.”

Whatever it was, it had to weigh ten pounds or more. A fawn? She didn't think so. When it hit, it sounded like a chunk of cement crashing into the car.

Cold air blew in around the shattered windshield. Her nails dug into the leather seat of Harley's car.

Hands tight on the wheel, Harley struggled to see through the debris long enough to steer the car safely to the side of the road.

Numb with astonishment, Stasia didn't move. She was so stiff, she didn't think she could.

Harley unhooked his seat belt and reached for her. “Stasia? Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Her gaze sought his. She swallowed down her fear. “What the hell was that, Harley?”

Grim, he touched her face, smoothed her hair. He looked in the rearview mirror, out the side window. “I don't know. Stay in the car.”

Two other vehicles stopped to see if they were all right. Other drivers rubbernecked as they passed, trying to see what had happened.

Stasia concentrated on breathing.

They were safe enough, just badly startled. This particular stretch of road wasn't secluded. Buildings lined the street. They couldn't be that far from the bar, although being new to the area, she didn't yet have her bearings on distances to different locations.

Along with another man, Harley walked over to the road to investigate what they'd hit. She could see it lying there, utterly still, stiff. Her stomach bottomed out.

Harley didn't look pleased. Stasia watched as he pulled out his cell phone and placed a call. Every couple of seconds, he looked at her.

It made her feel better.

Were they doomed? Why did things only happen when she was with Harley? Was it a warning of some kind?

He shook hands with the other man and returned to the Charger. He examined the windshield with obvious disgust.

When he got in the car, she saw the fury that he tried hard to conceal.

“What was it?”

“A dog.”

Covering her mouth with a hand, Stasia fought tears. “Dead?”

“Don't get upset, honey. It's been dead for a while. Hell, it's frozen solid.”

Her hand slid away. “But…what?”

“We didn't hit a live animal.” He slowly inhaled, and let the breath out with ebbing rage. With approaching police lights reflected in his eyes, Harley locked his gaze on hers. “Someone threw a frozen chunk of roadkill at my car.”

So many possibilities raced through Stasia's mind, she couldn't grab and hold a single one. One police car parked behind them, and another stopped near the dead, frozen animal.

That poor creature. She had such a special fondness for animals that it didn't matter if the dog had been killed in the street days or even weeks before. It was dead, and that was all that mattered to her heart.

But tears now wouldn't make the situation any easier for Harley, or help her in explaining a few things to the officers.

Harley reached for her hand. “We need to step out. You're sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine.” She opened her seat belt and got out of the car just as the first officer reached Harley's side of the car. She circled the hood to join them, and waited while Harley explained what had happened.

The officer called it in, asked them to wait, and wandered off to do a cursory inspection of the area.

Harley put an arm around Stasia. “Warm enough?”

“I'm fine.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it's true.”

“Are your legs cold?”

She flashed him a fleeting smile. “You're far too preoccupied with my legs, Harley. Most women have them, you know.”

“Yours are very sexy.”

Despite everything currently happening, it made Stasia feel good to get the compliment. While shopping with Jasmine, she'd bought the flattering denim pencil skirt. The hem hit just above her knees. She wore dark hose and ankle-strap shoes with it, and topped it off with a body-hugging white turtleneck. The outfit was stylish, warm, and flattered her figure.

Teasing Harley, she said, “You asked me to wear a skirt, so I did. I didn't realize it was just so you could see my legs.”

“Actually…” He kissed her ear and whispered, “I was hoping to get my hands under your skirt when I made the suggestion.” He leaned back. “But that thing fits you like a second skin. Looks great, but it sure wouldn't make it easy to cop a feel.”

The pounding of her heart stole her breath.

Putting his forehead to hers, Harley said, “Had I known we'd be out in the cold again, I'd have told you to bundle up in jeans and boots.”

She slipped her arms inside his coat, around his waist. “Harley, I have to tell you something.”

The officer returned. “Sorry, folks. I looked around, but there's really not much to see. I spoke briefly with the other drivers who stopped, but they saw what you saw—something coming toward your car.”

“A dead dog didn't run in front of us.”

“I'd say not.” The officer tapped a pad of paper to his thigh. “But whoever dumped it on your car is long gone. I'd say it was a prank.” He looked at them. “Unless either of you has another suggestion?”

Harley started to say something, and Stasia stepped forward, away from his protective arm. “Actually, yes, I know someone who might dislike me enough to do such a thing.”

Behind her, she could feel Harley's sudden tension.

The officer pushed back his hat. “Let's hear it.”

Memories swamped in on her, compressing her lungs, burning her stomach.

Harley's hand enclosed hers, and that helped more than she wanted to admit. “I'm a life coach, which means I work closely with people to advise them on lifestyle decisions.”

The officer was polite, but she could tell he didn't get it.

“My last male client misunderstood my intent. He…he thought I was emotionally involved, that I cared for him beyond a client.” That sounded awful, even to her, so she rushed to her own defense. “I'm very careful to explain the boundaries up front, and I never, ever socialize with clients. I'm there when they need me, and I sometimes observe them in routine activities, but I don't partner with them.”

The cop shifted his stance, hands on his hips, brow puckered.

Anxious to get it over with, Stasia said, “When he offered to leave his wife for me, I tried to set him straight. He…he didn't take it well. For a while he was a real nuisance, calling my business line all the time, trying to follow me home.” She rubbed her forehead. “The last time I saw him, he called me awful names and blamed me for his ruined marriage.”

“Do you know where this guy is now?”

Stasia shook her head. “Not really, but his wife was…” She couldn't get the words out. It hurt so much, just remembering.

Harley's hand squeezed hers again. “She was what?”

“Hospitalized. After everything that happened, she threatened to commit suicide. It was awful. And Larry made sure I got every little detail of the whole ordeal.” Her stomach churned. “I don't know if they ever got back together, because I just stayed away. I was afraid any concern on my part would be misinterpreted by him again.”

The cop became all business. “Okay, give me his name and the name of the hospital where his wife was at. I'll see what I can find out.”

“Larry Grimes. His wife was Eloise.” She shared the other details she could remember, and all the while, she prayed it wasn't Larry.

If that whole nightmare started again, she didn't know what she'd do.

It was another hour before Harley's car was towed away to get the windshield repaired and they'd retrieved his Jeep to drive instead. Stasia stayed silent, and Harley didn't press her.

“You still feel like dinner?”

She glanced at the Jeep's clock. “If we go out now, we'll miss Jasmine's performance.”

“So do you want to just grab a bite at the bar? It won't be anything fancy, just a cold sandwich or maybe barbecue. But it's not bad.”

“That suits me just fine.”

Harley drove toward the bar. “I wish you'd told me sooner just how deranged that creep really is.”

“There wasn't any point.”

“No? What about your brakes? What about almost being run over?”

She shook her head. “I can't imagine Larry having any part of that. Until he flipped out on me, he seemed like such a nice guy. A laid-back, normal guy.”

“Yeah, a real prince.”

She chided him. “Don't be sarcastic, Harley. I'm not in the mood.”

He fell silent again.

Stasia hated it. “I'm sorry. I guess I should have considered the possibility more seriously earlier. But it's not something I like to dwell on. I'd prefer to think what happened at Echo Lake was a prank gone wrong, as the officials suggested.”

“And tonight?”

“I just don't know. If it isn't all related, it'd be one hell of a coincidence.” And she couldn't convince herself of that.

Harley pulled into the bar parking lot and turned off the engine. When he faced her, he said, “It's not your fault, you know.”

“That's the thing about blame, Harley. It's sometimes hard to pinpoint. Is it Larry's fault that he was so desperately unhappy, he misunderstood my intent? Was it his wife's fault for not making Larry happier? Her fault that she couldn't cope and would rather be dead than lose a man who didn't love her anymore, had maybe never really loved her?”

“Maybe,” he said, “it wasn't anyone's fault. It just is.”

She'd never get a better lead-in than that. “Like you missing the first three opportunities to fight for the belt?”

He withdrew in a heartbeat. “That was fate fucking me over, nothing more and nothing less.”

She caught his arm when he reached for the door handle. “Harley? I hadn't told anyone else about Larry. Talking about it makes me ill, like I might throw up. It was so sad, and so scary, and I can't remember ever feeling so much like an idiot.”

He relented and pulled her close. “I'm sorry, Stasia.”

“I feel better, getting it out in the open. Talking about it.”

“I'm glad.”

She hugged him tighter. “I wish you'd trust me enough to share with me, too.” Under her hands, his muscles went taut. Stasia held on to him. “I understand what happened with Dakota. And I think everyone is pretty damned grateful you were there with her.”

“Gregor got there fast, too.”

“But if you hadn't been there—”

“Not long after,” he continued, “Simon and Mallet returned, too.”

She hadn't met anyone named Mallet, but she assumed he was another fighter. “But
you
were there with her when she first got attacked by her crazy ex, and that's how you got hurt.”

Nearly humming with anger, Harley sat back in his seat. After a few seconds, he relaxed enough to drop his head back and close his eyes. “I was taken off guard. I was thinking about other things, and they charged us. If I'd been as alert as I should have been, I'd have heard them, or seen them coming.” He turned his head and opened his startling blue eyes on her face. “That's how I got hurt. It was my own damn fault. No one else's.”

“And before that?”

He studied her, and must have decided it didn't matter if he shared. “Not long after I was offered my first title shot, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Dad had died years earlier, and Uncle Satch was the only other relative we had. Mom was bad off, and it was too much for him to handle on his own.”

Oh God. Stasia hadn't realized…

“After more tests, the doctors realized the cancer was pretty advanced. Even though the treatments were grueling, Mom tried everything. And still she got weaker by the day.”

Her heart ached. “You took time off to care for her?”

Harley stared out the windshield. A lone streetlamp sent a slash of light into the car, lending a strange illumination to his features, gilding his blond hair, putting an unholy glow in his pale blue eyes.

“Don't make me sound noble. I didn't do it for her, as much as for myself.” His voice went rough, breaking Stasia's heart. “I didn't want to let her go.”

“She was your mother. I understand that.”

His jaw flexed. His gaze became hard and cold. “She went through chemo and radiation, but the cancer had spread, and there wasn't much hope. She didn't last that long.” He glanced at her. “We no sooner had the funeral than Uncle Satch wanted me back in training.”