Hard to Handle (35 page)

“You never wanted me here in the first place. You were crystal clear on that. You've ridiculed my attempts to help. And now your uncle hates me.”

“He does not.”

Stasia shook her head. “I don't know, Harley. A party…I'm not in much of a partying mood.”

Harley studied her. Stasia thought she knew him, but that went both ways. He knew her too, knew her compassion, her kindness. “All right, fine. I guess you have to do what you think is best.”

“Thank you.”

He headed for the door. “But if you change your mind, I'll be at the party, no doubt answering difficult questions and fending off gossip-mongers.” And just to lock in the guilt and ensure her participation, he added under his breath, “Don't worry. No matter what the exposé says about it, I won't let any of this affect how I fight for the belt.”

Harley was just out the door when Stasia gave in to an aberrant fit of temper and slammed it hard. He smiled.

She'd be there. And somehow, he'd get this all figured out.

S
TASIA
saw Harley standing within a circle of people, men and women alike. She recognized the men as the reporter and photographer who'd become familiar to him lately. The woman plastered up to his side was one he'd danced with before. On his left, hanging on his every word, was the blonde, Gloria somebody.

Sick uneasiness stirred. He certainly didn't look like he needed her assistance in any way.

Jasmine touched her shoulder. “You're sure you're okay?”

Drawn from her ridiculous jealousy, Stasia summoned a smile for her friend. “I'm fine.” She waved her away. “Don't worry about me. Go have fun.”

Barber studied Stasia. “Before we get onstage, you want me to get you a drink? Might take the edge off.”

Did she really look that tense? “Honestly, Barber, I've been enough of a bother. You got me here, and that was plenty.”

He slung a heavy arm around Jasmine's shoulders. “You know, sugar, Harley would have picked you up.”

They shared a new intimacy, Stasia realized. They both looked so happy, it left her feeling bereft. Why couldn't Harley accept emotion so easily? “I know he would have. But I didn't want to ask him.”

She couldn't believe her stupid truck wouldn't start. Thank God she had Barber's cell phone number, and that he'd answered between shifts on stage.

Barber nudged her chin with a gentle fist. “You need to lighten up on him, hon. He's running in so many circles, he'll be too dizzy to fight.”

“Oh God.” Stasia closed her eyes on a brief pang. “The last thing I want is to interfere with his concentration for the bout.”

“Then hustle your cute little self on over there and save him from those barracudas. He'll appreciate that.”

She eyed the cozy group, saw Harley grin, and had her doubts. “Are you sure he needs saving?”

“Positive. Trust me, love, I know the man well.”

Swallowing down her discomfort, Stasia nodded. “All right then.” With a final nod at Barber and Jasmine, she headed across the floor.

The soft, loose skirt that she wore tonight was long enough that ankle boots kept any skin from showing, and allowed her to skip hosiery that might have aggravated her still tender thighs. She'd dressed it up with a soft leather belt, cinched at her waist and worn over a tucked-in cream-colored sweater with a ruffled neckline.

It wasn't exactly a party outfit, but with her hair up in a twist and long, dangling earrings, she figured she looked appropriate enough.

Because of the horrible weather, the toes of her black boots were still wet. Most of the snow had dissolved under a freezing rain that left everything clean and shiny and slick. She stepped carefully to keep from slipping on the polished floor.

Harley saw her long before she reached him. Blue eyes burning, he stepped away from the women to reach for her.

Smiling, Stasia accepted his hand.

“There you are.” He tugged her into his side and put a warm arm around her, letting his hand rest familiarly on her hip. “Everyone was just asking about you.”

The reporter looked confused, assuring Stasia that no one had noted her late arrival.

“My truck wouldn't start. I had to find a ride.”

Harley's smile stiffened. “You should have called me.”

“And deny your fans your presence?” Stasia put a hand to his chest and kept her smile firmly in place. “I wouldn't think of it.”

Being sly, one woman asked, “So who did give you a ride?”

“Barber.”

“The musician?” She hung on Harley's arm. “My, my, my. That must've been an interesting…ride.”

The insinuation was so rude, Stasia's smile hurt. “He's Harley's very good friend. And Jasmine came with him.” She looked the woman in the eyes. “They're a couple now, you know.”

Harley said, “They are?”

Standing a little off to Harley's other side, Gloria smiled. “Well, it's nice that you made it.”

“Thank you,” Stasia said, but Gloria had already turned to walk away. Apparently, with competition around, she lost interest.

Unfortunately that didn't work with all women. It seemed to be an especially clinging group tonight, and for his part, Harley didn't exactly discourage them. He posed with fans, laughed at idiotic jokes, accepted drinks, and politely refused dances.

The photographer loved it.

Stasia began to fume. Not since they'd started this farce of a relationship had he been so detached. That he'd be this way now told her all she needed to know.

Just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, Harley excused himself from the group. “We're going to go shoot some pool. I'll see you all later.”

The women pouted, the men grinned, and Stasia allowed herself to be tugged along to a more private room of twenty or so people. Barber was there on a break, staking a very public claim on Jasmine by keeping her pinned to his side and constantly nibbling on her—her ear, her shoulder, her fingers.

“I think you're right, Anastasia. Barber has it bad.” As if in pity, Harley shook his head.

Frustrated with him, Stasia changed the subject. “You leave early tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah.” He grabbed a beer off a tray. “Want one?”

“No.” She eyed him as he slugged back half. “Should you be doing that?”

“Drinking half a beer? Why not?”

“Well…I don't know.” Fed up, she crossed her arms. “Harley, is everything okay?”

“Great.” He plunked the glass back down on a table. “Why didn't you call me instead of Barber? And don't give me that bullshit about stealing me from my fans.”

He was strangely antagonistic. “Fine. The truth is, I didn't want to be dependent on you to get home.”

“Dependent?” His left eye twitched.

“You'll probably have to stay here late.” Stasia shrugged. “I had planned to leave early tomorrow morning too, but now I'll have to find out what's wrong with my truck first.” She muttered, “I think it's a dead battery.”

Zeroed in on her, he said, “This is our last night together.”

Her heart felt flattened, but she was determined not to show it. “I know. I'm sorry I didn't get here earlier. I tried calling a cab, but they were all busy. I couldn't imagine changing a battery in this weather.” She cleared her throat. “Is the interview over?”

“Finally, yeah. I'm done till Vegas.” His gaze took a slow path over her. “You look nice.”

“Thank you.”

“The burns are okay?”

Given how he watched her, she could barely feel her legs. “They're fine. Almost gone.”

Harley stepped closer. “Let me see.” He caught a fistful of her skirt.

Stasia gasped, then clamped a hand around his wrist and leaned in close to whisper, “Honest to God, Harley, I'll kill you if you even think it.”

Grinning, satisfied that he'd gotten a rise out of her, Harley released her and propped himself against the edge of a table. “So Barber left the stage to go back to the hotel to get you?”

His mood was starting to annoy her. “He said it wasn't a problem.”

Harley rubbed his chin. “You want to know what I think?”

“Um…no, not really.” In his strange mood, Harley looked more than capable of causing a scene.

She'd rather avoid that if she could.

“What's this? From jump, you've shoved your opinions down my throat. Now I want to share a thought or two of my own and you start retreating?” He pushed away from the table and loomed over her. “Do I make you uneasy, Anastasia?”

“I'm not afraid of you, Harley, if that's what you mean.”

“Bullshit. I know you too well.”

But that was the problem. “I think you probably don't really know me at all.”

“Because I don't have your insights, huh? I don't have your level of empathy. What was it you called me? Oh yeah, a cold-hearted bastard.”

Appalled that he'd make such an accusation, Stasia protested. “I
never
called you that.”

“Yeah, I tacked on the bastard part for flair.” He grinned. “But you know what, honey? I don't think you're the altruistic angel you play at being either.”

Stasia's temper sparked. “I never claimed to be an angel.”

“No, you're just the benevolent life coach, putting your own life on hold so you can fix mine.”

“Harley.” She looked around and realized people were starting to pay attention to them. Barber frowned at them, and Dean and Simon and their wives watched with curiosity. Stasia didn't think anyone could hear the details of their conversation, but Harley's hostile posture gave them away.

How did they always end up in these situations? “I never said you needed to be fixed.” Had she? She hoped not.

“Adjusted. Amended.” Harley slashed a hand through the air. “Whatever you call it, you think I need your help.” He leaned down toward her. “That's why you came here, right?”

Because it was a partial truth, she nodded. “I had hoped to offer some insights, yes.”

He laughed. “I think the truth is just that you wanted to get laid, but you won't admit it.”

Her lips felt stiff. “Your ego is inflated.”

“I don't think so, Anastasia. Hell, you've admitted, repeatedly that you lust for me as much as I do you.” He leaned closer, and whispered, “The other night proved how sexually compatible we are.”

Her heart ached. “God knows you're so overcharged, you'd be sexually compatible with a goat.”

His eyes sparked. “Let's don't get any more nasty rumors going, okay? It's women only for me, babe. Willing women.”

“Don't you mean any willing woman?”

He caught her chin. “What is it, Stasia?” His fingers caressed her jaw. “Do you want to be special to me?”

Because she wasn't, and she knew it, she shook her head. “No!”

He withdrew. “You sure about that? Maybe you want me to let go of my control so that you can get a toehold. You figure if you fix what's broken, I'll fall in love with you. Admit it.”

Time stood still.

“At the moment,” Stasia finally said, her voice shaking so badly she could barely get the words out, “I don't want you for a single second, much less a lifetime commitment.”

Harley froze, but recovered quickly. He laughed and picked up another beer.

Stasia wanted to cry. She wanted to be alone to curl up and choke on her own misery.

Not just yet, though.

“You win, Harley.”

“Yeah?” He set the beer aside. “What's the prize?”

She held his gaze. “You don't want or need my help. I admit defeat. I'll even admit I was an idiot to come here in the first place.”

“No one would ever call you an idiot.”

Her forced smile wavered. “You're partially right about things. I do care for you. Far too much. It's a bad combo. Me caring, and you…not. So I'll butt out of your life and let you get on with your social preferences.”

She turned, more than ready to escape.

“You still don't have a ride, Stasia, or have you forgotten?”

“I'll manage.”

Satch came up to Harley then and said, “I need to talk to you about Gloria.”

Rolling her eyes, Stasia said, “I'm out of here.”

Harley called her name, but she fixed her gaze on the door and headed for it, tuning out everything else. Satch called her too, but she wasn't going to stop for him either.

Barber intercepted her. “Rushing off, doll face?”

“Yes.” She kept walking. “The sooner, the better.”

She'd just reached the door when Harley and Satch both caught up with her.

Barber told Harley, “I'll run her home and be right back.”

“Forget it.”

Stasia winced. Everyone in the near vicinity had to have heard Harley's snarling voice. It rattled her so much that she could barely draw air into her constricted lungs.

Satch threw up his hands. “If you two would quit this childish bickering, I'd like to tell you something.”

“About
Gloria
?” Stasia asked.

“Yes, damn it.”

Harley said, “She's not riding with you, Barber.”

Stasia ignored Satch and said to Harley in a quieter voice, “What do you care who I ride with?”

A foreign emotion turned his blue eyes burning hot. “It's a damn ice storm out there. More cars are off the road than on it.” He leaned down nose to nose with her, and smiled. “We both know how you react to being stranded with a man.”