The Harder They Fall (8 page)

Flirting isn’t working.

Friendliness isn’t working.
Another understatement.

What the hell was he going to do with the woman? How would he ever get her to listen rationally to Dining Incorporated’s offer? The only time she’d acted positively toward him was . . . when he’d kissed her.

Kissing her worked,
he scribbled.

Michael stared at the words, his mind racing furiously. No, he couldn’t even
think
about it. He was a businessman. He kept his personal life completely separate and distinct from his professional life. The two didn’t belong in the same universe, much less the world.

Besides, although he found Darcy attractive, he didn’t much like her. He’d never been drawn to the innocent type. He liked his women aggressive and open, free of sexual inhibitions. He liked the type who knew what they wanted, and went after it. And he definitely preferred women who had at least
some
experience with men.

He’d bet his life savings that Darcy Welham was a virgin. Michael didn’t do virgins. He’d seen too many of his buddies take their share of virgins, and soon found the women draped around their necks. Apparently, women took the gift of their virginity much more seriously than men did. Michael didn’t have the time or inclination for serious commitments. He had goals to accomplish, and he couldn’t do that if he had a woman in his life distracting him.

He shook his head. What the hell was he thinking about? How had he made the leap from kissing Darcy to making love to her? He had no intention of making love with the woman. God, kissing her had nearly lost him a tongue. He shuddered to think what would happen to the rest of his exposed body if he gave her a shot at it.

Besides, he did have a conscience. Seducing Ms. Welham in order to soften her seemed morally . . . wrong. Professionally unethical. Psychologically cruel.

But physically . . . damn appealing.

He looked down at his legal pad again and swore softly.

Kissing her worked.

Technically, kissing a woman didn’t necessarily constitute seducing her. As long as he kept himself under control, didn’t allow it to progress to anything more intimate, maybe a kiss or two would do the trick. Maybe she’d stop thinking of him as a monster trying to take her dream away from her. Maybe it could soften her just enough that she’d listen to reason.

He underlined the words for emphasis. Then his precise, orderly brain began to plan.

Get her alone.

Show her appreciation.

Kiss her.

Michael
took a deep breath, trying to deny his body its instinctive reaction to the thought. With an effort of will, he wrestled back control of his hormones. He was doing this strictly for the sake of his company. He had to keep that in mind at all costs. With that final instruction to himself, he wrote one last item.

Keep your damn tongue out of her mouth.

Michael strolled through
the men’s locker room of Alexandria’s health club and walked into the indoor Olympic pool area. The air was heavy with humidity and the scent of chlorine.

Glancing around, he tried to locate Darcy.

Not an hour after he’d made up his mind about his new plan of attack, he’d heard one of the other waitresses ask Darcy how she stayed so thin. Darcy had mentioned that she swam laps at this club five nights a week.

That news had surprised Michael. Somehow he hadn’t pictured Darcy as the swimmer type. In fact, he’d have laid odds that Darcy could manage to drown herself standing in a puddle of water.

He looked in turn at each of the three people in the pool, all swimming laps. Two were women, both swimming freestyle, both with white caps on their heads.

Disappointment sluiced through him. Neither of them was Darcy, he knew, without seeing their faces. One was far too short, and the other was far too graceful.

The graceful one performed a perfect flip at the near end of the pool, then glided several yards under the water. When she began swimming, she switched smoothly into a breaststroke.

Michael took the time to appreciate her long legs, and the curve of her bottom beneath a black Speedo suit. If her face came close to looking as good as her legs, he might just have to introduce himself.

When she reached the deep end, the woman pulled herself from the pool in one fluid movement. Michael nearly swallowed his tongue. With a body like that, it wouldn’t matter if she looked like the Wicked Witch of the West.

Completely unaware of his gaping attention, the lady pulled goggles from her eyes, then the cap from her head. Shaking out her hair—her long, long, blond hair—she strolled to a bench and grabbed a bottle of Evian water.

Darcy.

Michael’s knees suddenly went weak as his gaze traced every curve on her slick body. God Almighty, the woman was breathtaking. She had delicate shoulders and long, lean thighs, a flat abdomen and anything-but-flat breasts. She had a woman’s body that called out to him to touch, explore, possess.

He stepped back into the locker room, taking deep, calming breaths. His body had never reacted so strongly to the sight of a woman since the first time he’d had sex. He appreciated the feminine form as much—if not more—than the rest of mankind, but this was the first time he felt like he’d been hit by a tornado of raging hormones. He felt on fire.

And he was supposed to stop at just kissing her?

Deep inside of him, Michael knew he should switch tactics
instantly
,
should drop this plan to ply Darcy with a few kisses. Deep inside, he knew that the stakes had just gone up, and he had much more to lose by kissing her than he’d ever gain by getting her to agree to D.I.’s offer. Deep down inside, he knew the smartest thing he could do was take the first shuttle back to New York and forget about the Welham’s restaurant chain and the owner’s daughter.

Apparently his brain didn’t reach that deep.

This is business, Davidson
,
he tried to tell himself. Unfortunately, he felt distinctly unbusinesslike. In fact, he felt distinctly personal-like. He could almost see his clearly defined goals melt and change form, become fuzzy and warm. He needed to get away and think.

Instead of getting away, he stepped back into the pool room. Darcy wasn’t doing laps any longer. Instead, damn her, she was poised on what looked like about a five-meter-high diving platform.

His jaw dropped as she hurled herself into the air, then as
if in slow motion he watched her do a one-and-a-half flip with a twist, knifing straight into the water arms and head first.

When she surfaced, an angelic smile on her face, Michael released his breath, just realizing he’d been holding it. In a fog of confusion, he watched her swim lazily to the ladder.

“Amazing, isn’t she?”

Michael’s head snapped around at the sound of the man’s voice. The guy who’d been swimming laps earlier stood beside him, a towel draped around his neck.

Michael didn’t much care for the man’s opinion of Darcy. He also didn’t like the way the guy’s eyes followed Darcy’s movements as she returned to the platform. “Yes, she is.”

The man chuckled. “Let me give you fair warning. The package might be entertaining, but if you get too close, you’re asking for trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the lady may look good in a pool, but she’s big trouble in the real world.”

No matter that Michael agreed completely with the man, he took offense on Darcy’s behalf. “What do you mean by trouble?”

“She’s a jinx.”

“Excuse me?”

“Exactly three guys have approached her to try to ask her out. Two ended up getting stitches, one was a little luckier . . . just a slight concussion.”

“She attacked them?”

“That’s the problem. She didn’t mean to hurt them. Like I said, she’s trouble.”

Michael winced. “I don’t think I want to know the details.”

“Just trying to help,” the stranger said. “If you know what’s good for you, keep a safe distance.” The man turned and disappeared into the locker room.

Michael had always prided himself on knowing what was good for him. Since the time he’d been five years old he’d been setting goals, then making lists on the plans of action that would win him those goals. He’d found his method highly successful so far.

So why, when he knew that continuing his plan to win Darcy over could land him in big trouble, wasn’t he running like a madman from this health club?

As he watched Darcy execute a perfect jackknife, he knew he had his answer. Because the only thing between his ears right now was the knowledge of what Darcy Welham looked like in a bathing suit.

Shaking his head, he dropped his towel on the wooden bench, kicked off his Docksiders and pulled his T-shirt over his head, leaving himself clad only in a pair of swimming trunks with the insignia of his alma mater, Columbia University, on it.

Darcy still hadn’t noticed him.

The shorter woman had left. They were all alone in the pool. Item number one on his list had just been accomplished.

He walked to the pool’s lip, rotating his arms to warm up his muscles. Gazing up, he watched Darcy set up for another dive. She raised her arms—over her head this time. Then she brought them down, bent her knees slightly, and prepared to shove off from the platform.

That’s when she finally spotted Michael.

Even from across the pool he saw her eyes go wide, her mouth form an “oh!” of recognition. She tried to pull back, but momentum prevented her. Her arms and legs flailed almost comically as she tried to right herself in the air. She almost made it. But not quite.

If she’d been in a cannonball-splash competition, she’d have won.

Michael tensed, the moments before she surfaced seeming like hours. When she finally got her head above water, she looked a little like Cousin Itt. Her hair covered her face. She dunked back down and let the water push it back, then reappeared, treading water.

She didn’t exactly look thrilled to see him.

“You!” she growled.

Michael tried to appear surprised. “Darcy! Is that you?” Before she could answer, he sliced through the air and dove into the pool. Using a lazy breaststroke, he cut across the pool toward her, smiling at her. She glared at him the entire time, her hair floating around her.

He stopped in front of her and shook his hair out of his eyes. Treading water with his legs alone, he said, “Wow, this is a nice surprise.”

“You mean a nightmare.”

He ignored that. “I didn’t know you swam.”

“Why should you?”

He ignored that, too. “You’re a terrific diver.”

Her cheeks blushed a little. “Uh . . . thank you.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Well, I guess I’m tired of swim—”

Michael reached out and wrapped his hand around her arm. Even that slight contact managed to shoot sparks through his nervous system. “Don’t go.”

She stared down at her arm, then looked back at him. He could tell by the green light in her eyes and the parting of her lips that she felt the same sensation he did from the wet skin-on-skin contact.

Michael was almost surprised they weren’t electrocuted.

Some primitive impulse took his brain hostage. He widened the circumference of his undulating legs just enough to brush against hers. His eyes slid shut and he bit back a moan as he felt her silky-smooth skin.

Darcy gasped as she felt Michael Davidson’s leg brush against hers. Something started quaking inside her. She suddenly felt as heavy as a lead weight and as light as a feather. She didn’t know if she was going to sink or float.