The Harder They Fall (9 page)

The man was
touching
her. While he was touching her, he was
gazing
at her with eyes so blue it almost hurt to look into them. Water dripped down from his hair, the drops tracing the contours of his proud cheeks, his strong jaw
.
His lips, turned up in a slight smile, seemed hard and sexy all at once.

God, this gorgeous enemy of a man was
touching
her.

Deciding she was definitely going to sink, Darcy started churning her legs just a little more frantically. She tried to say something, but words stuck in her throat, just scant inches above where her heart had started threatening to spar with her ribs.

“Stay,” he coaxed, his voice a little throaty. “I want to watch you swim some more. I want to watch you dive.”

He wanted to
watch
her. As far as she knew, she’d never had a man want to watch her before.

And this man who wanted to
watch
her was still
touching
her.

She suddenly became aware that he was pulling her through the water toward him. Her legs churned just a little harder, in rhythm with her churning tummy.

He brought her to within a few inches of him, until her breasts brushed his chest every once in a while. Darcy tried hard to remember that this man was her enemy but, as the two of them bobbed in the water, as her breasts came in occasional contact with his bare, hard chest, Darcy couldn’t think of anything, except that she wanted to touch Michael Davidson, too.

The hand that wasn’t holding her arm came up and played with her hair in the water. He seemed to like to do that, swirling it around as if it were his paintbrush, and he was creating a masterpiece in chlorine.

He looked up at her, and Darcy’s legs slowed as a languorous feeling stole over her. They slowed even further when he brushed his fingers over her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I want to kiss you again, Darcy.”

Her legs went as limp as overcooked noodles.

She started to sink. He grasped her around the waist and treaded water for both of them.

“Please, let me kiss you.”

The word “no” should have passed her lips. Unfortunately, just the feel of her breasts crushed against his chest rendered her speechless. She moaned, a sound that came out sounding suspiciously like “please.”

Then his lips were on hers, wet and tasting like chlorine and man. Like
him.
She hadn’t forgotten the taste of him, not in the nine days, three hours and about twenty-five minutes since the last time they’d done this. She hadn’t forgotten the relentless pressure, both to her lips and her lower belly. She hadn’t forgotten the pleasurable abrasion of her chin and cheeks, where his stubbled jaw rubbed against her skin.

What she
had
forgotten was that she didn’t want a man’s tongue in her mouth.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t forgotten. His tongue didn’t come near hers. And the more he nipped at her lips, the more he pressed against her and molded his mouth against hers, the more she wanted to taste his tongue.

She broke the kiss. “Please!” she whispered desperately.

“What, Darcy?” he asked softly, his hand skimming up and down her back rhythmically while he held them afloat.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she directed her gaze at his jaw. “Kiss me.”

His chest rumbled against hers, managing to excite her. “What do you think I’ve been doing?”

“Kiss me right.”

The rumbling stopped abruptly. “You want me to?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t bite me again, will you?”

“No.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” She managed to look up at him. “I swear.”

The blaze in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw made her take in a quick breath. He was
touching
her. He was
holding
her. And he was going to
French kiss
her. Darcy felt faint.

His lips lowered to hers. Darcy parted hers beneath his insistent touch. She felt his heart thundering against her chest, and a surge of feminine power rose through her. This affected him.
She
affected him.

His teeth nibbled on her lips. Then he made a groaning sound that hit her like a laser. His tongue plunged into her mouth. It was so good, the way the sensations rocketed through her. Her knee jerked up in reaction.

Right between his legs.

Darcy felt him pull back.

Heard a grunt.

Then felt him drop away from her, sinking into the water.

“Uh-oh.”

“I’m sorry!” Darcy cried after dragging Michael to the pool’s surface. “I’m so, so, so, so, so sorry!”

Michael kept his eyes closed and groaned softly. He quite frankly liked having Darcy’s arms around him, and he wasn’t about to do anything to make her let him go any faster.

She puffed a little as she towed him to the shallow end of the pool. “I swear I didn’t—” puff, puff—“do it on purpose!”

He groaned again, putting a little more oomph in it this time.

She stopped and rolled out from behind him, still cradling him to her. “Michael?” she whispered, touching her fingertips to his jaw. “Michael, please tell me you’re all right.”

As far as he knew, this was the first time Darcy had spoken his given name. It surprised him how much he liked hearing it on her lips. Forcing himself not to open his eyes to watch those lips as she whispered his name, he bit back an honest groan as her breasts pressed into his ribs. Mentally, he updated his list.
Guilt works.

Her fingers probed his neck, and he realized she was searching for a pulse. He had the sinking feeling that if his pulse was pounding as hard as his heart, she’d have no trouble finding it.

“Please, please, please,” she chanted softly.
“
Is
he breathing?”

Michael held his breath.

Strands of her hair plastered themselves to his face. He guessed she’d put her ear to his mouth to see if air was moving in and out of it.

She cupped the back of his head, stuck her fingers between his lips and pried them apart. Then she did something that nearly made his lungs explode. She sealed her lips over his mouth and blew with all her might.

Michael jerked in reaction, expelling all of that extra air. He got his legs under him and stood, still sputtering.

The fear in Darcy’s eyes slowly turned to confusion, then was transformed into outrage. “You were faking!”

“Only a little.”

“You weren’t hurt at all!”

“Oh, yes I was,” he insisted. After all, she’d nearly inflated him like a hot-air balloon.

The accusation in her eyes died. “Are you all right?” she asked softly.

“I think so.”

Her lashes fluttered as she directed her attention to his groin. “I . . . it was an accident.”

“I know.”

“I . . . I don’t know what . . . happened to me.”

Michael plucked a wet strand of hair from her cheek, making certain to brush her skin with his fingertips. A surge of desire burst through him, confounding him. Why did he react so strongly to her?

So what if she was stunning, standing there wet and almost naked, her eyes glittering a deep, deep green? So what if her nipples strained against her suit, and her lips were moist and still slightly swollen from his kiss? So what if her nose was just slightly impudent, her cheekbones classic, her chin darlingly stubborn? So what if her thick, wheat-blond hair was slicked straight back from her forehead? He should be completely immune to her. He
wanted
to be completely immune to her. This was
business
!

So why did he want to be buried inside her so badly, he ached with it?

He traced circles on her shoulder. “What happened was, you felt the same thing I did from that kiss.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, glaring at his roaming fingers.

“You can’t deny the attraction between us, Darcy. You’d be lying.”

Her gaze skittered back to his face. “But I don’t
want
to be attracted to you. You’re my enemy.”

“I don’t have to be. We could be friends.”

“Friends?” she squeaked, as if the word were foreign to her.

“Friends,” he said softly. “And maybe lovers.”

He hadn’t known he was going to throw out that suggestion until it had already passed his lips. But once it came out, for some reason it felt right. Really right. In fact, suddenly it felt as imperative to him as oxygen.

She didn’t agree with him, apparently. At least the shock on her face let him know the thought of him as a lover had never crossed her mind. Feeling a little insulted that she’d never viewed him as potential sex-partner material, he squeezed her shoulder.

“You wouldn’t regret it, Darcy.”

“Lo-lovers?” she whispered. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

God help him, yes. He wanted to get naked and sweaty with this woman. He wanted to explore the hidden delights her body held. He wanted her writhing under him. He wanted to make her explode with blissful release. And it had nothing at all to do with business, and everything to do with the wet lady before him.

For the first time in his life, Michael wondered if he had some sort of death wish.

He smiled gently. “What do you think I’m saying?”

“You . . . want to have sex with me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.”

He cupped her neck, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin under her ear. “Why?”

She sucked in a soft breath. “No one’s ever wanted to before.”

“Then the men in your life have either been blind or fools.”

“There haven’t been many,” she admitted, her color rising. “I’m considered bad luck.”

“Why?”

“I’m . . . not very graceful.”

He fought the urge to nod his agreement. “Sweetheart, I just watched you swim and dive. You’ve got natural grace.”

“In a pool, maybe.”

“Well, then, while we’re . . . together, just pretend you’re in a pool.”

Her lips pursed. “This is ridiculous. I’ve known you for a total of three weeks and, to tell you the truth, I haven’t exactly liked you much.”

If she’d been as graceful as she was blunt, she could have been a prima ballerina. “Well, how about if we take care of that part first?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a pretty decent guy, Darcy, no matter what you may think. Give me a chance to prove that to you. The rest will take care of itself.”

“Why do you care what I think?”

He didn’t know anymore, he realized with a jolt. Yes, he wanted to soften her so that she’d listen to reason. But he had a sinking feeling his determination to change Darcy’s mind about him went far beyond that. “I’m attracted to you,” he answered, at least half-honestly. “Usually, I prefer that the women I’m attracted to like me, at least a little.”