Read Online The Harder They Fall by Trish Jensen - Free Book Online Page B

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.”
    “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
    Michael laughed. “I’ve always liked a challenge. How about if we start by going out to dinner?”
    Her face went blank. “Dinner?”
    Michael chuckled softly. “You know, appetizer, salad and an entrée.”
    “Dinner,” she repeated, as if getting used to the idea. “When?”
    “Hmm, how about Friday? You’re off that night, aren’t you?” As if he didn’t know. He probably knew Darcy’s schedule better than she did.
    “Yes, I think so.” Her eyes had gone limpid, but suddenly a spark of suspicion flashed in them. “Just dinner?”
    He nodded. “Just dinner. We’ll reserve judgment on dessert.”
    “But I love dessert!”
    “Me, too, sweetheart. Me, too.”
    Darcy had to work hard not to gape when she opened her apartment door and spied Michael. Until the afternoon at the club, she would have sworn that Michael Davidson had emerged from his mother’s womb dressed head to toe in Brooks Brothers attire.
    And then, when she’d had the chance to get her fill of him almost in his birthday suit, she’d been completely shocked at the breadth of his shoulders, the ropes of muscles in his arms and legs. No doubt about it, Michael Davidson occasionally took off his suits and worked out. Hard.
    And now, one more shock. He owned clothes other than power suits and bathing suits. He’d changed into navy chinos and a white cotton polo shirt. Overtop he wore a leather bomber jacket that looked like it had survived a stint in World War II. He had loafers on his feet and flowers in his hand.
    No one had ever brought Darcy flowers before. Well, her father used to give her an orchid every Easter, but that was different. Michael Davidson was holding a full bouquet of blood red roses. A lover’s gift.
    “Hi,” he said, his lips lifting and his blue eyes crinkling handsomely. Darn. All the while that she’d dressed for her date with him, she’d managed to convince herself that he had ulterior motives. That he just wanted to soften her so that he could convince her to agree to his offer. She’d even planned the little speech she would give him when he showed up at the door.
    “I’m sorry, Mr. Davidson, but agreeing to go to dinner with you was a mistake. I admire the lengths you will go to for your stupid corporation, but I refuse to allow you to manipulate me through niceness. I see through your little plan, you turkey.”
    Of course, she’d ignored the nagging voice in her head that kept wondering why, if she was so intent on refusing his dinner offer, she was still dressing in her favorite peach-and-green dress. She’d refused to analyze why she had washed her hair again and pulled it back from her face with barrettes. She’d refused to concede that the extra spritz