The Harder They Fall by Trish Jensen

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