The Harder They Fall by Trish Jensen Page A

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.