The Harder You Fall by Gena Showalter
From New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter comes another scorching Original Heartbreakers tale featuring an aloof bad boy and the rowdy Southern belle who rocks his world...
Millionaire video-game creator Lincoln West has a dark and tragic past. The sought-after bachelor lives by a rigid schedule and a single rule--one relationship per year, lasting no more than two months--until a brash beauty dredges up long-buried emotions.
A reformed party girl, Jessie Kay Dillon is determined to walk the straight and narrow. But her love-hate sizzle with West is just too irresistible. They can't be near each other without tearing off their clothes, but the last thing she needs is to be his next two-month dump. Will she become the one exception? Because as any former girl-gone-wild knows: rules are made to be broken.
Praise for New York Times bestselling author
Gena Showalter "Showalter...rocks me every time!"
--Sylvia Day, #1 New York Times bestselling author "Showalter writes fun, sexy characters you fall in love with!"
--Lori Foster, New York Times bestselling author "Sassy, smart characters and an expertly woven, unconventional plot, The Closer You Come showcases Gena Showalter in all her shining talent."
--Kristan Higgins, New York Times bestselling author "Showalter makes romance sizzle on every page!"
--Jill Shalvis, New York Times bestselling author "Emotional, heart-tugging, kept me turning the pages!"
--Carly Phillips, New York Times bestselling author "With compelling stories and memorable characters, Gena Showalter never fails to dazzle."
--Jeaniene Frost, New York Times bestselling author "The Showalter name on a book means guaranteed entertainment."
--RT Book Reviews
"The versatile Showalter...once again shows that she can blend humor and poignancy while keeping readers entertained from start to finish."
--Booklist on Catch a Mate "Gena Showalter is a romantic genius."
--San Francisco Book Review
Also available from
Gena Showalter
and HQN Books The Hotter You Burn
The Closer You Come
All For You (anthology featuring "The One You Want")
The Darkest Touch
Burning Dawn
After Dark (duology featuring "The Darkest Angel")
The Darkest Craving
Beauty Awakened
After Moonrise (duology with P.C. Cast)
Wicked Nights
The Darkest Seduction
The Darkest Surrender
The Darkest Secret
The Darkest Lie
The Darkest Passion
Into the Dark
The Darkest Whisper
The Darkest Pleasure
The Darkest Kiss
The Darkest Night
The Vampire's Bride
The Nymph King
Jewel of Atlantis
Heart of the Dragon
Twice as Hot
Playing with Fire
Catch a Mate
Animal Instincts
The Pleasure Slave
The Stone Prince From Harlequin Nonfiction Dating the Undead
(with Jill Monroe) From Harlequin TEEN
A Mad Zombie Party
The Queen of Zombie Hearts
Through the Zombie Glass
Alice in Zombieland
Twisted
Unraveled
Intertwined
GENA
SHOWALTER
The Harder You Fall
To Allison Carroll for your invaluable feedback. And for taking me on despite my warnings about "the process."
To Craig Swinwood, Margaret Marbury, Loriana Sacilotto, Dianne Moggy, Susan Swinwood, Michelle Renaud, Stacy Widdrington and Fritz Servatius--and so many others at Harlequin--for all you do on my behalf.
And to Lisa Wray for going above and beyond as we prepare for the launch of each new book.
And to one of the most awesome ladies I know, Liz Berry. I owe you a bear hug!
You guys rock so hard!
To Kresley Cole and Beth Kendrick, the Chef Boyardee gang!
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
RECIPE
EXCERPT FROM THE ONE YOU WANT BY GENA SHOWALTER
CHAPTER ONE
Sister dearest,
My darling Brook Lynn,
Yo!
So, check it. I've totally invaded your old bedroom to watch snow fall in the backyard. (Insert a couple minutes--or an hour!--of whining because your window alcove is better than mine.) BUT. Despite such a heinous injustice, I'm smiling so wide my jaw hurts. I remember the first time we built a snowman. I still think he looked like a puffer fish. Anyway. You cried "He's dying" when the sun came out, and I collected snowman-blood (water) in a jar to host a proper bathroom funeral. We were pretty cool kids, huh? Now, though, we're (technically) adults. Boo! You're my best friend--yay! congrats!--but you're also Jase's fiancee. You're part of his family, beloved by his friends, and that means I have to share you. I'm afraid, so very afraid, of losing you.
But then, I deserve to lose you. For years you took care of me like a mother takes care of her child. You sacrificed for me. You loved me when I was unlovable and helped me when I scorned you. Saying thank you a thousand times wouldn't be enough. Saying I'm sorry a million times might be a start. You, sister, are a treasure. A gift. And I'm going to prove it. But not by giving you this letter.
No, this letter will self-destruct as soon as I'm done writing it because I don't want to tell you everything you mean to me--I want to show you. And I will.
Yours forever,
Jessie Kay
ON A FRIGID December morning, the greatest snowpocalypse Strawberry Valley, Oklahoma, had ever experienced claimed its first victim. Jessica Kay Dillon's pride. With a moan, the former beauty queen picked up her now-aching butt off the icy sidewalk, balanced her basket in her hands and, as bitter gusts of wind nipped at her, scanned nearby shop windows. No prying eyes watched her. Thank God!
If no one witnessed your epic fall, had it ever really happened?
Jessie Kay inched forward--careful, steady--but as she turned the corner her feet slipped and her arms flailed to no avail. Down she tumbled, landing with a hard smack. Dang it! She banged her fist into the ice-glazed concrete. She was going to die out here, and it was totally his fault. Lincoln West. One of the three owners of WOH Industries.
Stupid West and his stupid sandwich order!
She wouldn't say she hated him, but she would maybe probably definitely unplug his life support to charge her phone. In only six months, he'd become the bane of her existence.
She should have listened to her sister and canceled today's deliveries. Brook Lynn, the owner of You've Got It Coming--Busy life? Let us feed you!--believed safety came before commerce. But nooo, oh, no, Jessie Kay had insisted she could do the job, even tho
Teeth chattering, she lumbered to her feet and carried on like a good little frozen soldier. At this point, giving up and returning to her car would be a blemish on YGIC's sterling rep. Great start, deplorable finish. No, thanks. What it wouldn't do? Melt the ice in Jessie Kay's veins. The heater had been busted for years, the window scraper a necessary tool for survival. And it wasn't like going home would do any good, either. The heater there basically operated on fumes and prayers.
In a perfect world, she'd fix both today. But this was a crap world and she needed more than the usual TLC--tears, lamentations and cursing. She needed cold, hard cash. Another reason she'd opted to brave the storm.
Brook Lynn, the sweetheart, paid her a hundred dollars a week to help prepare orders and make deliveries. Money she felt guilty for taking. I owe her, not the other way around. But take it she did. She had to. Pride, the whore, never made even a token offer to pay for anything.
The funds were just enough to cover utilities and the mortgage she acquired soon after Mom died. Tips covered essentials, like three squares a day. And to be quite blunt about the matter, she'd expected people to fork over more than the usual buck or two for today's troubles. But had they? No! She'd gotten the usual, plus a few propositions from the sleazier men.
Wanna take a break, Jessie Kay? My wife's stuck at her sister's and my couch is real comfy...
Come on in and have a beer, Jessie Kay. I'll warm you up with a little body heat...
Once a bad girl, always a bad girl.
If her parents still lived--God bless their precious souls--they would have wept fat tears of disappointment over her jezebel rep. They'd loved her and had only wanted the best for her even though they'd both had legit reasons to hate her before they died.
She would be the first to admit she sometimes tried to forget those reasons in not-so-healthy ways.
Well, used to try to forget in not-so-healthy ways.
A few months ago, Brook Lynn--the world's greatest everything--had almost died, and Jessie Kay--the world's worst--had been too busy partying like a rock star to help. Talk about a wake-up call! From that day forward, she'd sworn to walk the straight and narrow. If ever her sister needed her again, she'd be there. No ifs, ands or buts about it. Amen.
Every storm begins with a single drop of rain, Momma once said. Don't despise small beginnings.
The good-girl thing, well, no one anywhere ever had ever had such a small beginning.
She slowly snaked around the next corner, relieved when she remained on her feet, and finally she reached the WOH offices. Despite the cold, she paused at the front window to prepare for the battle to come. And there would be a battle. There always was.
In the foyer, elementary-school-teacher-turned-receptionist Cora Higal manned her desk with military precision. There was no sign of West. Gorgeous, successful, too-smart-for-his-own-good West.
He possessed a charming wit and kind smile. For everyone but Jessie Kay.
In July, he and his two best buds slash business partners had left the big, bad city to move to her hometown. She'd drooled over the magnetic West at first sight, but when he'd shown no interest in her, she'd moved on to the suave Beck Ockley, who had.
What she hadn't known at the time? Beck was the king of the hit and run. Well, he used to be, until he met Harlow Glass. Now he was the king of commitment. Anyway. His majesty's "relationship" with Jessie Kay had ended after a single night.
That was fun, honey. I'll see you around.
The rejection had stung, and she'd thrown a good old-fashioned pity party, getting drunk off her booty and sleeping with Jase, the trio's designated hulk. But their "relationship" hadn't gone anywhere, either. In fact, Jase hadn't even waited until morning to get rid of her. He'd jumped ship an hour after the deed was done.
He later ended up engaged to Brook Lynn.
Apparently, all a guy had to do to find his soul mate was screw Jessie Kay.
West had to consider her sloppy thirds. A man-eater. A good-time girl. Fruit from the poisonous tree.
Well, he could suck it! Had she always made the smartest choices? No. She'd chased a sense of happiness with men rather than finding it within herself--and just how the heck was she supposed to be happy with herself? She'd also made mistakes so abysmal they belonged in record books. Just ask her dead parents! But what right did West have to judge her?
According to Brook Lynn, who had the inside scoop, West used to dabble with self-medication, too, drinking and getting high. And his track record with women? Deplorable. He only dated one gal a year for two months, no more, no less, then dumped her for some made-up reason when the clock zeroed out...and crap, it was too cold to stall any longer.
A bell tinkled as Jessie Kay entered the building, and much-needed warmth enveloped her.
Cora glanced up from the papers she was stacking, her black bob swaying at her shoulders. "Miss Dillon."
"Ms. Higal." She stomped her boots to dislodge clumps of snow as she studied an eclectic mix of boring and spectacular. The standard beige walls were decorated with stunningly detailed pictures of the video game characters West had designed. Tables she could have picked up at a local garage sale for less than five bucks were littered with shiny computer parts and what looked to be robotic limbs.
How cool was that? Her inner child, probably the most mature part of her, suddenly longed to play.
Cora said, "Mr. West is--"
"Not surprised you're late." The rugged male voice came from the back of the room, where West leaned a shoulder against the entrance to his office. "Tell me, Miss Dillon. Is making people worry a sport to you?"
Their eyes locked, and hated tingles spilled over her. For a moment, a single heartbeat, tension so intractable she couldn't breathe thrummed between them. He was the sun she orbited, the vortex she couldn't escape. Then he turned, revealing his back, and she was able to suck in a mouthful of air, but his image remained burned in her mind.
He stood well over six feet tall and had the lean, sexy muscle mass of a man who'd spent quality time in a gym. A fact perfectly complemented by the pin-striped suit he wore. He had dark hair and even darker eyes, the depths fathomless, mysterious and so sublimely sensual she sometimes forgot her new resolve to avoid ABBs. Adorable bad boys.
She wanted what her parents had. What Brook Lynn and Jase, Harlow and Beck had. She wanted more. And for the first time in her life, she was willing to wait for it. No more settling for scraps.
Sometimes people forget that falling in love isn't enough. Momma, always so wise. You have to fall in like, too. Your dad...he thinks I hung the moon.
Jessie Kay had no doubts about that. When she'd helped her sister pack up to move-in with Jase, they'd found a secret panel in the closet. Stored inside were letters their dad had written their mom while the two were dating.
When you smile, my sweet Anna Grace, I see my future in your eyes.
No one had ever experienced that kind of reaction to Jessie Kay's smile, and there was no way West would be the first. Which was one of the many reasons he wasn't dateable, despite her crush on him. Well, not on him, but on his looks. Yes, there was a big difference. While she would love to give his face and body a tongue bath, she only wanted to give his brain the finger.
"Well, don't just stand there drooling, Miss Dillon, go on back," Cora said, pulling Jessie Kay from her musings.
"Thanks." For nothing. She clutched the wicker basket closer to her chest and trudged forward.
The moment she crossed the threshold into West's office, the temperature seemed to rise another twenty degrees, the air saturated with the heady scent of caramel. Her tingles returned and redo
He'd removed his jacket and now sat at his desk, rolling the sleeves of his white button-down to his elbows, revealing strong forearms with mouthwatering sinew and a dusting of dark hair.
"Don't pretend you were worried about me, Mr. West."
He reclined in his chair and folded his hands over his middle, peering at her the way a snake must peer at a mouse--intent, ready to strike, hungry.
A ball of thorns grew in her throat, and she gulped. Maybe he wanted to devour her in a sexual way. A few times she'd wondered if he liked the look of her the way she liked the look of him. Or maybe he just got off on taking down an opponent.
Yeah. That one.
"Are you here to feed me or to stare at me?" His tone mocked her.
Jerk. "I'm here to correct you. You said I was late, but you couldn't be more wrong. Breakfast orders are due to arrive between seven and nine."
"It's ten thirty-six."
Oops. Was it really? "You didn't let me finish. Breakfast orders are due to arrive between seven and nine except on ice days. I'm allowed an hour or so of leeway."
"Again, it's ten thirty-six."
"I said or so." When his expression failed to soften, she added, "Could I have picked up the pace to reach you sooner? Yes. However, falling and breaking my neck is your dream come true, not mine."
He showed no mercy. "Since news stations have talked about nothing but this winter storm for the past week, I knew it was headed our way and did something revolutionary. I planned ahead."
She offered him a brittle smile. The customer is always right, Brook Lynn often said. And Jessie Kay agreed...unless the customer was a douche bag, and then he was just a douche bag. "Had I planned ahead, I would have canceled your order."
"But you didn't. So. I'm assuming your tardiness means the food is free."
She breathed in and out and remembered another bit of sage advice her mother had given her. You can't control when a bird flies over your head, but you can control whether or not you let one build a nest in your hair.
In other words, she couldn't stop certain emotions from rising up inside her, but she could stop herself from reacting to them.
And she had to, had to, had to stop herself. Brook Lynn recently challenged her to a bet. First girl to yell or throw things in a fit of temper had to let the supposedly composed sister pick her wardrobe for a week.
Knowing Brook Lynn, Jessie Kay would be wearing a nun's habit. Shudder! She'd much rather see her sister in a bikini constructed with two pasties and a curl of ribbon.