The Harder You Fall. Gena Showalter

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      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 redoubled.

      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.

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