Need You Tonight

by Marquita Valentine

  “He almost did, but I convinced him to wait at least twenty-four hours,” his wife, Rae, cuts in, and I smile.

  “What’s up?”

  “I need your help,” Cole begins.

  “We need your help,” Rae adds.

  “I’m listening.” I’d do anything for the two of them—short of murder and going back to my old job. Except, I’d done my old job to help my brother and he still doesn’t know it. If I have my way, he’ll never find out.

  Cole clears his throat. “Can I tell him, or do you want to do the honors?”

  Rae snorts. “Go on, baby.”

  “Thank you,” he says, almost primly, and I snort. “Shut up, Parker.”

  “Not saying a word.”

  “Anyway,” he begins again. “We rented out Miss Violet’s place for her. To a widow—her husband died a couple years back. Rae spoke to her and got the impression that she doesn’t have a lot of money, or much in the way of family. So, she wants to rent while she looks for a house to buy in Forrestville.”

  They rented out Rae’s grandmother’s place to an old lady? An old lady with little money and hardly any family. “No grandkids?”

  “Not that I know of,” Cole says quickly. “It’s just her. Rae and I would consider it a huge favor if you could help her out, maybe keep an eye on the place, and be the resident handyman. We’d pay you for that part, of course. I mean, we’d have to pay someone.”

  “And what makes you think I’m the man for the job?”

  “Because you’re a good guy with a soft heart, Parker,” Rae says and I clench my jaw. Good and soft isn’t how I would describe anything about me. “You’ll treat Mrs. Reeves the way she deserves.”

  Mrs. Reeves. She just had to give the woman a name so I’d feel extra guilty. Not that I’m going to say no. I’m not that guy.

  “Not to mention you were the one who fixed all the electrical shit at our place,” Cole points out. “Anything else, I’m sure that big brain of yours can figure out. Plus, you have the spare key and we’re in Key West.”

  “Fine,” I say. “But this can’t be permanent. I’m leaving in September, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember,” Cole snaps. He doesn’t want me to move away from Forrestville. Never mind that he moved to the rich-ass side of Charlotte with Rae. And yeah, I get that he did it for our little sister, Kelly, to have a clean slate at a school where no one associates trash and the last name Morgan together.

  “Your timeline is perfect,” Rae says. “Thank you so much. My grandmother thanks you, too. When we go out to dinner tonight, I’ll share the good news.”

  “When does Mrs. Reeves move in?” I ask, hoping for some time to get down to the house and give it a once-over. Maybe go ahead and turn on the hot water heater. Miss Violet hasn’t lived there in over a year, and I doubt it’s turnkey ready for a renter.

  On the bright side, if Mrs. Reeves is anything like Rae’s grandmother, my stomach will be in heaven.

  “She’s moving in tomorrow, driving up from Jacksonville, and should be there around one in the afternoon,” Cole says.

  Tomorrow? Guess I’ll be heading over there today to check the place out. “Good. I’ll meet her with the key.”

  “Is there…anything else you need?” Cole asks, his voiced hushed. I know what he means. He wants to know if I need any money to tide me over until I leave in September. Four months ago, we sold The Double Deuce and put the proceeds in a trust for Kelly. Neither of us ever wants our little sister to have to depend on anyone for money, food, or a home. Now, she won’t have to.

  “I’m good.” Actually, I’m more than good. I saved enough money so I won’t have to go back to any kind of agency. I’ll never sell my time or my body again. When I head to Colorado this fall, it will be with a new-to-me truck and a checking account full of money.

  “Okay.” He grows quiet. “But if you need—”

  “I said I’m good. Besides, I plan on charging you double when Mrs. Reeves calls me in the middle of the night to fix her A/C or something,” I joke. “Tell the Bug I said hey, and I love her.”

  Convinced that I’m telling them the truth, Cole and Rae say their goodbyes and we end our call.

  Tossing my phone on the counter, I make my way to the back porch and sit down on the steps. The sun shines so brightly that I have to squint, until my eyes get used to the glare. For once, the grass is completely green in the yard, but it’s not free of weeds. Dandelions populate the back. My little sister loves those things, especially once they turn to her wishing flowers.

  “Make a wish and blow, Parker!” Her brown eyes shine as her little pink lips pucker.

  God, I miss her so much. It feels weird not to be around her. It feels weird not to hear the screen door slam and her little feet slapping against the floor as she runs outside to play.

  Maybe once she gets back into town with my brother and Rae, I can have her come stay with me for a while. At least I won’t have to worry about getting a call from the agency. At least I won’t have to lie about where I’m going or what I’m doing to anyone anymore.

  It feels good to know that’s my future from now on.

  As the heat relaxes me, I can’t help but think this job I’ll have working for my brother is exactly what I need. I need to do something legitimate, and not only legitimate, but worthy of getting paid. Until I leave in the fall, that is.

  Becoming Mrs. Reeves’ handyman makes me feel human again, instead of like a piece of meat.

  Chapter Three

  Brooklyn

  My small SUV is packed tight as a tick as I drive down I-85. In only fifteen more minutes, I’ll be in Forrestville and in the driveway of my rental house.

  Butterflies zoom around in my stomach, and more than once, I’ve contemplated turning my SUV around. Jacksonville was familiar. It was home. I had friends there.

  But it also contained memories of Braden. Memories of our first date, our first kiss… the first time we made love. Our wedding, buying our first house…

  I blink back the tears and swallow down the lump in my throat. Two years have passed since Braden’s death, but my body is still raw with grief.

  “You will not cry,” I tell myself, but tears gather at the corners of my eyes. “Stop it.”

  Lifting my chin, I wipe each eye and then concentrate on the road. If I don’t pay attention, I’ll miss the exit, because apparently, the one for Forrestville is almost nonexistent.

  Finally, I spy the microscopic sign and put my blinker on, merging into the exit lane. Double-checking my directions at the stop sign, I set my phone down and take a left.

  As I get closer to my destination, my heart speeds up, until it feels like it’s going faster than I am. Soon, I can make out the little white house with black shutters. There’s a large pickup truck in the drive, but Miss Violet’s granddaughter had said the handyman for the property would meet me today with the key.

  Slowing down, I pull into the driveway, park beside the white truck, and get out. I hear a door open and close. Shielding my eyes above my sunglasses, I crane my neck and find—oh my God—the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.

  He frowns when he spots me, and then forces a smile. I can tell it’s forced. I’ve always had a knack for reading body language.

  With a little wave, I call out to him, “Hi, you must be—” He comes closer, and I blank. Completely blank out at the sight of him, up close and personal.

  He’s tall, about six two if I had to guess. His body is all lean muscles, and his skin is as golden brown as the mop of hair that curls at his ears. His hair is messy, slightly untamed, and I want to run my fingers through it. I give myself a mental shake. What’s wrong with you? He’s just a guy. A really sexy, gorgeous guy. But he’ll never be Braden. No man will ever come close.

  “I know,” I whisper. My heart thuds against my chest, no longer in excitement for my new home, but in the knowledge that I just betrayed my dead husband.

  Green eyes edged in gold with the th
ickest, blackest, longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen narrow. His full lips thin. “Parker Morgan.”

  “Yes,” I say, nodding.

  He looks at me expectantly.

  Oh, duh. Heat travels up my neck and settles on my cheeks. “Sorry. I’m Brooklyn. Brooklyn Reeves.”

  The hard edge to his face gives a little. “You must be Mrs. Reeves’ granddaughter. I heard she didn’t have much in the way of family, so I’m glad you’re here to help her. Is she following you?” He scans the road behind me. “Maybe she got lost? I’ll be happy to go look for her car, if you tell me what it looks like.”

  I shake my head, confused at his adorable yet entirely misplaced concern. “No, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  His gaze slices to mine, golden-green eyes darkening. “And that would be?”

  I wring my hands, wishing I hadn’t listened to Soon Lin and taken off my wedding ring last month. Taking a steadying breath, I say, “I’m Mrs. Reeves. I’m the one who rented the house from Miss Violet.”

  *

  Parker

  You have got to be kidding me. She’s Mrs. Reeves? With her long, brown hair, gray eyes, and pink cheeks, she looks all of seventeen. Not the white-haired, wrinkled-skinned widow I expected to help today.

  My body turns hard, muscles bunching as my heart picks up the pace. My mouth runs dry while the rest of me is dying to touch her, to see if she’s as soft as she looks. To see if I can make her blush harder… to hear her sigh my name. When I first saw her, I thought she might be lost, and I didn’t want to waste time talking to a woman just passing through.

  Hell, I don’t like most women right now. Not their fault exactly, but the ones I’ve had to deal with for the past three years haven’t exactly made me see women in the best light. And now… now my body is all on board with noticing this one.

  Damn it.

  “You’re the widow? I don’t believe it.” I start to turn away, intent on getting in my truck and leaving. “I don’t fucking believe it.” When I get Cole on the phone, he’s so going to get an earful from me.

  “Would you like to see my husband’s obituary?” she snaps.

  I stop in my tracks. “Excuse me?”

  She fists her hands on her curvy hips. Fire flares in her pretty grey eyes, reminding me of the sun after the storm. Despite not wanting to be a perv, I let my gaze roam over her, from her tennis shoes, to her cutoff shorts, to the tank top that clings to her round breasts.

  “Would you like to see his obituary?” she repeats.

  Oh, shit. I refocus on her face. Yeah, that doesn’t help. She’s sweet and innocent looking, and the fire that was in her eyes… it’s given way to sadness. Her lower lip trembles as she tosses her head.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, Parker. “I wasn’t really talking to you.” Yeah, well, she heard you anyway.

  “Oh, really?”

  My lame excuse doesn’t help things at all. I can’t feel lower than I do now, but before I can apologize, she whips out her phone. A few seconds later, she holds it out to me.

  “Take it.”

  I really don’t want to take her phone. “I believe you.”

  She steps closer to me, the top of her head barely reaching my shoulder. “You will take this. You will read it.”

  Dread forming a ball the size of Texas in my gut, I take the phone and start to read. Marine. Killed in Afghanistan. Left behind. The words jump out at me. Not only is Brooklyn a widow, she’s a war widow.

  I glance at her, shame coating my insides. “I’m sorry.” I truly am. She deserves better from me, if only because of what she lost. Or maybe because she obviously lost someone she loved.

  “Save it,” she snaps and snatches the phone from me. She marches to the back of her small SUV and opens the hatch. “Leave the key on the porch. I’ll try not to burden you too much while I live here.”

  Immediately, I go after her. “At least let me help with the heavy stuff.”

  “Who do you think put the heavy stuff in here in the first place,” she says, simultaneously bumping my hip with hers while pulling out a large box. “I’ve been on my own for years now, and I don’t need you.”

  Face it, buddy, you lost round one to your stupid mouth and assumptions. Come back later and try again. “The key’s on the kitchen table, but I still need to turn—”

  She punches a hand in the air, and I’m surprised it’s not to flip me off. “Got it.”

  I watch as she disappears inside the house. After five minutes of waiting for her to reappear, I give up and get in my truck, starting it up and heading for home. I call Cole first, but the bastard doesn’t answer. Rae’s phone is next, but it goes to voice mail.

  “Cowards,” I mutter. Why didn’t they tell me about Brooklyn? Her age… what she looked like. Or the fact that her husband was a war hero.

  But the fact remains in my mind, if they weren’t up to something, then they would have told me. Or at least, they would have warned me.

  Maybe I’m reading too much into the entire situation, but one thing’s for sure. The moment I looked into Brooklyn Reeves pretty eyes, I saw a woman worth settling down for.

  And that scares the hell out of me.

  Chapter Four

  Brooklyn

  It takes me an hour to unpack my SUV. Surprisingly enough, the house is spotless—not that I expected it to be a mess. But according to Miss Violet’s granddaughter, Rae, no one has lived in it for over a year.

  I sniff the air and sneeze. Yep, smells like bleach and window cleaner. Crossing my arms over my chest, I survey the dust-free living room, trying to figure out two things. One, where my stuff should go. Two, whether or not that rude handyman was the one to go to all the trouble.

  Honestly, I should be grateful he’s so rude. It makes it easier for me to forget about his gorgeous face and body. I snort. How he can look like the sweetest thing while hiding the sourest disposition, I’ll never know.

  I don’t want to know. The less I know, the better.

  Pushing Parker out of my mind, I open the box labeled living room. My heart beats funny as I pull out photographs of Braden and me. His dark eyes were always crinkled at the corners when we were together. I run a finger over his face, wishing I could remember the way he smelled.

  He was always the life of the party, while I liked to hide out in the corner of the room. Just like the first time we met.

  “Hey, pretty girl, come dance with me,” a man in uniform calls out. His accent is hard—he’s definitely a Yankee. Someone my mother would not approve of, despite his occupation. “It’s much more fun than being all by yourself.”

  I shake my head, embarrassed as anything. “That’s okay,” I practically sputter. “I’m fine. Really.”

  Cocking his head to one side, he pouts a little. “Guess I’ll have to go dance by myself. A shame really, since I’ll be deploying soon.” He exhales. “Thought you were my very own angel.”

  I gasp. “You’re a soldier getting ready to deploy?”

  He gives me a look. “God, no. I’m a Marine, sweet thing.”

  Making a face, I shake my head and tap my temple with the heel of my hand. A total dork move. “Right. We are in Jacksonville. What was I thinking? Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.” A teasing smile covers his face. “Apparently, you weren’t thinking of dancing with me, like I thought.”

  I watch him walk away, right into the middle of the dance floor. For some reason, my stomach starts to flip. This guy is going off to war and all he wants is a dance. Nothing else.

  He winks at me and begins to perform the most horrible, most white-guy choreography I’ve ever seen in my life. My eyes widen.

  “C’mon,” he yells over the music. “Don’t let me make a fool of myself.”

  Giggling, I cover my mouth and look around the club. There’s barely anyone here. Then again, it’s Tuesday and even I’m alone. I couldn’t convince my roommate, Hannah, to go out with me.

  Unable to help myself, I st
and and walk to the edge of the dance floor. “I don’t know why I’m doing this,” I mutter.

  He grins. “That’s right, girl. Knew you couldn’t resist my wicked moves.” Holding his arm perpendicular to his head, he jerks it around. Another fit of giggles hits me. “Sexy, right?”

  “It’s something.” I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing at him.

  The music changes, slowing down. He stops moving like a maniac and walks to me, his handsome face softening. “Please, ma’am. Don’t let a Marine go off to war without dancing with a pretty lady like you.”

  “I’d be honored to dance with you, Marine,” I say, and he takes me in his arms.

  “What’s your name?” he asks, whispering into my ear.

  “Brooklyn.”

  His head jerks back, dark eyes staring into mine. “You serious?”

  I nod. “Who would joke around about their name?”

  “It’s meant to be.” Lifting me off my feet, he swings me around, laughing. Right then, I fall under his spell. There’s something compelling about him, about his accent… everything. “Well, Miss Brooklyn. I’m Braden Reeves from Brooklyn, and you’re my good luck charm.”

  “I promise to be better,” I whisper to the picture. “No one will ever take your place in my heart.”

  *

  Parker

  I thought by hanging out with West at King’s, an exclusive bar in downtown Charlotte, that I’d be able to get Brooklyn off my mind. Hot girls are everywhere—dancing, serving drinks, and eyeing us like we’re something they’d like to get their mouths on.

  Normally, a woman eyeing me like that turns my stomach. Normally, a woman eyeing me like that is paying me to spend time with her. Paying me to put my mouth on her and make her forget about the husband that either neglects or forgets her.

  Paying or not, I have zero interest in them tonight.

  “I’m going to ask McKenzie to marry me,” West says, and I nearly choke on my beer.

  “Uh-huh.” Placing the bottle on the top of the bar, I scrape my finger over the corner of the label, peeling it back a little. I knew this would happen. Why shouldn’t it—my brother and all of our friends were married. Only West and I were the holdouts. But, damn it, we’re only twenty-three. Why in the hell should any of us be married? “Sure you want to do that?”