Need You Tonight

by Marquita Valentine

  “Oh yeah, and you’re going to eat every bit of it.” He flashes his dimples at me. “Sit tight. Think happy thoughts and I’ll be back.”

  *

  Parker

  It takes me less than fifteen minutes to clean up the old meal and make pancakes and bacon for us. I arrange the bacon on top of her pancakes to look like a smiley face. Grabbing a tray, I put everything on it and head back to the guest room.

  Hopefully, she isn’t too freaked out by my change of plans, or the fact that I carried her off to a bedroom. It had almost been her bedroom, though what I would have done when we’d gotten there—I’m not sure.

  Brooklyn is still right where I left her, only she’s asleep. Dark lashes fan out on the top of her cheeks, and her plump lips are slightly parted. Like this, she looks young, far too young to have been married and widowed. Hell, her husband had probably been too young as well.

  “Are you still hungry?” I ask, sitting down beside her on the bed with the tray in my hands.”

  Her lashes slowly lift, giving me a glimpse of what it would be like to wake up with her. My heart slams against my chest. I don’t need that glimpse. Not one damn bit.

  “Starving.” She gives me a crooked smile. “I fell asleep.”

  “Rough day at work?”

  She gives me a grateful smile and sits up. “Very rough.”

  I carefully set the tray in her lap. “Eat up.”

  “My bacon is smiling at me.”

  “That okay with you?” Jesus, I hope her husband hadn’t done this for her. “My little sister, Kelly, loves bacon smiles on pancakes.”

  “Never had one before.” She takes a bite, letting out a little moan. “Why does bacon have to be so good?”

  “Because it’s bacon.” I scarf down two pieces, and then start on my pancakes, covering them with syrup.

  “Your logic is truly astounding.”

  “It’s a gift,” I confide with a wink. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “About what?” she asks, her tongue darting out to catch a drop of syrup. I stifle a groan.

  “Maybe I could help you out.”

  “You’re already helping me out with the house.”

  “But what if I could help you out with more than just the house. What if I could help get your friends and family off your back?”

  Her brows crease. “Why would you help me?”

  “I don’t know…” I stretch out beside her on the bed. “Maybe we both need people in our lives who aren’t pressuring us.”

  She grabs a glass of orange juice. “I’ll drink to that.”

  I toast her with my glass. “Cheers.”

  Chapter Ten

  Parker

  The next day, I show up at Brooklyn’s house at ten am. She’s already outside, washing her SUV while wearing a bikini top and a pair of cutoffs.

  Surprise shows on her face, and I can already see the wheels turning in her head as she glances down at what she’s wearing.

  In some ways, I find it odd how modest she is. Or maybe modest is the wrong word. Shy might fit her better.

  “Need some help?” I ask as I get out my truck.

  “Sure. Just let me run inside and get another uh, rag.”

  While she’s inside, I start scrubbing the tires.

  “Here you go.” She stands beside me—this time with a t-shirt over her bathing suit top. Brooklyn catches me noticing the wardrobe change and tugs on the hem of her shirt. “I was getting a little cold.”

  Nothing on this planet can get me to point out that it is already eighty-five degrees and climbing. Taking the rag, I throw it in the bucket. “After I’m done with the tires, I’ll get the roof.”

  She flashes me a sweet smile. “That would be a big help. I have a hard time reaching the middle.”

  Turning my attention back to the tires, I start washing rims. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but I thought if I came over early, I could finish up the majority of your list this weekend.”

  “Oh.”

  Oh? I look up at her. Her grey eyes are soft, like rain falling. “You don’t sound happy about that?”

  She shrugs. “I’m happy to have help, just not the fact that you’ll finish so soon. Why else would you keep coming over?”

  I stand, cocking my head to one side. “I think I made that abundantly clear last night.”

  “You did, but I didn’t want to hold you to it, if in the morning you felt differently.”

  She’s giving me an out, and a graceful one at that. I’d be a liar not to admit that it had crossed my mind a time or two last night, after I left her in bed. Still clothed. Still untouched by me.

  “I’m sure I could think up other things we could do in order to get everyone off our backs.”

  Her pink tongue darts out, licking her lips. “I don’t want you to feel obligated because of my meltdown.”

  I take a step closer to her, unable to stop myself as I cup her cheek. “The last thing I feel is obligated.”

  A smile transforms her face to beautiful. “Then I’m glad you’re here.”

  Letting go of her, I get back to work, barely noticing when water rains down on me. Another shot, this time directly to my face, leaves me sputtering, “What the hell?”

  Brooklyn peeps over the hood, her pretty eyes innocent. “Did I get you?”

  “A little.”

  “I’ll be more careful next time. I just found a super stubborn spot on the side panel.”

  With a half salute, I kneel once more. A few seconds later, I’m practically drowning. I hear a giggle, and shoot to my feet, only to catch Brooklyn red-handed.

  “You’re so going to get it,” I warn seconds before I take off.

  She lets out a squeal while simultaneously letting go of the water hose. “It was an accident.”

  I catch up to her in three steps, locking her within my embrace. Lowering my mouth to her ear, I whisper, “Do you know what happens to naughty girls like you?”

  “They get cookies?”

  Reaching down, I grab the hose and take aim. “They get soaked.” I pull the trigger, and water blasts out. She bucks against me, her curvy, little body wriggling in my arms.

  “Let me go,” she squeals. “It’s frickin’ freezing!”

  “Well water doesn’t get too warm, since it’s coming from underground.” I can’t help but laugh, even as she wrestles the hose from my grasp and turns the water on me. Soon, we’re both soaked. “Drop the hose. I won’t squirt you anymore.”

  “Promise?” she asks, not letting up.

  Water snakes down our bodies in rivulets. Her shirt clings to her. Tight little nipples poke at the material, and I have the sudden urge to suck them in my mouth. My dick gets hard at the thought. I force myself to think of how she was in the kitchen last night, weeping and broken.

  Letting go of her, I take a step back to put distance between us. She gives me a funny look, obviously unaware of my erection. Thank God. “Promise.”

  She laughs, and I can’t help but grin. “We look like drowned rats.”

  “Speak for yourself.” I shake the water out of my hair like a dog would.

  Brooklyn squeals, holding up her hands to shield herself. “Stop it. You look amazing. Like a magazine cover.”

  “What magazine?” I ask, just to tease her.

  “Drowned Rats Weekly.”

  “So not the right answer.”

  I lunge for her and she takes off in a run, her legs pumping and her wet hair flying out behind her. For a few seconds I watch her, entranced by her and the joy on her face when she glances over her shoulder. Then I take off, catching up to her easily with my longer strides.

  She veers to the right at the last minute, but I keep up. There’s an old tractor up ahead, with an aerator attachment. The spikes on it, meant to dig into the soil, could kill a man.

  Brooklyn looks back at me, laughing, as she starts jogging backwards. “You sure run slow for a guy.”

  She doesn’t see it. Holy fuck, she d
oesn’t see it. “Watch out,” I roar.

  Time seems to slow to a crawl. I watch her face go from happy to confused, and then, as she turns, I hear her scream. Her body contorts, twisting to one side. Diving for her, I grasp at air at first and then her hair. I yank back, wincing even as she cries out in pain.

  Time speeds up. She falls backwards we land with a thud on the ground, my hand wound tightly in her hair and her fingernails digging into my wrist.

  “Let go of me, baby,” I pant, and her grip loosens. My heart pounds as I carefully untangle the strands of hair. I rise up, leaning over her while she rolls to her back. I search her face, running her hands down her arms, chest, stomach, and thighs. “Are you okay?”

  “That’s the most alive I’ve felt since Braden died,” she whispers. Her face is nearly devoid of color; even her lips are tinged in white as she smiles. She sits up, forcing me backwards.

  I swipe at a streak of dirt on her cheek, only to come away with a pink-tinged fingertip. “You’re bleeding.”

  Her gaze falls to my finger as she touches her cheek. “Ouch.”

  I stand, holding out my hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  “What about you?”

  “You first, then I’ll go home and come back.”

  We walk to the house. I keep one hand on the small of her back while the other hangs loosely at my side. We go through the door on the back porch. It swings shut, but doesn’t close all the way. I make a mental note to adjust the frame later today.

  As soon as we hit the laundry room, Brooklyn begins to peel out of her clothes. Just the sight of her smooth, creamy back is enough to make me tense. She glances over her shoulder, her grey eyes flicking over me.

  “I still have my bathing suit on,” she says, as if her in a bikini wouldn’t affect me. Then she stops undressing, and I send up a silent prayer of thanks. “You don’t have to stay. I’m going to get in the shower. You should do the same.”

  With you? I take a step closer, and she turns toward me. “Are you sure you don’t need my help to clean up?” I ask hoarsely.

  “No.” Her gaze slips from mine, but she doesn’t move. “I’m not sure.”

  I take another step and then another, until hardly anything separates us. Slowly, I cup her bare shoulders and slide my hands down to her wrists. She lets out a shuddering breath. I can feel her heartbeat in her pulse. It’s frantic, but is it a result of what had happened outside, me touching her, or a combination of the two?

  I don’t want to push Brooklyn, especially with the way things went down last night. I had offered to be the guy to help her, to be the guy who kept everyone else off her back. If I take this any further, then all I’ll be is the guy who leaves her in the end.

  Dipping my head, I press my lips to her cold cheek, the one not scraped and step back. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll be back in a little bit to start on my list.” Then I run like hell away from the woman who’s tempting me like no one should.

  *

  Brooklyn

  I stare at the place where Parker stood for a long time after he leaves. Water drips from body, onto the linoleum floor. My hair and clothes are dirty, just like the rest of me. Just like the thoughts I was having about Parker joining me in the shower.

  Tentatively, I touch my cheek, right where his warm lips had been. Closing my eyes, I try to recall the exact moment it happened. The way it felt to be touched by another person, by a man other than my husband. The way it felt to be protected and looked after, like I mattered to someone outside my tiny circle of family and friends.

  It had felt good. No, better than good. It had felt wonderful. Every time he touches me, it feels wonderful. And terrifying.

  Quickly undressing the rest of the way, I throw my clothes into the washer and head to the bathroom to take a shower. As I wait for the water to warm, I eye myself in the mirror, turning this way and that. It’s been so long since I dated, that I have to wonder if Parker, or any other man for that matter, would like what’s reflected back at me? Not that any of it matters, because no matter what my body might want, my heart and brain aren’t there.

  Yet.

  *

  It’s almost four o’clock by the time Parker returns. I start to the front door, only to stop when I spy the look on his face. His lips are thin, angry lines, his golden brows are drawn together, and his shoulders are rigid as he takes his toolbox out of the bed of his truck.

  When he does catch me standing at the door, some of the tension eases from his body, but all he does is wave and head to the back.

  At first, I try to respect his privacy and instead work on putting away my laundry. Only, that takes no time at all, because I’m only washing clothes for one. I take one of Braden’s old shirts and hold it up to my nose, my eyes closing as I try to remember what he looked like in it. How tight it stretched across his chest, the Marine insignia on proud display when we’d go off base.

  He was proud of being a Marine, even when some new regulation would piss him off. I smile, finish folding the shirt, and stick it in a drawer.

  The sound of a hammer echoes through the house as I walk to the kitchen. “Thirsty?” I call out, rummaging through the cabinets to get two glasses.

  “A little,” Parker says as he walks inside. Shirtless.

  Sweet Lord, the man is bare-chested. Staring at his chest and abs, and those darn make-a-girl-stupid vees on the side of his hips, I forget my own name.

  While he washes his hands and splashes water on his face, I can only stand there, holding two glasses, and stare at him. His muscular back covered in tattoos, his broad shoulders, the way he looks in jeans… Water drips onto his chest as he grabs a paper towel and dries himself off.

  Oh God, oh God.

  “You cleaned up nice,” he says, glancing at me.

  I whirl away, setting the glasses on the counter. Ice, Brooklyn. Ice and lemonade. My feet take over, propelling me to the fridge. I pull out a pitcher and a tray of ice. “So did you.”

  “Except now, I’m all dirty again,” he laughs, and I try to swallow down a whimper.

  “Hope you like lemonade. I made some to go with lunch.” I fill up the glasses with ice and lemonade, handing him one.

  “Thanks.” He drinks it down and then fills it up again, before speaking. “I had planned to be back before now, but I got a phone call.”

  “Maybe you should get on the Do Not Call list.”

  He leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his muscular chest. “They put mothers on that list?”

  Thinking he’s kidding, I say, “Only if they’re really nosy and pushy.”

  His head cants from side to side, bottom lip sticking out a little. “She might qualify for it.”

  “You’re not joking.”

  “No.”

  I take a sip of the lemonade. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He eyes me for a moment. “She doesn’t live around here.”

  “Neither does my mom.”

  “Does your mom also frequent rehabilitation centers?”

  I shake my head. “No, she’s never needed to. I don’t think she’s ever broken a bone.”

  “A broken bone. Shit.” A sort of smirk tugs at his lips. “I shouldn’t be sharing any of this with you.”

  It dawns on me that he’s not talking about injuries, and I feel ridiculous, but more than that, I want to make him feel at ease. I want him to confide in me. It’s obvious he needs it, all alone like he is. “How about this? I zip my lips and drink my drink while you get whatever it is off your chest.” I hurry to the kitchen table and sit down, miming zipping my mouth closed.

  “Hard to drink if your mouth is shut,” he points out.

  I mime zipping open my lips. “It only shuts to keep the words in, not anything else out.” Then I zip my lips closed once more, pleased as anything when his smirk turns into a genuine smile.

  He walks to the table, spins the chair around and sits. My gaze drops to his chest, to the sprinkling of g
olden brown hair in the center that eventually leads to a thin line of hair that disappears under the waistband of his jeans. My body grows hot.

  He clears his throat, and I force my eyes to his. “She wants me to fly out to see her and Brett. He’s the guy that… he’s my dad. But I didn’t know it until about two years ago. I mean, Cole and I always knew that his dad wasn’t mine because I’m Latino…Well, half. My mom’s white—she looks like a Barbie doll.”

  There is nothing I want to do more than to get out of this chair and go comfort him right now. His eyes are sad and his broad shoulders are sagging a little, but a man’s ego is a touchy thing. I’d learned that with Braden. When they wanted you to baby them and be sympathetic, they would let you know.

  I nod encouragingly at Parker.

  He lets out a laugh, rubbing his jaw. A sexy, strong jaw with a hint of whiskers from where he hadn’t shaved. “Anyway, they’re out west, living in California, and she swears she’s completely cured. She wants to see us—me, my brother, and my little sister—but, the havoc she’s caused…the price I’ve—we’ve paid for her problems.” He shakes his head, his fingers curling and uncurling around the glass of lemonade. “I love her. I really do, because she’s my mom and I do remember the good in her, but the way she treated us the majority of the time, especially Cole… I don’t know if I can forgive her. No matter her issues. And she has a lot of fucked-up issues that aren’t her fault at all.”

  He blows out a breath. “Jesus, would you listen to me?”

  That’s my cue. Slowly reaching across the table, I brush his fingertips with mine. His eyes widen a little, but he finally lets go of the glass long enough for me to lace our fingers together.

  Giving him a little squeeze, I smile sympathetically at him, even as I feel the connection between us burn through me.

  “What do you think?” he asks, not letting go of my hand.

  “If you can afford the money and the time, then you should go, but not because she deserves it or even wants it.”

  “Really?”

  I nod. “Go because you deserve to make peace with her. Life’s too short and precious to stay stuck in your past.”