Just What I Needed (The Need You Series)

by Lorelei James

  Right then … I kind of loved him.

  “Besides, this is new territory for me too.”

  “It is?”

  Walker touched his nose to mine, then placed a soft kiss in front of my ear and murmured, “I’ve never been as crazy about a woman as I am for you. I’ve never stuck around this long.” He angled his head so I could see his smirking half-smile. “So the question is, are we still on a ‘break’?”

  Crap. I deserved that. “Nope.”

  “Good. So you wanna go make out in my truck?”

  “Ah … that was a little random.”

  “No more random than you wondering what I look like when I roll out of bed first thing in the morning.”

  “True. But I do think about it. A lot.” I had to tilt my head back to look up at him. “Us being in bed together.”

  “Are we naked?”

  “Of course we are. Have you seen your body?”

  His eyes gleamed as brightly as his teeth and then his mouth overtook mine.

  The kiss rocked my world, fired my blood, and I suspected the heat from it might’ve singed the inside of my clothes. When he released my lips and started kissing my neck, I clutched his shirt and sighed. “You are so, so good at that.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he rumbled against my throat. “You done here?”

  “Yes.”

  He stepped back, snagged my messenger bag off the table and draped the strap over his shoulder. Then he clasped my hand in his. “Come on.”

  The backstage area was quiet.

  We cut across the hallway to the side door that opened into the parking lot.

  The humid day had dissipated into a balmy night. The orange glow of the sodium lights spilled across the asphalt. Only three vehicles remained in the parking lot.

  When we reached his truck, a chirping sound echoed as he pointed the key fob to unlock it. He opened the passenger door for me and said, “Hop in.”

  “You were serious about us making out in your truck?”

  “Kissing and making up is the best part.”

  “But—”

  “Babe, you’re letting the mosquitoes in.” He tapped my butt. “Get in.”

  I stepped onto the running board and launched myself into the passenger side.

  But I didn’t stay on that side long. As soon as Walker shut his door, he slapped his hands on his thighs. “Sit on my lap.”

  “The steering wheel—”

  “Will ensure you’ll stay very close to me, which is exactly what I want. Now slide over here.”

  Somehow I scooted across the bench seat and settled on his lap without kneeing him in the groin.

  He tucked me against his chest and sighed. “Much better.”

  “It’s dangerous, us snuggled up like this. Remember what happened Saturday night? What if I fall asleep again?”

  “You won’t.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re wired. Just like I am.”

  Then he started trailing his fingers up and down my back. My skin broke out in goose bumps.

  “So what do you want to talk about?”

  “Seriously? I thought we were here to make out.”

  Walker started humming “Anticipation.”

  “The song that will forever be associated with ketchup, which sucks because it was a good tune.”

  “You’re a big Carly Simon fan?” he asked.

  “My grandma was. She loved all that 1970s easy-listening music. Especially Carly and JT. The original JT—James Taylor.”

  “Do you ever listen to it now?”

  While his voice soothed me, his hands were revving me up. My heart thundered, my blood pumped hotter and faster and my thoughts were getting lost in a haze of lust. I tried to focus. “Not often. Mostly because even the classic rock stations on Sirius and Pandora play arena rock. Although one time I did try to set up a station with Carly and JT, Olivia Newton-John, the Carpenters, Bread, Seals and Crofts. It was great for like five songs and then they shoved Simon and Garfunkel in there. I hate their music. It wrecked my happy vibe to the point I slashed through the canvas I was working on with my putty knife. And the other reason it’s not the same is Grandma had a stereo—one of those big console models with the record player on one side and album storage on the other. We listened to whole albums, not just single tracks. So some of my favorite songs were ones that never got airplay and not all LPs have been digitally remastered. There’s a lot of music that’s not cataloged. Someday I’ll take all the albums I inherited from her and have them digitized—”

  Walker pulled my mouth down to his.

  But what started as a “Shut it” kiss ended with warmth and sweetness that had me chasing after his mouth for more.

  He laughed softly. “That’s how I’ll handle it from now on when you go off on a tangent.”

  “Okay with me.”

  “So I have to ask. Have you heard from Ramon?”

  I rubbed my cheek against Walker’s. I couldn’t get enough of feeling that beard on my skin. “I haven’t returned his calls or his texts. If I engage him at all, he’ll think I’ve reached the ‘forgive and forget’ stage and that’s not a possibility.” I paused. “Do you think that’s harsh?”

  “Sweetheart, before we showed up at his place, you talked about friendship cycles, so I suspect you knew the end of the cycle was near with Ramon.”

  “It’s still not easy. It’s not like I have a ton of friends.” I nestled my face in the crook of his neck and breathed him in, trying not to act like I’d just embarrassed myself with that admission.

  After a bit, he said, “What else is on your mind?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can tell you’re restless.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve had my hand on your ass like three times and you haven’t batted it away and told me to behave.”

  “Maybe I want to see how sexy you are when you misbehave.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Try me.”

  Walker slid his hands over my shoulders and up my neck. He tilted my head back so he could look at me. “Stay still.”

  My belly swooped at seeing the fire in his eyes. And that commanding tone … so hot.

  He kept his left hand at the base of my throat and our eyes locked as he moved in closer.

  I felt the heat of his breath as he feathered his lips across mine. Back and forth. Again and again. Soft and fleeting. I craved his kiss, wanting his tongue deep in my mouth as I threaded my fingers into his hair. But I remained still, letting him tease and torment me.

  When his tongue darted out and he slowly licked the inner rim of my bottom lip, I whimpered and closed my eyes.

  A sharp nip from his teeth had my eyes flying back open.

  “Watch me.”

  I was helpless to do anything else.

  The buttons on my blouse were no match for his deft fingers.

  His gaze roamed my face as he trailed the back of his hand down my jawline, then follow the column of my throat to the cleavage peeping out from the edges of my shirt. He teased that soft flesh with his rough-skinned knuckle, watching as I sucked in a quick breath and unconsciously bowed into his touch.

  Then he adjusted the angle of his wrist and palmed my left breast. “Perfect fit for my hand,” he said huskily.

  “Walker.”

  “You want my mouth here?” He swept the pad of his thumb across my nipple, his nostrils flaring as he watched the tip harden beneath my thin shirt and bra. “With you straddling my lap this way, I could feast on these luscious tits.”

  “Do it,” I urged.

  “Soon.” He lowered his face to my chest and ran that beard over every inch of my bare skin, like he was marking me. I almost had a tiny O just from that.

  Our mouths met and while hunger clawed at us both we kept the kiss on simmer, but it was tempting to crank it up and see how long it’d take to boil over.

  When I couldn’t take the teasing anymore, I said, “You’re being a serious
distraction right now.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Okay. I’m not. But I do understand you have a major project to finish. I’ll keep my distractions to a minimum until you tell me to do otherwise.”

  “Thank you for being so understanding.” I allowed one more kiss before I disentangled myself from him.

  He helped me out of his truck and we walked hand in hand to my car. “What’s your schedule like the rest of the week?”

  “Taking it day by day. But with three weeks to finish this textile piece, I’ll log a lot of studio hours. What’s yours like?”

  “No late nights on the job site.” He tugged my ponytail. “And there’s this sexy artist who’s offered to show me her etchings so I’ll make time for that.”

  I laughed.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “I just have to warn you that if my studio time is going well, it might be a while before you hear back from me.”

  “I’m a patient man.”

  “Happy to hear that, Walker. Chances are good I’ll test that.”

  Eleven

  WALKER

  I’d managed to be patient on Tuesday when I’d gotten a sweet but cryptic text from Trinity telling me the piece was going well and she planned an all-nighter.

  I left a voice mail midafternoon on Wednesday asking about her dinner plans. I sent her a brief text message too, knowing not everyone listened to their cell phone voice messages. In fact, in the fifteen years my mother owned a cell phone, she’d never set up voice mail, deeming it “too Technicolor,” and I hadn’t asked again.

  After no word from Trinity on Wednesday night, I woke Thursday morning to seven text messages, sent between three and five a.m., each more rambling than the last. The texts had both amused and concerned me. Especially the comment about her sucking at flirty sexts but being ready to flirt her butt off in person because she needed an activity to shrink the size of her buns.

  The cracks she made about her appearance annoyed me. The “I’ll insult myself first so you don’t have to bother” reflex had to have come from somewhere, and if I ever got my hands on that person I’d …

  Crack.

  I glanced down to see the plastic pen in my hand had snapped under my death grip. I let it fall to the desk and leaned back in my chair.

  During our conversation Monday night, Trinity had been more forthcoming than I’d expected, and yet I’d hated watching her struggle to explain herself. She hadn’t been looking for sympathy; she’d just wanted me to understand that being with her would be a challenge. She hadn’t tossed it out there as a dare to prove I was a man that could handle it, but I knew she wouldn’t have shared her vulnerability if she suspected that I couldn’t deal with it.

  So what was it about this woman who had me digging in my heels instead of sprinting far, far away from her?

  Granted, she was beautiful. But the glow that came from within called to me more than just her looks.

  She had a quirky sense of humor. From the first night I recognized that it matched mine, so I understood when she confessed a lot of people didn’t “get” her.

  She had a brain and she used it. Her hot, curvy body was just a side benefit.

  She was comfortable giving—and receiving—physical displays of affection. I couldn’t be with a woman who wouldn’t let me show that side of myself whenever I needed to.

  She was independent. She didn’t need me, but she wanted me. Me as a man, not as a Lund heir. As much as that relieved me, I wanted her to need me a little.

  Are you getting what you need from her? You aren’t sleeping with her, so there is no physical release. She hasn’t cooked you a meal, or let you cook one for her. She hasn’t even seen where you work.

  Even when my subconscious compiled a breakdown of all the things she didn’t do for me, I didn’t feel like I was giving and she was taking. Relationships were supposed to ebb and flow; they’d never be fifty-fifty. But I also knew if we didn’t specifically carve out time for each other from the start, we never would.

  Three fast raps sounded on my door before Betsy opened it. “Jase wants to know if you’re coming out for drinks with us.”

  “Thanks, but I have other plans.”

  Betsy considered me. “You are welcome to bring her.”

  “I know. Another time, okay?”

  “All right. But I do have one piece of advice.” She paused. “Flowers.”

  “Flowers. Meaning … ?”

  “Women like to get flowers from their man when it’s not a holiday, or a special occasion, or a bribe for sex, or an apology. ‘Just because I was missing you’ is always a welcome reason.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m that clueless about women, Bets?”

  “Walker, all men are clueless about women.” She grinned. “Until they find the one that matters. Then they start to pay attention.”

  She got that right. “Why are you here so late harassing me?” I said gruffly. “Don’t you have a drummer to bang or something?”

  “He’s a bassist,” she said with a sniff. “See what I mean about men not paying attention?”

  “I know he’s a bassist. I just couldn’t think of a better analogy. Except maybe if he was a string player and then ‘fiddle around with’ would work.”

  “Stick to sports analogies.”

  “’Night, Bets.”

  “’Night, boss.”

  —

  Armed with summer rolls and pad thai from Sawatdee—my favorite Thai place—I juggled the bunch of daisies and knocked loudly on the door to Trinity’s studio. I hadn’t shown up unannounced; I’d texted her I was coming over.

  While I waited for Trinity to answer, I noticed a security camera in the corner.

  The door opened as far as the chain; then a sliver of Trinity’s face appeared in the crack. “Walker? What are you doing here?”

  I held up the bags of food. “I texted that I was bringing you dinner. Didn’t you get it?”

  She shook her head. “I leave my phone in the house so I’m not distracted.”

  We stared at each other for a moment.

  “Is that your way of telling me to leave?”

  “No!”

  I lifted a brow. “So are you going to let me in?”

  She bit her lip. “Okay, here’s the thing. I spilled quick-set glue all over my pants. So I … umm … took them off.”

  “You’re not wearing pants.” Christ. Was she trying to kill me?

  “My shirt is long enough so it’ll probably be okay,” she said more to herself than to me. “Come into my lair, my sweet.”

  “Telling a man you’re not wearing pants will lure him in every time, babe. Where should I put this stuff?”

  “Take a left.”

  I found myself in a small closet that’d been turned into a mini-kitchen.

  “There’s not really room for two in here.”

  Not to mention it was hot as hell. I set the bags of food on the table and faced her with the flowers.

  “For me?” Trinity grinned and grabbed the cellophane-wrapped bundle. “Thank you. What made you choose them?”

  “I told the florist I wanted daisies—”

  “But these are gerbera daisies, not just any plain old daisy. You knew that, right?”

  I mumbled, “No, I didn’t think there’d be a test.”

  She laughed. “These are my favorite because they’re simple and sturdy. They have just one row of petals, see?” She ran her finger along the outer edge. “Which makes them simple. The stem is thick, and yet graceful, which makes them sturdy. They also hold their own as a lone bloom in a single vase or as part of a bouquet.”

  The way she described the blooms sounded a lot like how I’d describe her. No wonder I’d been drawn to the flowers.

  She ducked her head. “Sorry. I’ll just shut up now and put them in water.”

  After she’d set the vase on a catchall table by the door, she said, “Maybe we sh
ould eat outside.”

  “Why’s it so hot in here?”

  “Something’s wrong with the air conditioner.”

  “How long hasn’t it been working?”

  “Since Monday. It was actually quite freeing to ditch my pants today.”

  My gaze dropped to her pink-tipped toenails and moved up her shins, over her dimpled knees to the ragged hem of her shirt that started midthigh. “I’m not complaining.”

  “Grab the food.”

  I swear she put an extra wiggle in her ass just to see if I was a freakin’ saint.

  “This smells delicious,” she said, scooping noodles onto her plate. “And it’s really sweet that you brought me dinner. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. How late did you work last night?”

  “Until six or so. Then I got up at nine because I’m at that stage where it’s eat-sleep-breathe-live the piece.”

  “Sounds exhausting.”

  “It is.” She covered a yawn. “When it’s not exhilarating.”

  We didn’t talk much until we finished eating.

  Trinity looked at her empty take-out carton as I started picking up garbage. “Guess I was hungry.”

  “I’m glad you liked it.”

  “I’m so full now.” She slumped back in her chair and closed her eyes. “And sleepy.”

  I stood. “I’ll take a quick look at that air conditioner.”

  “That would be awesome. I’ll just wait here for you.”

  I returned inside. After a quick inspection of the window-unit air conditioner and seeing no mechanical issues, I tracked down the electrical box and saw that she’d blown a fuse. After replacing it, I turned the unit on and it immediately started putting out cold air. I poked my head outside to see that Trinity had fallen asleep.

  That gave me time to kill, so I wandered through her studio. She had quite the setup, everything from an industrial sewing machine to a welder. Her tool bench would’ve caused envy in most men; she had more metalworking tools than I did. And her studio had more square footage than my garage.

  Maybe it surprised me a little—okay, a lot—that everything was incredibly organized. Her huge cabinet full of oil-based paint was categorized by brand of paint first, then by color. Her paintbrushes were labeled by type—natural or synthetic—then by size. She had a separate section for watercolor paints and brushes. Another cabinet for her airbrushing supplies and yet another for varnishes, oils and paint thinners.