Just What I Needed (The Need You Series)

by Lorelei James

  “‘Dig a little deeper’ wasn’t a hint?”

  He laughed. “A subtle hint … or so I thought.” He kissed my forehead. “I like that you get me, Trinity. Not everyone does.”

  “No other woman has volunteered to literally get down and dirty with you?”

  He shook his head.

  I had a hard time believing that. “Is it because you haven’t asked? Or have you been turned down?”

  A vulnerable look crossed his face. “I haven’t asked for fear of getting shot down.”

  “Hmm.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and got in his face. “Their loss is my gain.” I lightly nipped his bottom lip and soothed the sting with a sassy flick of my tongue. “Don’t you know there’s nothing I want more than to get down and dirty with you? Anytime, anyplace.”

  He released a soft groan. “If we weren’t surrounded by my coworkers and it wasn’t the middle of the damn day, I’d make you prove that.”

  “Maybe we should sneak into the elevator for a quickie. No one will know.”

  Just then, two doors down, a guy popped his head out. “I thought I heard voices.”

  “See? Everyone will know.” He released me. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  We entered a large office that boasted a big desk, two drafting tables and a sitting area. The guy I’d just seen rested his backside against the desk, nearly hiding a statuesque blonde standing behind him.

  Walker kept his hand in the small of my back as we approached. “This man is my partner, Jase Flint. Jase, my girlfriend, Trinity Carlson.”

  Jase smiled at me. “Good to meet you. I’m sure—”

  “That is not your name,” the blonde bombshell said, storming up to me, staring at me as if I’d just wandered in from the circus.

  “Tiffany, didn’t Jase tell you—”

  “Jase didn’t tell me you had a new squeeze, let alone the fact she’s Trinity Amelia. That’s you, right?”

  I nodded. How did this woman know me?

  Then she squealed and hugged me. “I love love love your work! The piece in the Federal Reserve actually moved me to tears.” All at once she seemed to remember her manners and she practically jumped back. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay … I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Tiffany Flint. I’m Jase’s wife.” She looked over her shoulder. “Honey, the pictures hanging in the dining room? This is the woman who painted them.”

  I felt Walker studying me, but I focused on Tiffany. “You own some of my work?”

  “Yes, I bought them from you at the Minnesota State Fair. One is a watercolor of a crumbling castle set against a stormy background. The other is a three-dimensional piece in oil with an older woman hanging clothes on the line and they’re flapping in the wind. You can touch a piece of denim from jeans, lace from a dress and a pristine white sheet.”

  “You did that?” Walker asked.

  “Yes. It’s an earlier piece I did as my version of Midwestern folk art. Harvey Dunn meets pop art.”

  “I just love both those pieces. Everyone always comments on them,” Tiffany gushed.

  “I’m really happy to hear you’re still enjoying them.”

  “Will you be at the fair this year?”

  I shook my head. “I have too many other projects going on. Plus, I’ve sold everything and haven’t had time to replenish my stock.”

  “Shoot.” Then her gaze flicked between Walker and me. “I can’t believe you’re dating!”

  “Yep,” Walker said. “Trinity brought me lunch. She wanted to see where I worked since I’ve been in her studio.”

  Tiffany gasped. “Really? You’ve been where she makes stuff?”

  “Yes. And if you want to see some of what she’s been working on, buy tickets to Into the Woods at the Seventh Street Community Center—Trinity painted all the sets.”

  “Sets that you crafted from plywood and Styrofoam,” I said, trying to deflect attention away from me.

  “We have tickets. Walker, your mom bought two sections for opening night,” Betsy said behind me.

  “She did?”

  Betsy flapped her hand at him. “Don’t act surprised. She’s proud of you and the time you spend volunteering for LCCO.” Then she addressed me. “Have you met the Lund collective yet?”

  “Sounds ominous. But no, I haven’t met any of Walker’s family.”

  Silence.

  Both Tiffany and Betsy blurted out, “We won’t tell her.”

  “Wise move,” Walker said dryly. “We’re eating lunch in my office, so all of you feel free to stay the hell out.”

  His coworkers were amused by that, not annoyed.

  I said, “It was nice meeting all of you.”

  Once we were on the main floor again, Walker led me down the opposite hallway and into his office.

  I knew he didn’t spend much time in here, but the place was bare-bones. A bookshelf anchored one wall, a big open desk sat in the center of the room, filing cabinets filled the back wall and by the door there was a bench seat jammed with mysterious construction work paraphernalia. There weren’t family pictures or artwork on the shelves, or even kitschy posters adorning the plain white walls.

  He seemed embarrassed. “It’s not much to look at, is it?”

  “I’d rather be looking at you anyway.”

  “Nice save.”

  “Now I need you to do two things. First, find us something to drink.”

  “All right. And the other thing?”

  “Stay out of here while I set everything up.” When he arched his brow, like he imagined me getting naked and spreading myself across his desk for lunch, I whapped him on the arm. “I’m not on the menu. Gimme five minutes. Now shoo.”

  As soon as he shut the door, I sprang into action. Thankfully, the food wasn’t cold. But after I set everything up and looked at it, I wondered if he’d think this was stupid.

  This is Walker we’re talking about. Even if he thinks it’s dumb, he will appreciate the gesture.

  My nerves made no sense but my palms were sweating anyway, so I wiped them on my pants before I opened the door.

  Walker paused in the doorway to take it all in.

  I’d cleared his desk and covered it with a red linen tablecloth. Candlelight reflected off the white dinner plates and the wineglasses. Soft music played from my phone.

  Before he said a word, I started talking. “Maybe it seems over-the-top, but just go with it, okay? Things started out kinda weird and crazy for us, and then we’ve both been busy and I haven’t had a chance to invite you over and cook a meal for you, which sucks because I’m actually a pretty good cook. I know that romantic candlelit dinners are a staple at the start of a relationship and we haven’t even had that and I wanted to be the first one to give it to you—but in lunch form. Not because I’m competitive, but because I like that you want to feed me—it’s your way of taking care of me that’s so sweet and thoughtful and you probably don’t know that I’ve never really had that in a relationship before so I wanted to do the same for you. And—”

  Walker’s mouth stopped the nonstop flow of words coming from me. His kiss did more than just shut me up; it calmed me and grounded me like nothing else.

  He didn’t pull away abruptly; he just softened the kiss until my heart and respiration rate were somewhat normal.

  “Better?” he murmured in my ear.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. Time to feed me and romance me, baby.” He locked the door, giving me his naughty grin. “Without interruptions.”

  I poured soda into the wineglasses. Then I popped the lids on the carryout containers. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered a little of everything. Spaghetti carbonara, lemon and herb risotto, and my favorite, gnocchi Verdi.”

  He said, “This is from Broders’ Pasta Bar.”

  “Yes. I hope that means you like their food?”

  “I do. I haven’t eaten there in ages.”

  “Dig
in.”

  I loved watching his hands as he ate. I’d noticed it last night; his manners were impeccable. The movements of those callused hands were precise yet elegant. I’d felt his careful and tender touch on my skin. But it made my mouth go dry and my panties wet to imagine the roughness in his touch and the bruising strength of his body lost in passion.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  I stopped pushing the last bit of risotto around my plate. “Sex.”

  “The atmosphere you created does bring that to mind, sweetheart. Was that your intent? Are you here for a payback from last night?”

  “I’m not a tit-for-tat chick, Walker. But that’s what you expected when you saw this romantic lunch, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged tightly. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  I leaned across the table and whispered. “You’re wrong. If I wanted to get on my knees for you, then I would’ve waited until quitting time to show up. This”—I indicated the table—“is exactly what I said it was: my version of an indoor picnic. Give me some credit. This would’ve been a total cliché had I walked through your door bearing food, wine and wearing sexy lingerie. I take pride in my unconventional way of doing things.”

  He looked properly chastised. “You are all that. And I apologize for assuming you’d be so unoriginal.”

  When I started picking up, he put his hands on my shoulders and said, “Sit. I’ll do this.”

  After he’d cleared away everything but the candles and the tablecloth, he sat across from me and reached for my hand. He stroked the outside from my wrist bone to the ball of my thumb. “You said you’ve never had someone look after you like this? I haven’t either. So thank you for thinking of me. I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful.”

  “My pleasure. Were you shocked to see me at your office?”

  “I figured I wouldn’t see you until Saturday at the community center.”

  “I’m lucky that I can submerge myself for hours or even days at a time. But it sucks too, because when it’s going well, I’m afraid to leave my studio and lose that creative connection. I’ve been known to stay secluded for a week, sometimes more.”

  “A week?” he repeated.

  “Sounds pathetic. That was one good thing about my friendship with Ramon. He’d call to check up on me every couple of days when I hit that obsessive stage because he understood it.”

  “Ramon is still bugging you?”

  “He’s texted and left a few voice mails, but I haven’t responded. It’s getting easier to ignore. But I kind of hate that it’s getting easier. Know what I mean?”

  He squeezed my hand.

  That’s another thing I liked about Walker—he didn’t offer platitudes.

  “Your coworkers gave the impression that your mom is a dragon lady. Is that true?”

  “Yes. And no. She’s honest—sometimes too honest. For as long as she’s been in this country you’d think she’d have a better grasp on the art of the little white lie. My sister, Annika, hasn’t grasped that either when it comes to family stuff.”

  “Is your sister like her?”

  “In physical appearance? Annika is completely Mom’s mini-me.”

  A smile played around the corners of his mouth and I practically panted from longing to press my lips there and taste his amusement.

  “But Annika is driven to succeed and make her own mark. My mom met my dad at a young age, married and started having children.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that, if that’s what makes her happy.”

  “She’s still happiest when all her cubs are in one place.” Walker paused. “I want to introduce you to my family, Trinity.”

  My stomach did a quick loop-di-loop.

  “I know you’re buried in work, so I’m not asking you to make time until you’re done. But I’ll warn you, the longer we wait … the more dragonlike she’ll become.”

  “She knows about me?”

  His gaze roamed my face. “I had a family thing Sunday. Guess what kind of mood I was in after Saturday night. She knew something was up.”

  “If you told her what I said to you Saturday night, she probably already hates my guts.”

  “I didn’t tell her.”

  Walker ran his fingertips down the side of my face from my temple to the tip of my chin. “I wish I had your talent. The first thing I’d paint is you. With the candlelight glowing on your face and reflected in your eyes. You’re breathtaking.”

  My breath caught when he traced my lips.

  “And these lips. I’d never get them right. How perfectly lush and kissable they are. Christ, I want your mouth.”

  “Then take it.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m a fucking masochist.” His gaze followed the path his thumb took on the inside of my lower lip.

  “Walker.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why are you taking it slow with me? Because last night—”

  That blue-eyed gaze bounced back to me. “I didn’t show up expecting to get laid.”

  “But if it’s a happy result of you stopping by? That’s not okay?”

  “Not last night. I brought you dinner because I wanted to see you.”

  “Well, you saw a lot more of me than I’ve seen of you.”

  He kept up that slow, seductive stroking on the corner of my mouth. “Why do you seem mad?”

  “I’m not. But I’m also not a horse that needs to be gentled.”

  “A horse? Seriously?”

  “No. Well, maybe. That’s what it feels like sometimes. But other times … you look at me like you’re seconds away from pushing me down to the closest horizontal surface and having your wicked way with me.”

  He smirked. “A vertical surface would work just as well.”

  “True. But you strike me as an instant gratification kind of guy. Not a guy with miles of patience to spare.”

  “I’m greedy as hell. I want you naked beneath me, coming so hard that you forget your own damn name.”

  In that moment, the heat from his words scorched a few of my brain cells.

  “But I won’t add the stress of us becoming lovers to your life—you have enough pressure as it is.”

  “I don’t usually associate the words ‘stress’ and ‘pressure’ with sex, Walker.”

  “You think once I’ve had you I’ll be satisfied?” He shook his head. “I’ll want more. I’ll want all of you, all the time. And whatever plans I had not to put pressure on you will go right out the fucking window.”

  I bit my lip to keep myself from blurting out that we ought to test his theory.

  Walker’s focus shifted from my eyes to my lips. A low-pitched noise rumbled in his chest. Then he gave in to his need for a kiss, hauling me to my feet, taking my mouth in a breath-stealing show of urgency and possession.

  When he finally proved his point, my head was muzzy; my pulse pounded in my neck, my lips and my nipples and between my legs.

  “This heat between us isn’t going away if we don’t act on it. So I can wait.” He nuzzled my neck. “At least another day or two.”

  I could get behind that time frame. If all went well, hopefully in another day or two I’d be coasting on the project. Then my hands could be coasting all over him.

  “I recognize that sound.”

  “What sound? The sound of lust?” I made a rowr in the back of my throat.

  “The needy sound you made when my mouth was on you last night.”

  “Have I mentioned that I loved that? So, so much.”

  “Talking about me going down on you … you’re not helping the ‘I can wait’ claim that my little head doesn’t understand,” he grumbled.

  Do not look at the crotch of his jeans.

  I looked. The frayed edges of his pockets turned my mind back to my pieces of fabric that were cut out and waiting on my workbench.

  “I recognize that look,” Walker said. “It’s your ‘I’m here but my mind is back in the studio’ lo
ok.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He picked up the picnic basket. “That’s my cue to send you back to work.”

  He unlocked a door at the end of the hallway that led to the back of the building.

  I squinted at the eight-foot-tall fence topped with razor wire at the end of the lot. “You get many trespassers?”

  “Not anymore.”

  Walker stowed the picnic basket in the back of my car. Then he backed me against the door and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thanks for the lunch surprise.”

  “Your coworkers are going to grill you about me, aren’t they?”

  “I can handle them.” He brushed his lips across mine. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Thirteen

  WALKER

  I’d just finished putting the table saw in the back of the trailer when I saw a familiar blonde headed toward me.

  She offered a finger wave.

  I almost responded by waving one finger in particular but refrained when she bounded up and crushed me in an enthusiastic hug.

  “Surprise!”

  “Annika, what are you doing here?”

  “Dropping off program samples. Lund PR does pro bono work for Seventh Street Theater Productions. I thought you knew that.”

  “I’m the set guy. That’s it.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Since when do you have enough spare time to design a PR campaign for a community theater production?”

  “I don’t. But my intern does.”

  “Since when do you have an intern?”

  “Since Dallas spearheaded the program in May. I thought you knew that.”

  “It’s news to me.”

  “It shouldn’t be news since we discussed it at the board meeting.” She paused for effect. “In March.”

  Board meetings bored me. Half the time I tuned out.

  “Anyway, there’s a new intern every two weeks.”

  “So you’re constantly training them?”

  “No. LCCO has a permanent liaison in my department. She vets the intern candidates and coordinates everything. It’s a neat concept that utilizes diverse feeder programs, from high schools to colleges to technical schools to social services—”

  I held up my hand. “Say no more.”

  “You’re not interested,” she said flatly. “You’re never interested in what I do at LI.”