Just What I Needed (The Need You Series) Page 5

  He stared at me for several long moments—as if his oversight hadn’t occurred to him.

  “Yeah, well …” He jammed his hand through his thick blond hair. “Whatever.” He turned and walked off.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To beat the shit out of something.”

  When he was out of earshot, I said to the empty room, “I seem to inspire that reaction in a lot of people.”

  I returned to my safe little corner and for the rest of the morning I did what I did best: lost myself in a two-dimensional world where things were simpler and mistakes were easily fixed—by either erasing or starting over on a blank canvas.

  Somehow I doubted I’d get a clean slate with Walker Lund. And that made me more than a little sad.

  —

  After lunch, which I ate alone in my car, I started on the first set, a forest scene. It wasn’t a happy bright blue sky, but an ominous gray. The pine trees were dark, angry slashes of green. I began to add layers, smaller trees, bushes and a rock-strewn path. These layers were softer, with feathery-looking pine needles, and a faint hint of light glowed beneath the lowest boughs.

  I stepped back to gauge the image as a whole. It needed more distinct branches in the trees in the middle. Add a few dabs of yellow-green to balance the gray shadows and then this one was done. I snatched my bottle of water off the table and drained it.

  “I hate to admit it, but you are one amazingly talented artist.”

  Startled by the deep voice, I dropped the bottle on the floor and whirled around. “God. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  Walker had his hands in the pockets of his well-worn jeans. “Sneak up on you? I’ve been right here watching you for the last half hour.” He paused. “You didn’t know I was here?”

  I shook my head. “People have said bombs could go off around me when I’m working and I wouldn’t notice.”

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever experienced that level of concentration—to say nothing of harnessing it repeatedly on cue to create something like that.”

  Usually I let compliments—and criticisms—roll off me. Yet his praise struck a chord since it wasn’t about the finished product, but his appreciation of the process. “Thank you.” Feeling self-conscious, I grabbed a smaller round brush and returned to painting.

  I twisted the brush as I moved down the image. After the third pass, when I still felt him watching me, I said, “I’m sorry.”

  “For?” he said behind me, closer than he’d been a few minutes ago.

  “For not correcting your assumption my name was Amelia.”

  During his silence, I fought the urge to fill the conversational void.

  Finally he sighed. “I’ve spent the last four days pissed off, directing my anger outward because I knew exactly where the blame belonged.”

  On you.

  “Evidently my ego couldn’t handle the fact I might’ve screwed up, so it conveniently blocked that part out.”

  I snickered.

  “What’s funny?”

  “That typical male response. You admit you have an ego but act like it’s a separate appendage you have no control over. Kind of like when guys claim the little head is always at war with the big head for who’s in control.”

  He laughed.

  God. He had such an awesome laugh.

  “Can you stop painting happy little trees for a moment and look at me?”

  I whirled around. “Did you seriously just make a Bob Ross reference?”

  “Why? Do you hate him or something?”

  “No! I love him. In fact, he’s a large part of why I became an artist. He was so positive and encouraging, which was so not the norm in my childhood. And it’s not the norm in the art world either. He took such joy in creating. I loved how he made it look so effortless, even when I kind of resented him for that too, because it’s not easy. Some of the happiest times in my childhood were spent in front of an easel, just me and Bob Ross on the TV in the background, painting happy little trees.”

  Walker was studying me.

  “What? Do I have paint on my face or something?”

  He shook his head. I swear his mouth twitched as if he was trying not to laugh.

  Then I realized I’d gone off on a tangent again. Annoyed with myself, I said, “Stop staring at me.”

  “But I really like your face. And I thought I wouldn’t see it again, sweetheart, so I’m gonna look my fill.”

  I had no idea how to respond to that.

  “Can I ask you something?” He paused in speaking but kept inching forward. “Did you consider getting in touch with me?”

  “I considered it.”

  “And?”

  “And I concluded chances were slim you’d lay a big wet kiss on me if you saw me again after you discovered you had the wrong name and number for me from me, so I let it go.”

  “You didn’t think about me at all?”

  I hedged, pointing the paintbrush at him to stop his advancement. “I have to finish this. So if you want to continue talking, you’ll be talking to my back.”

  As soon as I turned around, I heard, “Then you can’t complain if I’m staring at your ass.”

  Shivers danced down my spine from the sexy, growly way he’d said that.

  I switched brushes and colors.

  “You were wrong to assume that I wouldn’t want contact with you,” he continued. “My brother offered to track you down with the little information I had. But I told him I just wanted to forget the whole thing.” He laughed softly. “Of course, you’re here—the last place I expected to run into you.”

  Using the wooden end of the paintbrush, I dragged lines through the paint, adding another facet to the branches. “So what now?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “That Tuesday night was a fluke.”

  His denial surprised me. Or was he baiting me? “I should admit I’d had too many drinks and that was the only reason I kissed you?”

  “Was it?”

  “No. But I think you know that.”

  He exhaled loudly. “I do. I mean I did and then I didn’t, and now I’m really freakin’ glad I didn’t imagine this.”

  My hand stopped midair. “But you said you wanted to forget the whole thing.”

  “That was then.” Walker had moved in close enough that his breath drifted across the nape of my neck. “This is now. As far as I’m concerned, we haven’t even started.”

  “You are confusing me.”

  “Welcome to the club, sweetheart.”

  “Do I get to choose a welcome gift for becoming a new member of this club?”

  He laughed. “You have a bizarre sense of humor.”

  “So I’ve heard. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I like it.”

  “Really? Most people don’t get it. Most people don’t get me.”

  “Their loss. Because I get you.”

  I almost demanded he prove it because I didn’t want to get my hopes up about this guy.

  The soft bristles of his beard grazed my cheek. “Trinity.”

  Gooseflesh rippled down my arm from his mouth being so close to my skin. “What?”

  “Can you look at me?”

  I turned around. This man was just so … manly. Big athletic body, toned muscles, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the hair on his chest was as thick as his beard.

  Warm, rough-skinned fingers rested beneath my chin when he angled my head up to peer into my face. And those eyes of his. Sigh. Cerulean blue on the outer ring, a smoky gray by his pupil. Beautifully expressive and laser focused with intensity on me right now.

  “There are millions of people in the Twin Cities. There are hundreds of bars, theaters and volunteer organizations. The chances of us randomly running into each other twice in one week are miniscule. But we did.” His thumb brushed over the divot in my chin. “I’m considering it a sign.”

  Chills danced down my spine. I was glad he’d said it fir
st. Part of me wanted to point out this connection could be a bad sign just as easily as a good one, but the hope—and, yes, forgiveness—on his face had the rebuttal drying on my tongue.

  “Let’s start over.”

  “You want to pretend that kiss never happened?”

  “No. I want to pretend you gave me your real phone number and real name so I can spend time with the real you.”

  “That was the real me in the bar, Walker.”

  He smiled. “Good. Because I liked you.”

  “Past tense?”

  “So literal for an artist,” he murmured. “The past is past. But I want the future tense to belong to me.”

  Okay. His confidence? Completely sexy.

  “Come out with me tonight. You owe me that much since you did agree to a date.”

  His insistence didn’t surprise me. But I’d had an exhausting week. All I wanted was to slip between my sheets, try to shut down for a solid eight hours. “Thank you for the offer. But I’ll be worthless company tonight.”

  “I doubt that.” He touched my cheek. “Just dinner, then. You have to eat.”

  “Do I look like I miss many meals?”

  Walker’s eyes turned stormy. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Say shit like that about yourself. I like what I see when I look at you, Trinity.”

  “Oh.” That was really sweet. “I like what I see when I look at you too.”

  “But that’s not a point in my favor right now, is it? You’re still turning me down for dinner.”

  I set my hand on his chest. As hard and muscular as I remembered. “Yes. Just for tonight, though.”

  “How about lunch tomorrow? A long lunch.”

  He smiled—oh, hello, sexy dimples. I wanted to press my lips to the deep divots and feel his beard tickling my lips. Next time I kissed him, I’d take it slow and explore.

  “So is that a yes?” he pressed.

  My focus snapped back to his eyes. “It depends on where you’re taking me. I’m not a fan of bar food—chicken wings, nachos, all that fried crap.”

  “Got it. Any other things to avoid?”

  “I spend so much time inside that I’d like to enjoy the fresh air—as long as it’s not a hundred degrees in the shade.” I could see the ideas churning in his head and then one clicked.

  “You’re all right with it just being us tomorrow? Not in a restaurant or a bar or surrounded by people?”

  I appreciated that he’d asked and hadn’t assumed. “Sounds good. Where are we meeting?” I knew he probably expected to pick me up, but I needed the option of being able to leave whenever I wanted.

  “I’ll text you around ten and let you know. I have to check on a couple of things before I decide exactly where we’re going.” His eyes roamed my face. “Bring a hat and sunscreen.”

  “Anything else I should bring?”

  “Just your beautiful self.”

  “You are smooth.” I slid my hand up and curled it around his neck, intending to pull his mouth down to mine. But something stopped me.

  “I have no problem with you taking the lead,” he murmured. “Kiss me anytime you get the overwhelming urge again. But this time, it’s my turn.”

  I groaned when our lips met and he swallowed the sound in a hot and hungry kiss. I hadn’t embellished this passion between us. And he seemed determined to remind me of that with every teasing flick of his tongue, with every soft growl, with every angle he moved my head so he could delve deeper into the kiss.

  When he broke the seal of our mouths, my lips tingled and my head buzzed. I’d melted against him and was having a hard time remembering why I couldn’t stay right there forever.

  Oh yeah. I’d opted to give up more of this to go home alone to my quiet house and my neurotic, cranky cat who hated me.

  Sometimes I’m a complete idiot.

  Stepping back, he said, “Got that new number memorized yet?” and pulled out his phone.

  I’d given the number out enough times in the past few days I could rattle it off without writing the digits on my wrist every morning.

  Ten seconds later my phone buzzed in my purse.

  He smirked at me. “Just checking.”

  “I’m glad you see the humor in it.”

  “I do now. But at the start of my day … let’s just say being pissed off isn’t always hell on productivity. I finished twice as many set cutouts as I’d planned.”

  “I’m taking credit for that.”

  “See you tomorrow, Trinity.”

  Four

  WALKER

  With energy to spare the next morning, I added two miles to my run. During my cooldown in the kitchen, I made the call.

  My cousin Nolan demanded, “Why in the name of all that’s holy would you call me this early on a Sunday morning?”

  Because I miss you, asshole. “Because you’re a dog and I was providing you with an excuse to shoo the chick in your bed out the door.” I lowered my voice to mimic his. “‘Babe, I’ve gotta help my cousin or he wouldn’t have called so early. Do you mind taking off? But it was great. I’ll call you.’”

  “I don’t sound like that,” Nolan retorted. “And FYI: I was sleeping in because no lovely woman warmed my bed last night or this morning.”

  “No wonder you’re snapping at me.”

  “Whatever. Where were you last night?”

  “Building sets for my Lund Cares Community Outreach volunteer project. It went later than I planned. What did you do that kept you from banging the headboard?”

  “I worked until midnight.”

  I laughed. “Right.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “You were working at LI?”

  “Did you hit yourself in the head with a hammer or something? Of course I was at LI. Where else would I be?”

  “Doing what?” As far as I knew, Nolan didn’t have the same level of responsibilities that Brady did as CFO, or our cousin Ash did as COO.

  “Ash asked me to look into a few things that are usually under Brady’s purview since he’s busy with the Duarte Foods acquisition. And before you ask, yes, Brady is aware of what’s going on. It’s time-consuming.”

  “It’d have to be if you’re burning the midnight oil on the weekend.”

  Nolan sighed. “That’s why I’m hoping if you called so blasted early it’s because you have big plans for us today. Something with hot half-naked chicks and cold beer.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, but my plans with a hot half-naked chick and cold beer don’t include you. I called to tell you I’m taking ‘Devil’s Plaything’ out for the afternoon. First-come basis with notification. That was our deal.” I wiped my face and chest with a towel. “But if you had plans—”

  “I don’t. I might actually stay in bed all day and watch ESPN. The Twins are playing today.”

  I considered myself a sports guy—I loved watching football, hockey, basketball, boxing, soccer and MMA. I played soccer and basketball in high school. I was good enough to be a starter, but not good enough to consider pursuing either one on a higher level after high school. I made it to the slopes to ski and snowboard at least half a dozen times in the winter. But the appeal of baseball eluded me.

  “Why else did you call?” Nolan asked.

  I hated asking for help. Hated it. “So this woman I’m taking to the lake … I want to …” Just spit it out. “Her ex was a real tool. I’d like to set myself apart from him. What would be a good way to do that?” I held my breath for Nolan’s snarky response, but he didn’t give me one.

  “Taking her out on the boat is a great idea. It’s casual, yet intimate. What are you doing for food?”

  I groaned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “You can’t schlep a cooler of beer and a bag of sunflower seeds if you’re gonna be outside all afternoon. But you need to do something classier than a bucket of fried chicken.” He paused. “You tapping that yet?”

  “No. Why?”

  “If you’
re banging her, then food won’t matter because neither of you will be thinking about anything but banging again.”

  True.

  “You have to impress her enough so she knows you put in extra effort picking the food—but skip eats like caviar, champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries. Totally clichéd douchebag move.”

  “Not really my style. But maybe I should stick with sub sandwiches and chips.”

  “Boring. Stop at Surdyk’s. They have an awesome deli and they’ll furnish utensils. Because, dude, there’s a fine line between showing up with classy grub and showing up toting a wicker picnic basket totally kitted out with a tablecloth, wineglasses and matching plates.”

  “No doubt. Thanks, man.”

  “No problem. So do I know this chick?”

  “Nope. Just met her last week.”

  “Where?”

  “Why does that matter?” I said sharply.

  “Because you pick women like you pick building projects. You always go for the ‘unique fixer-uppers.’”

  “Not true.”

  “Keep telling yourself that. And when you figure out her walls are impossible to break down—or, worse, if her foundation crumbles—”

  “I get it, okay?” While I appreciated that my cousin went to bat for me no matter what, I wasn’t blameless in any of my failed relationships. I’d always been drawn to women a little left of center.

  “Have you told the posse about her yet?”

  Posse. I bit back a snort. But the term did fit my family. “Just Brady.”

  “Ah. He’s loosened up since Lennox came into the picture. Last night the manager of Flurry texted me a pic of your brother and his woman getting their dirty groove on.”

  “Brady’s got a life outside LI, which is what we were aiming for with the intervention last year.”

  “I don’t begrudge him a second of happiness. I just wish it wasn’t giving the Lund matriarchs matchmaking ideas.”

  “Aunt Edie is trying to set you up with someone?”

  “Yeah. Since Jax has brought forth the lone grandchild, he’s not a target. I am. But it won’t work. I’m completely committed to having no commitment.”