More Than Need You

by Shayla Black

  I grab my suitcase. I spot her bag, too, and lift it by the handle, then lug them both upstairs.

  “Where are you going?” She follows behind me.

  “To our bedroom.”

  “Our…” She huffs. “What? No! You’re out of your mind.”

  “I might be, but there is one bedroom on this side of the house beside Jamie. I haven’t been there for my son since the day he was born, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m not going to be here for him now. So I’m sleeping in the room closest to him. If you want another bedroom, it will have to be on the other side of the floor.” I drop her suitcase at her feet. “You pick. I’m going to bed.”

  As I head to the master, I catch her grabbing her bag and chasing after me. “I’m not leaving my son without his mother.”

  “Then it looks like we’re both sleeping there.” I point at the king-size bed with the tropical white-and-blue comforter and the dozen pillows that make it look soft and inviting and luxuriously romantic.

  “Don’t pretend this is strictly about Jamie.”

  You know, she’s right. Bullshit isn’t my style. “It’s not. But that doesn’t change anything I’ve said. This is where I’m sleeping. How about you?”

  “You manipulative bastard. You’ve cornered me again. So, of course, you win. Again. I’m sure that makes your ego feel all big and bloated.”

  “This isn’t fucking about my ego.”

  “No matter what you say, everything is about your ego at some point, even winning me back.” She rolls her eyes and heads to the bathroom. “I don’t care. It won’t be the first time we’ve shared a bed. Just stay on your side and don’t touch me.”

  Now I’m just pissed. Or riled. Or frustrated. I’m not thinking, just reacting.

  I drop my suitcase and snag her again, pulling her body against mine with a hand splayed at the small of her back. I dig my fist into her hair and force her to look at me. “I won’t lay a finger on you until you admit you want me. Until you admit I’m the only man for you. Until you ask me.”

  “You’re going to be waiting for the rest of your life.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I can’t sleep. I feel like the stupidest, most masochistic son of a bitch ever. I love sleeping next to Britta. But right now, I hate sleeping next to her. I smell her, hear her. I can almost touch her, taste her. I want her so badly I’m hard and sweating and aching.

  I can’t have her—yet.

  Sharing a bed again is making me remember the morning sex, the good-night sex, our quickie nooners, and the lazy Sunday loving we once shared. Not going to lie, we got busy a lot. The difference was that, unlike other women, every time I was with Britta, I only wanted her more. I wanted her in a way that stemmed from somewhere deeper than my dick. I yearned to hold her when she cried. I couldn’t wait to laugh with her when we caught the neighbor’s crazy dog humping a fence post or landed a listing on a Hawaiian street with a name containing fifteen vowels we both had trouble pronouncing. And yes, I loved to indulge her in the most sinful, drawn out, claw-worthy orgasms while finding new ways to make her come.

  Right now, I’d settle for her talking to me. After the end of our argument, she shut herself in the bathroom, took a long bath, then emerged in a shapeless T-shirt, palmed a sleep mask, and utterly tuned me out.

  I might deserve it…but I don’t know what to do about it. And I have to figure it out—fast.

  I roll over and look at the clock—1:53 a.m. Yeah, I’m going to be worthless at work later today.

  Reaching for my phone, I roll out of bed. Quickly, I peek in on Jamie, who’s as sacked out as his mother, then I pace out to the lanai. The shadows of moonbeams dance over the water. I hear the crashing waves more than see them. I can almost feel them vibrating through my body as they churn loudly in the night that’s otherwise silent—kind of like the turmoil rolling just under my skin.

  Emotions. They fucking suck. But if I’m going to dive into that murky pit, I might as well wade in deep, make some decisions, and get it over with.

  When I unpacked my car earlier, I brought Keeley’s CD of song selections inside. Luckily, I don’t have to wander the house for long to find a CD player. There’s one in the bonus room upstairs. I probably shouldn’t do this now. It won’t cheer me up in the least. But I still cue up the next tune on the disc, then sink into a plush chair to listen.

  From the very first strains, it’s sad. No, haunting. A vocal realization that everything between this couple is tangled, confusing, and seemingly hopeless. A glance at the case tells me it’s called “Breaking Ties” by some obscure band called OceanLab. No idea where Keeley finds this stuff, but she’s dead on.

  I have been fooling myself for so long, thinking I could live without Britta. I’m pretty sure she’s been doing the same. I don’t know how we could be both so right and so wrong. No denying that when I feel my mouth against her skin, she absolutely lights me from within. And it’s been forever since I’ve felt that way because that’s how long it’s been since I’ve been with her. But right now, she’s sinking like a stone. And just like the lyrics suggest, I need to be her parachute.

  How can I do that? I’m not sure—yet. I’m certainly never allowing Makaio an opportunity to pull her rip cord and save her.

  After the song ends, I silence the sound system. Ideas are rolling through my head. Big ones. Crazy ones. I’m pinging with them. Vibrating with them. I’ll never fucking sleep.

  I bounce my phone from one hand to the other, hesitating. Should I? Shouldn’t I? I have to, don’t I? Otherwise, I’ll contemplate my uncertain future all night. Otherwise, nothing between Britta and me changes. The good news is, this won’t be the first time I’ve called this late. The bad news? I doubt it will be the last.

  With a sigh, I press a button.

  Three rings later, Keeley whispers, “What are you doing up?”

  “What are you doing up?” I counter. “I knew you wouldn’t answer if you weren’t awake.”

  She clears her throat. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  I cringe. “Shit. Please tell me that you and my brother aren’t getting busy right now.”

  Keeley laughs. “No. I wouldn’t answer the phone if we were. It’s just fun to mess with you.”

  “Stop. I don’t want to hear a word about his dick, joking or otherwise.”

  “I’ll try not to offend your delicate sensibilities, Griff. So what’s up? Out with it.” Keeley sighs. “You only call in the middle of the night when it’s really bad. I’m guessing you took Britta to the house and…what? Had a fight?”

  Sometimes, I swear she’s psychic. “More or less. It started off calm and reasonable…ish. Then Jamie called me Daddy.”

  “That’s good, right? Oh, except it upset Britta, I’ll bet.”

  “Some. Not as much as I thought, though. From there, we wandered onto the subject of our respective lovers after the split. That went less well.” Much less.

  “I’ll bet she wasn’t thrilled you’d been so…busy,” Keeley predicted. “And you lost your shit when you found out she hadn’t spent all her time alone.”

  “I didn’t.” Well, not visibly. “But I wanted to. That was one of the fucking hardest things I’ve ever heard. It solidified my resolve to make sure there’s never another man in her life.” Or her bed. “Then I might have screwed up by mentioning that Makaio isn’t the right guy for her. She didn’t want to hear that when she was wearing his ring. Things got uglier after that. Somehow, she’s convinced herself that I’m full of hot air and me trying to win her back is all about my ego. Really? I’m not that guy.”

  “Not anymore,” she corrects me. “Besides, I think that’s her excuse. She has to attribute your actions to something, and if she lets herself believe you really are still in love with her, then she has to confront her feelings for you. And she’s terrified to do that because she’ll have to reevaluate the future she has planned.”

  Valid point. “I don’t know how else to make her u
nderstand that I just want to—”

  “Give her a better future? Make her happy? I know. But she doesn’t. Think about this… What if she lets herself fall for you again and it doesn’t work out? Britta is too smart not to realize she’ll lose everything for giving in to her heart—her fiancé and possibly even her job. She will, of course, have to share her son going forward. And she’ll have to live with that broken heart and a mountain of regret. Again.”

  I rake a hand through my hair. I hear what she’s saying, but none of that is going to happen. “I keep telling her over and over that I love her.”

  “What did you tell her the first time you were together, Griff? How did you sweet-talk her out of her panties? Into your life, into your apartment, into her heart? And how much of that was a come-on?”

  I didn’t know how to act with Britta at first. I remember that. She seemed so different to me…but I fell into old patterns because that’s what I knew. I told her she was beautiful. I “accidentally” brushed against her. I took her to posh restaurants and zipped her around the island in my expensive ride. I did and said whatever it took to tear down her resistance and wear down her halfhearted refusals until she gave me a date, a kiss, her trust, and finally, her virginity.

  I probably was a dirtbag, but even before I truly understood how I felt, I treasured her on some level. I know I didn’t want to ever let her go.

  “So I need to prove this isn’t about my ego, just about her.”

  “You do.”

  That’s a relief. If Keeley thought I was making a mistake, she’d flat-out tell me so. “I’m not sure I know how. I have an idea, but you’ll probably think it’s unhinged.”

  “Is it underhanded and manipulative?”

  I hesitate. “This is me you’re talking to.”

  “True. Will it do anything to prove that you love her and want to make her happy?”

  “If it comes off right, yeah. I think so.” I sigh. “But I need your help. A lot of it.”

  “The favor you asked me for earlier?”

  “You read me so well.”

  “Of course. You’re male and transparent and have pure bastard running through your veins.”

  I scowl. “My brother isn’t so different.”

  “I know. I’m still trying to figure out why I love him.” She laughs. “Well, that’s not true. Maxon sang karaoke to prove his love to me.”

  That’s somehow endearing to her? “He can’t sing.”

  “I know, and we’ve agreed he won’t do that again. But he humiliated himself in public for me. And he was willing to give up the deal of his career and a few million dollars to make me happy.”

  Great for Maxon, but I can’t give up now or I lose Britta and Jamie for good. I’ll have nothing left but a career and a shitload of regret.

  “My idea is a little more substantial.” I pause, unsure how this is going to go over, but hey… I’m an all-or-nothing guy. “I want to surprise Britta with our wedding.”

  “What?” Keeley takes a minute to figure that out. “You mean plan it all and not tell her until the day you marry?”

  Her skeptical incredulity isn’t what I hoped for but doesn’t surprise me. “Yeah.”

  “Are you fucking crazy?” she shouts, then yelps. I can hear Maxon stir beside her, then some rustling before she whispers again. “Seriously. Are you?”

  “Probably.” I explain Makaio’s decision to let his mother plan their wedding, and the fact that Britta had lovingly hand-selected all the elements of her big day through those magazines, only to have the jerk flush it down the toilet. “So my idea is to give her the wedding of her dreams…along with the man who’s devoted to her and the family she craves.”

  “Griff…” Her tone asks me to be reasonable. “Even if you gave me her stack of magazines, I don’t know if I could figure out exactly what she wants. I mean, I’ve barely started looking and I’ve already seen ten dresses I love. I’ll bet she’s got her eyes on more than one of everything and—”

  “Maybe you could help each other?” When she makes a sound of protest again, I wince. “Just hear me out. Please.”

  She sighs. “You owe me.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not being your maid of honor and wearing peach chiffon.”

  Keeley giggles. “But you’d look really pretty.”

  “Fuck you.”

  That incites more laughter, then a sound of exasperation—mostly at herself. “All right. Lay it on me. I’m crazy for even listening. I want that on record, by the way. And you’re insane, too. That needs to be stated.”

  “Duly noted,” I swear. “But this could be the perfect setup. Tell her you need help with your wedding, but that you’re having trouble making decisions and would love her input. Britta has amazing taste, a great eye for visuals.”

  “Solicit her input for my wedding and use what she tells me for her own?”

  “Exactly. Once you get the information out of her, pass it on to me. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Actually…” She pauses. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

  “See?”

  “And I can’t believe I’m going to help you even more. The wedding Maxon said he already booked for Sunshine Coast Bed and Breakfast—that really has a nice ring, don’t you think?”

  “Way better than Maxon Maui Realty.”

  “Okay, I can’t disagree with that. The point is, those people realized belatedly that it’s Easter weekend and rescheduled for mid-May. So we have an opening.”

  It’s the same Saturday that Makaio picked to marry Britta. Future anniversaries will fall on Tax Day, which is decidedly unromantic. But I’m not going to sweat that. I’ll make future anniversaries amazing.

  “Done. So you’ll call her later, work your magic, and help me make her dream wedding a reality?”

  “I should take my temperature. I must be stupid to agree to this. Not right in the head. Devoid of all my faculties.”

  “Is that a yes? Keeley, honey…”

  “Don’t honey-baby-sweetie-pie me.” She sighs. “You don’t need to. I think she loves you. I know you’re absolutely besotted by her. So while this might be the craziest thing I’ve ever heard of, it’s also one of the most romantic. All right. I’ll help you.”

  Two miserable days pass in which Britta is barely speaking to me. I’m eager for Keeley to get the ball rolling on the wedding planning, and I hope the nuptials I throw her will change everything. But until then, I need to make better use of my time with her so she actually wants to marry me. I need to ensure that all the days—and nights—I’ve strong-armed out of her aren’t spent in chilly civility or I’m going to lose her for good.

  The bright spot is my relationship with Jamie. Last night, I bought him a pair of floaties and a raft. We had a blast in the pool. He called me Daddy again before I set him down with toys. Not going to lie, that warmed my heart.

  Then I helped Britta with dinner. And yeah, I probably brushed against her way more than I needed to in a kitchen that size, but she’s right in front of me—all day, all night. How the hell am I supposed to keep my hands off her?

  “Can you grab the roasting pan of potatoes from the oven?” she asks absently, then peeks into the adjoining family room to find Jamie with his trucks and blocks, making sputtering, slobbery noises.

  “Sure.”

  She pauses to watch our son. “He looks happy.”

  I smile. “He really liked swimming.”

  “He’s not as fond of the ocean, so I’m glad he reacted better to the pool.” She hesitates. “I watched from the lanai. You’re very patient with him. Thank you.”

  I grit my teeth. It burns me that she’s thanking me for loving my own son. But I stifle it. I don’t want to start a fight. This is the most conversation we’ve had since the night we argued. “He loved the pool. He’s fun to be with and he’s actually more