Just What I Needed (The Need You Series)

by Lorelei James

  “Is everything all right?”

  Walker whirled around as if he’d forgotten about me. “My sister is way the hell pissed off about the favor she was railroaded into doing for our cousin. But instead of railing on him, I get to deal with her in Godzilla mode.”

  “Same cousin that had car trouble last week?”

  “No.”

  “Swedish curse words, skank-of-the-week, possibility of jail time … sounds entertaining.”

  He snorted. “Don’t get me started on the craziness that is my family.”

  I recognized he’d said that with no real malice. Not like my family—who really meant it when they said the craziness that is Amelia.

  “Come find me if you get done early,” he said distractedly and walked out.

  I found the pieces needed for the scenes this week and primed the boards. One coat took thirty minutes to dry, so as I waited I went over my sketches again. This backdrop would be the only spot of color in the otherwise dreary background, so color was more important than fine detailing. I cracked open the paint cans and stirred the paint. I needed a shade between dark burgundy and scarlet. I dumped some of each color into an empty quart can, added white and kept mixing until I was satisfied.

  Once I fell into that working groove, everything around me blurred. I kept at it until I’d filled the board.

  I tossed my paintbrush onto the plastic tray and noticed the mess I’d created. Some painters could go all day without getting even a single drop of paint on their clothing. I was usually covered. It didn’t matter what medium I worked in—even with textiles I’d be coated in fabric fuzz and metal shavings.

  “I love to watch you work.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at him. “How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough to see the last two flowers take shape.” He offered me his hand and helped me up.

  “They were trickier to get right than I’d allotted time for.” I gave him a once-over. He was sawdust-free. “You’re already done?”

  “Already? It’s been three hours.”

  No wonder my neck hurt. I moved my head from side to side, trying to work the kinks out. “Is everyone gone?”

  “Nate’s still here.”

  “Waiting on me to finish.”

  Walker grinned. “Another logical reason for me to have a key. He could’ve already gone home and I could lock up.”

  “Since Nate is here … you don’t have to stay.”

  “I want to stay.”

  “I’m about to delve into the suckiest part of being an artist. Cleaning up.”

  I expected him to leave. But he just said, “What needs done first?”

  “The paper I used as drop cloths can be picked up and thrown away. Unless you’d rather clean brushes and the airbrush machine?”

  His face fell. “You airbrushed something? I wanted to see you do that.” Then he headed toward the section of sky and clouds I’d propped beneath the chalkboard. “This is it.” He crouched to get a better look and studied it for several long moments. “You nailed it.”

  “It’s a simple cloud formation. I hope I nailed it.”

  “No, it’s not simple. That’s what you see at first glance on one of those gloomy winter days when you gaze up at the sky and wonder if everything will always be colorless and bland. But then you notice the shadows and highlights of different shades of gray in the clouds and the hidden textures. It amazes me you can capture this on Styrofoam.” He moved and stopped in front of me. “Am I wrong? Did I not see it the way you’d intended?”

  “I’m thinking you see too much,” I murmured.

  “That scares you.”

  Not a question, so I wasn’t compelled to answer.

  The silence stretched as we considered each other.

  Finally, he said, “Why does it scare you?”

  “I’m not exactly normal, Walker.”

  “Can you explain that, sweetheart?”

  “Have you ever been involved with a woman who creates something out of nothing? Who spends a lot of time alone staring at a blank canvas or a blank computer screen or block of clay? And I’m not talking about women who draw for fun, or write for fun, or sculpt for fun. I’m talking about women who make their living solely from their creativity.”

  He shook his head.

  “Creative people … our brains work differently. Not better, not worse, just not like yours. There has to be a certain amount of ego involved to believe that strangers are willing to pay you for what you create. But the balance to that ego is loads and loads of self-doubt. At least it is for me. Add in income highs and lows to the creative highs and lows …”

  “And?”

  “And that doesn’t make you reach for your hat as you’re booking it out the closest door?”

  “Are you trying to stop this before it starts?” he said softly.

  “No. But being involved with me won’t always be easy.”

  “Nothing worthwhile ever is.” He gave me a wistful smile. “I like that you’re warning me up front that you’re going to be a lot of work.”

  “You are?”

  “Yep. It’ll give me a chance to prove my awesome work ethic.”

  Oh yeah. He was so smooth even I believed him. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Duly noted.”

  We were stuck in that awkward “Who talks first?” silence.

  “Trinity,” he finally said. His gaze roamed from my forehead to my chin, across my cheeks and lingered on my mouth. “I need to tell you something.”

  My stomach clenched at the seriousness of his tone. “What?”

  “There’s paint all over your face. Speckled white spots on green streaks. And a big purple dot on your chin. Reminds me of that Dr. Seuss book my mom read to me as a kid.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me I resemble a freakin’ Dr. Seuss character before now?”

  He grinned. “Because you look adorable.”

  I flapped my hand at him, trying to shoo him away.

  “Where were you using purple paint?”

  “I mixed it with white to get the shade of gray I needed. Why?”

  “You really got into the grays, didn’t you?”

  “What?”

  “Your ponytail. It’s streaked with gray. Is using your hair as a brush some fancy technique you learned in college?”

  I curbed the urge to smack my forehead—or his. “Don’t you have paper to pick up?”

  After he started his task, I grabbed the rubber mallet and hammered the lids on the paint cans. Then I lined them along the back wall in order from darkest to lightest and did the same with the spray cans. I made sure the cans of primer were in plain sight so people wouldn’t rummage through my organized paint stash. I gathered all the brushes into a large plastic container and took them to the big sink in the kitchen.

  Walker crossed the tile floor behind me. He pressed his front to my back and kissed the side of my neck. “I’m done. Need help?”

  “No. I’m finished with everything except removing the polka dots from my face.”

  “That I can help with.”

  The next thing I knew, I was sitting on the counter with Walker’s hips pressing the inside of my thighs. He gripped my jaw with one hand and dabbed at my face with a damp strip of cloth.

  “You don’t have to do that. If I’m a serious mess it’d be best if I clean up at home.”

  “Just sit there and look pretty. It’s not as bad as I made it out to be.”

  “Why would you tell me that?”

  “Because I wanted an excuse to touch you.”

  “Oh. Well. Okay, then.”

  Being this close to him, I could study him without it being weird. The man truly was a work of art. From his bold bone structure to his vivid blue eyes, his facial features were stunning. There were his thick eyebrows, his long sweep of dark eyelashes, his regal nose and the pouty bow of his lips. His facial hair was a mix of tawny browns and muted golds, with white blond strands and wisps t
he color of dark chocolate.

  “You’re staring at me,” he grumbled.

  “Because you are a feast for the eyes.”

  His lips curled. “Glad you think so.”

  “Would you let me sculpt you?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “If I have to sit still for hours on end.”

  Funny that was his biggest concern. “No. But I’ll need to touch you a lot.”

  Walker’s powerful gaze locked on to mine. “I’d only agree to that if I got equal time touching you.”

  The nearness of him—his scent, his body heat, the sensual way he performed something so basic as removing paint from my skin—had me tossing caution to the wind. “That’d only be fair.”

  His mouth crashed down on mine.

  The kiss was a shot of rocket fuel.

  When I arched into him, he responded intuitively, rolling his hips until we were perfectly aligned where I ached and he was hard. I wrapped my arms around his neck, frantically freeing his hair so I could sift it through my fingers.

  He groaned when I got a little rough and pulled.

  I groaned when I felt his hand on my breast, his thumb sweeping inward to connect with my nipple.

  Then Walker ended the kiss as abruptly as he’d started it. He buried his face in the side of my neck and exhaled slowly; the air drifted across my damp skin, sending goose bumps spreading outward.

  He straightened upright and ran both his hands through his hair. “Sorry.”

  “Sorry? Really?”

  “No, not really. I just don’t normally act like a horny teen. That’s what it was starting to feel like.”

  I lowered my head and glanced at my hands resting on my lap. I still had paint ringing two fingers. I doubted Walker had gotten the gunk off my face since water smeared color rather than cleaned it.

  Rough fingertips slipped beneath my chin, forcing my head up. “Bad timing on my part.”

  “Probably. I still liked it, though.”

  He dropped his hand from my face. “Let’s get out of here. We need to talk.”

  That didn’t sound good. “About?”

  “The rest of this week. Namely my schedule, which includes night supervision on the last stages of a project.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  “A few times a year. My partner and I switch off, so it’s my turn. From past experience I know we won’t get done before midnight.” His eyes latched onto mine. “Which means I’m screwed for getting to see you the rest of the week.”

  Might make me a jerk, but I was happy he was unhappy about that.

  “I didn’t want you to think I’m blowing you off.”

  I set my hand on his chest. “It didn’t occur to me. But the truth is, that actually works out really well for me.”

  “Why?”

  “Remember the commission I lost last week? The woman who deemed the art too edgy? She showed up today and hired me to do a rush commission.”

  Walker’s smile lit up his eyes. “Trinity. That’s great.”

  “I thought so, especially since I can pay my mortgage and buy groceries this month. With this supertight deadline I’ll be swamped with work until Friday. So even if you weren’t working nights, I would be.”

  “You’ll keep in touch with me this week.”

  Not a question—a demand. “I will try my very hardest.” I poked him in the chest. “But what if I forget? Sometimes I lose track of—”

  “Then I’ll be forced to use positive reinforcements on you. It worked last time.”

  I smirked. “Maybe I’ll forget on purpose.”

  —

  After a hectic week, I groaned when the alarm went off at seven thirty a.m. When I remembered I’d see Walker at the community center today, I bounded out of bed.

  As I pulled into the parking lot, my phone rang. At the sight of Ramon’s name on the caller ID, I had a sense of déjà vu since I had spoken to him this time last week. Part of me wanted to ignore the call, but a bigger part of me wanted to point out he’d been wrong about the reason I’d lost the Stephens commission.

  Pride won out. I answered, “Good morning, Ramon.”

  “Someone is in a good mood this morning.”

  “I am. It’s a gorgeous day. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping … all that jazz. So what’s up?”

  “Just checking up on you. How was your week?”

  “Great! I got a second chance to work on the textile project.”

  “You did? How’d that come about?”

  “I can’t say—it’s a little hush-hush because of the surprise factor for the client. And as a bonus, I learned that Dagmar Kierkegaard is on the guest list for this shindig where the piece is being unveiled! Can you believe that?”

  Silence.

  I grinned because it was so rare that I stunned Ramon into silence. Dagmar Kierkegaard defined elusive. We’d heard rumors that he wore disguises when he appeared in public so he could attend random art openings at smaller venues without anyone recognizing him.

  “Your luck is unbelievable. You are getting extra party invites to hand out to your friends, right?”

  I managed a neutral, “I’ll ask closer to the event.”

  “Excellent! And I’m sure you’ll do fine with all the extra pressure to really make your textile piece stand out.”

  “I’m up to the challenge.”

  “I assume you’re working on it this morning? Need me to come by and help?”

  “No, I just pulled into the community center. These sets won’t paint themselves.”

  “I thought you decided your talents are wasted there.”

  I bristled up. “No, Ramon, you decided that.”

  “But you agreed with me!”

  “I did not. We’ve been friends for three years so I know it’s pointless to argue when you’ve made up your mind. I let it go.” The way I’d been letting a lot of things go with him.

  He expelled a string of Spanish words—curses mostly.

  After he finished blustering, I said, “Do you feel better?”

  “No. I’d feel better if you were here to witness my hand gestures while I pace like a madman. My frustration loses impact over the phone lines, chica.” I heard him snap his fingers. “Next time I’ll use FaceTime.”

  “Cool. That’ll give me time to perfect my resting bitch face.”

  “Anyway, we can talk about this in more detail when I see you tonight.”

  I frowned. “Did I forget we had plans?”

  “No. Davina has decided to throw a dinner party. It’ll be our usual group, so say you’ll come.” When I didn’t say yes right away, he said, “I’m making migas.”

  Ramon knew that would tempt me—I loved his migas and it had been ages since I’d had them. “All right. What time and what am I bringing?”

  “Show up after seven; we’ll eat at eight. Bring beer. You and Esteban are the only ones who drink it.”

  I fought a groan. I did not want to deal with Esteban.

  “Esteban is looking forward to seeing you again.”

  “When are you going to stop pushing your brother at me?”

  “When you agree to try one date with him,” Ramon said sweetly. “If you give it a chance, you’ll see that you two are a good fit.”

  My mind jumped to Walker. His dimpled smile. His compelling blue eyes. The easy banter between us. The way our mouths—and bodies—had fit together perfectly.

  Dammit. I’d been so eager to brag about my good fortune that I hadn’t considered that Walker might want to do something with me tonight.

  “Davina is yelling for me. Adios.”

  I stared at my phone. Being prideful always turned around and bit me.

  I hoped that wasn’t a precursor of how the rest of my day would go.

  —

  As promised, I had help from high school volunteers. They were eager and followed directions well, but I still had to direct them.

  It would’ve been ea
sier and faster to do everything myself. I had to keep reminding myself this was what the word “community” meant: multiple people working toward a common goal.

  But with five volunteers, we ran out of things to do right after noon. I hadn’t seen Walker all day, although I’d heard the saws going. I wondered if he’d been saddled with volunteers.

  As soon as I stepped outside, a blast of heat hit me like a glory hole furnace in a glassworking studio. I noticed a long extension cord ran to the only shaded area at the back of the lot. Big pieces of plywood rested against a tree.

  Walker stood between two sawhorses manning a jigsaw. He wore goggles and ear protection. Wood shavings covered his chest and dusted his hair. Even in the heat he wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. He looked so ruggedly delicious in work mode I just stopped and watched him.

  He must’ve sensed me because he glanced up after he shut the saw off and set it aside.

  Oh, that smile. Seeing it was like standing in a beam of sunshine that was just for me.

  As I meandered toward him, he tossed his gloves on the ground and brushed himself off. I wouldn’t have cared if he’d been covered in mud. I still would’ve wrapped myself around him.

  Walker kissed the top of my head. “Hey, beautiful. I’m glad to see you. I did wander into the set-painting room after I first arrived, but I saw you had a crew to supervise, so I didn’t bug you.”

  “Did you have volunteers?”

  “Nope. Guess teens and power tools aren’t a good idea.”

  I laughed. “Probably not. But teens are excellent with paintbrushes. We are completely caught up.”

  Walker groaned. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

  “I figured that. But until you get more sets done … there’s no reason for me to be here.”

  He sighed. “So you’re headed home?”

  “I have projects to work on there.”

  “Not all night, I hope. Because I wanted to take you out to dinner.” He nuzzled my ear. “Someplace secluded and romantic where we can get to know each other better.”

  I managed to keep from asking … In the biblical sense? “That sounds good … but …”