Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
About the Author
More from This Author
Also Available
Need Me
Shelley K. Wall
Avon, Massachusetts
Copyright © 2015 by Shelley K. Wall.
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.
Published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.
www.crimsonromance.com
ISBN 10: 1-4405-8402-8
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8402-2
eISBN 10: 1-4405-8403-6
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8403-9
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © iStockphoto.com
During the writing of this book, I lost a dear and true friend. He taught me the meaning of strength, loyalty, and perseverance in his nine years with us. He has influenced a canine character in many of my books, this one included, and though his time in my life was short, it will be permanently etched in my soul. Anyone who has had a pet as wonderful as our English mastiff, Conan, can appreciate these words.
Conan stood diligently in our driveway watching the passersby, likely amused at their intimidated reactions. He went on vacation with us, helped our boys meet girls, protected our daughter from harm and our property from intrusion, and gave us many a wonderful dog-hug while drooling all over us. Additionally, he showed our other dogs the right place to pee and how to guard his dominion properly.
Two weeks before the final manuscript for this book was submitted, I let him outside to water his normal spots. He strolled behind the foliage in our yard, laid his head over a paw, and slumbered into his next life.
His antics over the years have added a lot of humor and love to our life (see my blog post about his fight with a baby raccoon) and I pray that his time with us was as good as ours with him.
Cheers, Conan.
For my kids ... I write romance because there is only one emotion in our life that every single being on the planet seeks, and that is love. Yes, it may sound corny, but it’s true—and anyone who scoffs at that wisdom is full of crap. May you find it, give it, feel it, and nurture it for the rest of your life.
Lastly, because writing is a frustrating and very solitary profession—I must be thankful for my husband’s patience as I waffle from ecstatic celebration to complete despair. Thank you for our life together and your words of wisdom ... it only takes one, you just never know which. So keep writing until you find it.
Acknowledgments
I must acknowledge Dawn Dowdle of Blue Ridge Literary, who saw a spark in my books and helped bring them to publication. I appreciate her insight and efforts. Additionally I want to recognize my friend Cindy Davis for her editorial advice and friendship during my writing efforts. I also wanted to give a special tribute to Jess Verdi, whose expert eye found many holes in this story. Her advice helped to strengthen the final product and make me fall in love with my characters even more.
My sincere appreciation to Tara, Jess, and Julie at Crimson Romance for their guidance with this series and their continued positive and professional support. They are a wonderful team.
Author’s Note
The events in this novel unfold simultaneously with the events of the first two books of this series: Text Me, which follows Carter’s romance with Abby, and Find Me, which follows Jackson’s romance with Amanda. This is Caroline and Roger’s story.
Chapter One
Six years ago…
Caroline Sanders sat in her silver-bullet gray Land Rover outside frat house row. She loved the way the buildings looked—so clean and perfectly manicured. Sure, the frat boys inside were party animals bent on throwing their parents into financial ruin while they drank, chased girls, and studied-slash-cheated their way to fancy degrees. Tonight was no exception. The red traffic light glared at her while rap music blared from the house to her right. Geeze, a party on a Thursday night? Don’t they have exams like the rest of us?
She’d just finished one of the many photography gigs that helped pay the bills while she pursued that elusive journalism degree. The traffic light switched to green, but just as she moved her foot to the gas pedal, her passenger door flew open and a bulky frame dropped into her seat. Was she getting carjacked?
“Go. Go. Come on, the light’s green.” The panicked student-looking carjacker shoved the dash as if to propel them forward.
Caroline didn’t budge. She took in the wavy, brown hair that fell over chocolate eyes, the dimpled face that gave away a propensity to laugh regardless of his current fear. He didn’t look like a criminal. His clothes were clean, though tattered, and he held a can of something in his hand. Not beer. She glanced at his gold fingers. Spray paint?
She lifted a brow then looked behind him. On the trunk of the tree in the front yard of the beautiful house was a haphazard drawing in gold—of a kid whizzing on the tree. How childish. “You did not just do that. What are you, twelve?”
Footsteps thundered toward the car. “You’d better hit the gas unless you want to get blamed, too.” The guy reached a foot over the console and slammed his flip-flop-clad toes over hers.
Against her will, she sped through the light. He kept his foot in place. No chance of turning at the current speed. Another green light accommodated their escape.
A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed half a dozen preppies standing in the street watching their taillights. Gulp. They probably had memorized her plate number.
“You realize you just made me an accomplice to whatever happened back there. Please tell me I won’t be tracked down for vandalism.”
The guy gave her a quick preview of the dimpled smile he probably used frequently. “Don’t worry, I painted over your license plate before I got in the car. You’re safe.”
Oh, that’s comforting.
He returned his leg to the passenger seat and glanced out the window. “You can pull over up there and drop me off. My house is a couple blocks away.”
Caroline shook her head. “No way. You jump in my car after doing ... whatever you did back there ... and my car is probably the only thing all those guys remember. Plus there’s gold pa
int on my license plate that just happens to match the crime scene—”
“There’s no crime ... or at least nothing serious. You’ve read too many spy novels. That was payback. Besides, they won’t report anything because they don’t want us to report them.” He rolled the window down. As they passed the lake in front of the student union, he flung the can out hard. Splash.
“Yes, and you just tossed the only thing that linked you to the artwork you left behind. Now my gold-enhanced license plate makes things even worse. No sir, I am not taking you all the way home so I know where you live if someone comes after me. Better yet, why don’t I just circle around and drop you right back where I found you?”
The dimples went still. “You wouldn’t do that, would you? They’d beat both of us into oblivion.”
She gave him a look of intimidation. “Not me. I’d just tell the truth. You, on the other hand, would be in deep shit.”
His Adam’s apple lunged. Was her ruse working? He sighed. “Something tells me you’d get a kick out of that—watching me get schooled.” He closed the window.
Using her best crazy eyes, she nodded. “You have no idea.”
“Okay, turn up there.” He pointed at a stop sign.
Caroline listened as the guy gave her directions to his home—which wasn’t really a home. It was another frat house. Great. He’d pulled her into some sort of fraternity rivalry. It was her senior year, and she’d managed to get this far without any huge explosion. Now this.
“You live here? Seriously?”
“No. I live off campus, but I’m a member. I figured you’d want to know what it was all about. Come on.” He stepped out of the car and slammed the door.
Should she follow? Part of her wanted to just hit the gas and leave. Remember the gold paint on your car? He should at least clean up his mess. He was halfway up the drive by now, but Caroline remained in the car. “Why should I follow you into that den of sweaty socks and dried beer?” she called out the open window.
He’d kicked off his flip-flops and was now barefoot. He shoved his hands into the pocket of his jeans, which cupped his lower body lovingly, and plodded across the thick grass. “Because you’re curious,” he called back. “You’re dying to know what they did to us. Why else would we want to paint cartoons of little boys pissing on their trees and mooning them on their windows, or fill their vending machines with K-Y Jelly?”
He had a point. Wait, he’d painted little boys baring their asses on the windows? She hadn’t seen that. “Okay. You’re right. I’m curious.” She ignored the lubricant comment because that was just plain gross. With a turn of the wrist, she killed the engine and pulled out her keys. She shoved the driver’s door shut and plodded toward him. “Aren’t you worried you’ll stub a toe or step on some glass?”
He grinned. Damn those dimples. They made him look like a devilish preteen prankster, naïve and on the verge of manhood. His looks obviously were deceiving, since he had to be her age. “The lawn crew cuts the grass on Mondays, so it’s extra thick by the weekend. I like the way it feels on my toes.”
He acted like a preteen too. He reached for her, beckoning with a single finger—and those dimples. Totally wicked. She followed him through the building and into a grassy expanse of yard, complete with pool and spa. Beyond were ... tennis courts? So, this is how the rich kids live.
The yard was perfectly landscaped, hedges trimmed, grass low and firm. Three smallish trees stood near their path. Oddly, they were already covered, although winter was over a month away.
“See?” He pointed toward the trees.
Caroline shook her head. “No.”
“The trees.”
She crossed her arms and stepped toward them. Several boxes were scattered at the roots, and the tree covering was wrapped around top and clung down the trunk, like a—condom. Oh. Funny. The tree condoms came complete with the word Trojan painted on the fabric.
“Well, it’s certainly creative.” She clamped her lips tight.
“You think it’s funny.” Two guys stepped into the grass with beers, and he nodded their way. “She thinks it’s funny.”
The shorter of the two shrugged and cracked his knuckles against his chin. “It is.”
Caroline giggled. “I don’t see what the big deal is. Just take it off.”
He pointed over her shoulder. “You mean like we did on those two?”
Caroline rotated and dropped her mouth. The two trees he referred to were trimmed like the top of a guy’s privates. The shrubs below had been trimmed to resemble the balls. She stuffed a hand over her mouth to keep from spewing laughter.
He rolled his eyes. “We’re supposed to have a party this weekend with the Zetas. Not a very classy way to make a good impression.”
It wasn’t the right time to debate whether frat guys really cared about classy impressions or not. She sucked in air and calmed herself. “Well, it’s immature I guess, but hey, so is spray-painting little peeing cartoon figures on their trees. And I won’t even comment on the lubricant supply. Besides, all you need to do is throw a sheet or something else over them and call it good.”
He shook his head. “You really don’t get it.”
That’s right, she didn’t. Nor did she care. She needed to get home and go to sleep because she had an exam at nine. She was a serious student. “Doesn’t matter. I have to leave.”
He followed her to the car and stopped when Caroline circled to unlock the door.
“Hey,” she leaned over the top, “I want you to clean this damn paint off my car. You do that, and I’ll leave things alone. I’m about to graduate, and the last thing I need is trouble. Okay?”
He jogged around the car and held out a hand to shake on their agreement. “You’ve got it. Where do you live? I’ll come pick up the car tomorrow, and we’ll detail it and everything.”
Right. “Oh no you don’t. I’ve seen your creative skills. I just want the paint removed so I don’t get accused of being a part of your prank. The rest of my car can stay as-is.”
She pulled a paper from her backpack, wrote down her name and address, gave it to him, and left. Hopefully the other fraternity wouldn’t report the paint prank to the police. She’d be able to make it one night with a gold license plate.
At her apartment, she unlocked the door and tiptoed past her roommate, Lyra, who was asleep with the current love of her life on the couch. The girl changed boyfriends like Caroline switched camera lenses.
Caroline crawled into bed. “Oh, crap.” She slammed a palm to her head.
“What?” Lyra blurted sleepily from the other room.
“I don’t even know his name.”
“Who?” The voice was closer. At the bedroom door.
Caroline yawned and rolled to her side. “The guy I was with tonight.” She let her eyes fall closed.
Lyra giggled. “And you say I’m bad.”
Oops. Caroline didn’t bother to correct the misconception. “You are.”
Chapter Two
Roger Freeman stood on the balcony of his third-floor apartment and weighed his choices. He could probably bypass the commitment to clean the paint off Caroline's car because he hadn’t given his name. She knew what house he belonged to, but that was all. He only went there for social events, so she’d never find him.
He sighed.
It was the wrong thing to do. In reality, he should have stayed home last night. He had worked and studied so much lately that he needed a break. He could just hear his mom saying, “Haven’t I taught you better?” Of course, she’d also say that about his artistic painting skills.
Besides Caroline had amazing eyes—wide set with a slight tilt that made her look like some exotic Disney princess. Even more interesting was her fiery wit, which implied a deep-seated intellect and sense of humor. She wasn’t like most of the college girls at frat parties, who seemed to be there for the sole purpose of seeking a husband.
A scratching noise caught his attention and he slid the door open. H
e rubbed the dog’s velvety-soft ears. “Hey, Conan. Come on out, buddy.” His dog was the main reason he wanted to live off campus—plus the fact that it was impossible to study with all the noise and drama in that festering frat house.
The dog whimpered and leaned against his leg.
“Want to go for a drive, buddy? You can help me wash a car.”
The oversized puppy barked once and circled with his tail wagging. The tail wagged and shook like an epileptic bat. Roger had learned early on to clear all clutter from the tables and shelves. Conan’s tail swept away, often breaking anything under two feet off the ground. The mastiff mix weighed seventy pounds at six months and stood almost to Roger’s crotch.
Ruff.
“Okay, you talked me into it. Let me get the keys.”
He pulled the paper from his jeans and checked the name and address. Caroline Sanders. Nice, kind of old-fashioned. He was glad she hadn’t shortened it to Carol. No phone number. Smart, too.
Hmmm. “Let’s go, bud.” He motioned toward the car, and Conan bolted down the steps in a rumbling mass of scratching toenail and pounding paws. He also left a few drool drops on the steps. There was an elevator on the inside hallway of the apartments, but the dog preferred taking the stairs. Besides, Roger had never liked elevators all that much anyway.
Roger lowered the window of his aged Land Rover so Conan could hang his head out and enjoy the ride. Her vehicle had been the reason he chose Caroline. It was almost identical to his except the color. He knew the locks wouldn’t click automatically and hoped the passenger side door would open. It had been a good gamble.
When he pulled up to the weathered and ancient cottage-style house, the dog returned his head to the car and glanced at Roger as if to ask, “Here?”
“This is it.” Roger open the door, and Conan bound over him into the street. The dog waited while he extricated himself and then followed him to the porch.
Like many off-campus accommodations, the house was in dire need of repair. Grayish paint flecked from the siding, and the rail around the porch missed a few slats. He noted a plethora of pots filled with plants and flowers. Hers?
Need Me Page 1
