The Hierarchy of Needs (The Portland Rebels #2)

by Rebecca Grace Allen

  She was happier than he’d ever seen her. It made him stand up tall, knowing he’d helped make that happen.

  She was encouraging him to find his way back to the arts too, but Dean wasn’t there yet. It was enough that she was putting together a new portfolio and applying to that fashion design program. She had no idea if it was going to work out, but she was taking a risk, and Dean was taking one with her.

  Coming up with a plan on how to make the restoration thing a reality had been a challenge, but it was one he was more than ready for. He’d shown his father the photographs he’d taken at the fair, ready to prove that what he had in mind would cost them some in the beginning, but would be worth it in the end.

  There’d been some grumbles, some doubts, even an argument or two, but they were on the same side now. Partners, for once.

  He’d had Connor update the business website to say that Trescott Auto Body would be offering classic car refurbishment soon. The calls they’d already gotten seemed to have been enough to get his father fired up over the idea. Dean caught him looking at that old photo of his grandfather, saying the most senior Trescott had always talked about fixing up an old Model T, and maybe they could do that someday.

  They’d even played around with the idea of leasing a company vehicle down the line, so Dean could bring his truck up to show quality.

  He was getting to call more of the shots in the garage too, and had finally gotten a glimpse at how hard this must’ve been for the old man all these years. Running a small local shop in a world of chains was no easy task.

  That was another reason Dean was putting off the photography thing. He wanted it to be part of his life, but the idea of going back to school for a degree in business was a lot more exciting. He didn’t know how soon, but that was okay. What mattered now was that doing more suddenly felt possible.

  Photography was something he could do in his downtime, and he’d started taking pictures whenever the moment struck him. The skyline outside his window at sunrise. Portland’s downtown sidewalk at dusk, alive with people.

  Racy ones of Jamie.

  The memory made him want to abandon everything he was doing, go upstairs and tackle her, right the fuck now. But she wasn’t going anywhere. The fears and worries about her moving on had all been him, a reflection of his upbringing, and that was a conversation he’d had to tackle too.

  He’d needed to talk to his mother.

  Calling her shouldn’t have taken as much effort as it did. After all, she tried to show she still cared through her elaborate gifts. If it weren’t for that camera, Dean wouldn’t be where he was today. But there were things that needed to be said, so he’d gotten her on the phone for a heart-to-heart.

  The conversation had been strained at first, because how exactly did you start things out with small talk before explaining to the woman who gave birth to you that her actions turned him into a man who was terrified of commitment?

  He’d finally ripped the Band-Aid off and asked, point blank:

  “Why didn’t you stick around? Didn’t you love Dad?”

  “Didn’t you love me?”

  She took it all in, and was so quiet for a few moments Dean was sure she’d hung up on him, severing their ties for good. She finally answered that love wasn’t the problem. Of course she loved him, and was sorry he even had to ask. She’d left because it was time, and she thought Dean had been old enough to handle it, and if she hadn’t loved his father, she wouldn’t have fought it out with him for so long. They simply grew apart, like so many people who fell for their best friend from high school and needed to move on.

  He hung up, knowing nothing had actually changed between them, but that hadn’t been the reason for his call. He’d needed to face head-on the reason he’d pushed Jamie away all these years: the idea that he’d play out his parents’ lives, and by virtue of that, ruin hers.

  He knew it was possible the same thing could happen for him and Jamie. They might eventually grow apart, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him anymore. He couldn’t, because the fact that he loved her was something he’d etched onto his skin years ago.

  He’d punched black stars out over his heart as a reminder not to fall in love, but it had been about her all along. Stars shine in darkness, giving hope of a new, better path. Her star was imprinted on him because he’d been drawn to her, to the way she sparkled.

  Jamie was the North Star missing from his compass.

  It was long past sunset by the time he and the guys finished for the day. Dean thanked everyone for coming, got a good, firm handshake from his father and some fist bumps from Connor and Mikey. He took the stairs two at a time to the second floor, forgetting to text Jamie in his eagerness to be near her.

  “Hey!” She shut off the sewing machine and stood in front of it. White, frilly fabric peeked out from behind her. “You were supposed to let me know you were on your way up.”

  He threw his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry.”

  “You should be.” The pout on her face was ridiculously adorable. He wanted to kiss it off her.

  “Can I least have a preview of what I’ll be wearing tonight?” he asked.

  She scampered toward him and retrieved her phone from her pocket. “Fine. I’ll show you the photo I got the inspiration from.”

  Dean looked at her instead of the screen, at the liveliness radiating from her. She’d shocked him last week by saying she was interested in getting a tattoo, and they’d stayed up late looking at pictures. She got all excited over one of a phoenix—a black body with wings the color of flame. She liked the idea of putting it on her lower back, saying the design symbolized her rising up from her own ashes. Starting over again.

  He liked the idea of it being on a place on her body only he would see.

  “Here.” She held up a photo of a girl in a tutu and a tiara kissing a guy dressed as—

  “Is he supposed to be the Tooth Fairy?”

  She giggled. Dean shook his head.

  “Oh no. You’re not parading me around in a giant pillow and a crown. I’m not doing it.”

  She had him pretty damn whipped, but he had to draw the line somewhere.

  Jamie rolled her eyes. “Relax. I said it was my inspiration. Not what I actually made.”

  The eye roll was almost as cute as her pout. He moved to put his arms around her, but she scurried back and pointed in the direction of the bathroom.

  “Don’t even think of touching me until you’ve showered.”

  Dean chuckled and did as he was told. He enjoyed her bossy side, and had gotten to see it in full force when he’d watched her coach one night. She was a fireball out there, and Dean had a feeling her renewed enthusiasm was a direct result of her turning down that promotion. She’d become more passionate in her pep talks, and the kids responded to her, taking longer strides in the water at her encouragement, attacking the water more vigorously when she clapped and shouted.

  She seemed to have finally found some meaning in what she was doing—fulfillment in propelling her students toward exciting futures of their own.

  He’d asked her to put the swimsuit and whistle back on when he’d gotten her home that night, and let her bark out some commands for him. It was a night he’d been glad to live in a commercial district, any neighbors too far away to hear them.

  She was no longer in the living room when Dean reemerged in a towel, the day’s grime washed away.

  “I’m in the bedroom,” she called out. “My costume’s finished.”

  He followed the sound of her voice, stopping short at the entrance.

  Tiny white dress. Frills that clung to her hips, barely covering her ass. White thigh-highs and matching heels. Shiny wings and a halo.

  Dean swallowed. “You made that?”

  “I did. I found the pattern online after that picture gave me the idea.” She twirled around. �
�Guess I don’t suck with a needle and thread after all.”

  She needed to stop talking about sucking. Not if she wanted to avoid ruining her costume.

  She slipped out of her shoes, crawled onto his bed and sat back on her heels. “You like?”

  He nodded gruffly. The ability to speak had escaped him.

  “I thought you might.” She stroked one toned thigh. Her fingers danced toward her panty line. “Since it’s been your fantasy for so long.”

  Just like that, the fuse that never seemed to die out blazed into flame.

  She crooked her other finger at him, beckoning him to the bed as she leaned back and spread her legs. Dean dropped the towel and staggered toward her. Mind blitzed. Body on overdrive. Her hand snaked beneath white satin panties. One slow circle of her finger over her clit and he groaned.

  “Do it,” he growled. “Let me see.”

  Jamie grinned, lush curls spread out over his pillows, the dirtiest angel imaginable. Dean sat down next to her, never taking his eyes away from what she was doing. He was hard in an instant, his dick stiff and begging for attention. Jamie reached for his hand with her free one and brought it to her mouth, tongue gliding along his palm.

  “Show me,” she said in between licks. “Show me what you’d do when you thought about me like this.”

  Dean cursed and wrapped his now-wet fingers around his cock. His hips rocked forward in time with hers, and he fought against the urge to take her as his dick slid into the tight circle of his fist. She’d orchestrated this for him, and the grandest gesture he could make right now was to watch her every move and show her how damn much he liked it.

  “Is the live show as good as the fantasy?” Jamie asked, breathless.

  “Better.”

  It was better than he’d ever dreamed. She was his sin and his salvation, all wrapped up in one pretty little package, moaning softly on his bed. She arched, jostling the halo, and something about seeing her all disheveled made it that much hotter.

  He wasn’t going to last long. And apparently, neither was she. Her breathing skipped to that pattern of rapid, shuddery inhales.

  “Keep looking at me,” she begged. “Love it when you stare at me like that.”

  “Love watching you,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Sexiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Her free hand shot back to clutch the pillow behind her. “Dean—”

  Her release seemed to split her in two, a powerful force that brought him there too, and Dean grabbed the towel before he made a mess of both of them.

  Catching her breath, Jamie sat up and kissed his neck, a long, hot slip of her mouth on the column of his throat. He hissed when she scraped her teeth over the spot she knew he liked.

  “All right,” he said. “If you’ve got that on, then what’s my costume? The devil?”

  “It’s a surprise. Close your eyes.”

  Dean chucked the ruined towel to the floor and leaned back against the bed. It was funny to sit here with his eyes closed, when he’d spent his life getting his kicks from having them open. Taking photos, fixing cars, getting a woman off—they were all based on him noticing things, when he’d failed to notice something essential about himself.

  He’d thought he’d been keeping sex and emotions separate, but he’d been lying to himself all along. He’d been avoiding what he wanted most, thinking he was fulfilling his basic needs, but he’d had it backwards.

  He was living without love. Surviving when he should’ve been thriving.

  He should go back to school and thank his guidance counselor for making him take that art class. Shake the hand of his detention teacher. Tell them Dean Trescott finally made something of himself. But that wasn’t really what he needed.

  “You can open your eyes now.”

  She was standing by the bed, her hands empty except for her phone and a bag of Halloween candy.

  “Uh, it’s kinda cold out there if your plan is to have me going to this party naked.”

  “I thought we’d stay here instead. Just you, me and Michael.”

  Dean frowned. “Michael?” He knew she was kinky, but not threesome-with-one-of-his-buddies kinky.

  Jamie pressed a button on her phone. Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” blasted from the speaker. Dean shook his head and laughed.

  “Were we ever going to a party at all?”

  “Nah. It was just an excuse to make this costume for you.”

  Dean sat up and grabbed her, pulling her flush against him. She really was a prankster. His troublemaking fashionista jock.

  “You’re nuts, you know that?”

  Jamie grinned. “Yeah, but that’s why you like me.”

  “Love you,” he corrected.

  And there was nothing more Dean needed than that.

  About the Author

  Rebecca Grace Allen spent her summers as a child amongst the rocky shores of Southern Maine, and considers New England to be her second home. She holds a Bachelor of Arts in English with a double concentration in Creative Writing and Literary Comparison as well as a Master of Science degree in Elementary Education, both of which seemed like good ideas at the time. After stumbling through careers in entertainment, publishing, law and teaching, she’s returned to her first love: writing. A self-admitted caffeine addict and gym rat, she currently lives in upstate New York with her husband, two parakeets, and a cat with a very unusual foot fetish.

  You can find Rebecca online at www.rebeccagraceallen.com, on twitter at @RGraceAllen, or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/rebeccagrace.allen.

  Look for these titles by Rebecca Grace Allen

  Now Available:

  The Portland Rebels

  The Duality Principle

  Coming Soon:

  Legally Bound

  His Contract

  Don’t miss these other titles from Samhain Publishing

  Sometimes A + B = O. Yes. Oh, yes. Just like that.

  The Portland Rebels, Book 1

  Gabriella Evans’s life exists in terms of logic and definitions. She’s holed up in Portland, Maine, for the summer to work on her PhD thesis, but something is screwing up her concentration: the rumble of a motorcycle every time the embodiment of her rough-and-tumble fantasies rides down her street.

  When her best friend talks her into a blind date, she finds herself out with the opposite of her fantasy. He’s polite and well-mannered, yet something behind his crisply tailored shirt doesn’t add up—a rebellious gleam in his eye that piques her curiosity.

  Orphaned at fifteen, Connor Starks has finally put the years of failing grades, breaking laws and breaking hearts behind him. The only holdover? His penchant for getting down and dirty in public places. But Gabriella makes him want to prove he’s become a better man.

  Nothing intrigues Gabriella more than a problem she can’t solve. But the more Connor tries to bury his past, the more determined she is to uncover it. And what she finds makes all her trusty logic begin to fail her…

  Warning: This book contains a summer romance, dirty talk, dockside kissing, motorcycles and tattoos. Features a rebellious nerdy girl with an appetite for outdoor sex and light spanking, and a bad boy who’s turned good…or at least he’s trying.

  When it comes to love, go big or go home.

  Bend or Break, Book 3

  Charles “Cash” Carmichael traded his high-rise condo and family-firm career for a job coaching soccer for Chicago’s inner-city kids. He’s adjusting to living on minimum wage when his young cousin, newly out and running away from home, shows up on his less-than-luxurious doorstep.

  Angsty teens definitely aren’t Cash’s thing. He needs local backup, and there’s only one name he can think of: Stephany Tyler. Back in the day, the bisexual Steph was the perfect friend with benefits until she fell in love with a woman.

  To hi
s relief, his former friend steps up to the plate. Soon, though, Cash finds himself feeling the familiar need to keep her in his bed, and in his life. But Steph, burned by the ex-girlfriend and by the absentee dad she’s been trying to connect with, won’t risk her heart again.

  Good thing Cash believes in leaving it all on the field. If he can just convince Steph to get in the game, there’s a chance they can both win.

  Warning: This book contains ex-friends with benefits crossing boundaries a second time, several steamy encounters on staircases, copious discussions about gay sex from a “straight” guy, a shout-out to magic buttons, and an especially memorable going away threesome.

  Sex may sell, but their deal doesn’t include love…

  Brew Crew, Book 1

  Account Director Sloane Granderson has been given her orders by the CEO—tone down the antics of the “Brew Crew”, the guys at Huxworth Packard Advertising who work on their biggest account. Sure, they’re all puffed up, strutting egos, but they’re also the best and brightest creatives in Chicago. Including the newest recruit, disturbingly attractive Levi Wolcott.

  Award-winning copywriter Levi is pumped to have been headhunted to Huxworth Packard to work on the beer account. But he’s not off to a good start when he and Sloane first meet in an embarrassing encounter in a hotel hall, and the Brew Crew’s merciless new-guy hazing doesn’t improve his shaky first impression. Even worse, Levi can’t ignore the intense attraction he has to Sloane.

  Despite their mutual “hell no” when it comes to love, a moment of weakness makes Sloan and Levi believe business and pleasure can be kept separate, and maybe a little harmless sex isn’t that dangerous.