More Than Need You Read online

  She shrugs. “I’m good with whatever. I’m going to shower.”

  “Sure. It will be ready when you come out.”

  After a little poking around, I find the fixings to make her a chicken quesadilla with some homemade salsa. I boil up some instant rice and doctor it with spices to make it a tad more authentic.

  By the time I finish, she’s walking out of the bathroom, looking squeaky and fresh, with a towel wrapped around her head, wearing a matching cotton cami and shorts that double as pajamas.

  It’s not sexy. All the essentials are covered, and she’s not dolled up in the least. But she’s coming toward me with a smile, and that’s all it takes these days for my body to flash hot and for me to want her.

  Vaguely, I think back to the last time I had sex. Was that only ten days ago? Feels like a lifetime. Yet I’m aware that if you gave me a choice between whatever-her-name-was in the killer stilettos and skimpy dress or Britta in her jammies and turban, I’d absolutely take the woman I love. Even sick. Even though I’m sure nothing will happen between us tonight. I’m exactly where I want to be.

  She sits at the table, and I put a bottle of water, her antibiotics, and some ibuprofen in front of her. “Eat up.”

  “What about you?” She frowns my way.

  “I had an early dinner with Keeley since she came off the plane starved. Want me to bathe Jamie while you fill your belly?”

  She glances at the clock. “Do you mind?”

  I wonder if Makaio ever helps her with my son like this. I suspect he doesn’t get involved too much, but I’m kind of hoping he doesn’t lift a finger with Jamie. He probably tells himself that he doesn’t want to step on Britta’s toes. Deep down, does he think my son is baggage? I suspect he does. I’ll bet that’s why he was more than happy to help me obtain some custodial rights, so he’ll have Britta all to himself every other weekend. I don’t know whether to be glad or disgusted. Either way, he’ll soon be out of the picture.

  “Not at all. I love spending time with him. But I learned a valuable lesson last night not to encourage too much splashing or I have a hard time keeping his cast dry. And most of the water in the tub winds up on the floor.”

  That earns me a smile that becomes a gentle laugh. “Yes. He never does anything halfway. Always full throttle for that kid. He’s a lot like you.”

  “Poor guy.” I wink at her, then glance at him over my shoulder. He’s moved on to his trucks and is making vroom sounds as he rolls one across the hardwood.

  Britta forks in a bite of the dinner I’ve prepared and her eyes widen. She gives me a look of surprise. “This is actually good. You can cook now.”

  Secretly, I’m pleased she thinks so. “Not too hard to follow a recipe. Need anything else before we get started?”

  “I’m good. Thanks.” She gives me a little smile that makes me feel warm inside. “For everything.”

  After bathing my son and dressing him in pajamas, I help him brush his teeth, then take him to Britta for a kiss. When she presses her lips to his cheek, he fights my hold to sit in her lap. He wants Mommy, and it’s obvious they’re close. I have to take him to his room and sit him in my lap to soothe him with a few stories and some pats on the back.

  It doesn’t take long before he’s yawning, little fist covering his mouth, his eyes droopy.

  “Night, Jamie.”

  When I hug him, he presses a sleepy, sloppy kiss on my cheek.

  My heart melts, even as my determination to hang on to my son solidifies into steel. No one—especially not some fucking banker—will ever be Jamie’s father but me.

  I set him in his crib, and he rolls over with his stuffed animal and his thumb. His breathing evens out and deepens almost instantly.

  I’m sure I’m hardly the first father to think this about their kid, but he’s amazing. He’s a little individual. He’s got a smile I’d know anywhere. He’s got a cowlick in the back of his head, a small splatter of freckles, and a tiny gap in his teeth. I’ve memorized them all. Everything about him is adorable.

  I come back to find Britta on the sofa, curled up with a blanket, head resting on the back. The TV is running softly in the background. She’s asleep.

  A glance around tells me she’s already cleaned up the kitchen. I’d chastise her if she didn’t need her rest.

  I settle beside her on the couch and flip a few channels, coming to some basketball recap on ESPN. I’ve been trying to keep up with the college games. March Madness is right around the corner. But I can only smell Britta’s light scent—jasmine and clean skin.

  With a moan, she rolls and shifts her weight to one hip, clearly trying to get comfortable. Her head slides off the back of the sofa and hangs awkwardly against her chest. She looks damn uncomfortable. If I don’t do something, she’s going to wake up with a stiff neck or a headache.

  Okay, that might not be the only reason I decide to touch her. And yes, I know she’s sick. I’m not planning to seduce her…just get a little closer.

  I sidle against her and dip my shoulder under her head until she’s using me as a pillow. In her sleep, she shifts around, seemingly looking for a more comfortable position. Her hand drops to my thigh.

  My entire body goes tense.

  I want this woman.

  I admit I always want sex. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve turned it down in my life, and most of them were from a former co-worker’s wife. I do have a few boundaries. But what I feel for Britta is beyond desire. She’s…comfortable. That sounds unsexy, I’m guessing. But what I mean is, I don’t have to pretend with her. Britta Stone is kind, reliable, funny, sensitive, sharp, interesting… My feelings are real, and as I sit here with her head on my shoulder, I realize that no matter how many women I slept with in the thirty-nine months we’ve been apart, I never found anyone as perfect for me as her.

  It’s reassuring in a way, the validation that my love isn’t mere nostalgia. I can picture her asleep as she cuddles up next to me in thirty years, when we’re talking about things like retirement and grandkids and cruises around the world.

  Oddly, I’m looking forward to sharing all those adventures with her.

  When she shifts her body for the tenth time in as many minutes, I decide enough is enough and lift her into bed. Her sheets are still rumpled from last night, and I tuck her into the cloud of softness, then shut the door so she can rest peacefully.

  I’m not really sure what I’m going to do with the rest of my evening. I flip more channels, talk to my brother about a lead he got late this afternoon on the Stowe estate—shockingly fast for a property ringing in at nearly thirty million dollars—and pace a lot, wondering if I should check on Britta again.

  Then a phone rings somewhere in the house. It’s not mine.

  I follow the sound into the kitchen and see Britta’s phone lighting up and vibrating its way across the table. A glance at the display has me cursing.

  Makaio.

  I figured out a long time ago that he’s nothing like me, but in his shoes, if my sick woman didn’t answer her phone I’d get my ass in the car and head over to her house to make sure everything is all right.

  I don’t need him here, fucking up my domestic bliss and reminding Britta that she thinks she’s moved on.

  “Hello,” I answer. I don’t try to sound unfriendly, but I’m pissed that he won’t go the fuck away.

  It’s unrealistic, since he thinks he’s marrying Britta, I know. But he’s totally wrong.

  “Um…hi. What are you doing—”

  “Answering Britta’s phone? She’s asleep.” Dipshit. “She’s really sick. I took her to the doctor today and got her some antibiotics. She should be better in a few days.” You’re welcome, prick. “No cause for concern.”

  “You? And why are you at her house?”

  “She’s far too sick to take care of a toddler, and Jamie is my son. This is a good opportunity to get to know him and let him be comfortable with me while making sure he doesn’t catch w
hatever bug Britta’s got.”

  “Well… I-I…” He sounds as if he doesn’t like it and is looking for a logical reason to dislodge me from Britta’s place. “It’s almost nine thirty. Isn’t Jamie in bed?”

  “Yep. Now I’m just hanging out in case he has nightmares. I put Britta in the master bedroom so that if he starts screaming, she won’t hear. The doctor told her to get plenty of rest. I’m making sure she gets it.”

  “If I had known she was truly that sick, I would have taken care of her.”

  Who is he lying to, me or himself?

  “Sure. I’m going to sleep now,” I brush him off. I just can’t talk to this dude anymore. “In the morning, I’ll tell Britta you called.”

  “You’re staying the night there?”

  He hadn’t gotten that picture yet? I try not to sigh. “Yeah. In the room next to Jamie’s. I’m there when he needs me.”

  “Oh. Well. Yeah, if she’s really that sick. All right. I’ll…um, see them tomorrow.”

  Hopefully not. “Bye.”

  I hang up before Makaio can say another word. He’s an ass and I don’t like him. And yes, I’m jealous as hell knowing that Britta has had sex with him. I can’t admonish her for having a life after I left her. I’ve had plenty since our split. Doesn’t mean I like it.

  It does mean I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure the rest of her life is with me.

  Tomorrow, if she feels better, it’s so on.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Friday afternoon, Maxon and I are conferring in his office. I swiped the carseat from Britta’s car, and daycare allowed me to drop Jamie off with a phone call from his mother. But I have no idea how I’ll pick him up again at the end of the day. I’ll have to work that out with Britta soon, but for now I refrain from calling to check on her in case she’s asleep.

  “I have a hunch who our potential buyer might be,” my brother says, barging into my thoughts.

  “For the Stowe estate?” At his nod, I shrug. “Let me have your brilliant speculation.”

  “Well, the buyer’s representative said she was previewing for a wealthy, high-profile client who’s been living in Dallas, but he wants to return to his home state and is looking for privacy.”

  This is the first I’m hearing of this conversation, but immediately one name springs to mind. “Noah Weston.”

  “Yes. Exactly. He just retired from the NFL.”

  “Hall-of-Famer, for sure.” I nod. “You’re right. He’s originally from Honolulu, isn’t he? But he’s been playing in Dallas for most of his career. The guy gets hounded by the press everywhere he goes, so naturally he would want privacy.”

  “And I doubt money is an object,” Maxon drawls. “Holy shit. I always wanted to sell this place, but to a guy like Weston?”

  “The cherry on top,” I agree. “Any chance he’s coming along to view the house, too?”

  My brother shakes his head. “His rep is flying out alone next week. She’ll let us know exactly when. But apparently, her client just sold his house in Texas and will be ready to make the move quickly. I know the Stowes are eager to unload this place. If the rep likes the property…this might work out.”

  I’m salivating at the thought. “Hot damn. I’d like the paycheck. And I’d love to meet that guy.”

  “Me, too. Both would be epic.”

  We meet celebrities from time to time when they decide Maui would be a great place to keep a getaway. But… “Noah Weston is a man’s man and a stud on the field. From what I hear, he’s not a douchebag off the field, either.”

  “Right? He seems cool.”

  I laugh. “We sound a little like fan girls at a Bieber concert.”

  “Yeah.” Maxon grins. “Good thing Rob took the day off. He, like, worships the guy. He’d be leg humping us for even the suggestion that he might get to meet Weston someday.”

  “Watch…” I say cynically. “This buyer will be some old oil executive who’s had enough of corporate life and wants his slice of paradise.”

  Maxon chuckles in return. “You’re probably right.”

  A noise at the office door has me whirling around. I’m stunned to see Britta coming in. She’s wearing black yoga pants, a tank top with a Shaka sign that reads HANG LOOSE, and some flip-flops. Her hair is in a ponytail. Her face is white as a sheet, except her nose, which looks red from blowing it.

  I jump to my feet and rush over to her. She looks even frailer up close, and it’s all I can do not to put my arms around her. “What are you doing here, angel?”

  She won’t meet my gaze. “Just grabbing some work to take home and Jamie’s carseat before I pick him up.”

  “I would have brought it and him out to you.” If she’d let me. I frown her way. “You should be in bed.”

  “I feel a lot better this afternoon. I couldn’t lie around anymore. And you don’t need to make another trip out to the house. I appreciate everything you did, but I’ve got it under control now.”

  “It was my pleasure,” I assure her. “I’m happy to spend the evening with you two tonight. I’ll cook something more exciting—”

  “Makaio is back.”

  And she let him in. After he failed to take care of her? After he left Jamie to get sick because he didn’t want germs? Yep, I see she’s wearing her engagement ring again.

  Goddamn it.

  “Can I see Jamie this weekend?” I won’t last a whole weekend without him, and when I visit, Britta will have to see me, too. Maybe she’ll remember how good it felt to spend time together over the last few days and decide that Banker Butthole isn’t for her.

  “I don’t think that’s going to work out.” She swallows nervously. “Iolana, Makaio’s sister, is going to keep him this weekend. Um…Makaio wants to take me away since we missed Valentine’s Day.”

  I see red.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her if the way I took care of her and Jamie over the last two days mattered at all. I can’t, even if I think it did mean something to her. That’s why she won’t quite look at me. She feels guilty. But the bottom line is, she’s still engaged to Makaio Kāle. Until that’s off, she’s going to choose him every time.

  “Am I supposed to be happy?” It’s kind of a dick reply. Since I’m feeling like a deeply pissed-off dick, it fits. “I love you and he’s not right for you.”

  She flinches. “That’s not your decision.”

  “I think you still have feelings for me.”

  “You’re wrong.” Now her voice is shaking, like she’s more nervous than before.

  “So what did that kiss on your bed mean, Britta? What was that about?”

  “You confused me for a few minutes. But I’m going to marry the man who, despite whatever conclusion you’ve drawn from these last few days, will stay with me.”

  I grit my teeth and hold in my temper. The old me would have blown up and walked off, waited for her to apologize. And if she didn’t, I’d have needled her until she did because her words hurt me. The me now acknowledges that I shredded her heart and put her through hell. Just walking back into her life because I claim to be a good guy who’s gotten my shit together now is unreasonable.

  But, fuck, my patience is wearing thin.

  “Tell me something I can do to prove I’ll never leave you again. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

  She shakes her head. “He came to see me after his presentation this morning, took off work to check on me. We talked.” She draws in a shaky breath. “He wants to get married on April fifteenth. I agreed.”

  Her words seize the air from my lungs, then take a sledgehammer to my heart. “Of this year?”

  “In eight weeks. Yes.”