When I Need You (Need You #4)

Rowan laughed. “You are unbelievable. Stay there. I’ll grab it before I go.”

She wasn’t gone long. She handed me a plate wrapped in foil. “I baked brownies for Calder’s lunches this week. I had extra. I know you liked the other ones I brought over. So . . . enjoy.”

“Seriously?” That was really sweet. “This is awesome. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

I didn’t say anything flip. I was genuinely touched by her thoughtfulness.

“I’ve gotta go.” She walked backward down the hallway—so I wouldn’t ogle her ass?

Dammit. I had to be more discreet about that.

“I’ll want my plate back, Lund.”

And that was how the five-day streak of seeing Rowan Michaels stretched into ten days.

Monday night, I “borrowed” a cup of milk for my brownies. Which I then ate at Rowan’s table with her and Calder.

Tuesday the window in Calder’s bedroom had gotten stuck. Rowan asked if I could use my ridiculous amount of muscles for something useful and get it unstuck. I probably would’ve taken my shirt off—I’d seen the woman eyeballing my chest the first time we’d met—if her son hadn’t been around.

Wednesday I returned the plate. After I knew Calder had gone to bed. That garnered me an invitation to come in for coffee. Then Rowan and I ended up talking for an hour, not really noticing that both of our cups had gone cold.

Thursday Rowan and Calder stuck around and asked questions about my Corvette as I polished it after I’d spent the afternoon at the racetrack with my dad.

Even though Friday morning dawned gray, cold and chilly I looked forward to how the weekend would play out. And how much Rowan Michaels would play a part in it.





Eight


ROWAN




My head pounded.

I was soaked to the skin from the late-afternoon cloudburst.

My arms felt encased in concrete as I overloaded myself with grocery bags so I didn’t have to make two trips from the car to my apartment. The elevator doors opened and I managed to poke the number two with my elbow.

As the car ascended, I closed my eyes to block out the elevator’s reflection of the bedraggled woman staring back at me.

I needed wine. As soon as I changed into dry clothes and put the groceries away, I’d pour a glass or three to chase away the wet chill sinking into my bones.

I’d made it half the length of the hallway when Jensen stepped out of his apartment. The rustling of grocery bags alerted him to my presence and he glanced up.

“Hold on a second and let me help you.” Jensen started toward me.

“It’d be a huge help if you could just open the door to my apartment, please.”

He darted across the hall and knocked twice on my door before opening it. Then he said, “Stand back, incoming with supplies,” through the open doorway.

Calder and Alicia gaped at me as I hustled into the kitchen, near collapse from the weight of all the bags. Or maybe my straggly appearance caused their alarm. My clothes were dripping. Even my shoes were squishing, courtesy of the ankle-deep water I’d stepped into in the grocery store parking lot.

When I straightened up, I noticed Jensen frowning at me. Before I could snap off “What?” he loomed over me.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

He said, “You should’ve let me carry the bags.”

“I had it under control.”

His gaze did a head-to-toe sweep before he cocked an eyebrow at me as if to say Oh really?

I knew that I resembled a wet cat—not a look Mr. Tall, Blond and Muscled ever suffered from. I bet Jensen would look magnificent wet. Water zigzagging down the muscles in his chest until the droplets funneled into the grooves of his eight-pack abs. Or the stream of water diverted to that deeply cut V starting at his pelvis.

“Uh, Rowan?”

Evidently my brain had gotten waterlogged; a naked and wet Jensen Lund should not have been foremost on my mind.

I glanced over at Alicia. “Sorry I’m late. I know you have to go. I hope you brought an umbrella.”

She flashed a sympathetic smile. “This time of year I stash one in my car and one in my backpack.”

“Smart girl.”

Her gaze flicked to Jensen, then back to me. “Do you need me to stay until you get settled?”

“Thanks, but no. I’ll be fine once I get out of these wet clothes. Have a good weekend and I’ll see you Monday.”

As soon as she was out the door, Jensen said, “Calder, buddy, could you grab a couple of towels for your mom?”

“Sure!” He raced off.

I tried to peel my trench coat off but it was plastered to my arms. I tugged on one sleeve and the sodden fabric didn’t budge an inch. Plus, it didn’t help that my hands were freezing and I couldn’t get a decent grip.

“Let me do it,” Jensen said.

“I’m f-fine—”

“Stop.” Warm hands framed my face, and then Jensen tilted my head back. His fiery blue eyes bored into mine. “Suck it up and accept that I am helping you.”

His big, rough-skinned hands slipped down my throat to the base of my neck. Grabbing the lapels of my coat, he jerked with enough force to get it off on the first try.

Of course he’s practiced at getting a woman out of her clothes, my pride remarked snarkily.

Then Calder bumped into me and thrust two towels at him. “Here.”

“How about you help her dry off while I hang up her coat.” Jensen disappeared around the corner.

After handing me a towel, Calder dropped to the floor and mopped up puddles with the other one.

Tears sparked in my eyes. He was six years old. He shouldn’t be cleaning up after me. When he looked up and saw my tears, he said, “Mommy, why are you crying?”

“Because I’m lucky to have such a sweet, helpful boy.”

“And because she’s cold,” Jensen inserted. “So I think your mom needs to take a hot bath. While she’s doing that, we can put away the groceries. If there’s time left over, we could hang out and watch TV.” He waited until I looked at him. “How’s that sound, Mom?”

Like heaven.

“I know where everything goes,” Calder announced. “But I’m not supposed to climb on the counters.”

“Luckily I’m tall enough to reach the top of all the cupboards in here.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can do it after—”

“Mommy, your shoes are leaking,” Calder blurted out.

“Shoot. I’ll just—”

“Hang on to me while Calder takes off your shoes.” I started to protest, but Jensen was right there, his mouth on my ear. “Let him help.”

Grudgingly I leaned against Jensen, trying not to get him wet and lifted my right foot. Calder tugged hard on my slip-on athletic flat.

Water squished out.

After the left shoe was off, Jensen said, “Can you sneak those wet shoes in the closet, ninja-boy?”

“Yeah. They kinda smell bad.”

I glanced over to see Calder wrinkling his nose and holding my shoes at arm’s length as if they were coated in skunk oil.

Then Jensen leaned in to speak softly to me once more. “Do you trust me with your son?”

Jensen had been friendly to Calder this week—not in a pandering way, which I appreciated. I nodded.

Relief crossed his face. “Go take care of yourself. Warm up, relax. I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

“You don’t have plans tonight?”