When I Need You (Need You #4)

“You’re beautiful every night, Rowan.” Jensen’s lips found mine. There was nothing sweet and fast about this kiss. Nothing tentative about it, but he took his time exploring my mouth and my reactions. His fingers stroked the curve of my ass with such deliberate sensuality that my knees went a little weak. When I didn’t bat his hand away, the next thing I knew, both hands were caressing my butt. Squeezing and teasing and rocking my pelvis against his so I could feel how I affected him.

The heat generated between us sent my nerve endings into overdrive. I tingled from head to toe. My heart raced and I’d never experienced such a sense of urgency. The only thing that would calm the growing wildness inside me was more of his confident caresses, more mouth to skin contact, more . . . everything.

The stairs creaked, and voices echoed up to us.

Keeping me sheltered by his body, he spun me around and walked us backward. His eyes held such intensity my belly swooped. “Can we get out of here as soon as I’m done with this?”

“Please.”

He parked me at a table and dropped a firm kiss on my lips.

Ash and Nolan joined us. They trash-talked him until Jensen walked up to the DJ station.

Simone’s regular customers sat on the far side of the bar.

Jensen returned after he made his song selection.

Nolan handed him a bottle of water. “Thought you might need to clear the frog out of your throat, Kermit.”

“I’d skip trying out for open mike night at the comedy club, Nolan.”

Ash snickered.

Jensen held out his hand. “Gimme my damn keys.”

Simone had the microphone and she said, “JB, come on up. You’re the next contestant on Name That Karaoke Tune. And please, no help from the audience.”

My stomach knotted when Jensen lumbered up to the front like his feet were encased in concrete. He fussed with the microphone, keeping his head down. I was tempted to race up, snatch the mike from his hands and tell him he had nothing to prove to his cousins.

As Jensen adjusted his ball cap and waited for the DJ to cue the music, I’d regretted every comment I’d cracked about his lack of experience in the arts.

There were four beats and the song kicked in.

At first, I thought the DJ had forgotten to mute the vocals because the sound coming out of the speakers . . . sounded exactly like the recording.

Exactly.

My jaw dropped when I realized that was Jensen belting out “Rich Girl” like he was auditioning for Hall and Oates.

Holy shit.

Jensen Lund could sing. Really sing. Like a musical-theater-major kind of sing.

Totally unexpected song choice, but he had the range for it.

Immediately I jumped to my feet and started whistling and clapping.

Behind me, Nolan said my name, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off Jensen for a second to turn around to see what he wanted.

“Red Hot!”

I spun around. “What?”

“We know you’re a cheerleader. Park it. And no herkeys, for god’s sake. I can’t see my cousin making an idiot out of me.”

“Sorry.” I scooted my chair off to the side.

In my peripheral vision, I saw Nolan peeling bills from his money clip and muttering as he stacked them on the table in front of a smug-looking Ash. I raised an eyebrow at him.

Ash grinned. “Nolan bet me a lot of money that Jensen wouldn’t take the karaoke challenge, but he did. Then he bet me a lot more money Jens would suck at it. Obviously, Jens doesn’t suck.”

“Did you know he could sing like this?”

“No comment.”

“Come on. You knew. How?”

“In high school Dallas was having issues with some mean girls calling her a ‘rich bitch.’ Jens got wind of it through Annika and he set up a karaoke machine at my parents’ house. He took Dallas to task, told her to own it and be proud of all our family had done. Then he challenged her to sing ‘Rich Girl’ at the school talent show. So I heard him sing it a few times as he helped her get ready for it.”

“Then you default, fucker, if you knew he could sing,” Nolan said, trying to take the money back.

I let them bicker and refocused on Jensen. He was completely into the music, not paying attention to us at all. So when he finished and saw me on my feet cheering for him, he smiled shyly. His face turned a little red when others in the bar started to chant “Encore, encore!”

Even Simone wolf-whistled.

He nodded at the DJ, who had the next tune already lined up. I didn’t recognize “Rock Me Gently” but it had a very 1970s, Neil Diamond vibe to it. I wondered how Jens knew the song and remembered him talking about his parents’ eclectic musical tastes. But at that point how he knew it didn’t matter; I was fully under the spell of Jensen Lund’s voice. The smooth style with a rock edge just . . . fit him.

I cheered louder for the second song than I had the first.

So did the crowd.

As awkward as he initially appeared, now the man looked as if he owned that stage.

He’d suckered me and his cousins big-time.

I could hardly believe he picked “Gettin’ You Home” by Chris Young as his next song. How had he known it was my favorite?

Of course. Calder.

As I watched him moving side to side, giving his performance his all, the words he sang to me hit me hard. The longing in that sexy growl promising the ultimate sexual satisfaction. I nearly had a mini-O right there, with Jensen’s mesmerizing eyes staring into mine as if I were the only woman in the room. Heck, as if I were the only woman in the world.

After he finished the song, he took a half-assed bow and started toward the table. Slowly. Never taking his eyes off mine.

I couldn’t wait for him to act on that wicked, sexy, dirty aura vibrating off him.

When Jensen reached us, Ash said, “Quite a performance there, cuz.”

“Thanks.” Still keeping his gaze locked onto me, he dug his hand into his front pocket, pulled out some folded bills and tossed them on the table. “Great hanging out with you guys, but we’ve gotta go.”

I didn’t question him—neither did his cousins. He held out his hand to me and I took it.

Then we were booking it out of the bar at breakneck speed.

Once we reached his car, Jensen slowed down. He turned and gifted me with a sweet kiss. A brush of lips, a soft flick of his tongue. Not the openmouthed hunger he’d shown me in the bar.

“Rowan,” he murmured against the corner of my mouth. “Need you naked in my bed. All night.”

“You can have me naked on the couch, against the wall and in the kitchen too.”

He devoured me.

Hands on my ass. The lower half of his body grinding against mine in the way that broadcast he’d rock my world when we were finally skin to skin.

When we paused to catch our breath, he said, “Let’s go before I lose what little willpower I have left and get even more reckless.”

I’d forgotten I was playing grab-ass in public with The Rocket and it’d be newsworthy if the press caught us lip-locked and dry-humping in the parking lot of a dive bar. He’d already dodged one bullet tonight. “Sorry.”

He tipped my head back to stare into my eyes. “What?”

“I forgot.” I ran my fingers down that infamous chiseled jawline. “In the weeks we’ve spent together I’ve forgotten you’re this super athlete with celebrity status and a major media presence. Now I think of you as just a normal guy who lives across the hall from me.” I think of you as mine.

“Saying sweet shit like that will get you fucked right where you stand.”

I blinked at him. “You’re not mad?”