Need You Tonight (3 page)

But it also contained memories of Braden. Memories of our first date, our first kiss… the first time we made love. Our wedding, buying our first house…

I blink back the tears and swallow down the lump in my throat. Two years have passed since Braden’s death, but my body is still raw with grief.

“You will not cry,” I tell myself, but tears gather at the corners of my eyes. “Stop it.”

Lifting my chin, I wipe each eye and then concentrate on the road. If I don’t pay attention, I’ll miss the exit, because apparently, the one for Forrestville is almost nonexistent.

Finally, I spy the microscopic sign and put my blinker on, merging into the exit lane. Double-checking my directions at the stop sign, I set my phone down and take a left.

As I get closer to my destination, my heart speeds up, until it feels like it’s going faster than I am. Soon, I can make out the little white house with black shutters. There’s a large pickup truck in the drive, but Miss Violet’s granddaughter had said the handyman for the property would meet me today with the key.

Slowing down, I pull into the driveway, park beside the white truck, and get out. I hear a door open and close. Shielding my eyes above my sunglasses, I crane my neck and find—
oh my God
—the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.

He frowns when he spots me, and then forces a smile. I can tell it’s forced. I’ve always had a knack for reading body language.

With a little wave, I call out to him, “Hi, you must be—” He comes closer, and I blank. Completely blank out at the sight of him, up close and personal.

He’s tall, about six two if I had to guess. His body is all lean muscles, and his skin is as golden brown as the mop of hair that curls at his ears. His hair is messy, slightly untamed, and I want to run my fingers through it. I give myself a mental shake.
What’s wrong with you? He’s just a guy. A really sexy, gorgeous guy. But he’ll never be Braden. No man will ever come close.

“I know,” I whisper. My heart thuds against my chest, no longer in excitement for my new home, but in the knowledge that I just betrayed my dead husband.

Green eyes edged in gold with the thickest, blackest, longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen narrow. His full lips thin. “Parker Morgan.”

“Yes,” I say, nodding.

He looks at me expectantly.

Oh, duh. Heat travels up my neck and settles on my cheeks. “Sorry. I’m Brooklyn. Brooklyn Reeves.”

The hard edge to his face gives a little. “You must be Mrs. Reeves’ granddaughter. I heard she didn’t have much in the way of family, so I’m glad you’re here to help her. Is she following you?” He scans the road behind me. “Maybe she got lost? I’ll be happy to go look for her car, if you tell me what it looks like.”

I shake my head, confused at his adorable yet entirely misplaced concern. “No, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

His gaze slices to mine, golden-green eyes darkening. “And that would be?”

I wring my hands, wishing I hadn’t listened to Soon Lin and taken off my wedding ring last month. Taking a steadying breath, I say, “
I’m
Mrs. Reeves. I’m the one who rented the house from Miss Violet.”

Hell, I don’t like
most
women right now. Not their fault exactly, but the ones I’ve had to deal with for the past three years haven’t exactly made me see women in the best light. And now… now my body is all on board with noticing this one.

Damn it.

“
You’re
the widow? I don’t believe it.” I start to turn away, intent on getting in my truck and leaving. “I don’t fucking believe it.” When I get Cole on the phone, he’s so going to get an earful from me.

“Would you like to see my husband’s obituary?” she snaps.

I stop in my tracks. “Excuse me?”

She fists her hands on her curvy hips. Fire flares in her pretty grey eyes, reminding me of the sun after the storm. Despite not wanting to be a perv, I let my gaze roam over her, from her tennis shoes, to her cutoff shorts, to the tank top that clings to her round breasts.

“Would you like to see his obituary?” she repeats.

Oh, shit. I refocus on her face. Yeah, that doesn’t help. She’s sweet and innocent looking, and the fire that was in her eyes… it’s given way to sadness. Her lower lip trembles as she tosses her head.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, Parker.
“I wasn’t really talking to you.”
Yeah, well, she heard you anyway.

“Oh, really?”

My lame excuse doesn’t help things at all. I can’t feel lower than I do now, but before I can apologize, she whips out her phone. A few seconds later, she holds it out to me.

“Take it.”

I really don’t want to take her phone. “I believe you.”

She steps closer to me, the top of her head barely reaching my shoulder. “You
will
take this. You
will
read it.”

Dread forming a ball the size of Texas in my gut, I take the phone and start to read. Marine. Killed in Afghanistan. Left behind. The words jump out at me. Not only is Brooklyn a widow, she’s a
war
widow.

I glance at her, shame coating my insides. “I’m sorry.” I truly am. She deserves better from me, if only because of what she lost. Or maybe because she obviously lost someone she loved.

“Save it,” she snaps and snatches the phone from me. She marches to the back of her small SUV and opens the hatch. “Leave the key on the porch. I’ll try not to burden you too much while I live here.”

Immediately, I go after her. “At least let me help with the heavy stuff.”

“Who do you think put the heavy stuff in here in the first place,” she says, simultaneously bumping my hip with hers while pulling out a large box. “I’ve been on my own for years now, and I don’t need you.”

Face it, buddy, you lost round one to your stupid mouth and assumptions. Come back later and try again.
“The key’s on the kitchen table, but I still need to turn—”

She punches a hand in the air, and I’m surprised it’s not to flip me off. “Got it.”

I watch as she disappears inside the house. After five minutes of waiting for her to reappear, I give up and get in my truck, starting it up and heading for home. I call Cole first, but the bastard doesn’t answer. Rae’s phone is next, but it goes to voice mail.

“Cowards,” I mutter. Why didn’t they tell me about Brooklyn? Her age… what she looked like. Or the fact that her husband was a war hero.

But the fact remains in my mind, if they weren’t up to something, then they would have told me. Or at least, they would have warned me.

Maybe I’m reading too much into the entire situation, but one thing’s for sure. The moment I looked into Brooklyn Reeves pretty eyes, I saw a woman worth settling down for.

And that scares the hell out of me.

Honestly, I should be grateful he’s so rude. It makes it easier for me to forget about his gorgeous face and body. I snort. How he can look like the sweetest thing while hiding the sourest disposition, I’ll never know.

I don’t want to know. The less I know, the better.

Pushing Parker out of my mind, I open the box labeled living room. My heart beats funny as I pull out photographs of Braden and me. His dark eyes were always crinkled at the corners when we were together. I run a finger over his face, wishing I could remember the way he smelled.

He was always the life of the party, while I liked to hide out in the corner of the room. Just like the first time we met.

Cocking his head to one side, he pouts a little. “Guess I’ll have to go dance by myself. A shame really, since I’ll be deploying soon.” He exhales. “Thought you were my very own angel.”

I gasp. “You’re a soldier getting ready to deploy?”

He gives me a look. “God, no. I’m a Marine, sweet thing.”

Making a face, I shake my head and tap my temple with the heel of my hand. A total dork move. “Right. We are in Jacksonville. What was I thinking? Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” A teasing smile covers his face. “Apparently, you weren’t thinking of dancing with me, like I thought.”

I watch him walk away, right into the middle of the dance floor. For some reason, my stomach starts to flip. This guy is going off to war and all he wants is a dance. Nothing else.

He winks at me and begins to perform the most horrible, most white-guy choreography I’ve ever seen in my life. My eyes widen.

“C’mon,” he yells over the music. “Don’t let me make a fool of myself.”

Giggling, I cover my mouth and look around the club. There’s barely anyone here. Then again, it’s Tuesday and even I’m alone. I couldn’t convince my roommate, Hannah, to go out with me.

Unable to help myself, I stand and walk to the edge of the dance floor. “I don’t know why I’m doing this,” I mutter.

He grins. “That’s right, girl. Knew you couldn’t resist my wicked moves.” Holding his arm perpendicular to his head, he jerks it around. Another fit of giggles hits me. “Sexy, right?”

“It’s something.” I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing at him.

The music changes, slowing down. He stops moving like a maniac and walks to me, his handsome face softening. “Please, ma’am. Don’t let a Marine go off to war without dancing with a pretty lady like you.”

“I’d be honored to dance with you, Marine,” I say, and he takes me in his arms.

“What’s your name?” he asks, whispering into my ear.

“Brooklyn.”

His head jerks back, dark eyes staring into mine. “You serious?”

I nod. “Who would joke around about their name?”

“It’s meant to be.” Lifting me off my feet, he swings me around, laughing. Right then, I fall under his spell. There’s something compelling about him, about his accent… everything. “Well, Miss Brooklyn. I’m Braden Reeves from Brooklyn, and you’re my good luck charm.”

Paying or not, I have zero interest in them tonight.

“I’m going to ask McKenzie to marry me,” West says, and I nearly choke on my beer.

“Uh-huh.” Placing the bottle on the top of the bar, I scrape my finger over the corner of the label, peeling it back a little. I knew this would happen. Why shouldn’t it—my brother and all of our friends were married. Only West and I
were
the holdouts. But, damn it, we’re only twenty-three. Why in the hell should any of us be married? “Sure you want to do that?”

“Seriously, dude?” He punches my shoulder, and I let out an
oof
. “You should be happy for me.”

“Yay,” I say with all the enthusiasm of a funeral goer. “So happy you’re getting married and shit.”

West gives me a look. “I’m not dying, you asshole.”

“Might as well be,” I grumble. “Is it weird for me to identify with Katherine Heigl in 27 Dresses?”

“You do look pretty in pink.”

I tip up my beer. “Dude, I look pretty in any color.” Signaling the bartender, I set my empty bottle down, but she blows right past us to wait on another customer. “What the hell?”

West laughs. “That’s what you get for being a dick.”

“I wasn’t being a dick.”

He tilts his head to one side, mouth thin and eyebrow raised. “Try again.”

“
Maybe
I was being a dick.”

“Better.” He pats the barstool beside him. “Sit down.”

Reluctantly, I do. I know what’s going to happen next. West will lecture my ass, and then find out why I’m being this way. “Is Crystal back in town?”

Fat chance of that happening. My mother is content to live out west with the guy she wants me to start calling Daddy. Yeah, he’s my biological dad, but he’s also the cop who regularly busted mine and Cole’s asses growing up before that little secret came out.

“What do you think?”

“I think that there are only three people in this world, including myself, who can get you all worked up. Two of them aren’t here, so…”

Exhaling, I drum my fingertips on the bar. “It’s uh, Miss Violet’s new renter—the widow.” I had given West the news that I’d be staying the summer in Forrestville because Rae’s grandmother’s house had been rented.

“I like her,” he says.

“You haven’t even met her.”

“Don’t have to.” He grins. “She’s the reason why you’re staying the summer, instead of taking off earlier, like you’d thought about doing. Hell, I might be in love with the lady.”

“She’s no lady.” I picture Brooklyn’s sexy little body, her pouty lips, and storm-colored eyes. Yep, the exact opposite of what I thought Mrs. Reeves would be.

“She’s a dude?”

“Nah.” I shouldn’t have let him get this much out of me. Already, I feel anxious, like I need to check on her. Or at least the house to make sure everything is okay.

“Then explain.”

“Brooklyn—”

“Brooklyn, huh?” He takes a drink. “That’s not the name I was expecting.”

Giving him a dark look, I say, “You weren’t the only one.”

“Just spit it out, Parker.”

“She’s young, like our age. Her husband died in the war. He was a Marine. I tried helping her move into the house today.” I leave out the part where I had been an ass to her, when all she’d been was friendly.

“Damn,” he mutters and his eyes get all knowing. “You tried helping? As in attempted but was thwarted?”

“You and your ten dollar words.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

I clench my jaw. “Let’s just say our meeting wasn’t very cordial.”

“Which means you, for some reason only known to God, were an ass to her.” He shakes his head. “That makes no sense, man. You’re the friendly one of the Morgan boys.”

“She rubbed me the wrong way.”

“You’re still not telling me everything.”

“I might have accused her of lying about being a widow,” I mumble into my drink. “And she might have made me read his obituary from her phone.”

“Shit.” West’s gaze rakes over me, his mouth flattening. “What happened to the guy loved by all the ladies? The one who always knew what to say and how to flash those damn dimples? Do you know how
jealous
we all were of you growing up?”

Would he be so damned jealous if he knew how many ladies had paid me for my time? Would his rich ass be so jealous if he knew what I had to do in order to help pay the fucking bills?

Would any of them be jealous that my first real sexual encounter was with a guy, who was disguised as a woman? I didn’t have a clue until I tried to return the favor, per my job instructions for the evening, and nearly lost my mind when I discovered his junk.

Would they be jealous to know that the asshole fucking
made
me do stuff to him? That he threatened my job if I didn’t, and I didn’t know of any other way to make that much money in that short period of time to help pay our bills, to pay our mother’s rehab bills…

No choice. Never a choice. Do the right thing, Parker. You’re so sweet. Show me those dimples of yours.

Rage builds inside of me, but I push it back down and slam the lid on that part of me, just like I always do.

I’m the good brother. The levelheaded one. The one who always had Cole’s back when he’d let his temper get the best of him. I’m the one that all the ladies, from eight to eighty, love.

“Maybe I got tired of them loving me so much.”