The Best Thing He Never Knew He Needed

The Best Thing He Never Knew
He Needed

(The Champion
Brothers)

Tina Martin

Copyright © 2015 Tina
Martin

Smashwords
Edition

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any
form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including
information storage and retrieval systems, photocopying and
recording, without prior written consent of the author.

This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, businesses and products are used
fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events is entirely
coincidental.

~

For the loyal, faithful,
honest, hard-working men who are already
champions
in everyday
life.

To my readers who have been
waiting patiently for Desmond’s story, this one is for
you.

Enjoy!

~

THE BEST THING HE NEVER KNEW
HE NEEDED

CHAPTER 1

He saw her the moment she
walked out of Emily’s Boutique.

Desmond was parked covertly
across the street, in front of a sandwich shop there, in his
black-on-black, Mercedes-Benz, G-Class wearing a black suit, black
Cartier sunglasses and black, leather Balenciaga shoes – all black
everything – looking like an amateur private investigator when he
saw her, the unbelievably beautiful woman he dubbed as his
weakness, strutting to the coffee shop next door. Her long, curly
hair bounced around her face like she was surrounded by a flock of
ravens, and her glistening legs appeared to be smoother than his
designer, silk necktie. Smoother than the shot of Grey Goose he had
after a rough day at the office last night.

While he sat there staring
her down without her knowledge, in pure, unabashed stalker mode, he
wished he had a pair of binoculars to get a closer view of her. He
grinned, feeling silly for thinking such a thing, like binoculars
would’ve calmed his sudden urge to see more of her. No way. Only
being up close and in-your-face personal would give him that
satisfaction. He’d avoided her long enough. Now it was time to turn
up his Champion charm and lay it on thick for her. Sherita Wilkins.
His kryptonite.

He evaded her for nearly a
year, eleven months to be exact, and the last time he’d spoken to
her was at Dimitrius’ family cookout. With the eyes of a hawk, he’d
watched her every move, studied how she mingled with the guests,
and since she was friends with Dante’s wife, Emily, and Dimitrius’
wife, Melanie, she fit in perfectly with the family
already.

Desmond stepped out of the
jeep, smoothing out his tailored Tom Ford suit with his hands. He
wore it with a gray shirt and checkered gray and black tie. Not
only was he a man who could spot a gorgeous woman from a mile away,
he was a guy who had impeccable style. But he didn’t dress to
impress. He didn’t wear those thousand-dollar suits, shoes and
neckties to pick up ladies. Truth be told, he could do that with
his swag alone, even while wearing something as basic as a pair of
jeans and a T-shirt. He dressed sharp because he was a business man
and by definition, about his business. At the moment, Sherita
Wilkins was his business, and she was about to get an unexpected
visit.

Feeling as confident as he
always felt, he sauntered across the street while relaxing his
hands in his pockets, smelling her scent, that same hypnotizing
fragrance she always wore, float into his nostrils, sending his
nerves in overdrive. He’d never smelled anything close to it on
another woman.

When he neared the entrance
of the coffee shop, he pulled the sunglasses from his eyes, slid
them in the upper left pocket of his suit jacket and reached for
the door. Upon pulling it open, he saw her, standing at the back of
the line. He wasted no time getting in the line behind
her.

While he stood there, he
quietly admired her up close. He’d never been this close to her
before, by choice. Now he would take the opportunity to take her
all in.
By choice
. Beginning with her hair, he observed how healthy and thick
it was – as black as onyx – hanging down her back. She had on a
flimsy pink, knee-length summer dress with a pair of gold sandals
that matched her gold hoop earrings as well as the gold bangles
clanking on her dainty wrist. And her perfume – goodness that
perfume – she smelled like lemon mixed with fresh gardenias and
ripened cherry blossoms. Her moisturized skin glowed like a sun ray
piercing through a dense cloud. She
was
a sun ray – every time he saw
her his face lit up, only she had no idea what kind of affect she
had on him.

Desmond pulled in another a
deep breath of her fragrance (along with the smell of freshly
ground coffee beans) before noticing the giggly women sitting at a
table nearby. He glanced over at them, watching them look his way.
Just to be cordial, he said, “Good morning, ladies.”

“
Good morning,” they
replied.

He smirked. This was the
norm for him. Back in the day, women weren’t so forthcoming when it
came to dating and approaching a man. They waited for the guy to
make the first move. But everywhere he went, women stared at him
like he was the meal they’d missed that day or the water they
needed to quench a two-day-old thirst. Not a problem for him – he
knew how to handle women, especially
those
kinds. The hungry, thirsty
ones. The ones who went after him because he was handsome, or the
ones who knew he had a bank roll. Nothing irritated him more than
those type of women and nothing, absolutely, positively nothing was
appealing about a woman who threw herself at a man. Nothing at
all.

He’d never allow himself
to be chased by a woman. No way. Not under any
circumstances.
He
chased what
he
wanted. And what did he want? The answer was simple. He
wanted what every man who thought he was the best thing smoking
wanted. He wanted the woman he couldn’t have. The woman who played
hard to get. He wanted the kind of woman who pretended not to be
attracted to him when he knew otherwise. The kind of woman who
seemed unimpressed with his success. The kind of woman who could
pretend she didn’t know he was standing directly behind her in line
at a coffee shop.

A mischievous smile curled
into one corner of his mouth. More than once he’d thought about
reaching out and grabbing Sherita somehow, just to get under her
skin. He’d grip her arm, maybe, or grab a fist full of that
luscious hair he’d been dying to touch. She had to have known he
was standing behind her. Watching her. Yet, she didn’t make any
attempts to turn around to speak. Was she ignoring him
intentionally?

He would admit to avoiding
her for a year, true enough, but she evaded him just the same. Even
now, she was doing a superb job of acting like she hadn’t smelled
the Polo Black he was wearing or felt him towering over her. She
didn’t have to be friends with him to be cordial, and he didn’t
have to be friends with her. They virtually ran in the same circles
– well, only when they weren’t avoiding each other.

When Sherita took a step
up, he followed, standing so close to her, it looked like they were
together, not as a couple, but literally together. Joined at the
hips. Sharing the same organs.

Desmond smiled. Had he ever
enjoyed aggravating a woman this much? While he stood there,
deliberately irritating her, the smirk on his face grew almost
bigger than his ego. If Sherita thought she would avoid him, she
had another think coming. Desmond Champion, millionaire marketing
executive extraordinaire, didn’t get sidestepped by
anyone.

He heard her release a
frustrated breath.
Finally
, he thought. He was
beginning to think that maybe she really didn’t know he was
standing behind her. The fact that she did know, and was irritated
by it, made him inch a little closer. Smirk a little harder. If
only he could see her face. He was certain she’d been rolling her
eyes in utter irritation. Pouting her lips. Trying to disguise her
reddened cheeks. Hissing some angry words under her breath to
relieve vexation.

“
If you get any closer,
we’ll have to exchange insurance information,” Sherita finally
snapped. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t have to. She knew who
it was all along who had been stealing her body heat. She knew his
smell, and she recognized the flutters in her stomach that only
he’d been able to put there. Of all the men she’d met, none of them
had overwhelmed her senses like Desmond Champion had.

“
Will that information
include your phone number?” he asked. Then, leaning down close to
her ear, he continued, “If so, buckle your seatbelt, baby, because
you’re about to get rear-ended.”

“
And you’re about to get
slapped.”

“
Any contact is better
than none at all,” he said, paying particular interest to the vein
that seemed to bulge out of her neck when she was mad. He had a
longing to kiss her there. “Hit me with your best shot,
princess.”

Sherita rolled her eyes.
“I’m not your princess.”

“
You could be.”

She grinned. “Impossible.
That would imply that you’re a prince, which
can’t
be true because there’s
nothing royal or chivalrous about you.”

Leaning so close to her
neck that he could feel the heat of her body touch his lips, he
whispered, “You want to find out?”

She froze when she felt his breath massage and
tickle the side of her neck. He just had to be arrogant, annoying
and fine all at the same time, didn’t he? And why was he standing
so close to her now when, before, he’d been avoiding her like she
had traveled to an Ebola hot zone? There had been several times he
opted not to show up somewhere because he knew she was there or
knew she would be there.

Last Friday for instance –
Sherita was at Dante and Emily’s place adoring their handsome,
six-month-old little boy, named Ezra. Dimitrius and Melanie came
over with their five-month-old, chubby-cheeked, angel of a
daughter, named Grace. The brothers were getting ready to play a
game of pool, something they typically did on Friday nights, and
guess who didn’t show up? Desmond. Sherita later learned that
Desmond had called Dante just to find out if she was there and when
Dante confirmed she was, Desmond didn’t bother coming
by.

His brothers thought it
was bizarre. They’d never seen Desmond blatantly avoid a woman the
way he was steering clear of her. Now he was standing behind her
like they were making up for lost time, or as he put it, like she
was about to get
rear-ended
.

He hadn’t touched her, and
he could feel how tense she was now. Since he was on a roll, he
figured he’d continue pushing her buttons. “So, how have things
been going, Ms. Destination Wedding Photographer?”

A better question is, why
are you talking to me?
“Good,” she
answered through clenched teeth, keeping her answer short. When the
line advanced, she took a step forward.

So did he. “Traveled
anywhere exotic lately?” he asked.

The warmness of his breath
against the side of her face nearly made her lose her voice. Still,
she remained strong, stuck to her short-answer strategy and
responded, “No.”

He flashed a lopsided grin.
She wanted to play the one-word answer game, like he couldn’t get
her riled up enough to talk to him. He could, and he could do it
very well. “We should get together sometime to discuss the dynamics
behind this career choice of yours.”

Her forehead creased, but
she still refused to turn around to face him. “Yeah, we should…when
the sky actually begins falling, and we all believe Chicken Little
had been right all along.”

Desmond erupted in
laughter.

That irritated her even
more. She poked her tongue into her cheek and inhaled a long,
agitated breath while feeling her face tighten.

Nearing the end of his
laugh, Desmond said, “Never knew you had a funny side, Sherita. I
like it.”

She mumbled more
frustrations to herself and when it was her turn to order, she
stepped up to the counter. Finally, she had some breathing room.
“Umm, hi…let me get a small—”