Love Me: The Complete Series (82 page)

She felt the steady bump, bump, bump of his heart pressed against her chest and his legs strong and solid between her own. Her stomach clenched, prompting her to answer. “Yeah, I got that.” She had no idea what to say next.

“Good.” He leaned in and kissed her, soft and loving pecks that deepened into wet, hard kisses that made her want to undress him. When he finally stepped back and gave her air, her fingers were inside his shirt, circling the little hairs around his navel. His shirt hung loose from his pants.

“So what does that mean?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you want it to. I told you how I feel—no, I told the entire Internet how I feel. I need you in my life. That’s pretty much it. The rest is up to you.”

Up to her. Well, that made her feel incredibly
in control.
“Okay, then.”

Roger coughed. “Except.” He paused.

Caroline wrapped her arms over his shoulder and clasped her fingers together. “Except what? Whatever it is, we’re not doing it here.”

He grinned, a full dimpled heart-stopping grin. “I like the way your mind works, but I was going a little deeper. I need you in my life, and I mean that. But I’m not going to lie. I want
all
of you, Caro. I even want the piece you left over there in a little town called Teslehad on the other side of the world.”

She swallowed. “What are you saying?”

He thumbed her cheeks. “You have to go back over there and get that piece back, honey. You’ll never get past it until you face it.”

What? “Oh, hell no. I am definitely
not
doing that again.”

She shoved against his chest. Roger’s words echoed through her head, but she ignored them—in fact, all she heard was a thundering roar. Of gunfire and children’s voices. She slammed her hands over her ears. “No. No. No.”

Caroline flung the door open and raced to the elevator, and Roger followed her inside. He held her arms, but she pulled away. He groaned. “Come on, Caroline. You know it has to happen. You’ll never get past it and be yourself if you don’t go back.”

Caroline watched the rearview mirror, barely registering the road ahead. His silhouette, standing at the curb, gradually receded as the knot in her stomach grew. How could he possibly ask her to give up everything she’d worked for to go back there?

She’d finally attained some stability in her life, and he wanted her to throw it away? It was crazy. It was irresponsible. It was ... tempting.

No. Scratch that idea—it was
crazy.
Yep, dumbest idea ever. Caroline turned her concentration to the road. She pressed the gas, feeling the engine kick, and noted the intersection ahead. Where should she go?

Glancing at her choices, each of them took her farther from Roger and away from potential drama. That was good, right? The car rolled to a reluctant stop, and the engine idled in bursts. She searched the rearview mirror for images of his building, but bushes, trees, and cars swallowed her view. Perhaps the chugging engine was prodding her to stop.

Caroline thrust the car in park and pressed her forehead to the steering wheel.
He needed me.
What was that supposed to mean? She had no idea. She’d never needed anyone in her life, except her mother—and she’d left. Hell, everyone in her life had left her at some point. Her father, Roger, and every man she’d ever dated since. Okay, technically she’d left Roger before he had the chance, and her mother hadn’t left—she’d
died
, but that was still leaving, wasn’t it?

That was what people did. They left. They moved on with their lives, leaving her with the painful burden of their absence.

The horn of a car behind her honked. Still unsure where to go, she pulled forward and looped into a parking spot. Once the other vehicle had passed, she started driving back down the street.

He needed me—no, that’s not how he said it. He said he needs me.
Now, not then. Would he still feel that way in a month?

Wait. She flipped the rearview mirror to check her eyes and wipe away the water that puddled and smeared her makeup. Reality check, woman. What he needed wasn’t the issue. Nor did it matter what he’d feel in a month or a year.

The tires crunched on broken concrete as her car rolled toward his building. Roger sat on a bench, his hands draped over his knees and head bent. He lifted his head and met her eyes through the windshield.

Caroline drank him in, swallowed her fear, and stepped from the car. Another horn honked as a car whizzed by, nearly grazing her hip.

Time stood still. “What’s wrong? You forget something?” There was a glint of hope in his chocolate eyes.

She focused on that and moved toward him, then plopped to his side on the bench. “No, I wanted to say something.”

He stared at his feet. “Caro. Let’s not draw this out—at least when you left before, there was a note. It was done. You didn’t have to say goodbye. The only thing I had trouble with was the fact that you had no problem leaving, that I didn’t matter. Now, you leave again, and—”

“Stop talking, please. It wasn’t that you didn’t matter. Back then, I had to go—you know that. Don’t you remember what you said? People need three things in life, the most important of which is a passion—a purpose.”

Finally, he lifted his eyes and focused on her. “I said that?”

She nodded. “But you were wrong. Yeah, I know, amazing—don’t snicker.”

“I wasn’t snickering.”

“You snickered. Like it or not, you’ve turned into a good guy, Roger. Don’t get all excited about it ... and don’t think you’ll always be right, because you won’t. The third thing isn’t a purpose or passion. The purpose I can live without. I got all the way down to the end of the street and sat there. For the life of me, I had no idea where I was going. I knew where I lived, where I worked, where I thought I belonged. But I had a huge problem with
leaving you.
I’d already done it once and I ... just ... couldn’t. Then I realized why. I don’t really
need
to go fricking find myself.”

They focused on each other’s faces, and she saw moisture in his eyes. That was new. He blinked. “Okkaay.”

“So, here’s the deal. I
need
you, too. Sure, I love you, but that’s not the problem.” He cocked a hopeful brow, and she saw a flicker of movement in the dimples. She stroked a finger along the lines of his face.

“Does that mean you’re going over there and then coming back to me?” He shuffled his legs around and slid a knee behind her on the bench.

“It means you’re wrong.”

He frowned.

“That third thing that people must have in life is to be loved—and needed.”

He nodded and pulled her in tight. He lifted her legs over his then wrapped her in a hug. For the first time
ever
,
she knew exactly where her place in life was—and is.

“Okay, this time, I guess I can be wrong. I love you, Caroline.”

She lifted both hands to his cheeks and moved to touch their noses together. “I love you too. Isn’t it cool?”

His shoulders moved a tad, and his dimples twitched as if afraid to show themselves. “But ... ”

Uh oh. There was more? “But what?”

“But let’s not completely rule out that passion thing, okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“It means you were meant to be a journalist, gorgeous. You have to go back over there and write the real story.”

What the hell was he talking about? She
had
written the story. It was horrible—and she knew because the nightmares reminded her constantly. “I am never going back.”

He put his thick, warm fingers over hers. “You are—and I’m going with you. You’re going to write a different story. I’ll be right there. We’ll give those kids a proper ending to show their lives mattered. To show who loved and
needed
them.”

She shuddered. “No.”

“Yes.”

“It’s over.”

He tapped her forehead. “Not up here, it isn’t.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he brought the fingers down to her lips. She stopped.

“Caro, you need the happy ending. For all your strength and toughness, that’s your thing. People love it, too—it’s inspiring. Hell, who doesn’t want the fairytale? Let’s go over there and get one. You and me. Damn everything else to hell. We deserve ours, and you’re going to write about it—our happy ending. Theirs, too.”

“Your family needs you.”

“I’ve been here for them most of my life. They can take care of themselves for a change. Let’s focus on that third thing—let’s focus on
us
. Okay?” He bent to kiss her, gentle and soft, and gave her a squeeze.

Us. She’d never been part of any
us
before—she liked the way it rolled off his tongue. She liked the warm cozy way it felt. She nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Us. Yes. Definitely okay.”

Shelley K. Wall was born near Kansas City, the middle daughter of three. She is a graduate of Oklahoma State University with additional postgraduate work there and at the University of Wyoming extension in Casper. She worked for many years in Information Technologies as a Network Engineer, a Project Manager, Operations Director, and I.T. Department Head. In addition to her writing efforts, she continues to maintain her technical certifications in various technologies and consults regularly on projects. After writing numerous Project Plans, I.T. Directives, Budgets, Personnel Evaluations, and Strategic Plans, she found fiction to be thoroughly refreshing and a wonderful creative outlet.

She is a member of Romance Writers of America,Sisters In Crime (SinC), the Houston Literary Guild, and various technical organizations.She writes daily and speaks on subjects pertaining to authorship and fiction writing.

Her first release,
Numbers Never Lie
, debuted in 2012 and was an Amazon Daily Deal in January. It soared to number three for romantic suspense, eight for contemporary romance, and seventeen in overall romance on the Amazon Bestsellers List. She has since written over a dozen more novels of contemporary romance or romantic suspense.

Website:
http://shelleykwall.com

Blog:
http://shelleykwall.wordpress.com

Twitter: @skwallbooks

The wind shoved Jenny Madison through the bar door into the mass of noise and people. A paper sign taped to the window fluttered next to her, an advertisement for the play
Home is Love
. A clever patron had crossed the word home and penned
DRINKING
over.

Jenny concentrated on the prior word and squelched a desire to go there.

“Yeah, and you’ll be locked out of it if you don’t get busy,” she muttered. Her boss’ words rang heavily, scratch that, ex-boss’. He had fired her because her attitude didn’t fit their work environment. A stack of bills pended disaster if she didn’t forge ahead.

Jenny walked with faked confidence into the crowded club. She carried business cards, monogrammed notepads, and refrigerator magnets with her new business name. This was her fourth stop of the evening. She adjusted her denim skirt down over her legs and tugged the lapels of her black jacket forward. Admittedly, it wasn’t as professional as she wanted but it sufficed. She had not worn heels in a month and now that she donned a pair, her feet complained.

“The Designated Driver’s Club.” A petite brunette with studs in her eyebrow read from the business card. “What does that mean?”

“It’s a membership thing. You pay either annually or monthly. We pick you up anywhere you want and take you home, then back to your car the next day — or we deliver it if preferred. Our drivers are safe, alcohol-free, have good driving records, and we guarantee you won’t get a DUI.” Jenny mustered up her best cheerful smile. “And all for a price that’s less than the cost of a ticket.”

“You’ll pick up anywhere in the city?” The girl’s stud lifted along with the brow attached to it.

“Yes. Anywhere.”

“Wow. Great idea.”

“Thanks. You can sign up on the website listed on the card, or call that number there.” Jenny ran her finger along the print. “We take all major credit cards. Oh, and we don’t lecture anyone or give them a hard time. Our drivers are courteous and confidential. We recognize everyone needs to have a good time once in a while — we just want it to end well, too.”

She flashed a final smile at the table, ran her tongue over her teeth and moved on. Her cheeks ached and her lips cracked from forced cheerfulness. A few more tables and she would step back outside and teeter her heeled feet to the car.

“Hey!” A tall twenty-something guy with shaggy dark hair called after her. “How many drivers do you have?”

“Enough,” she answered with fake assurance. Okay, a little white lie — but she doubted it would matter. If, by chance, she had more calls than she could handle, she could recruit a few friends to help. Or — even better — hire someone. Her own staff. That sounded impressive.

Jenny whipped around to get the final tables just in time to meet a cocktail waitress head-on. The waitress was quick and evaded the collision. Jenny wasn’t as speedy. Her hand full of cards and goodies fluttered to the floor, spreading out in a small carpet of paper. Footsteps threatened to trample her stash. She let out a curse, bent, gathered them quickly and rose with a huff.

“Nice.” A male voice admired from behind her. She turned, catching blue twinkling eyes focused on her backside. Her face reddened as she remembered her denim skirt had “bite me” emblazoned on the pocket. She had a black jacket over it and thought it would cover everything enough to look professional but casual. Ignoring his chuckle, she plopped a few business cards and notepads on the table. The men with him picked up the cards and read.

“Check this out, Buzz.” A man with highlighted brown hair and a torn handkerchief around his neck flipped a card in front of the blue eyes.

“Hmmm.” He lifted the card with long, slender fingers. “So … bite me girl, what’s this about?”

Jenny launched into her monologue, consciously aware of the blue eyes boring into hers as she spoke. When she finished, he lazily glanced down to her hands, then back up.