Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena) (26 page)

acknowledgments

A deep and appreciative thank-you to all of the men and women who risk their lives and sacrifice time with their families to protect our freedoms.

As always, a special thanks to my editors, Maria Gomez and Lindsay Guzzardo, and the rest of the author team at Montlake for all of the amazing work and support throughout this series.

Finally, thank you to my fabulous agent, Jill Marsal, for always being in my corner. And to my daughter and my amazing husband, you guys are my world.

T
here wasn’t a person on the planet who Harper Owens couldn’t friend. The problem was, there wasn’t a single man in wine country who hadn’t already sentenced her to a lifetime in the friend zone.

Until now, she thought giddily, staring up at her Mr. Tall, Dark, and—
ohmigod
—Mine.

It had taken her eighteen long months of casual conversations, lots of lash batting, three new shades of lipstick, and finally a well-orchestrated flash of cleavage, but Harper was about to get her kiss.

From Clay Walker. Respected pediatrician, a Doctors Without Borders frequent flyer, and on top of being revered by every kid and parent in town, the guy Harper had been hot for since he moved to St. Helena with his son nearly two years ago.

“Thank you for walking me home,” Harper said as they stopped in front of the yellow-and-white Victorian storefront on Main Street. She pointed to the upstairs window of her apartment. “Do you want to come up? I have some wine in the fridge.”

Clay checked his watch. “I wish I could, but I promised the baby
sitter I’d get her home by ten,” he said, and didn’t that warm her heart. He was such a g
ood dad. Devoted, involved, loving, and—
holy cow
—
was he looking at her boobs?

Was Dr. Dreamy checking out Harper Owens’s cleavage?

She watched his eyes to see if they’d dart again, and they ended up doing a minidip—not enough to be called an ogle, but enough that she decided it was the bra, which took her from a moderate
B
to a sexy
C
in one shimmy.

St. Helena rolled up its welcome mats at dusk so there weren’t many people out. Just Harper and Dr. Dreamy, alone on the lamp-
lined sidewalk, the gentle spring breeze wrapping around them as they
stood under the twinkling lights of her grandmother’s shop—and the million or so stars overhead. So she shimmied again and—
bingo
.

He was sizing up the goods. Which meant this was a premeditated escort.

With the latest crime spree including senior citizens, barrel tipping, and indecent exposure in the community fountain—all related events—Clay hadn’t offered to walk her home for her safety. He’d offered to walk her home so he could make his move.

And since her body hadn’t been moved on in far too long, she was ready.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you, but there was never a time when Tommy wasn’t around, and I didn’t feel comfortable calling you at work,” Clay said, that deep voice rolling over her and lighting the anticipation that had been simmering since he’d pulled up the bar stool next to hers, offered to buy her a drink, then started asking all the
right
questions. “So when I saw you at Spigots tonight, I figured it was perfect timing.”

“Perfect,” she repeated, stepping closer and looking up into his deep brown eyes. It was perfect. The perfect place for their perfect first kiss. The perfect moment to take their relationship from
I teach your kid how to paint
to
I know how to make you pant
in a single brush of the lips.

“I’m going to San Diego for a conference the second week of May and I’m scheduled to be the keynote speaker. It’s a weekend conference, right on the beach.”

“San Diego is beautiful in the spring,” Harper said as if all of her knowledge about the coastal city hadn’t come from the passenger seat of her mom’s car when she was nine and headed toward Mexico for a month-long artist retreat on native beading.

“It is,” he said. “And the conference is only one night, but I was wondering if you were free.”

“The second weekend in May?” That was the worst possible time for Harper to get away. It was spring inventory prep at the Fashion Flower, the couture kids’ boutique and art store she managed, and she was the only person who could handle the delivery. But a weekend away? With Clay? Naked? “I’m all yours.”

“Really?” He put his hand on her shoulder and smiled.

At her.

It wasn’t the same smile he gave her when picking Tommy up from class, or even the one he’d flashed when seeing her around town. This smile was different. He was looking at
her
different. As if she were special. As if she were—

“A lifesaver, Harper. That’s what you are.” Clay released a long, relieved breath. Funny, since she had stopped breathing altogether. “Tommy’s mom can’t take him that weekend, and his sitter is only fifteen, hence the reason I need to get her home by ten. I didn’t know who else to ask and you are so good with him.”

“You need me to babysit? Tommy?” She had to ask because she’d had a drink or two, and her brain wasn’t functioning on all cylinders, but she was pretty sure he’d just demoted her from quirky-but-cute art teacher to backup babysitter. And her competition didn’t have a driver’s license.

“That would be great. He really adores you. You know?”

Oh
, she knew. She knew this moment so well she wanted to cry. It was just like senior prom when Daniel McCree passed her a note saying he wanted to ask a special girl. Only after Harper had mentally picked out her dress, shoes, and the perfect place to lose her virginity had he explained that the “special girl” was Janie Copeland—the captain of the dance team and Harper’s neighbor.

Harper had delivered Daniel’s invite on her way home, then received a record eleven more invites to the prom that year. None of them were addressed to her.

“Tommy would probably be more comfortable at my place. You can sleep in my bed, if that works for you,” Clay offered, and Harper had to bite her lip to not laugh at the irony. He looked at his watch again. “I’m late. Can we work out all the details later? Kendal’s mom flips if I get her home after ten.”

“That’s the great thing about thirty-year-old women,” she pointed out brightly, holding on to that smile even if her cheeks hurt from the weight. “No curfew.”

“Something to keep in mind,” he said with a wink. “Oh, and you have some kind of punch on your dress.”

Harper looked down at her favorite daffodil-colored dress and saw the bright red splotch, right below her minuscule cleavage he’d been eyeing all night. And if
that
wasn’t humiliating enough, he pulled her in for a hug. Not a dual-armed embrace, bodies touching kind of event. But a side-hug/pat-to-the-back combo that bros gave each other. “Thanks, Harper. I owe you,” he said and headed back toward the bar.

Unless he was offering up a tangled sheets kind of favor, Harper wasn’t interested. In fact, Harper wasn’t interested at all. She didn’t want a favor. She wanted passion, connection, adventure, to
be
wanted.

And speaking of wanted, she wanted cookies.

Not the kind with sprinkles that her grandmother made, but the kind that only a strong, sexy man could provide. And she wanted a baker’s dozen, she thought as she fished out her keys to open her grandma’s shop. The scent of rosewater and lavender greeted her as she stepped inside and felt as though she were transported back in time. The Boulder Holder was a lingerie shop specializing in vintage seduction for the curvy woman—it also had a great stain remover in the storage closet.

Still at a complete loss, or maybe not so complete, since looking back, the intimate questions Clay had asked earlier were all standard résumé info for applying nannies, Harper closed the door behind her and reached to disarm the alarm—which was already disarmed.

“Dang it, Baby,” Harper mumbled, making a note to reprimand the closing manager for neglecting the alarm again. And, apparently, her job, since there was a vast collection of high-end merchandise hanging outside one of the changing room doors.

The whole point behind hiring a closing manager was so that her grandma could work fewer hours, let someone younger lift heavy boxes and stock the store. Clovis needed to stay off her knee so it could heal from its most recent replacement surgery, but if Baby wasn’t keeping the store working at night, then her grandma would have to put it in order before opening. Which defeated the purpose.

Frustrated, Harper grabbed the stain cleaner and a rag from the closet and walked over to the large gilded mirror on the wall at the far end of the dressing rooms.

Normally being in her grandma’s shop, surrounded by all of the bright fabrics and bold designs, could erase even the worst of days. The shop was every girl next door’s haven—sexy with a touch of sophistication, and a brilliant kaleidoscope of intimates from time periods usually forgotten. A new adventure to be found on each hanger.

Not tonight
, she thought, taking in the image staring back at her in the mirror.

Tonight, Harper felt like a big, stupid banana in a specialty candy store.

“Think of the bright side,” she told herself, pulling her arm out of her dress and slipping it off so she could get at the stain easier. “At
least he friended you before you showed him your panties.”

The ability to see the bright side of even the worst situations
was Harper’s gift. It was how she’d made it through her eclec
tic childhood—and how she kept her smile genuine. And being
thought of as a babysitter didn’t even touch Harper’s worst list.

“If you’d gone at him in those panties, I bet he’d have forgotten all about curfew,” a distinctively male voice said from behind her.

Harper spun around, the scream getting stuck in her throat along with her heart, which had lodged itself there first. Acting on reflex, she threw the only thing she could reach at the tall, dark—emphasis on the dark—and dangerous-looking shadow. Only the shadow’s reflexes were skillfully honed, because he caught the flying object with one hand. Leaving her nearly naked and him holding her favorite daffodil-colored dress.

“Whoa,” the unfamiliar and unwelcome voice said from the dressing room doorway. The male face, though, all it took was two seconds for
that
to register.

Harper’s fear turned to immediate embarrassment, because standing in her grandma’s darkened shop, holding her dress and a slinky red robe, four hours after closing, was the only man in town who hadn’t put Harper in the friend zone. Because he was the only man in town who Harper hadn’t bothered to friend.

St. Helena firefighter, bro of the year, and legendary ladies’ man—Adam Baudouin.

“What are you doing here?” Harper demanded, looking up at him, and he could see the fire lighting her eyes.

A good question. One Adam had crafted a great answer to when she’d first turned around in that pink, teal, and gold-embroidered number with the tiny matching thong, which looked as if she’d recently escaped the Copacabana. Then she’d tossed her dress at him and things had gotten interesting. Little Miss Sunshine wiggled a lecturing finger his way, which caused everything in silk and lace to do a little cha-cha in its own way, and Adam’s mind went to a bad place.

An incredibly good bad place.

Oh, Harper was all sunshine and freckled up top. But she was a secret freaking bombshell below. High breasts, tiny waist, curvy hips, long, lush legs that went on for miles. All that silky skin and willowy allure was as surprising as it was intoxicating. Who knew she kept all that hidden under her Rainbow Brite attire?

Not the dildo with the kid who’d ask her to babysit, that’s for sure. Because if he’d seen the view Adam was privy to, the guy would have taken her inside the shop—and right up against the wall.

“Apparently, I’m just in time for the show,” he said, looking down into her face. With her pert nose, twinkling blue eyes, and wild mass of waves piled on top of her head, she was cute, he decided. The crazy kind of cute.

“There’s no show,” she said. “And what are you staring at?” When he looked his fill in response, she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “They’re called boobs, Adam.”

“Oh, trust me, I know, Sunshine,” he said, stepping closer and, being the expert on that subject, sized her up in a single glance. Firm, perky—the perfect little handful who wished she was a
C
. That explained the creative clothing choices. “Just wasn’t sure if you knew, with your outfit and all.”