More Than Need You (More Than Words 2)

I grab my suitcase. I spot her bag, too, and lift it by the handle, then lug them both upstairs.

“Where are you going?” She follows behind me.

“To our bedroom.”

“Our…” She huffs. “What? No! You’re out of your mind.”

“I might be, but there is one bedroom on this side of the house beside Jamie. I haven’t been there for my son since the day he was born, and I’ll be goddamned if I’m not going to be here for him now. So I’m sleeping in the room closest to him. If you want another bedroom, it will have to be on the other side of the floor.” I drop her suitcase at her feet. “You pick. I’m going to bed.”

As I head to the master, I catch her grabbing her bag and chasing after me. “I’m not leaving my son without his mother.”

“Then it looks like we’re both sleeping there.” I point at the king-size bed with the tropical white-and-blue comforter and the dozen pillows that make it look soft and inviting and luxuriously romantic.

“Don’t pretend this is strictly about Jamie.”

You know, she’s right. Bullshit isn’t my style. “It’s not. But that doesn’t change anything I’ve said. This is where I’m sleeping. How about you?”

“You manipulative bastard. You’ve cornered me again. So, of course, you win. Again. I’m sure that makes your ego feel all big and bloated.”

“This isn’t fucking about my ego.”

“No matter what you say, everything is about your ego at some point, even winning me back.” She rolls her eyes and heads to the bathroom. “I don’t care. It won’t be the first time we’ve shared a bed. Just stay on your side and don’t touch me.”

Now I’m just pissed. Or riled. Or frustrated. I’m not thinking, just reacting.

I drop my suitcase and snag her again, pulling her body against mine with a hand splayed at the small of her back. I dig my fist into her hair and force her to look at me. “I won’t lay a finger on you until you admit you want me. Until you admit I’m the only man for you. Until you ask me.”

“You’re going to be waiting for the rest of your life.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

I can’t sleep. I feel like the stupidest, most masochistic son of a bitch ever. I love sleeping next to Britta. But right now, I hate sleeping next to her. I smell her, hear her. I can almost touch her, taste her. I want her so badly I’m hard and sweating and aching.

I can’t have her—yet.

Sharing a bed again is making me remember the morning sex, the good-night sex, our quickie nooners, and the lazy Sunday loving we once shared. Not going to lie, we got busy a lot. The difference was that, unlike other women, every time I was with Britta, I only wanted her more. I wanted her in a way that stemmed from somewhere deeper than my dick. I yearned to hold her when she cried. I couldn’t wait to laugh with her when we caught the neighbor’s crazy dog humping a fence post or landed a listing on a Hawaiian street with a name containing fifteen vowels we both had trouble pronouncing. And yes, I loved to indulge her in the most sinful, drawn out, claw-worthy orgasms while finding new ways to make her come.

Right now, I’d settle for her talking to me. After the end of our argument, she shut herself in the bathroom, took a long bath, then emerged in a shapeless T-shirt, palmed a sleep mask, and utterly tuned me out.

I might deserve it…but I don’t know what to do about it. And I have to figure it out—fast.

I roll over and look at the clock—1:53 a.m. Yeah, I’m going to be worthless at work later today.

Reaching for my phone, I roll out of bed. Quickly, I peek in on Jamie, who’s as sacked out as his mother, then I pace out to the lanai. The shadows of moonbeams dance over the water. I hear the crashing waves more than see them. I can almost feel them vibrating through my body as they churn loudly in the night that’s otherwise silent—kind of like the turmoil rolling just under my skin.

Emotions. They fucking suck. But if I’m going to dive into that murky pit, I might as well wade in deep, make some decisions, and get it over with.

When I unpacked my car earlier, I brought Keeley’s CD of song selections inside. Luckily, I don’t have to wander the house for long to find a CD player. There’s one in the bonus room upstairs. I probably shouldn’t do this now. It won’t cheer me up in the least. But I still cue up the next tune on the disc, then sink into a plush chair to listen.

From the very first strains, it’s sad. No, haunting. A vocal realization that everything between this couple is tangled, confusing, and seemingly hopeless. A glance at the case tells me it’s called “Breaking Ties” by some obscure band called OceanLab. No idea where Keeley finds this stuff, but she’s dead on.

I have been fooling myself for so long, thinking I could live without Britta. I’m pretty sure she’s been doing the same. I don’t know how we could be both so right and so wrong. No denying that when I feel my mouth against her skin, she absolutely lights me from within. And it’s been forever since I’ve felt that way because that’s how long it’s been since I’ve been with her. But right now, she’s sinking like a stone. And just like the lyrics suggest, I need to be her parachute.

How can I do that? I’m not sure—yet. I’m certainly never allowing Makaio an opportunity to pull her rip cord and save her.

After the song ends, I silence the sound system. Ideas are rolling through my head. Big ones. Crazy ones. I’m pinging with them. Vibrating with them. I’ll never fucking sleep.

I bounce my phone from one hand to the other, hesitating. Should I? Shouldn’t I? I have to, don’t I? Otherwise, I’ll contemplate my uncertain future all night. Otherwise, nothing between Britta and me changes. The good news is, this won’t be the first time I’ve called this late. The bad news? I doubt it will be the last.

With a sigh, I press a button.

Three rings later, Keeley whispers, “What are you doing up?”

“What are you doing up?” I counter. “I knew you wouldn’t answer if you weren’t awake.”

She clears her throat. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

I cringe. “Shit. Please tell me that you and my brother aren’t getting busy right now.”

Keeley laughs. “No. I wouldn’t answer the phone if we were. It’s just fun to mess with you.”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear a word about his dick, joking or otherwise.”

“I’ll try not to offend your delicate sensibilities, Griff. So what’s up? Out with it.” Keeley sighs. “You only call in the middle of the night when it’s really bad. I’m guessing you took Britta to the house and…what? Had a fight?”

Sometimes, I swear she’s psychic. “More or less. It started off calm and reasonable…ish. Then Jamie called me Daddy.”

“That’s good, right? Oh, except it upset Britta, I’ll bet.”

“Some. Not as much as I thought, though. From there, we wandered onto the subject of our respective lovers after the split. That went less well.” Much less.

“I’ll bet she wasn’t thrilled you’d been so…busy,” Keeley predicted. “And you lost your shit when you found out she hadn’t spent all her time alone.”

“I didn’t.” Well, not visibly. “But I wanted to. That was one of the fucking hardest things I’ve ever heard. It solidified my resolve to make sure there’s never another man in her life.” Or her bed. “Then I might have screwed up by mentioning that Makaio isn’t the right guy for her. She didn’t want to hear that when she was wearing his ring. Things got uglier after that. Somehow, she’s convinced herself that I’m full of hot air and me trying to win her back is all about my ego. Really? I’m not that guy.”

“Not anymore,” she corrects me. “Besides, I think that’s her excuse. She has to attribute your actions to something, and if she lets herself believe you really are still in love with her, then she has to confront her feelings for you. And she’s terrified to do that because she’ll have to reevaluate the future she has planned.”

Valid point. “I don’t know how else to make her u

nderstand that I just want to—”

“Give her a better future? Make her happy? I know. But she doesn’t. Think about this… What if she lets herself fall for you again and it doesn’t work out? Britta is too smart not to realize she’ll lose everything for giving in to her heart—her fiancé and possibly even her job. She will, of course, have to share her son going forward. And she’ll have to live with that broken heart and a mountain of regret. Again.”

I rake a hand through my hair. I hear what she’s saying, but none of that is going to happen. “I keep telling her over and over that I love her.”