Need You for Mine (Heroes of St. Helena) Read online

  by marina adair

  Heroes of St. Helena series

  Need You for Keeps

  Need You for Always

  St. Helena Vineyard series

  Kissing Under the Mistletoe

  Summer in Napa

  Autumn in the Vineyard

  Be Mine Forever

  From the Moment We Met

  Sugar, Georgia series

  Sugar’s Twice as Sweet

  Sugar on Top

  A Taste of Sugar

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2016 Marina Adair

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503933200

  ISBN-10: 1503933202

  Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant

  To all of the first responders, who put their lives on the line every day to protect our families, our homes, and our communities.

  contents

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  chapter twenty-one

  chapter epilogue

  acknowledgments

  sneak peek: it started with a kiss

  chapter one

  about the author

  There wasn’t a person on the planet who Harper Owens couldn’t friend. 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 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 babysitter I’d be home by ten,” he said, and didn’t that warm her heart. He was such a good dad. Devoted, involved, loving, and—holy smokes—was Dr. Dreamy checking out her boobs?

  She watched his eyes to see if they’d dart again, and they ended up doing a mini-dip—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 summer 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. She now knew that 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’s something I’ve been meaning to ask, 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 barstool next to hers, offered to buy her a drink, then started asking all the right questions. “So when I saw you at the Spigot 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 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 know this is last-minute, but I’m going to San Diego for a medical conference next week.”

  “San Diego is beautiful in the summertime,” 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 her mother was racing toward the border for a starring role in a vacation-resort production of Evita.

  “It is,” he said. “It’s a one-day conference, but I figured it’s so close to the beach and Gaslamp district, maybe I’d stay the night. Go down Tuesday, come back Wednesday.”

  “I think it’s great that you’re starting to make time for yourself. All good parents need a break.”

  Clay let out a relieved sigh. “Thanks, I needed to hear that.”

  Which was why she’d said it. Clay was the most dedicated parent she knew, putting his son above everyone and everything else. Including himself. He deserved some time to be an adult, have some quiet R&R to reboot.

  His eyes met hers, soft and warm, like melted chocolate. Harper loved chocolate. “Anyway, I was wondering if you were free.”

  “Me?” she asked, so excited she nearly choked on the word. “You want to know if I’m free? Next week?” Which was the worst possible time for Harper to get away. It was back-to-school inventory time at the Fashion Flower, the one-stop kids’ shop in town for all things kiddie, crafty, and couture, and as manager she was the only person who could handle the delivery. But a night away? With Clay? Naked? “You bet.”

  “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 was special. As if she was—

  “A lifesaver, Harper. That’s what you are.” Clay released a long, relieved breath. Funny, since she had stopped breathing altogether. “My mom can take him Tuesday, but Wednesday is an early-release day from day camp and she can’t pick him up in time. And his sitter is only fifteen, hence the reason I need to get her home tonight by ten, and can’t pick him up until four, after her cheerleading practice. 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 back-up 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—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 which were addressed to her.

  “Tommy would probably be more comfortable at my place. You can hang out there, watch a movie in my room if that works for you,” Clay offered, and Harper had to bite her lip to stop from laughing at the irony. Clay finally wanted to see her in his bed, only in the most chaste of scenarios. He couldn’t manage to see her as more. It was a position she’d been placed in a million times in her life, yet never managed to master.

  Clearing any trace of hurt from her expression, a trick she had mastered, she said, “I run the Sprouting Picasso class at the shop at three.”

  “I should be home before then.” 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 miniscule 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. At all. She didn’t want a favor—she wanted passion, connection, adventure. She wanted to be wanted.

  And speaking of wanted, she wanted cookies.

  Not the kind with confetti sprinkles that her grandmother made, but the kind that only a strong, sexy man could provide. And I want 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 owned by her grandma 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 else lift heavy boxes, and stock the store. Clovis needed to stay off her knee so it could heal from her most recent replacement surgery, but if Baby wasn’t organizing the store at night, then her grandma would have to 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 eclectic 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.

  Harper spun around, the scream sticking in her throat as her heart lodged itself there first. Acting on reflex, she threw the only thing within 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 unexpected voice said from the dressing-room doorway. Harper spun around, her heart pounding with adrenaline at the sight of the big, built—and definitely unwelcome—male burglar looming behind her.

  A cocky smirk and one hey baby wink was all it took for her brain to register the burglar in question, and for her fear to immediately turn to 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 Harper hadn’t bothered to friend. He was someone who, like her mother, was too busy soaking up that spotlight to make room for lasting connections.

  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.

  It was 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 from the Copacabana. Then she’d tossed her dress at him and things had gotten really interesting. Little Miss Sunshine wiggled a lecturing finger his way, which caused everything in silk and lace to do a little cha-cha of its own, and Adam’s mind went to a bad place.

  An incredibly good, bad place.

  Oh, Harper was all sunshine and freckles up top. 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. 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 intoxicating. Who knew she kept all that hidden under her Rainbow Brite attire?

  Not the dildo with the kid who’d asked her to babysit, that was 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. If she’d been wearing heels instead of those granny flats, she would have nearly been eye-to-eye with him. “Nice panties. Need help?”

  “They’re called Parisian peek-a-boos, and there’s no show,” she said. “And no, the last thing I need is your help.”

  And wasn’t that a damn shame. He was pretty sure he was the perfect man to help her with her problem, only she crossed her arms and snapped, “What are you staring at?”

  “Apparently, Parisian peek-a-boos with a matching lace bra.” He wiggled his brows. “A see-through lace bra.”

  “They’re called boobs, Adam.”

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

  “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

  “You look like a yellow crayon who stepped in grape juice.”

  She looked at him in disbelief, then outrage. “I do not! That dress revealed more secrets than Victoria’s new summer catalog.”

  He held up the dress and she grimaced. “Secrets or not, the only thing you’re going to attract with this dress is honeybees, not a hookup.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not looking for a hookup,” she mumbled, snatching her dress back. And because he already knew the truth, just like he knew one more frustrated huff would have her popping right out of that bra, he let her take it. Even turned his back when she slipped it back on. Because getting a boner for Pollyanna wasn’t a smart move.

  “But if I were . . .” she said so quietly he turned back around to see if she’d even spoken. She was once again in the yellow jumper, zipped up to her sternum, and fiddling with the little silver heart charm dangling from her necklace. “Are you saying I have to change how I look to get a guy?”

  “No.” He actually liked the crazy cutie exactly like she was. Her blinding fashion sense was loud, quirky, and kind of adorable. Except, he remembered, those of the crazy cutie variety tended to want more than he was willing to give. So he checked himself, then gave a silent lecture that she wasn’t asking about his preferences, but Dr. Dildo’s. “However, if you want that guy with the kid, then yeah, you’ve got to up your game.”

  Her confusion apparent, he reached for the front zipper of her dress.

  She smacked his hand away. “Hey.”

  “You asked for my help, so let me help. Here.” He grabbed a red belt off the silk robe and tied it around her waist, cinching it in to showcase her flat stomach. With Harper no longer looking like a chewing-gum wrapper, Adam tugged the zipper south, far enough that the collar of her dress opened and slid down one arm. Her shoulder was now exposed, as well as a nice hint of her copacabanas. “Sexy is in the accessories. Oh, and you need new lipstick.”