When I Need You

  Maybe it’ll help.”

  She sighed. Blinked. Fidgeted. Sighed again.

  I lifted an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”

  Then she bit her lip as she focused on my mouth.

  “Damn. Now I get it. You can’t talk to me because your issues are about me, aren’t they?”

  “What?”

  “Admit it: You want me.” I grinned at her. “You aren’t the first woman who finds me irresistible after agreeing to the just-friends parameters. As much as I’d love to take you for an all-night ride on the magic rocket—”

  “Omigod. You are unbelievable!”

  “That’s what I’ve heard—firsthand with the screams, moans and praising my name as a sex god—so there’s no use denying it or you pretending—”

  “For your information, egomaniac, my mood has nothing to do with you and your big rocket and supposed ability to induce screaming orgasms. I’m upset and distracted because the dance camp that I signed Calder up for months ago, the camp he loved so much last year, got canceled today. I have no idea what I’m going to do, or how I’m going to break it to him because it will break his little heart.”

  I paused for a moment. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

  Rowan gave me a sheepish smile. “You’re a sneaky one, Lund.”

  I shrugged. “I’m also pushy. So tell me the rest of it.”

  The edge of authority in my voice didn’t cause her to bristle up; she let everything pour out and it broke my heart.

  Her worry that every camp would be full or financially out of reach. Her confusion as to why the camp organizers waited until almost the last minute to spring the bad news on the parents. That led her to a rambling stream of consciousness about their organization’s finances—not that she’d seen their profit-and-loss statements—but wouldn’t they have realized sooner than today that they’d have funding issues? Their responses to her questions had been vague, and the director had indicated there’d be no refunds on the deposit.

  I saw her relief after she’d let off steam. I understood her reluctance to share her worries—we had that in common. My brain could only take so much silent ranting before I wound up with a brutal headache.

  In one breath Rowan told me she hated that I’d pushed her to talk because she didn’t want to be that annoying person who does nothing but complain about everything. In the next breath she thanked me because her usual confidant—Martin—wasn’t around.

  I said, “That’s some shitty day you’ve had, sunshine.”

  “What sucks is there’s nothing I can do about it, but I can’t stop obsessing over it.”

  I leaned back in the chair. “So this camp . . . Is it strictly for dancers?”

  “Two hours out of the six are dedicated to dancing. Then there’s theater and art stuff.”

  “Did they hire different instructors for each activity? Or did the dance instructor wear more than one hat?”

  “Each creative area had a separate staff member.”

  I paused for a moment. “Was there an issue with staffing?”

  “Serena—she was the director—didn’t give specifics. Part of me thinks there were too many issues to blame the cancellation on just one thing.”

  “Can you give me a basic breakdown on why the classes were unique and the appeal to you as a parent?”

  Rowan looked at me oddly, as if she’d expected me to say “The situation sucks for you, dude” and move on to a topic that interested me. But for whatever reason, she gave me a detailed breakdown of activities, fees, camp goals and the camp’s attempt at ethnic and economic diversity.

  Those words started the wheels churning in my head. “Where’d they hold the camp?”

  She listed the address and I whistled. “What?”

  “No wonder. That area is turning into a prime location for reurbanization.”

  Miss Skeptical frowned at me. “No offense, but how do you know that?”

  “I’ve been dabbling in buying real estate. My brother Walker co-owns a construction business that specializes in restoration. Last year they were looking at investing in a couple of buildings. But some out-of-state conglomerate bought up all that property in a two-block area. They raised the rent across the board.”

  “Isn’t that illegal in rent-control situations?” she asked.

  “Not with the right lawyer. Not as long as they’re claiming that the extra income is earmarked for major upgrades they have planned. Now, three quarters of those buildings are empty. According to my brother, there’s been no renovation. He and his business partner are keeping a close eye on things because they suspect the company will just bulldoze that whole neighborhood. Although nothing in that area is considered historical.”

  “No wonder it’s such a cluster. The facility they rented is right in the middle of that two-block stretch you’re talking about.” She sighed. “Which means it’s not a ‘we spent all the camp profits on booze and blow’ type situation.”

  I laughed. This woman and her random responses cracked me up.

  “This is serious stuff, Lund.”

  “I know. So how long has this group been in business? Are they a nonprofit?”

  That startled her. “I’m not sure. Why?”

  “Just curious. Not that it matters since they’re defunct.”

  “Exactly. So I’m no better off now than before you bullied me into ripping open my bleeding mother’s heart.”

  “You’ll be a hundred times better off for your honesty, especially with me.” I stood. A brilliant potential solution to her problem had occurred to me. I needed a moment to pace and sort it out. “Gotta use the can. Be right back.”

  My palms were actually sweating when I returned to the living room.

  I was afraid she’d instinctively bat away the helping hand I offered. Rowan Michaels had more pride—and the stubborn streak to go with it—than anyone I’d ever met. I wasn’t sure I could fake an air of nonchalance if she shot my idea down without really listening to it.

  She eyed me as I sat down. “Everything okay?”

  Guess I’d taken longer in the bathroom than I’d thought. I glanced at the coffee table and noticed she’d discreetly placed a roll of antacids next to the glass of ice water she’d gotten for me. That was Rowan in a nutshell: seeing to the needs of the people around her. My normal reaction—I didn’t need her mothering me—was replaced by a warm feeling in my chest that wasn’t from indigestion.

  “Jensen?” she prompted.

  “I’m fine. But I do want to talk to you about something that occurred to me. And I need your word that you’ll listen without judgment or a knee-jerk reaction until I’ve finished.”

  Rowan cocked her head. “You have my attention.”

  “Have you heard of LCCO? Lund Cares Community Outreach?”

  “Only because Dallas talked about it. Sounds like the organization does great things in the Twin Cities.”

  “We do. Every member of the Lund family is involved in some way. Each year we choose a project. It can be anything from organizing a coat drive like my sister, Annika, does, to building sets for a community theater like my brother Walker, to working with at-risk youth like my brother Brady.” It sucked admitting this next part. “As the youngest in my family, I’ve let my mom and my aunts decide what charitable needs I should meet, and I go where they tell me. So I’ve never been a self-starter when it comes to my yearly LCCO project.”

  Rowan frowned. “I’d think your project would be a no-brainer, Jens. You’re a sports celebrity. You could host youth football clinics and get thousands of kids to apply.”

  “But that’s not really doing something worthwhile to anyone outside the sports community. Besides, I have team obligations for kids’ football clinics. Just last week my mom harassed me about getting my shit together and committing to a project or she’d find one for me.” I couldn’t repress a shudder at the very idea of baring myself for a bachelor auction. “So tonight, after hearing about the loss of Calder’s favorite summe
r camp, and knowing he isn’t the only kid who’ll be affected by the loss, I’ll make creating a new camp my LCCO project.”

  She didn’t say anything; she just gaped at me in disbelief.

  I found myself trying to sell her on it. I’ll admit a lot of it was me talking out of my ass because I hadn’t paid attention to the particulars when I’d been involved in other LCCO projects. I’d never started one at ground zero.

  When I paused to take a drink, Rowan seized the chance to speak. “Okay, I’m throwing this out there and please don’t bite my head off. But you can’t take an arts camp—which I assume you know nothing about—and turn it into a sports camp, and expect the parents who had committed to the arts camp to be happy about the change because any camp is better than no camp.”

  And I thought I’d been making progress with her. That she’d finally seen me beyond being a meathead football player with a one-track mind on sports. It was tempting to say, Screw it, and good luck; sorry you can’t see that I have a functioning brain outside my helmet and I’m only trying to help you.

  I started to do just that: get up, toss off a terse “Whatever” and let her figure out a better way. But then I realized that was exactly what she expected I’d do—maybe even what she wanted me to do. Take offense, storm off and prove I have a football player’s temper by throwing a tantrum. Then she could keep her pride by not admitting that I could help her.

  Screw that.

  Raising my head, I met her defiant gaze with one of my own. “At what point during my explanation of how LCCO could possibly help fix this situation did I specifically say that I planned to turn the dance and art camp into a football camp?”

  Rowan stared at me. Scowled at me. Scowled at her empty mug.

  “You can’t answer that because I never indicated that in order for LCCO to become interested, I’d pitch it as a sports camp.”

  “Isn’t that expected? Given who you are?”

  I leaned forward. “I get off on defying people’s expectations, Rowan.”

  “So you seriously expect me to believe that all you have to do is tell LCCO about the situation, and they’ll ride in like a bunch of white knights and save the summer camp?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my last name is Lund.” I flashed my teeth at her. “Nepotism: It’s a good thing.”

  “Cocky much?”

  “Only when it’s warranted.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “How can you be so stubborn?” I shot out of my chair and loomed over her before she got it in her head to flee. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m on to you. You want to say no. You want to tell me to take my nepotism and shove it on my way out the door.”

  Another glare.

  “So are you going to let your pride put Calder’s happiness as well as the other campgoers’ at risk because you don’t want to admit you need some help? Or because you don’t want to accept that help from me?”

  “I hate this.”

  Being this close to her I noticed the pulse beating in her throat. I noticed the way she’d arched up slightly toward me, instead of away from me. I noticed she’d parted her lips as if she wanted me to kiss her.

  Or maybe . . . that’s how she looks when she’s pissed off, cornered and about to strike.

  Either way? It was sexy as hell.

  I denied my driving need to taste her, touch her, feel her body moving beneath mine. If I wanted her to see me as more than a player, I had to prove it to her.

  “Stop crowding me,” she finally said.

  “I will as soon as you answer the question.”

  Rowan closed her eyes. “All right. The truth? I hate that you can swoop in like some superhero and save the day.” When she opened her eyes it shocked me to see them shimmering with tears. “While I hate it because I know it’s my stupid pride making me resistant, I am thankful that you can possibly save the day.”

  I sat beside her. Without thinking, I curled my hand around the side of her face. Seeing this strong, feisty woman cry cut me deep, and I wanted to soothe her. “Rowan. What else is going on?”

  She whispered, “I wanted to be the hero, okay? I know it sounds petty and ungrateful, but I wanted to be the one to find a way.”

  “You are the hero in Calder’s life every single day. Never forget that.” I brushed away a tear and brought her closer to me. “I’m not doing this because I have a white-knight complex. I just want to help. Let me.” I paused. “That said, if it makes it easier for you to accept my help, imagine this whole thing is a giant stroke to my . . . ego.”

  “Seriously, Jensen Lund. How can you be cocky and humble?”

  “It’s hard, let me tell you. But I’ve managed to pull it off and I know you’re impressed with a capital I.”

  She laughed softly.

  “Besides, on my continuing journey of extreme selflessness, you did find a way to make the camp happen. You told me about it.”

  “Dude. You never quit.”

  “You’d be disappointed if I did, Coach.”

  “True.” She paused. “I expected you’d try to cop a feel since we’re in each other’s faces.”

  “A, I’m totally insulted that you think I’d take advantage of you in your fragile emotional state.”

  She snorted.

  “And B . . . do you equate expected with disappointed? Because if that’s the case, I’ll latch onto that luscious ass of yours with both hands, right now.”

  No surprise that was what had her squirming out of my arms.

  I should’ve quit while I was ahead.

  “In all seriousness. I’ll meet with my aunt Priscilla—aka the big boss at LCCO—Monday and discuss the situation. I don’t know that she’ll have options or suggestions immediately, but if you could be available by phone so I can pass along any of her questions or concerns, that would speed up the process.”

  “I’ll be in the office and not out in the training center next week, so that won’t be a problem.”

  “Cool.” I pushed to my feet. “It’s late.” I did have the fear of overstaying my welcome. But my fear that I’d get used to spending time with her and want more of it was equally strong.

  I’d reached the door when she said, “I don’t even know where to start thanking you.”

  “I haven’t done anything yet.”

  “Yes, you have. You’ve given me hope.”

  When she said sweet and sappy things like that? My insides went mushy.

  Ten

  JENSEN

  One thing I knew was that I’d have a better chance of convincing Aunt Priscilla to fund my project if I presented my case in person at the LCCO offices. Plus, my mother’s presence would help sway my aunt if she seemed hesitant. An official business call meant I couldn’t show up in athletic gear. After my three-hour workout, I returned to my place to slip on a suit.

  As I stood in front of the mirror tying my tie, I went over my game plan—which admittedly wasn’t much. Luckily I excelled at spur-of-the-moment ideas and could adapt my suggestions on the fly.

  At the Lund Industries corporate headquarters, I parked in the underground garage reserved for family members. We even had a private elevator so the executives could arrive and leave undetected. Recently the elevator had been put on weekend lockdown in an attempt to curb the Lund workaholic tendencies—or so I’d heard; I hadn’t been in this building on a weekend since my childhood. My weekends had been devoted to football since I’d joined my first peewee league at age ten.

  Astrid, the prissy college intern who took her receptionist job very seriously, looked up at my approach. No smile from Astrid—no surprise. That might add an extra two seconds to her workload. “Mr. Lund. I wasn’t aware Lund Industries had a board meeting.”

  I smiled at her. “As usual, Astrid, you’re right. I’m here to see—”

  “Jensen?” A familiar voice echoed behind me.

  I turned and faced my mother. “Hey, Mom.”