The Best Thing He Never Knew He Needed Read online

  The Best Thing He Never Knew He Needed

  (The Champion Brothers)

  Tina Martin

  Copyright © 2015 Tina Martin

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, photocopying and recording, without prior written consent of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses and products are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual events is entirely coincidental.

  ~

  For the loyal, faithful, honest, hard-working men who are already champions in everyday life.

  To my readers who have been waiting patiently for Desmond’s story, this one is for you.

  Enjoy!

  ~

  THE BEST THING HE NEVER KNEW HE NEEDED

  CHAPTER 1

  He saw her the moment she walked out of Emily’s Boutique.

  Desmond was parked covertly across the street, in front of a sandwich shop there, in his black-on-black, Mercedes-Benz, G-Class wearing a black suit, black Cartier sunglasses and black, leather Balenciaga shoes – all black everything – looking like an amateur private investigator when he saw her, the unbelievably beautiful woman he dubbed as his weakness, strutting to the coffee shop next door. Her long, curly hair bounced around her face like she was surrounded by a flock of ravens, and her glistening legs appeared to be smoother than his designer, silk necktie. Smoother than the shot of Grey Goose he had after a rough day at the office last night.

  While he sat there staring her down without her knowledge, in pure, unabashed stalker mode, he wished he had a pair of binoculars to get a closer view of her. He grinned, feeling silly for thinking such a thing, like binoculars would’ve calmed his sudden urge to see more of her. No way. Only being up close and in-your-face personal would give him that satisfaction. He’d avoided her long enough. Now it was time to turn up his Champion charm and lay it on thick for her. Sherita Wilkins. His kryptonite.

  He evaded her for nearly a year, eleven months to be exact, and the last time he’d spoken to her was at Dimitrius’ family cookout. With the eyes of a hawk, he’d watched her every move, studied how she mingled with the guests, and since she was friends with Dante’s wife, Emily, and Dimitrius’ wife, Melanie, she fit in perfectly with the family already.

  Desmond stepped out of the jeep, smoothing out his tailored Tom Ford suit with his hands. He wore it with a gray shirt and checkered gray and black tie. Not only was he a man who could spot a gorgeous woman from a mile away, he was a guy who had impeccable style. But he didn’t dress to impress. He didn’t wear those thousand-dollar suits, shoes and neckties to pick up ladies. Truth be told, he could do that with his swag alone, even while wearing something as basic as a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He dressed sharp because he was a business man and by definition, about his business. At the moment, Sherita Wilkins was his business, and she was about to get an unexpected visit.

  Feeling as confident as he always felt, he sauntered across the street while relaxing his hands in his pockets, smelling her scent, that same hypnotizing fragrance she always wore, float into his nostrils, sending his nerves in overdrive. He’d never smelled anything close to it on another woman.

  When he neared the entrance of the coffee shop, he pulled the sunglasses from his eyes, slid them in the upper left pocket of his suit jacket and reached for the door. Upon pulling it open, he saw her, standing at the back of the line. He wasted no time getting in the line behind her.

  While he stood there, he quietly admired her up close. He’d never been this close to her before, by choice. Now he would take the opportunity to take her all in. By choice. Beginning with her hair, he observed how healthy and thick it was – as black as onyx – hanging down her back. She had on a flimsy pink, knee-length summer dress with a pair of gold sandals that matched her gold hoop earrings as well as the gold bangles clanking on her dainty wrist. And her perfume – goodness that perfume – she smelled like lemon mixed with fresh gardenias and ripened cherry blossoms. Her moisturized skin glowed like a sun ray piercing through a dense cloud. She was a sun ray – every time he saw her his face lit up, only she had no idea what kind of affect she had on him.

  Desmond pulled in another a deep breath of her fragrance (along with the smell of freshly ground coffee beans) before noticing the giggly women sitting at a table nearby. He glanced over at them, watching them look his way. Just to be cordial, he said, “Good morning, ladies.”

  “Good morning,” they replied.

  He smirked. This was the norm for him. Back in the day, women weren’t so forthcoming when it came to dating and approaching a man. They waited for the guy to make the first move. But everywhere he went, women stared at him like he was the meal they’d missed that day or the water they needed to quench a two-day-old thirst. Not a problem for him – he knew how to handle women, especially those kinds. The hungry, thirsty ones. The ones who went after him because he was handsome, or the ones who knew he had a bank roll. Nothing irritated him more than those type of women and nothing, absolutely, positively nothing was appealing about a woman who threw herself at a man. Nothing at all.

  He’d never allow himself to be chased by a woman. No way. Not under any circumstances. He chased what he wanted. And what did he want? The answer was simple. He wanted what every man who thought he was the best thing smoking wanted. He wanted the woman he couldn’t have. The woman who played hard to get. He wanted the kind of woman who pretended not to be attracted to him when he knew otherwise. The kind of woman who seemed unimpressed with his success. The kind of woman who could pretend she didn’t know he was standing directly behind her in line at a coffee shop.

  A mischievous smile curled into one corner of his mouth. More than once he’d thought about reaching out and grabbing Sherita somehow, just to get under her skin. He’d grip her arm, maybe, or grab a fist full of that luscious hair he’d been dying to touch. She had to have known he was standing behind her. Watching her. Yet, she didn’t make any attempts to turn around to speak. Was she ignoring him intentionally?

  He would admit to avoiding her for a year, true enough, but she evaded him just the same. Even now, she was doing a superb job of acting like she hadn’t smelled the Polo Black he was wearing or felt him towering over her. She didn’t have to be friends with him to be cordial, and he didn’t have to be friends with her. They virtually ran in the same circles – well, only when they weren’t avoiding each other.

  When Sherita took a step up, he followed, standing so close to her, it looked like they were together, not as a couple, but literally together. Joined at the hips. Sharing the same organs.

  Desmond smiled. Had he ever enjoyed aggravating a woman this much? While he stood there, deliberately irritating her, the smirk on his face grew almost bigger than his ego. If Sherita thought she would avoid him, she had another think coming. Desmond Champion, millionaire marketing executive extraordinaire, didn’t get sidestepped by anyone.

  He heard her release a frustrated breath. Finally, he thought. He was beginning to think that maybe she really didn’t know he was standing behind her. The fact that she did know, and was irritated by it, made him inch a little closer. Smirk a little harder. If only he could see her face. He was certain she’d been rolling her eyes in utter irritation. Pouting her lips. Trying to disguise her reddened cheeks. Hissing some angry words under her breath to relieve vexation.

  “If you get any closer, we’ll have to exchange insurance information,” Sherita finally snapped. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t have to. She knew who it was all along w
ho had been stealing her body heat. She knew his smell, and she recognized the flutters in her stomach that only he’d been able to put there. Of all the men she’d met, none of them had overwhelmed her senses like Desmond Champion had.

  “Will that information include your phone number?” he asked. Then, leaning down close to her ear, he continued, “If so, buckle your seatbelt, baby, because you’re about to get rear-ended.”

  “And you’re about to get slapped.”

  “Any contact is better than none at all,” he said, paying particular interest to the vein that seemed to bulge out of her neck when she was mad. He had a longing to kiss her there. “Hit me with your best shot, princess.”

  Sherita rolled her eyes. “I’m not your princess.”

  “You could be.”

  She grinned. “Impossible. That would imply that you’re a prince, which can’t be true because there’s nothing royal or chivalrous about you.”

  Leaning so close to her neck that he could feel the heat of her body touch his lips, he whispered, “You want to find out?”

  She froze when she felt his breath massage and tickle the side of her neck. He just had to be arrogant, annoying and fine all at the same time, didn’t he? And why was he standing so close to her now when, before, he’d been avoiding her like she had traveled to an Ebola hot zone? There had been several times he opted not to show up somewhere because he knew she was there or knew she would be there.

  Last Friday for instance – Sherita was at Dante and Emily’s place adoring their handsome, six-month-old little boy, named Ezra. Dimitrius and Melanie came over with their five-month-old, chubby-cheeked, angel of a daughter, named Grace. The brothers were getting ready to play a game of pool, something they typically did on Friday nights, and guess who didn’t show up? Desmond. Sherita later learned that Desmond had called Dante just to find out if she was there and when Dante confirmed she was, Desmond didn’t bother coming by.

  His brothers thought it was bizarre. They’d never seen Desmond blatantly avoid a woman the way he was steering clear of her. Now he was standing behind her like they were making up for lost time, or as he put it, like she was about to get rear-ended.

  He hadn’t touched her, and he could feel how tense she was now. Since he was on a roll, he figured he’d continue pushing her buttons. “So, how have things been going, Ms. Destination Wedding Photographer?”

  A better question is, why are you talking to me? “Good,” she answered through clenched teeth, keeping her answer short. When the line advanced, she took a step forward.

  So did he. “Traveled anywhere exotic lately?” he asked.

  The warmness of his breath against the side of her face nearly made her lose her voice. Still, she remained strong, stuck to her short-answer strategy and responded, “No.”

  He flashed a lopsided grin. She wanted to play the one-word answer game, like he couldn’t get her riled up enough to talk to him. He could, and he could do it very well. “We should get together sometime to discuss the dynamics behind this career choice of yours.”

  Her forehead creased, but she still refused to turn around to face him. “Yeah, we should…when the sky actually begins falling, and we all believe Chicken Little had been right all along.”

  Desmond erupted in laughter.

  That irritated her even more. She poked her tongue into her cheek and inhaled a long, agitated breath while feeling her face tighten.

  Nearing the end of his laugh, Desmond said, “Never knew you had a funny side, Sherita. I like it.”

  She mumbled more frustrations to herself and when it was her turn to order, she stepped up to the counter. Finally, she had some breathing room. “Umm, hi…let me get a small—”

  “The lady will have a small decaf, two Splendas, two-percent milk, no cream and a dash of cinnamon.” Yes, he was rude by cutting her off, by boldly walking right up to the counter next to her, but did he care? Not at all.

  Sherita opened her mouth to say something while turning to the right to look at him, connecting her eyes to his penetrating, hazel gaze for the first time in a long time. The sight of him nearly made her knees buckle. Made her heart race. Her breath catch. She couldn’t explain her attraction to him and not only did that anger her, it confused her. Granted he was a good-looking man, but he was conceited – a quality she’d never found appealing.

  She turned away from him when she realized she’d temporarily lost the ability to speak. After not seeing him for months, she’d been reminded of just how dreamy the man was. He was dressed sharp in an expensive suit that accentuated the broadness of his shoulders and his sense of style. And he was well-built, just like his brothers, but there was something uniquely different about this hazel-eyed, so-fine-he’d-make-you-stutter, Champion brother. Something exquisitely different.

  Maybe since he was the youngest, his gorgeous features were readily noticeable. His caramel-colored skin looked as creamy as the inside of a Milky Way candy bar. His black hair was cut close in a fade, lined up to perfection and his deep jawline was as solid as a rock, seemingly chiseled to show the unique bone structure of his handsome face. Many features added to his gorgeousness: his stately, straight nose, the mustache above his slender lips, the sprinkling of hair on his chin, the thick eyebrows and long eye lashes curtaining his alluring eyes – Desmond Champion was one breathtaking, attractive man.

  And he was intelligent. From what she’d learned from Emily, Desmond ran the marketing side of the business for The Champion Corporation. Anyone who knew anything about a business knew that marketing could make or break a company. Since The Champion Corporation posted a hefty, million-dollar profit last year and was on track to triple that this year, Desmond was definitely skilled at what he did for a living.

  But looks and intelligence weren’t everything, especially when he had a bad reputation that preceded him. There had been women who thought they could change his player ways – who thought they had what it took to make him settle down only to be left heartbroken when he ended things. He always ended things. He’d chase, pursue, enjoyed his spoils and then, when the time came, he released the woman back into the wild, emotionally damaged. That’s the way he was, and he was downright cold with it. Heartless. Women cried over him, pleaded with him all for nothing. Seemed the sight of a woman heartbroken and in tears had no effect on him. And he was the cause of the sadness…

  “Did I get it right?”

  She turned to look at him again. Heart thudding. Staring. Still, no words could escape through her lips.

  “Well?”

  Are you for real? She thought it, but she couldn’t say it as she studied him, trying to figure him out. They were garnering an audience, no fault of hers. She heard the sighs and jeers from people in line behind them wondering what the hold-up was all about.

  “By your incredulous stare, I take it you’re impressed,” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re holding up the line.”

  Desmond turned around, met frustrated faces but remained unfazed. Looking at Sherita again, he asked, “Are you impressed?”

  “By what?”

  “The fact that I know you well enough to know how you like your coffee, princess.”

  If her eyes narrowed any further, they’d be closed. “No, I’m not impressed. Not at all.”

  His mouth slowly curved into a smile. “You should be?”

  Lifting a single brow, Sherita said, “Excuse me?”

  There. That’s what he wanted. To see her pout those opulent, sumptuous-looking lips. He didn’t bother taking his eyes away from them when he asked, “How many other men could walk in here and order your perfect cup of coffee?”

  “None, and I don’t need you placing my order for me.”

  “I know. That’s why I did it,” he responded, then flashed an amazing, bright white smile. And he had the gall to wink. Returning his attention to the cashier, he said, “I would like a caramel macchiato and a blueberry, lemon-cream scone. Would you like a scone, Sherita? I
know you usually don’t order anything to eat, but the scones are delicious here….helps me tame my cravings.”

  She squinted in utter frustration. Who did he think he was, hijacking her order and then almost insisting she order a scone? A freakin’ scone. Seriously? For the sake of getting out of the coffee shop and not holding up the line, Sherita withheld anger from her voice and replied, “No, I do not want a scone. Coffee is fine. I want a small cup of coffee and nothing more.”

  “Your loss.”

  Sherita gritted her teeth in sheer aggravation.

  “Okay, your total is fifteen dollars and twenty cents,” the cashier said.

  Desmond reached in the back pocket of his pants, removed his leather wallet and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill. Holding it up in the air, he turned around, looking at the customers behind him and said, “Coffee is on me this morning since I held up the line.”

  They clapped, cheered and he even heard a few thank yous. And all was right with the world again – well at least with the once angry customers. Sherita on the other hand…

  He handed the money to the cashier, exposing a crystal-studded letter ‘C’ cuff link in the process, then stepped off to the side to stand next to Sherita.

  Waiting for their orders now, Sherita kept her arms crossed underneath her breasts while avoiding the flame of Desmond’s gaze against the side of her face. She tried her best not to react when she saw him inch closer to her, but already she could feel sweat forming in her palms and the way her throat had become dry. Please don’t say anything to me. Please don’t say anything to me. And then…

  “Is Emily working today?” he asked, sliding his hands in the pockets of his pants. He was keenly aware she didn’t want to talk to him, but that was her problem. Not his.

  She glanced at him. “She’s working a few hours and leaving early.”