Simple Need
Simple Need
Lissa Matthews
Vinter is not your typical businessman. Tattoos, piercings and not a suit and tie in sight. One-third owner of a bar and a tattoo parlor along with
being a bassist in a band, Vinter comes and goes as he pleases. He likes his beer cold, his music hard and his women scorching hot. Until he’s knocked off his game by a suburban doll he can’t stop wanting.
Elise needs a change. In men. The buttoned-up businessmen she’s been dating leave a lot to be desired—in romance, in respect and most definitely in sex. A recent text message from her now ex-lover drives Elise into a popular bar on the outside of town, where she meets one of its
owners. He’s just the kind of man she’s never had and definitely the kind she’s always fantasized about. Big, bad and oh so naughty.
Unexpected tenderness. Unimaginable lust. Being dumped has never felt so damn good.
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Simple Need
ISBN 9781419924873
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Simple Need Copyright © 2009 Lissa Matthews
Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book publication November 2009
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
SIMPLE NEED
Lissa Matthews
Trademarks A cknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
501s: Levi Strauss & Co
AmEx: American Express Marketing & Development Corp.
Coke: The Coca-Cola Company
Chapter One
The bartender leaned against the polished, scarred wood of the bar. “Another one?”
Elise looked at the bottom of her glass and debated what the correct answer should be. Would she rather drive home or call a cab?
“Yes, let the lady have another.”
She turned her head at the man who had come to straddle the barstool next to hers. Short auburn hair, ice blue eyes, both arms covered in brightly colored tats, fingernails painted black, and a barely contained sex appeal reached out and enveloped her from her head all the way down
to her toes. She wanted him. Right here, right now.
She cleared her throat, found her voice, and was pleased at its steadiness. “I appreciate it, but no. I think it’s time for me to call it a night.” In his bed would be a nice place to do that, but she’d just called a halt to all men for a while. Even gorgeous ones with hard dicks pressing against worn
denim, and solid muscles framed to lean perfection beneath faded black tee shirts.
God, she needed to go home. He was way too tempting and her bruised ego was way too vulnerable.
“Why?”
Yes, why indeed. “It’s just time. Been a long day and all that.”
He reached out and stroked the back of her hand that was wrapped around the empty glass. “Going home alone?”
Would you like to come home with me?
“Yes, alone.”
“Hmmm. That doesn’t sound like fun at all. Tell ya what. Why don’t you let me buy you another drink and you can fill me in on why it’s been
such a long day. I’m a pretty good listener.”
He had a deliciously, well-defined mouth and Elise wanted to let her lips fall down on his. His voice rolled over her like a warm blanket, soft
and comfortably deep. “The guy I’d been seeing ended things today. I got the text message at lunch.”
“Text message? You serious? Dumbass man.”
She tried not to smile but couldn’t help it. It was just a small smile, but nonetheless he answered her with one of his own and she swore her
pussy melted in her jeans.
“No. I was the dumbass in this one. I really did know better and now, well, hindsight is twenty-twenty.” She shrugged and the bartender chose
that moment to set another rum and Coke in front of her. The smell of the alcohol made her feel lightheaded. Whoa. She didn’t need to drink it, she
could just inhale it. Instead of calling a cab, she would be sleeping on the floor beneath the stool she sat on.
“What did you know better about?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” She took a small sip of her new drink. The rum burned going down and it felt good. Tattoo man would
feel better, but…
“I do.”
“He was married.”
“Oh. Yeah, that’s never good. Are you?”
“Am I what? Good? Yes.”
He grinned at her and heat flooded her cheeks. She had no idea where that teasing, suggestive comment had come from, but she liked it, liked
that she made him grin. He was devastating to look at.
“Mmmm. I’ll give you a chance to prove it later. Are you married?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
“Then why waste your time on a man who is?”
She never would have if she’d known. Where were all the damn warning signs? “I didn’t know he was married. See, that’s me being the dumbass. He gave all his numbers, his address. There were never any restrictions on communication or seeing one another.” And there hadn’t been. She could call him whenever, though she always let him call her. She’d never been one who could chase a man, even one she was dating. She
could see him every night, every day. He’d introduced her to people he worked with, friends he hung out with. There had been nothing that she
could remember, and she’d been racking her brain all afternoon trying to figure out, trying to jog her memory, trying to find something that would
have hinted that there was a Mrs. But there was nothing.
“When did you find out?”
“In his text message. He said he was going back to his wife.” And there it was all over again… the shock, the humiliation at having gotten involved with a married man without having realized it. There hadn’t even been a tan line on his ring finger. She’d looked. Going back obviously
meant that he’d been separated from his wife, but still…
She lowered her head and laid her forehead on the bar. That twinge inside her gut, that complete lack of understanding at how her character
judgments had become so flawed, gnawed at her. She used to be able to read people, guys especially, mainly because she watched more than she
talked. What had happened that she couldn’t choose a guy anymore who was worth anything, who wasn’t a loser? What had happened to her once-
upon-a-time, never-let-her-down intuition?
Tattoo Man leaned close, his breath whispered into her ear, fanned across her skin, and she fought not to shiver, fought not to lift her head and
turn it just a fraction of an inch to her right. “Let me take care of you.”
And then there was hot and yummy next to her. Her intuition was screaming loud and clear regarding him.
Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t. You. Dare. Ask.
“Take care of me how?” Dammit. She couldn’t help but ask though. No man had ever asked her to let
him take care of her, to give herself in such a way as to be cared for. It didn’t matter right then what he wanted to do to her, how he wanted to take
care of her. All that mattered was that he did.
He smelled of beer, of smoke, of every sinful thought she’d ever had. He asked why she would waste her time on a married man? Had she
known Business Suit was married, separated or not, she wouldn’t have wasted the last few months on him, but more than that, men like Tattoo Man
never looked at her twice. Normal, work-in-an-office men were the ones who asked her out, were the ones who called, were the ones she thought
were what she needed. They were steady, or at least that’s what she told herself, but they often ended up having more issues than she cared to hear
about. They were generally all about themselves and getting ahead. Rarely had anyone cared enough to ask her to just let them take care of her.
And yet, the one man who did ask… Damn. Her blood was like lava flowing through her veins, hot and thick just looking at him, just imagining the kinds of things he could do to her with that voice, those hands, that mouth, that long, lean body, that cock that was still hard behind
his zipper. Tattoo Man was the kind of hot-blooded bad boy she’d always fantasized about, always dreamed about, but never the kind of man she
ended up attracting.
Until now, that is.
He winked and one corner of his mouth tilted up as he sat back again. “You. Me. A bed. Naked. Fucking all thoughts of that loser right out of
your pretty head.”
He couldn’t be serious. Could he? The look in his eyes told her that yes, he was indeed very serious. Oh wow. When? Where? For how long? “I
don’t think th—”
“No,” he said, shaking his head sharply and reaching for her drink. With his eyes trained on her, he took a swallow that would have choked her
going down, but didn’t faze him at all. When he put the glass back down, half the liquid was gone. “This isn’t one of those thinking moments. This
is one of those go-for-it ‘doing’ moments. I want you to smile big and bright and I want to see tears in your eyes because you’ve come so much
… because you’ve come so hard. I want you to walk funny because you’ve been used for hours on end and want more.”
Well, damn. When put like that, how could she say no? It was simple really. She couldn’t. She might not get the happy ending with Tattoo Man,
but he was offering her a chance at getting down and dirty, having the kind of naughty sex she’d only ever dreamed about and she just couldn’t,
wouldn’t say no. She wanted to be able to say she’d had a bad boy, just once. She’d think about the consequences later. She’d have that talk with her
intuition later as well and find out why all of a sudden it decided to start issuing warnings. For now though, for tonight, she was going to make at
least one fantasy come true.
She grabbed her purse and began to pull her wallet out, but he stayed her hand and the contact was electric. Jolts of hunger, of need, of something she’d never felt before traveled through her body and settled in her chest, between her legs, and everywhere in the middle. He felt it,
