She muttered something I couldn’t make out.
“Done.” I stepped back and yanked my T-shirt over my head. “My turn.”
Trinity hadn’t bothered to put her sunglasses back on, so I saw those green eyes widen. Then her gaze roamed over my chest and belly with frank admiration. “Of course you’re built like that.”
I liked the way she was eyeing me. So did another part of my body and I willed the damn thing to stand down.
Then she muttered, “Of course you have a blond happy trail.”
I quickly skirted her and dropped into the chair. Maybe if I leaned far enough forward I could hide my body’s reaction.
And what happens when she puts her hands on you?
I was screwed.
The bottle of sunscreen made an obscene noise and cool droplets landed on my shoulders. At first her touch was tentative. Exploratory. And that was pure torture.
“Trinity—”
“I want to sketch you,” she said huskily. “The way your muscles bunch together here”—she traced my triceps and the upper bulge of my biceps—“you have exquisite form. I’d like to try to capture the power of them even in rest.”
“Sweetheart, you can do whatever you want.”
She squirted more sunscreen in the middle of my back, rubbing it in with slow, sensual strokes. “Anything? What about doing a nude?”
I chuckled. “Anything but that.”
“But this would be strictly for my personal collection.”
“So I’d just be one of many male forms in your private portfolio?” Why did that bother me? As an artist she’d probably drawn hundreds of nudes over the years.
“No.” Her lips grazed my ear and I shivered. “You’d be the first one.”
I turned my head until my cheek connected with hers. “Then I’m yours anytime you want me.”
“I’ll take you up on that later, when there’s more shadow to highlight the contrasts.”
When she kissed the hollow beneath my ear, my blood turned molten.
“Now that I’m protected, I’m ready to soak up the sun.” She moved to the seat beside me and stretched her legs out. Lowering her shades over her eyes, she aimed her face skyward and exhaled. “This is the perfect way to spend an afternoon. Thank you. I needed this.”
We didn’t talk for the longest time. The lapping of the waves against the side of the boat, the drone of other motors and the occasional high-pitched shrieks of happy kids lulled me into the peaceful state I only ever found here. Which is one of the reasons I usually came to the lake by myself. Bringing other people meant a rowdier time, loud tunes, free-flowing booze, requests to go tubing or wakeboarding. Sometimes I wanted that, but it was rare. Mostly I wanted this peaceful feeling.
After a bit I heard her shift in her seat.
I cracked an eye open and watched her settle a floppy orange hat on her head that put her face entirely in shadow.
Without looking at me, she said, “The hat is hideous, isn’t it?”
“It’s … colorful.”
“Artfully dodged,” she said dryly. “My stepmonster gave it to me. She said I wear entirely too much black and it depressed her.” She snorted. “It depressed me that she thought this ‘pop of color’ was what my wardrobe lacked.”
“Why’d you keep it?”
She shrugged. “A perverse sense of pride? It is actual proof she doesn’t know me at all.”
“That reminds me … Yesterday you said your family calls you Amelia. Why? What’s wrong with the name Trinity?”
Her body tensed. “Short version of my early life. My mom and dad met when he started an internship after law school clerking for the judge she worked for as a paralegal. They dated; she got pregnant. Mom refused to marry him, but she didn’t deny him or his family access to me. By the time I was three, he’d married the stepmonster. I saw him maybe twice a year. His mother—my grandma Minnie—I saw every couple of weeks because she adored me even when he didn’t. Anyway, when I was nine, my mom died in a—” She paused. “She died suddenly. Since she didn’t have family, and Grandma couldn’t take me because of her health issues, Grandma guilted her son into bringing me to live with him.”
“Guilted him into it,” I repeated. “He was your father. Taking care of you should’ve been his joy, not a damn burden.” I reached for her hand.
She twined her fingers through mine. “In a perfect world? Yes. But in my world I was his burden. By that time, he and the stepmonster had two other kids, so I just … assimilated. But that meant having a normal name like their kids, instead of a ‘hippie’ name. I went from Trinity to Amelia.”
“That’s just wrong.”
“Freshman year in college I refused to respond to them unless they called me Trinity.”
And it made perfect sense to me why she’d use Amelia to ward off potentially unwanted attention—it was her way of taking ownership of that name.
“I never knew what to sign on my finished art, so I went with Trinity Amelia. Being called Amelia growing up did affect me on a creative level, both positively and negatively, and yet it formed me as a person so I wanted to acknowledge it.”
“Professionally, you ditched your last name entirely?”
“Yes. It’s not like there’s family pride in what I do for a living.”
I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed her knuckles. “Healthy attitude, Trinity Amelia Carlson.”
She tilted her head toward me. “It’s so sexy when you say my name like that.”
“Ditch the hat, sweetheart. I hate that it masks your face.”
Trinity tossed it aside. “Probably the stepmonster’s intent.”
Probably because the woman was jealous. Trinity had the fresh-faced girl-next-door look that was both sexy and sweet. I took that expressive face in my hands and kissed her.
We were both breathing hard when I pulled away.
“What was that for?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “I gotta have a reason to kiss you?”
“When you kiss me like that? Yeah.”
“It just struck me how happy I am that you’re here with me.”
Trinity turned her head and kissed the center of my palm. “Despite your protests to the contrary, you are smooth.”
“That didn’t sound like a compliment.”
“It was. A big compliment. I like that you’re honest rather than trying to play it cool. Mixed signals suck.” She pecked me on the mouth. “Unpack the picnic, Walker. You need to satisfy one of my appetites today.”
“Only one?”
“One at a time.”
—
The spread from Surdyk’s impressed her. Fussy food tended to piss me off, but the roast beef, arugula, roasted red pepper and lemon aioli sandwich managed to be light and filling. Trinity raved about the beet, goat cheese and pepita salad, as well as the bourbon and salted caramel brownie we shared. I’d chosen hard cider instead of beer and it rounded out the meal perfectly. Yeah, I was a freakin’ natural at this romantic meal stuff.
In my head Nolan took a bow and I flipped him off.
After we cleaned up, I returned to the chair in the sun and closed my eyes. I must’ve been more tired than I thought because I awoke with a start when a jet boat motor blew past us. I scrubbed my hands over my beard. Had I really fallen asleep on my date?
“Don’t move,” Trinity warned.
I squinted and saw her sitting in the shade beneath the canopy, her knees drawn up, a sketch pad on her lap, a pencil in her hand and one clamped between her teeth. “How long was I asleep?”
“Long enough for me to get a basic sketch. Now go back to the way you were.”
“Asleep?”
“At least when you were sleeping you weren’t moving,” she said with saccharine sweetness.
“You weren’t this bossy about the sets yesterday.”
“Apples and oranges, Walker. When I work for someone else, it’s on their terms. When I’m creating something for myself, I call all the sho
ts.”
“Was my head positioned like this?”
“Perfect. Don’t move until I tell you.”
I grinned. “You being bossy is kinda hot.”
“Stop smiling! Sheesh. How am I supposed to concentrate when all I can see are your dimples?”
Like I could stop smiling after that comment? No. Way.
I really tried not to move. But when the tiny bit of breeze died entirely and I became sticky with sweat, staying still was impossible. My nose itched. So did my beard. The back of my left thigh was stuck to the chair. A fly buzzed around my ear.
Enough.
I jumped up, climbed on the ledge of the boat and dove into the water.
The cold shocked my system. When my momentum stopped, I tilted my head and looked up at the spot of light above me and propelled myself toward it. I broke the surface and saw Trinity leaning over the edge.
“Was it something I said?”
I laughed. “No. I was burning up. Who knew modeling is such hard work?”
“It is hot in the boat.”
“Jump in.”
“I only have the top half of my suit on.”
“So? It’s not like your pants won’t dry.”
Trinity seemed to consider it before she shook her head. “I’ve had a great time today, but I’m ready to go.”
Although I was disappointed, the traffic on the lake had quadrupled in the last hour. “No problem. We can head back.” I climbed up the swim ladder onto the swim deck. My hair had come undone during my plunge, so I shook it out.
Trinity watched me closely. “You have better hair than I do.”
“Not true. Feel it. It’s tangled like seaweed.”
Right after she reached out, I snaked my arm around her waist and hauled her against me.
“Eww, you’re all wet with lake water! Let go!”
“Just trying to cool you off since you said you were hot.” I tilted her face up to meet my gaze. “But I don’t think there’s a cure for your hotness, sweetheart.” I started the kiss out slow and teasing.
Trinity grabbed a handful of my hair and one of my ass. She whispered, “Fair’s fair,” against my lips and kicked the kiss up to the “I want you naked” level I was trying to avoid.
Fuck it. I went with it.
Through the fog of lust, I heard a motor gunning close to us—too close. I managed to end the kiss and spun her around, caging her body beneath mine as I latched onto the railing with both hands.
A huge wave hit us. The boat pitched and swayed, but we stayed upright.
Trinity turned and twined her arms around my neck. “Thanks for the quick thinking, Captain. You probably saved us a broken tooth or a broken bone.”
I planted a chaste kiss on her lips. “Aye, these be mighty rough waters, lassie.”
She laughed. “You are so funny.”
“Does that mean you’ll go out with me again?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. I’d make you walk the plank if you said no.”
She laughed again.
I could become addicted to that sound.
After pulling anchor, I headed straight back to the marina.
She stayed around while I secured the boat and did all the last-minute checks.
I picked up the cooler. “Let me drop this off first and then I’ll walk you to your car.”
Trinity followed me across the floating dock. I carried the cooler to the back of my truck, hoisting it over the side. When I turned around, her hungry gaze progressed up my arm, across my chest and down my other arm.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“You developed all those big muscles from hard labor, not hard hours at the gym, didn’t you?”
I shrugged and reached for her hand. “Be careful crossing the parking lot. The asphalt is squishy.”
She squared off against me. “You can give my entire body a look so hot that the backs of my knees were sweating, but I can’t do the same? Not fair, Walker.”
I pivoted and pressed her against me, one hand braced in the small of her back, the other curled around the back of her neck. “No offense, sweetheart, but you’re acting as if you’ve never seen a man’s biceps before.”
“I’ve never seen ones like yours,” she retorted.
“You had your hands on them about an hour ago.” I affixed my gaze to hers. “And weren’t you telling me you wanted to sketch my arms?”
“Yes.”
“So didn’t you get an eyeful of them then?”
“No. I became so focused on re-creating the flawless angles of your face that I forgot about your arms. Seeing them flexed and bulgy when you walked in front of me reminded me of their utter perfection.” She nipped my chin. “Buck up and take the compliment.”
“Fine. But I want to see that sketch.”
She glanced away. “When it’s finished.” She ducked under my arm and started for her car, walking backward so she could leer at me. “I’ll text you later, hot pipes.”
“Hot pipes? Seriously, Trinity?”
She smirked. “It’d be funnier if you were a plumber.”
Christ. I was falling for this woman so fast.
“Thanks for a great time today.”
“No good-bye kiss?”
“I specialize in hello kisses. Good-bye kisses are your deal. So next time … I expect one that’ll blow my hair back.”
Five
TRINITY
After my date with Walker, I headed to my studio.
I began my sessions in the same way every time, wandering through my work area to take stock of the status of my various projects. Upon seeing the easel with the unfinished painting I’d been stuck on for months, I wondered when I’d have the guts to admit that it wasn’t salvageable. I’d tossed away hundreds of projects that weren’t working, so ditching a concept and starting over normally didn’t bother me.
But something about this fragmentary piece haunted me. I suspected I’d regret dumping it instead of fixing it. Since it was a large canvas, I could see the false starts and the sections where I’d attempted to mask my errors. It taunted me in all its ugly, undefined glory.
Just take it off the stand and face it against the wall. Move on.
I sidestepped it and the lower left corner caught my eye. The dark colors, black, gray and shades of purple, looked angry—like a newly formed bruise. With the raindrop technique I’d used, the bruises appeared finger shaped. As if I was seeing a section of a body that’d been beaten down.
So if that was the result … what was the cause? In an inspired moment, I flipped the canvas, putting the image in the upper right corner. The ugliness of the murky image hadn’t changed, but it had definability.
It had a name.
Broken.
That’s when I knew why this hadn’t worked. In the opposite corner I’d tried to disguise the anger by surrounding the black slashes with brightness. In the center I’d used neutral tones, trying to downplay the darkness.
But this piece needed darkness—demanded it.
And I knew exactly how to fix it.
Immediately I grabbed my paints and brushes and got to work.
I’ve been lost in creative chaos too many times to count. It’s a fugue state where I am merely a conduit between what could be and what is. I’m pretty good about self-censoring my emotions so as not to affect the tone of a piece—too good sometimes. Whatever blockage I’d erected crumbled with the first stroke of my brush.
The downside of existing in that creative rush is the shock of the passage of time when you come out of it. When I finally deemed the painting done, I glanced over at the window to see the yard light had come on.
On automatic, I cleaned up my mess. I welcomed chaos in my work, but not in my workplace. I even had a shower installed so I could leave the studio as paint-free as when I’d arrived. A cleansing of sorts before I rejoined the real world.
I checked my phone. A flirty text from Walker was in my messages dated six hours ag
o.
Hope you had a great day. I’m around if you want to grab dinner after you’re done working. If not, I’ll see you tomorrow night at the community center. Just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about you. A lot.
I felt a little guilty that I hadn’t thought about him after I fell into a painting fury.
I texted back:
Thanks for the offer. As usual I lost track of time once I was in my studio and just finished. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night. Sleep well.
I hit send and then immediately regretted it because I worried I sounded lame. And aloof.
I reread it.
Yep. Totally nailed both lame and aloof. Yay me.
Not to mention I’d texted him at one o’clock in the morning.
Ugh.
I pressed my forehead into the table. I wondered if there was a book Sending Sexy, Flirty Texts for Dummies.
If anyone knew the answer to that, it’d be Genevieve. So I fired off a quick text to her.
Only after I crawled in bed did my cat, Buttons, deign to acknowledge me.
WALKER
The offices of Flint & Lund were housed in an old fourplex that had been a single-family home at one time. We bought the property—and the vacant lot behind it—six years ago when I’d become a partner in the company. Gutting the brick building and renovating it to suit our needs nearly ended the partnership before it began.
But that’s why Jase Flint and I made good business partners. I was happier to get my hands dirty on the job site, letting him sit in the office writing bids and drawing up building plans.
So I wasn’t in the office long in the mornings. Jase and I kept each other updated throughout the workday, but meeting face-to-face over coffee every day had kept everything running smoothly.
It also helped that we’d hired a top-notch office manager. Jase and I joked that the only way we’d ever let Betsy quit was if she ran for president. If anyone could inspire parties with opposing political views to cooperate for the overall greater good … it’d be our scarily efficient Betsy.
As usual, Betsy was already in her office when I arrived. Without glancing away from her computer screen, she said, “Good morning, Walker. Tell Jase I’ll be right in after I type up these notes. There’s coffee in the break room.”
Just What I Needed (The Need You Series) Page 7