His mouth crashed down on mine.
The kiss was a shot of rocket fuel.
When I arched into him, he responded intuitively, rolling his hips until we were perfectly aligned where I ached and he was hard. I wrapped my arms around his neck, frantically freeing his hair so I could sift it through my fingers.
He groaned when I got a little rough and pulled.
I groaned when I felt his hand on my breast, his thumb sweeping inward to connect with my nipple.
Then Walker ended the kiss as abruptly as he’d started it. He buried his face in the side of my neck and exhaled slowly; the air drifted across my damp skin, sending goose bumps spreading outward.
He straightened upright and ran both his hands through his hair. “Sorry.”
“Sorry? Really?”
“No, not really. I just don’t normally act like a horny teen. That’s what it was starting to feel like.”
I lowered my head and glanced at my hands resting on my lap. I still had paint ringing two fingers. I doubted Walker had gotten the gunk off my face since water smeared color rather than cleaned it.
Rough fingertips slipped beneath my chin, forcing my head up. “Bad timing on my part.”
“Probably. I still liked it, though.”
He dropped his hand from my face. “Let’s get out of here. We need to talk.”
That didn’t sound good. “About?”
“The rest of this week. Namely my schedule, which includes night supervision on the last stages of a project.”
“Does that happen often?”
“A few times a year. My partner and I switch off, so it’s my turn. From past experience I know we won’t get done before midnight.” His eyes latched onto mine. “Which means I’m screwed for getting to see you the rest of the week.”
Might make me a jerk, but I was happy he was unhappy about that.
“I didn’t want you to think I’m blowing you off.”
I set my hand on his chest. “It didn’t occur to me. But the truth is, that actually works out really well for me.”
“Why?”
“Remember the commission I lost last week? The woman who deemed the art too edgy? She showed up today and hired me to do a rush commission.”
Walker’s smile lit up his eyes. “Trinity. That’s great.”
“I thought so, especially since I can pay my mortgage and buy groceries this month. With this supertight deadline I’ll be swamped with work until Friday. So even if you weren’t working nights, I would be.”
“You’ll keep in touch with me this week.”
Not a question—a demand. “I will try my very hardest.” I poked him in the chest. “But what if I forget? Sometimes I lose track of—”
“Then I’ll be forced to use positive reinforcements on you. It worked last time.”
I smirked. “Maybe I’ll forget on purpose.”
—
After a hectic week, I groaned when the alarm went off at seven thirty a.m. When I remembered I’d see Walker at the community center today, I bounded out of bed.
As I pulled into the parking lot, my phone rang. At the sight of Ramon’s name on the caller ID, I had a sense of déjà vu since I had spoken to him this time last week. Part of me wanted to ignore the call, but a bigger part of me wanted to point out he’d been wrong about the reason I’d lost the Stephens commission.
Pride won out. I answered, “Good morning, Ramon.”
“Someone is in a good mood this morning.”
“I am. It’s a gorgeous day. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping . . . all that jazz. So what’s up?”
“Just checking up on you. How was your week?”
“Great! I got a second chance to work on the textile project.”
“You did? How’d that come about?”
“I can’t say—it’s a little hush-hush because of the surprise factor for the client. And as a bonus, I learned that Dagmar Kierkegaard is on the guest list for this shindig where the piece is being unveiled! Can you believe that?”
Silence.
I grinned because it was so rare that I stunned Ramon into silence. Dagmar Kierkegaard defined elusive. We’d heard rumors that he wore disguises when he appeared in public so he could attend random art openings at smaller venues without anyone recognizing him.
“Your luck is unbelievable. You are getting extra party invites to hand out to your friends, right?”
I managed a neutral, “I’ll ask closer to the event.”
“Excellent! And I’m sure you’ll do fine with all the extra pressure to really make your textile piece stand out.”
“I’m up to the challenge.”
“I assume you’re working on it this morning? Need me to come by and help?”
“No, I just pulled into the community center. These sets won’t paint themselves.”
“I thought you decided your talents are wasted there.”
I bristled up. “No, Ramon, you decided that.”
“But you agreed with me!”
“I did not. We’ve been friends for three years so I know it’s pointless to argue when you’ve made up your mind. I let it go.” The way I’d been letting a lot of things go with him.
He expelled a string of Spanish words—curses mostly.
After he finished blustering, I said, “Do you feel better?”
“No. I’d feel better if you were here to witness my hand gestures while I pace like a madman. My frustration loses impact over the phone lines, chica.” I heard him snap his fingers. “Next time I’ll use FaceTime.”
“Cool. That’ll give me time to perfect my resting bitch face.”
“Anyway, we can talk about this in more detail when I see you tonight.”
I frowned. “Did I forget we had plans?”
“No. Davina has decided to throw a dinner party. It’ll be our usual group, so say you’ll come.” When I didn’t say yes right away, he said, “I’m making migas.”
Ramon knew that would tempt me—I loved his migas and it had been ages since I’d had them. “All right. What time and what am I bringing?”
“Show up after seven; we’ll eat at eight. Bring beer. You and Esteban are the only ones who drink it.”
I fought a groan. I did not want to deal with Esteban.
“Esteban is looking forward to seeing you again.”
“When are you going to stop pushing your brother at me?”
“When you agree to try one date with him,” Ramon said sweetly. “If you give it a chance, you’ll see that you two are a good fit.”
My mind jumped to Walker. His dimpled smile. His compelling blue eyes. The easy banter between us. The way our mouths—and bodies—had fit together perfectly.
Dammit. I’d been so eager to brag about my good fortune that I hadn’t considered that Walker might want to do something with me tonight.
“Davina is yelling for me. Adios.”
I stared at my phone. Being prideful always turned around and bit me.
I hoped that wasn’t a precursor of how the rest of my day would go.
—
As promised, I had help from high school volunteers. They were eager and followed directions well, but I still had to direct them.
It would’ve been easier and faster to do everything myself. I had to keep reminding myself this was what the word “community” meant: multiple people working toward a common goal.
But with five volunteers, we ran out of things to do right after noon. I hadn’t seen Walker all day, although I’d heard the saws going. I wondered if he’d been saddled with volunteers.
As soon as I stepped outside, a blast of heat hit me like a glory hole furnace in a glassworking studio. I noticed a long extension cord ran to the only shaded area at the back of the lot. Big pieces of plywood rested against a tree.
Walker stood between two sawhorses manning a jigsaw. He wore goggles and ear protection. Wood shavings covered his chest and dusted his hair. Even in the heat he wore jeans and a long-sleeve
d shirt. He looked so ruggedly delicious in work mode I just stopped and watched him.
He must’ve sensed me because he glanced up after he shut the saw off and set it aside.
Oh, that smile. Seeing it was like standing in a beam of sunshine that was just for me.
As I meandered toward him, he tossed his gloves on the ground and brushed himself off. I wouldn’t have cared if he’d been covered in mud. I still would’ve wrapped myself around him.
Walker kissed the top of my head. “Hey, beautiful. I’m glad to see you. I did wander into the set-painting room after I first arrived, but I saw you had a crew to supervise, so I didn’t bug you.”
“Did you have volunteers?”
“Nope. Guess teens and power tools aren’t a good idea.”
I laughed. “Probably not. But teens are excellent with paintbrushes. We are completely caught up.”
Walker groaned. “I’m going as fast as I can.”
“I figured that. But until you get more sets done . . . there’s no reason for me to be here.”
He sighed. “So you’re headed home?”
“I have projects to work on there.”
“Not all night, I hope. Because I wanted to take you out to dinner.” He nuzzled my ear. “Someplace secluded and romantic where we can get to know each other better.”
I managed to keep from asking . . . In the biblical sense? “That sounds good . . . but . . .”
He leaned back to look at me. “But what?”
“I already have dinner plans.”
Walker’s eyes immediately narrowed.
“And I want you to come with me. My friend Ramon is having a dinner party.”
When he smiled, I wanted to stand on tiptoe and feel it on my lips. “What?”
“You’re introducing me to your friends?”
“Are you okay with that?”
“Very okay. What time should I pick you up?”
I read the challenge in his eyes. He thought I’d argue and insist on meeting him. But I wanted to prove to him I considered us a couple. “Seven thirty. Ramon said we were eating at eight, but he runs an hour behind. Casual dress. I’ll have to stop and get some beer on the way.”
“No problem. Where do you live?” Walker pulled out his phone and paused to look at me. “I don’t have to worry that you’ll give me the wrong address?”
“We’re past that,” I said softly.
“Good.”
After he plugged in the address, I wreathed my arms around his neck. “I missed you the last couple of days.”
“I wondered when you’d get around to kissing me hello,” he said gruffly.
“This one will have to serve as hello and good-bye,” I murmured, rubbing my cheek along his jawline. I kissed him slowly, a tease of the wet glide of my lips and little nibbles with my teeth rather than a deep kiss.
As I took several small steps back, he kept ahold of my hand and my eyes until I broke our connection and walked away.
Seven
WALKER
I parked on the street in front of Trinity’s house.
The place wasn’t what I’d expected. A single-level ranch with a decent-sized front porch. Cottonwood trees towered over the top of the structure, putting it in shadow. A sidewalk disappeared around the side of the house. The lawn wasn’t neglected or pristinely manicured. Juniper bushes had gone wild around the entire perimeter, but they’d been pruned to below the lowest window level. Given the style of siding, stone and the location, I guessed the house had been built in the 1930s.
It wasn’t until I reached the top porch step that I realized Trinity was sitting in one of the wicker chairs on the porch.
She smiled and granted me a very slow, very heated once-over from the tips of my boots to the top of my forehead. “You clean up well.”
I bowed, hoping to hear that irresistible laugh again. “Thank you.”
“Would you like a beer? I made a mad dash to the store when I realized I’d run out of soap for the dishwasher, so we don’t have to stop on the way to Ramon’s.”
I noticed she had a bottle of Bud Light Lime sitting on the table beside her. “I’ll pass, but I’ll sit with you while you finish yours.” I settled into the chair next to hers. We faced the street. “This is a great area. How long have you lived here?”
“About two and a half years. It’s affordable, even in those months when my artistic endeavors don’t quite make the mortgage payment.”
“I’m restoring my house and it’s slow going. I get done working and the last thing I want to do is spend more time ripping out walls and sanding floors.”
“I hear you. Painting walls is nothing like creating paintings. But the plaster could’ve been falling from the ceiling and I still would’ve bought this place.”
“Why?”
“Because of the enormous garage around back. It’s been perfect for my studio.” She drained her beer. “I had it updated before doing anything to the house.”
“Can’t say as I blame you. I’d like to see it sometime.”
“Sorry. My studio is my sanctuary. I can’t handle anyone judging my half-finished projects.”
Before I could respond, Trinity laughed.
“I couldn’t even say that with a straight face.” She squeezed my knee, a sexy half-smile on her lips. “I’d love to show you my etchings sometime.”
I liked this playful side of her.
She stood and tugged on my hand.
All the blood left my head and traveled south when I saw Trinity’s outfit. When she was sitting, the dress had looked nondescript. When she was standing, the emerald green fabric clung to every curve, showcasing her gorgeous feminine form, from the tease of cleavage to the narrow expanse of her ribs to the roundness of her hips and ass. The long dress ended just above her ankles, giving a peek at her feet in rhinestone flip-flops. Her toenails were painted a sunny yellow and on the center of each nail was a tiny bright orange flower.
“Walker? You all right?”
My gaze snapped to hers. “Just admiring the full picture. You look amazing.”
“Thank you. And I should warn you . . . you’ll probably get some . . . ah . . . admiring looks tonight since a lot of our friends are gay men.” She paused and studied my face. “Will that be a problem for you?”
“Problem, meaning . . . am I a homophobe?” I shook my head. “Do I have an issue with them checking out my appearance? No. Just as long as no one starts giving me clothing and hairstyling tips. My buddy Reggie constantly laments my ‘hipster meets Grizzly Adams’ clothes. Now it’s sweet payback to point out I was fashion forward—years ahead of the lumbersexual craze.”
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