Just What I Needed

  scraped his beard on the insides of my thighs.

  He growled something and then his mouth was on mine. Not a sweet hello peck. This kiss was chock-full of hunger and need.

  My heart beat a million miles an hour when he ended the intense kiss.

  Those stunning blue eyes bored into mine. “You were thinking about last night, weren’t you?”

  “That’s pretty much all I’ve thought about today.” I slid my hand up his chest and stopped when my thumb brushed over the pulse point in his throat. “Every time I walk past the table, I remember what you did to me on that table.”

  Walker smirked. “Should I apologize?”

  “No, you’re not sorry. And I’m not either.” I brushed the tips of my fingers into the hair on his jawline. “Your impromptu visit and good-bye kiss inspired me. I got a lot accomplished after you left. Since that gave me some extra time today, I wanted to spend it with you.”

  “That is an excellent plan,” he said gruffly.

  I slipped my hand around the back of his neck and pulled his mouth to mine for a soft kiss. “Continue the tour, Mr. Lund.”

  He stepped back and helped me off the conference table—mostly so he could cop a feel. In the hallway, I stopped in front of an elevator. “Get out. You have an elevator?”

  “It was originally a dumbwaiter, so we just expanded the size of the shaft and put in this small unit. Betsy doesn’t have to walk up two flights of stairs with the boxes of job specs.”

  “Lucky Betsy.”

  “Dirty thoughts running around in that brain, Miz Carlson?”

  “I’ve always wanted to do it in an elevator. The tight space means you have to get really close. And there’s the whole getting-caught-with-your-skirt-up angle—stopping the car to go at it frantically and hope you get off before you have to . . . get off.”

  Walker coughed. “Jesus. Warn a guy.”

  “You told me in that one text you wanted to know all of my fantasies. There’s a big one.”

  His warm mouth brushed my ear. “Next time you need to visit me after normal business hours and we’ll see if we can’t fulfill your fantasy and mine.”

  I shivered. “You have a ‘Love in an Elevator’ fantasy too?”

  “No, although it sounds like fun.”

  I leaned back to look at him. “Then what’s your fantasy, Mr. Lund?”

  “You’ll have to dig a little deeper to get me to tell you.”

  It hit me. “Omigod. You want to do it on a piece of heavy machinery.”

  That surprised him. “How’d you figure that out?”

  “‘Dig a little deeper’ wasn’t a hint?”

  He laughed. “A subtle hint . . . or so I thought.” He kissed my forehead. “I like that you get me, Trinity. Not everyone does.”

  “No other woman has volunteered to literally get down and dirty with you?”

  He shook his head.

  I had a hard time believing that. “Is it because you haven’t asked? Or have you been turned down?”

  A vulnerable look crossed his face. “I haven’t asked for fear of getting shot down.”

  “Hmm.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and got in his face. “Their loss is my gain.” I lightly nipped his bottom lip and soothed the sting with a sassy flick of my tongue. “Don’t you know there’s nothing I want more than to get down and dirty with you? Anytime, anyplace.”

  He released a soft groan. “If we weren’t surrounded by my coworkers and it wasn’t the middle of the damn day, I’d make you prove that.”

  “Maybe we should sneak into the elevator for a quickie. No one will know.”

  Just then, two doors down, a guy popped his head out. “I thought I heard voices.”

  “See? Everyone will know.” He released me. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  We entered a large office that boasted a big desk, two drafting tables and a sitting area. The guy I’d just seen rested his backside against the desk, nearly hiding a statuesque blonde standing behind him.

  Walker kept his hand in the small of my back as we approached. “This man is my partner, Jase Flint. Jase, my girlfriend, Trinity Carlson.”

  Jase smiled at me. “Good to meet you. I’m sure—”

  “That is not your name,” the blonde bombshell said, storming up to me, staring at me as if I’d just wandered in from the circus.

  “Tiffany, didn’t Jase tell you—”

  “Jase didn’t tell me you had a new squeeze, let alone the fact she’s Trinity Amelia. That’s you, right?”

  I nodded. How did this woman know me?

  Then she squealed and hugged me. “I love love love your work! The piece in the Federal Reserve actually moved me to tears.” All at once she seemed to remember her manners and she practically jumped back. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Tiffany Flint. I’m Jase’s wife.” She looked over her shoulder. “Honey, the pictures hanging in the dining room? This is the woman who painted them.”

  I felt Walker studying me, but I focused on Tiffany. “You own some of my work?”

  “Yes, I bought them from you at the Minnesota State Fair. One is a watercolor of a crumbling castle set against a stormy background. The other is a three-dimensional piece in oil with an older woman hanging clothes on the line and they’re flapping in the wind. You can touch a piece of denim from jeans, lace from a dress and a pristine white sheet.”

  “You did that?” Walker asked.

  “Yes. It’s an earlier piece I did as my version of Midwestern folk art. Harvey Dunn meets pop art.”

  “I just love both those pieces. Everyone always comments on them,” Tiffany gushed.

  “I’m really happy to hear you’re still enjoying them.”

  “Will you be at the fair this year?”

  I shook my head. “I have too many other projects going on. Plus, I’ve sold everything and haven’t had time to replenish my stock.”

  “Shoot.” Then her gaze flicked between Walker and me. “I can’t believe you’re dating!”

  “Yep,” Walker said. “Trinity brought me lunch. She wanted to see where I worked since I’ve been in her studio.”

  Tiffany gasped. “Really? You’ve been where she makes stuff?”

  “Yes. And if you want to see some of what she’s been working on, buy tickets to Into the Woods at the Seventh Street Community Center—Trinity painted all the sets.”

  “Sets that you crafted from plywood and Styrofoam,” I said, trying to deflect attention away from me.

  “We have tickets. Walker, your mom bought two sections for opening night,” Betsy said behind me.

  “She did?”

  Betsy flapped her hand at him. “Don’t act surprised. She’s proud of you and the time you spend volunteering for LCCO.” Then she addressed me. “Have you met the Lund collective yet?”

  “Sounds ominous. But no, I haven’t met any of Walker’s family.”

  Silence.

  Both Tiffany and Betsy blurted out, “We won’t tell her.”

  “Wise move,” Walker said dryly. “We’re eating lunch in my office, so all of you feel free to stay the hell out.”

  His coworkers were amused by that, not annoyed.

  I said, “It was nice meeting all of you.”

  Once we were on the main floor again, Walker led me down the opposite hallway and into his office.

  I knew he didn’t spend much time in here, but the place was bare-bones. A bookshelf anchored one wall, a big open desk sat in the center of the room, filing cabinets filled the back wall and by the door there was a bench seat jammed with mysterious construction work paraphernalia. There weren’t family pictures or artwork on the shelves, or even kitschy posters adorning the plain white walls.

  He seemed embarrassed. “It’s not much to look at, is it?”

  “I’d rather be looking at you anyway.”

  “Nice save.”

  “Now I need you to do two th
ings. First, find us something to drink.”

  “All right. And the other thing?”

  “Stay out of here while I set everything up.” When he arched his brow, like he imagined me getting naked and spreading myself across his desk for lunch, I whapped him on the arm. “I’m not on the menu. Gimme five minutes. Now shoo.”

  As soon as he shut the door, I sprang into action. Thankfully, the food wasn’t cold. But after I set everything up and looked at it, I wondered if he’d think this was stupid.

  This is Walker we’re talking about. Even if he thinks it’s dumb, he will appreciate the gesture.

  My nerves made no sense but my palms were sweating anyway, so I wiped them on my pants before I opened the door.

  Walker paused in the doorway to take it all in.

  I’d cleared his desk and covered it with a red linen tablecloth. Candlelight reflected off the white dinner plates and the wineglasses. Soft music played from my phone.

  Before he said a word, I started talking. “Maybe it seems over-the-top, but just go with it, okay? Things started out kinda weird and crazy for us, and then we’ve both been busy and I haven’t had a chance to invite you over and cook a meal for you, which sucks because I’m actually a pretty good cook. I know that romantic candlelit dinners are a staple at the start of a relationship and we haven’t even had that and I wanted to be the first one to give it to you—but in lunch form. Not because I’m competitive, but because I like that you want to feed me—it’s your way of taking care of me that’s so sweet and thoughtful and you probably don’t know that I’ve never really had that in a relationship before so I wanted to do the same for you. And—”

  Walker’s mouth stopped the nonstop flow of words coming from me. His kiss did more than just shut me up; it calmed me and grounded me like nothing else.

  He didn’t pull away abruptly; he just softened the kiss until my heart and respiration rate were somewhat normal.

  “Better?” he murmured in my ear.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “No, thank you. Time to feed me and romance me, baby.” He locked the door, giving me his naughty grin. “Without interruptions.”

  I poured soda into the wineglasses. Then I popped the lids on the carryout containers. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered a little of everything. Spaghetti carbonara, lemon and herb risotto, and my favorite, gnocchi Verdi.”

  He said, “This is from Broders’ Pasta Bar.”

  “Yes. I hope that means you like their food?”

  “I do. I haven’t eaten there in ages.”

  “Dig in.”

  I loved watching his hands as he ate. I’d noticed it last night; his manners were impeccable. The movements of those callused hands were precise yet elegant. I’d felt his careful and tender touch on my skin. But it made my mouth go dry and my panties wet to imagine the roughness in his touch and the bruising strength of his body lost in passion.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  I stopped pushing the last bit of risotto around my plate. “Sex.”

  “The atmosphere you created does bring that to mind, sweetheart. Was that your intent? Are you here for a payback from last night?”

  “I’m not a tit-for-tat chick, Walker. But that’s what you expected when you saw this romantic lunch, isn’t it?”

  He shrugged tightly. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  I leaned across the table and whispered. “You’re wrong. If I wanted to get on my knees for you, then I would’ve waited until quitting time to show up. This”—I indicated the table—“is exactly what I said it was: my version of an indoor picnic. Give me some credit. This would’ve been a total cliché had I walked through your door bearing food, wine and wearing sexy lingerie. I take pride in my unconventional way of doing things.”

  He looked properly chastised. “You are all that. And I apologize for assuming you’d be so unoriginal.”

  When I started picking up, he put his hands on my shoulders and said, “Sit. I’ll do this.”

  After he’d cleared away everything but the candles and the tablecloth, he sat across from me and reached for my hand. He stroked the outside from my wrist bone to the ball of my thumb. “You said you’ve never had someone look after you like this? I haven’t either. So thank you for thinking of me. I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful.”

  “My pleasure. Were you shocked to see me at your office?”

  “I figured I wouldn’t see you until Saturday at the community center.”

  “I’m lucky that I can submerge myself for hours or even days at a time. But it sucks too, because when it’s going well, I’m afraid to leave my studio and lose that creative connection. I’ve been known to stay secluded for a week, sometimes more.”

  “A week?” he repeated.

  “Sounds pathetic. That was one good thing about my friendship with Ramon. He’d call to check up on me every couple of days when I hit that obsessive stage because he understood it.”

  “Ramon is still bugging you?”

  “He’s texted and left a few voice mails, but I haven’t responded. It’s getting easier to ignore. But I kind of hate that it’s getting easier. Know what I mean?”

  He squeezed my hand.

  That’s another thing I liked about Walker—he didn’t offer platitudes.

  “Your coworkers gave the impression that your mom is a dragon lady. Is that true?”

  “Yes. And no. She’s honest—sometimes too honest. For as long as she’s been in this country you’d think she’d have a better grasp on the art of the little white lie. My sister, Annika, hasn’t grasped that either when it comes to family stuff.”

  “Is your sister like her?”

  “In physical appearance? Annika is completely Mom’s mini-me.”

  A smile played around the corners of his mouth and I practically panted from longing to press my lips there and taste his amusement.

  “But Annika is driven to succeed and make her own mark. My mom met my dad at a young age, married and started having children.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that, if that’s what makes her happy.”

  “She’s still happiest when all her cubs are in one place.” Walker paused. “I want to introduce you to my family, Trinity.”

  My stomach did a quick loop-di-loop.

  “I know you’re buried in work, so I’m not asking you to make time until you’re done. But I’ll warn you, the longer we wait . . . the more dragonlike she’ll become.”

  “She knows about me?”

  His gaze roamed my face. “I had a family thing Sunday. Guess what kind of mood I was in after Saturday night. She knew something was up.”

  “If you told her what I said to you Saturday night, she probably already hates my guts.”

  “I didn’t tell her.”

  Walker ran his fingertips down the side of my face from my temple to the tip of my chin. “I wish I had your talent. The first thing I’d paint is you. With the candlelight glowing on your face and reflected in your eyes. You’re breathtaking.”

  My breath caught when he traced my lips.

  “And these lips. I’d never get them right. How perfectly lush and kissable they are. Christ, I want your mouth.”

  “Then take it.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”