“Sort of.” I looked straight ahead instead of at her since swimmers on tubes were hard to see until I came right up on them. “We just like to cruise around on the lake, kick back in the sun, drink beer and—”
“Pick up hot women in bikinis?” she supplied.
I shook my head. “It’s a guy thing. We load the cooler with beer and the bucket with bait. Then we cast off and kick back and wait for something to bite. No one else in our family is into fishing—they never were when we were kids either. I’m not sure anyone knows we have the boat. And they’d have a hard time believing my fashion-focused cousin would go out in public without showering, shaving, styling his hair, wearing ratty-ass clothes and flip-flops.”
“I get it. The lumbersexual and metrosexual have secret identities where they revert to preteen boys and indulge in spitting contests, dunking each other in the lake, eating sunflower seeds, telling fart jokes, talking about how stupid girls are and being happily oblivious that they stink to high heaven.”
I looked at her sternly. “Were you once a preteen boy? Because that’s all listed in the boy handbook.”
She snickered. “No, but it seemed to be my half brother’s goal to see how long he could go without showering or changing his clothes. His mother threatened to take him to the car wash.”
I started to ask about her family but stopped.
After a bit, Trinity tapped me on the arm. “Tell me about these houses ringing the lake, since you’re a restoration expert.”
“Such as?”
“Such as . . . which ones have been revamped? Which ones are new construction? Which ones are still old-fashioned family lake houses? Which ones are year-round residences?” She poked my leg. “I’ll bet you pay attention to all that stuff. Not because it’s your job but because it interests you—but that, in turn, makes you better at your job.”
My chest puffed up at her assessment. In the past, women I dated preferred the fun-loving side of me, not the work-obsessed side. I couldn’t remember the last time a date asked about my company or the work I do. “I’ll show you a few of my favorites. I doubt you want a three-hour tour.”
“Sail on, captain of the SS Minnow.”
I tilted my head to look at her. “She gets the Gilligan’s Island reference and tosses one right back at me. Nice.”
She laughed. “I’m impressed you got it. Our age group uses Saved by the Bell or 90210 for pop culture references, not classic TV shows.”
“If you start quoting Quantum Leap, I’ll probably have to marry you.”
“Theorizing that one could time travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett stepped into the Quantum Leap accelerator . . . and vanished.” Trinity smirked at me. “What? You expected I’d be a Matrix expert?” She blew a raspberry. “Too obvious. But maybe we oughta revisit the plan to steal Grandma Minnie’s pearls, since you and me are getting hitched.”
I was so freakin’ crazy about this woman. Every little thing I discovered about her made me want to know everything. “Heist planning later. Let’s hit the high points of Christmas Lake architecture.”
After I pointed out the new McMansions, I showed her my favorite, a smaller single-story home heavily influenced by Frank Lloyd Wright’s Prairie-style design.
“I love that one. I can imagine several generations of a family coming here every year and vowing to keep it in the family. When I was poring over real estate ads, nothing like that was ever listed. I’ll bet there’s a realty company that deals with unique high-end properties that the unwashed masses aren’t allowed to drool over.”
I had used that kind of company to find my house. “You mentioned living in different places. Buying a house usually means you plan on staying around. So why did you choose Minneapolis?”
She laughed.
Talk about sexy. Her soft, husky laughter did it for me in a bad way. “What’s funny about that?”
“If I tell you, you’ll think I’m a free-spirited bohemian artist with no practical business plan.”
“Doubtful. So hit me with it.”
“One year I did the state fair circuit and sold a bunch of pieces at the Minnesota State Fair. The work was odds and ends, quirky experiments I’d tried to sell in a traditional gallery or gift shop. But Midwesterners love a bargain, especially if they believe it’s one of a kind. During that two-week stint, I realized I could make a living here creating that type of art.”
I slowed the boat and put it in neutral. “What about dropping anchor here?”
“Looks good.”
After killing the engine, I hopped up and pushed the anchor off the back end of the platform. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. You said you realized you could make a living here selling a certain kind of art.”
“Yes. By here I meant in the entire state of Minnesota, along with North Dakota, Wisconsin and Iowa. My smaller, funkier pieces are spread across the upper Midwest. Anyway, since I was born in the North Woods”—she smirked at me—“I know how cold the winters are. And with crappy weather eight months out of the year, I could hole up in my studio and work on larger pieces and commissions and finish projects that interest me.”
“Trinity, that sounds like a solid business plan.”
“Thank you. But the length of the winter was a shock to my system. For the first year I wondered why I’d tortured myself.”
“Then you got used to it.”
“Somewhat. I’d still rather be inside when it’s cold.”
“You just haven’t found a winter activity you like.”
She peered at me over the top of her sunglasses. “I happen to like sitting inside wrapped in a blanket sipping hot chocolate, watching classic TV. That counts as an activity.”
“Not in my family.” I opened the cooler and snagged a bottle of water, then held it out to her. “Want one?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
After grabbing another bottle, I moved the chairs into the sun. For a brief moment I let myself bask in the heat. Some guys I worked with spent their nonworking hours inside, claiming they had enough of the great outdoors during the workweek. Not me. I preferred to be outside—and not just in the summer.
“Your family expects you to participate in outdoor . . . stuff in the winter?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“What’s your favorite activity? Ice fishing?”
“Nope. That’s one I’ll skip. Being on a frozen lake freaks me out even now. So downhill skiing is first choice. Then hockey. Snowshoeing. Last is cross-country skiing.” I looked at her. “Talking about snow activities when I’m baking in the sun seems wrong.”
“You don’t seem to have the type of skin that gets fried.”
“I don’t. I just get tan. Speaking of . . . don’t you wanna sit out here with me?”
“I’m not wearing a swimsuit.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Naked is fine by me.”
“Nude sunbathing is never gonna happen with me because I’d look like a boiled lobster.”
It was hard to bite back my comment about how much I loved lobster. “You can sit out here fully clothed. Or I’m a pro at applying sunscreen.”
Trinity pushed to her feet. “If I fry, it’s on you.”
“Grab your sunscreen and I’ll get you slicked up.” When she bent over to dig through her bag—she wasn’t wiggling that ass in my face on purpose, was she?—I had to swallow a groan.
“Stop staring at my butt, Walker.”
“But it’s right here, Trinity. I thought I was being gentlemanly by not smacking it.”
She stood and slowly turned around. “Well, it is huge so it’s sort of hard to miss.”
I leaned forward and slipped my arms around her waist, dragging her closer, forcing her to straddle my lap.
“What are you doing?” She wiggled to get free but I held firm.
“I warned you I wouldn’t put up with you saying that kind of mean shit about yourself.”
“Walker—”
“So let’s work on some posi
tive reinforcement.” I slid my hands down her hips and latched onto her butt. Then I repositioned her, forcing her to brace her palms on my chest. I kissed the tip of her chin as I squeezed her cheeks.
“Comfy?” she said testily.
“Getting there.” I trailed my lips down her throat, not licking, not sucking, just pressing gentle kisses on her soft skin.
“You didn’t ask me if I’m comfy,” she retorted.
“Because I already know you’re not. But it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with how you’re sitting on my lap.” My mouth followed her collarbone from the hollow of her throat to her shoulder and back.
She shivered. She tried to hide it, but I caught it.
I caressed her backside and my mouth sought out all the sweet spots on her neck. “I really like your body. Even now when I’ve got my hands on it, all I can think of is . . . more.” I nuzzled the section of skin where her neck curved into her shoulder. “Repeat after me. Walker thinks I’m sexy.”
“Walker . . . I—”
I lightly tapped her butt. “Huh-uh. Repeat what I said, nothing else.” I nipped her neck. “Or don’t, because we can stay like this all day as far as I’m concerned.”
“You’re pushy, you know that?”
“Says the woman who put me in a lip-lock the first time we met.”
She moaned huskily as my tongue flickered over the pulse point in her neck. “Okay. I’ll say it. Walker thinks I’m sexy.”
“Now say, ‘Walker thinks I’m sexy and he wants to have me for lunch instead of the picnic he packed.’”
Trinity pushed herself upright with one hand and shoved her sunglasses on top of her head with the other. “You packed a picnic for us?”
“I didn’t make the food, but yeah, there’s picnic stuff.”
Then she pushed my sunglasses on top of my head and stared into my eyes. Whatever she saw there caused her to smile. “Walker thinks I’m sexy and he wants to have me for lunch instead of the picnic he packed.” She drifted closer, her focus on my lips. “But Trinity admits she needs an appetizer to tide her over.”
Our mouths connected in an explosion of sweet fire.
I loved that she didn’t hold back and wait for me to make a move. I really loved the greedy way she touched me and the sexy noises she made when I touched her.
All too soon, she tried to end the kiss. I made a growling sound and held on to her tighter.
She poked my belly until I started laughing and released her. Then she planted herself in front of me, a challenge quirking her well-kissed lips. “You volunteered to apply sunscreen?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Keeping her gaze on mine, she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, shrugged out of it and draped it over the back of a chair.
Trinity had worn a swimsuit—at least the top portion—in a retro 1940s pinup girl style, with wide black straps that circled her neck to form a halter top. Made me a letch to leer at those beautifully full breasts, creamy white against the shiny black material, but I couldn’t look away.
“Walker?”
“Give a man a minute to admire the outstanding view.” I finally looked up at her face. “Did you say something about topless sunbathing?”
“Since I’ve never sunbathed topless, I can’t imagine how fiery red that lily white skin would burn the first time.” She held up her hand to stall my immediate comment. “While your forthcoming offer of kissing my sunburned skin is appreciated”—I laughed that she’d homed in on that because that’s exactly what I’d been thinking—“how about you focus on keeping my back and shoulders from frying?”
“With absolute pleasure and utter dedication.”
She rolled her eyes. “Focus on putting sunscreen on those areas, not your mouth.”
“I’ll try, babe, but no guarantees.”
I moved in behind her and started applying lotion at the nape of her neck. Even the heat from the sun couldn’t keep her from breaking out in gooseflesh as my hands molded and shaped her strong arms and shoulders. Made me a little crazy to see how much my touch affected her this way. As much as I wanted to drag this out, discover all of her hot spots inch by inch, there was no way to mask a hard-on in board shorts.
“I suppose you’re too macho to wear sunscreen,” she said.
“Nope. I’ll let you coat my back when I’m done because I’m sweating through this shirt so much it’s gotta come off.”
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?”