“Babe. I’m sorry. That isn’t fair.” He set his forearms on the table. “Maybe we oughta plan a heist.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “Can’t you see the headline? ‘The Case of the Purloined Pink Pearls.’”
He laughed.
“While I appreciate the offer, should I be worried that you’re a professional cat burglar?”
“Nah. I’m more of a dog guy.”
“Funny. But speaking of . . . what does Walker Lund do to fill up his weekday hours?”
He smirked and those damn dimples winked at me. “Guess.”
“I should’ve seen that coming.”
“Yep.”
“You dress up like a Viking warrior and reenact famous battle scenes at the Shakopee Scandinavian Culture Center. You wear skintight leather breeches and a fur vest over your bare, glistening chest. Oh, and you have a big . . . sword and kick-ass shield that you use to beat back all the wenches who stand in line to be pillaged by you.”
“Nice try. Points for vivid imagery and the use of the word ‘glistening’ with a straight face. But no.”
“Shoot. I so thought I’d nailed you.” Dammit, Trin. What is wrong with you?
“And extra points for sexual innuendo.”
“Unintentional,” I retorted.
“Still counts. Quit stalling and guess.”
He’d set his hand back on the table by his beer glass. I reached over and ran the tips of my fingers across his rough-skinned knuckles. “Workingman hands,” I murmured. “Maybe you’re a Viking longboat builder?” When I looked up at him, the heat in his eyes set my stomach into free fall.
“That. Right there,” he said on a low growl.
Confused, I said, “What?”
“That innocent look in your big green eyes. Makes a man think about all sorts of things that aren’t even close to innocent.”
I blushed and felt like a complete dork. Wasn’t I supposed to be past this at my age? “With that smooth line, you’ve got to be a salesman of some kind.”
“Me? Smooth?” He laughed. Hard.
I half expected him to start slapping his knee.
Then he picked up my hand. “I’m not some smooth-talking bar rat. In fact, according to my mother and my sister, I’m more than a little rough around the edges.”
“It looks good on you.” I paused, resisting the urge to lift my hand high enough to stroke his beard. “What does a rough-around-the-edges man do for a living?”
“I’m in construction.”
“Any specific area? You build roads or hospitals?”
“No. Mostly we renovate.”
“Like historical renovations? You make sure that when houses and buildings are updated the elements indicative of their period remain intact?”
“Yes, in some instances. My business is eighty percent renovation, ten percent restoration and ten percent falls into an ‘other’ category. Right now we’re in the middle of two major restorations and three renovations. Summer is our busiest time since the season is so short. I hit a couple of snags today—the client demanding changes that a third party suggested. I had a late meeting with the building owner on one of the properties. And that conversation went so well I immediately needed a drink.”
“No girlfriend waiting to soothe you with a cold brew after a hard day’s work?”
“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have let you kiss me like that if I was in a relationship and I sure as hell wouldn’t have kissed you back the way I did.”
I fought another blush. “That makes my behavior really irresponsible . . . not even considering you might be involved with someone.” I shook my head. “It was like I was in a lust-trance.”
“Lose the guilt. There were two pairs of lips working that kiss.” He swigged his beer. “And I don’t cheat.”
“Is that a rule you’ve always abided by?”
His left eyebrow winged up. “You think I made that decision out of guilt after cheating?”
“I just wondered if we have that hard learning curve in common. It sucks that I have to make a mistake—sometimes a big mistake—as a catalyst to change my ways.”
The intent way his eyes searched mine indicated I’d ventured too far into personal territory. This was the point where the guy usually retreats. In a preemptive response, I’d smile and say something noncommittal as I dug my car keys out of my purse. But for some reason this time . . . I froze.
Evidently my deer-in-the-headlights look amused him.
“You have any idea how hard I’m digging on you right now?”
“Digging on me,” I repeated. “Is that a construction worker’s come-on?”