and extended his hand. “Devin.”
At last she allowed herself a long, appraising look at him. Five o’clock shadow had settled in, dusting his sculpted jaw. He’d left the hat at home but otherwise dressed casually in a black T-shirt and worn jeans as he had earlier that day. He leaned back in his seat, stretched out, and she glimpsed cowboy boots.
“Natasha.” She accepted his hand, his long, callous-tipped fingers wrapping around hers. He held her hand a moment before releasing it and her arm was suddenly rubbery, fingers fumbling as she grasped her drink again. She sipped her beer in silence. If Adam found out about this, she...she just didn’t even want to think about it. But the air was charged between them and she shifted her eyes from his steady stare as she felt a blush work up her cheeks.
“What color did you pick?”
“Haven’t yet. Leaning toward light blue. Office setting and that.”
“I see.”
Little by little, Eight’s was shifting back to normal, men stepping up to order more drinks. The crack of pool cues hitting balls resumed and muffled voices grew louder. She glanced around the room and didn’t catch anyone looking at them.
“So you don’t know who I am.”
Natasha blinked innocently at Archer. “You just said you were Devin.”
He eyed her silently, his calloused fingers tracing the rim of his glass. “Police gave me a bit of a talking to today because I threw that guy onto his car last night—I thought you called them.”
Whether it was a total lie to cover up them questioning him over the murder or just a partial one and they did know he tossed Gordie Martin around, she didn’t know. “Nope, wasn’t me. But Gordie got on things early this morning, getting his ducks in a row—he must’ve.”
“So what kind of office is it that you’re painting blue?”
Oh, I’m a private investigator, and of course I am not following you. “I work in security.”
A wry smile tugged at his lips. “Which involves sitting in trees?”
“Sometimes. Other times it involves sitting in an office I’d like to paint blue. What do you do?”
“At the moment, I’m renovating an old house.”
Interesting he didn’t specify his old house. Tash played dumb, of course, and feigned interest. “And when you’re not renovating an old house?”
“I’ve worked in the city for the past few years, in a restaurant.”
“Waiter?” She already knew, of course.
“Cook.”
Even knowing that, she definitely wasn’t faking intrigue, because it was difficult reconciling a rugged outdoorsy type to that. “Really?”
“Head of the kitchen staff. Created the menu, the recipes.”
Wow, she had not been expecting that based on what little she knew. “Color me impressed. I’m lucky I can dial for takeout; if I had a phone phobia, I’d never eat.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
Tash rolled her eyes. “I burn Kraft Dinner.”
Archer chuckled. “Okay, that’s pretty bad.”
“See? Hopeless.”
“I’ll have to cook you a proper meal sometime.”
Oh, boy . She gulped down several mouthfuls of her drink, the chocolate stout suffusing her cheeks with heat and extra color.
“You know you’re pretty when you blush.” It was technically a question but he spoke it as a statement, and downed more of his drink.
“Actually, I don’t know—I don’t blush often enough to know the difference.”
“Maybe we should do something about that.”
Flirting. Jesus Christ. Adam’s going to kill me. I will be banned from the house and poor, very pregnant Dani will have to sneak out a window to visit me.
The rock blaring over the speakers fading, changing from unfamiliar noise to a tune she knew. The dulcet tones of plucked guitar strings opened, Mick Jagger crooning the beginnings of “Angie.”
Tash decided to slow down on the alcohol and set her glass down. Instead she drummed her fingers on the tabletop to the beat of the song, casually glancing away from his steady eye
At last she allowed herself a long, appraising look at him. Five o’clock shadow had settled in, dusting his sculpted jaw. He’d left the hat at home but otherwise dressed casually in a black T-shirt and worn jeans as he had earlier that day. He leaned back in his seat, stretched out, and she glimpsed cowboy boots.
“Natasha.” She accepted his hand, his long, callous-tipped fingers wrapping around hers. He held her hand a moment before releasing it and her arm was suddenly rubbery, fingers fumbling as she grasped her drink again. She sipped her beer in silence. If Adam found out about this, she...she just didn’t even want to think about it. But the air was charged between them and she shifted her eyes from his steady stare as she felt a blush work up her cheeks.
“What color did you pick?”
“Haven’t yet. Leaning toward light blue. Office setting and that.”
“I see.”
Little by little, Eight’s was shifting back to normal, men stepping up to order more drinks. The crack of pool cues hitting balls resumed and muffled voices grew louder. She glanced around the room and didn’t catch anyone looking at them.
“So you don’t know who I am.”
Natasha blinked innocently at Archer. “You just said you were Devin.”
He eyed her silently, his calloused fingers tracing the rim of his glass. “Police gave me a bit of a talking to today because I threw that guy onto his car last night—I thought you called them.”
Whether it was a total lie to cover up them questioning him over the murder or just a partial one and they did know he tossed Gordie Martin around, she didn’t know. “Nope, wasn’t me. But Gordie got on things early this morning, getting his ducks in a row—he must’ve.”
“So what kind of office is it that you’re painting blue?”
Oh, I’m a private investigator, and of course I am not following you. “I work in security.”
A wry smile tugged at his lips. “Which involves sitting in trees?”
“Sometimes. Other times it involves sitting in an office I’d like to paint blue. What do you do?”
“At the moment, I’m renovating an old house.”
Interesting he didn’t specify his old house. Tash played dumb, of course, and feigned interest. “And when you’re not renovating an old house?”
“I’ve worked in the city for the past few years, in a restaurant.”
“Waiter?” She already knew, of course.
“Cook.”
Even knowing that, she definitely wasn’t faking intrigue, because it was difficult reconciling a rugged outdoorsy type to that. “Really?”
“Head of the kitchen staff. Created the menu, the recipes.”
Wow, she had not been expecting that based on what little she knew. “Color me impressed. I’m lucky I can dial for takeout; if I had a phone phobia, I’d never eat.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
Tash rolled her eyes. “I burn Kraft Dinner.”
Archer chuckled. “Okay, that’s pretty bad.”
“See? Hopeless.”
“I’ll have to cook you a proper meal sometime.”
Oh, boy . She gulped down several mouthfuls of her drink, the chocolate stout suffusing her cheeks with heat and extra color.
“You know you’re pretty when you blush.” It was technically a question but he spoke it as a statement, and downed more of his drink.
“Actually, I don’t know—I don’t blush often enough to know the difference.”
“Maybe we should do something about that.”
Flirting. Jesus Christ. Adam’s going to kill me. I will be banned from the house and poor, very pregnant Dani will have to sneak out a window to visit me.
The rock blaring over the speakers fading, changing from unfamiliar noise to a tune she knew. The dulcet tones of plucked guitar strings opened, Mick Jagger crooning the beginnings of “Angie.”
Tash decided to slow down on the alcohol and set her glass down. Instead she drummed her fingers on the tabletop to the beat of the song, casually glancing away from his steady eye
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