Page 24 of Breaking All The Rules
Bea was salivating even before the waft of sugar filled her nostrils. She pulled out the very generous slice of coconut cream pie and, while it wasn’t an orgasm, it was the next best thing she’d allow herself inside the BMW. She stared at it longingly before glancing at Austin, who was looking at it like it was the answer to world peace. “You want half?”
He raised his eyes to meet hers. “I couldn’t possibly deprive you.” And the way he said deprive left Bea in little doubt he wasn’t just talking about pie. His eyes seemed to be saying that deprivation was wholly unnatural. Wholly unnecessary. He tipped his chin at the airy concoction of cream and sugar. “You go ahead.”
Bea smiled. “That was so the right answer.”
“I’ll watch.”
Bea rolled her eyes. “You, Officer, are a pervert.”
She didn’t know if he responded, he may well have made some reply, but Bea didn’t hear anything from the second she bit into the pie. Sweetness infused her taste buds; the lightness of cream and the buttery flakiness of pastry followed in rapid succession. The crunch of toasted coconut brought up the rear. The heady essence of vanilla filled her nostrils. A choir of freaking angels sang the “Hallelujah” chorus.
“Oh…my…God,” she muttered, barely chewing and swallowing the first mouthful before she went in for the second. She’d already known that Annie was a pie goddess, but this pie was something else. Something…otherworldly. She glanced at Austin. “Seriously,” she said around her mouthful. “Annie’s the devil, isn’t she?”
He chuckled. “Didn’t I tell you it was a religious experience?”
Bea shook her head. “I think the word you’re searching for is cult.”
Indulging like this was a hedonism that bordered on sexual. Completely selfish, utterly thrilling. And between the adrenaline charge of burning rubber in her BMW and the sheer oral indulgence of Annie’s coconut cream pie, Bea had a new insight into the pull of the risqué. Of just surrendering to the decadence of pleasure and to hell with the consequences.
A new insight to her mother.
On the third bite, she actually moaned while plotting where they could build their pie-cult compound, and she knew she was putting on a spectacle by the intensity of Austin’s gaze on her mouth, but she couldn’t help it. How anyone could eat this piece of pie and not be vocal with their appreciation, she had no idea. That would be like watching Dean Winchester strip naked and not sigh/whimper/drool.
Or all three at once.
But she was not Austin’s personal live-feed food (or other) porn channel, and this wasn’t the way to set boundaries.
“Here,” she said, pushing the pie in his direction, because even though he’d already declined, there was little else to do in the stationary, idling car except eat, and the thought of smearing it on his neck and licking it off was presenting itself as a perfectly acceptable way to eat right now. Inviting him to take his own bite seemed safer. “I’m not giving you half, but for introducing me to this wonder, you get a bite.”
He glanced at the offering. “It’s fine. I know what it tastes like, and watching you is much more satisfying.”
Oh, hell…he really shouldn’t be talking now. She nudged the pie closer about an inch from his mouth. “I insist.”
After a beat or two of heated looks, Austin leaned in, opened his mouth, and bit into the soft center of the pie before pulling away, licking cream off his lips as he went. And now he was her food porn channel.
Holy shit. Stop it, Beatrice. Pull yourself together.
“Did the police academy teach you how to do that?” she asked, leaping on the first thing that came into her head. Conversation was a good distraction, right?
“Eat pie?”
Bea rolled her eyes but was pleased to be steering away from the teetering edge of their attraction. “Burnouts.”
“Ah.” He chuckled. “No. I grew up on a ranch just outside Credence. As soon as I could reach the pedals, I was driving. My older brother taught me how to spin the wheels, and there were a lot of bonfire nights with buddies where we burned a helluva lot of rubber.”
He laughed, the kind of laugh that was soft with good times. She could picture him as a teenager, the glow of a roaring fire lighting his face as he climbed into his pickup, all legs and hormones—ten feet tall and bulletproof. She wondered if he’d known then that one day he was going to turn a woman on with sheer horse—and pie—power alone.
Without even touching her.
His hand splayed on his chest as he laughed, and the relaxed, un-self-conscious gesture was somehow endearing as all get-out. He wasn’t censoring himself around her—this wasn’t Austin the cop in the car with her.
This was Austin the man.
He shook his head absently, his hand falling to his lap. “It’s a wonder we didn’t kill ourselves. My mother would have whooped our asses if she’d known what we were getting up to half the time.”
Bea felt the obvious affection for the place he grew up and for his family like a tangible force. He wore it like a halo. And a pang of what felt very much like envy cramped through her chest. It wasn’t the first time she’d ever wished she’d had a different upbringing in a house full of love and family, but it had been a very long time since she had.
“You have just the one older brother?”
