Page 32 of Breaking All The Rules
Bea lifted her hand to push back her long bangs that fell full and sexily across her face, tucking them behind her ear, increasing the sass. Her fingernails flashed a pearly pink in the mirror—the same color as her toenails—as she ran a finger along first one and then the other eyebrow. They were both now twin arches of perfection and joy.
They were the McDonald’s of eyebrows.
She had to wonder, if this was the magic Molly could weave on eyebrows, what sort of miracle could she perform on more…delicate areas of Bea’s body? Maybe next time she’d put herself in Molly’s hands and let her create a garden of wonder from the bracken down under.
A sudden and unexpected knock at the door interrupted Bea’s musings, and she blinked. She’d been here for almost three weeks and nobody had knocked on her door. Dragging herself reluctantly away from her narcissistic staring in the mirror, Bea took the two steps out of the bathroom and another dozen to the front door.
She knew it could only be one person. Well, actually, theoretically it could be anyone, but in her bones, Bea knew who was knocking. Austin Cooper. A bolt of nervousness knotted her belly as she reached for the doorknob. What would he think of her new look?
Pulling the door open, her suspicions were immediately confirmed. Austin was on her doorstep in jeans and a navy-and-red-checkered button-down and a bulky fleece-lined jacket. He looked seriously hot, especially in comparison to her usual baggy sweats, tee without a bra, and bunny slippers.
He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped and stared at her, his gaze roving over her hair. “Wow.” He whistled. “You look…ah-mazing.”
Given what she was wearing, Bea told herself not to get too carried away at his genuine compliment and the unbridled interest in his gaze. It was obviously just about the hair. Considering her hair had barely been brushed the few other times they’d seen each other, she was coming off a fairly low bar. Seeing it all newly washed and colored and bouncy was bound to cause a double take.
Still, she touched her hair self-consciously. “You like it?”
“Hell yeah I do.” He grinned. “When you said you wanted to dye your hair, I figured you’d probably go blond. But red…” His gaze roved over her head again. “That’s a bold statement. I like it.”
Bea laughed. “I don’t know about bold statement. I just put myself in Marley’s hands and, hey presto, she went all fairy godmother on my ass.”
“They’ve been making a lot of Credence customers happy since they set up shop.”
“There are worse things you can do in life.” Like sell age serum to twenty-year-olds. Or useless gadgets to people who couldn’t afford them. Or expensive water in plastic bottles when the planet was dying.
“I brought you something.”
Bea gave herself a mental shake as the realization Austin was carrying something filtered through. “Is that a—”
“Yup.” He lifted it so she could inspect his prize. “It’s an electric fondue pot belonging to my parents, but they don’t use it anymore. It’s forty years old but still works like a charm.”
The pot was a decent size, with a very retro feel to its design. A squat bowl with squat black legs. “It’s…”
“I hope you’re not going to go with a cheese pun, because I’ve suffered through more than my fair share over lunch, thanks to my father.”
“Your father is a pun man?”
“My father is a pun tragic.”
Given advertising often exploited puns, Bea was quite fond of them. But they weren’t everyone’s cup of tea. “No puns, I promise. I was going to say, it’s gorgeous.” She could almost taste the hot, melted goodness of cheese dripping from a fat crouton.
“And it’s red,” he pointed out. “You’re making bold statements everywhere.”
The teasing in his voice caused a hitch in Bea’s breath and a lurch in her belly. “Oh yes, that’s me. A dye job and a fondue set. Is there no end to my subversiveness?”
He laughed. “May I bring it in for you and set it down somewhere?”
Bea was perfectly capable of taking the damn pot, and being alone in her apartment with him probably wasn’t the wisest move, but it’d been a whole twenty-four hours plus since she’d seen him, and she’d been having trouble saying no from the second she’d met this man.
And besides, Austin was good for her ego.
She stood aside. “Entrez-vous.”
“Mmm. French,” he murmured as he brushed by her. “Ooh la-la.”
With a second tummy lurch, Bea gripped the knob for a moment before closing the door, his cologne adding to the dizzying effect of his presence. She wasn’t sure what he was wearing—she’d known some advertising people with better noses than a perfumer—but it was rich and earthy. Hay and leather. Rain and dust. Sunshine and sweat.
Cowboy in a bottle.
