“I put cinnamon on it. Cancels out the cholesterol. Read about it on the Men’s Health Web site.”
Her lips twitched. “That’s buhit.” She eyed the banana cream pie. “What cheap pop-science justification have you got for that one?”
He contemplated the pie. “Well, bananas are good for you. Lots of potassium, which helps you shed water weight, right? And there’s no trans fats in the crust. I can promise you that.”
“Yeah?” Her lips pursed, suppressing a smile. “So what is in it?”
He grinned wickedly. “Lard,” he announced. “Artery clogging, cholesterol-laden pig fat. Hope you’re not a vegetarian.”
Her smile broke free, and it was fucking blow-your-mind dazzling gorgeous. “At least you’re honest,” she commented.
“Always,” he said.
“I hate liars,” she told him.
“I don’t blame you,” he replied. “I don’t like them, either.”
More sipping, more silence, considering each other. He felt like he was under a blazing light, being silently interrogated. Except that instead of being a bad, scary feeling, it was . . . well, exciting. Like he was laid out naked. On the altar. Before the goddess.
Rigid and ready to serve. Yeah.
She picked up a spoon, let it dangle from her fingertips like a pendulum. The bowl of the spoon swung toward him, a blurred gleam in the foreground. He stared at the triangular arrangement of freckles on the bulge of her tit behind it. Where his gaze was helplessly focused.
“I can’t eat all of this,” she informed him.
“Try,” he urged. “I think your metabolism’s just fine.”
She held out the spoon. “You help.”
His cock jumped at the implied intimacy of the invitation. “No,” he said. “It’s for you.”
“It’s too much,” she said. “And I hate waste.”
He took the spoon, reluctantly, and waited. “You first.”
She went for the rice pudding first. Her soft, crimson lips parted slowly to accept the creamy mouthful, then contracted in eager surprise around the spoon. Her body went rigid with pleasure, her eyes softened in momentary bliss. Oh, man. He shifted on his seat to get some relief.
“Wow,” she whispered. “You made that?”
No need to repeat himself. He just waited for her to try the pie.
She forked up the tip of the triangle and stared at it, while the waiting silence took on an electrical charge that was almost unbearable.
She put it in her mouth, closed her eyes, savored it. Her eyelids twitched as she inhaled, sharply. “Oh, my God. That is delicious.”
Bruno sipped his coffee, trying not to look smug. “Told you.”
“A guy could rack up big points for desserts like this.”
He dipped his spoon into the rice pudding. It was damn good, if he did say so himself. Zia Rosa was a good teacher. “That’s good news,” he said. “What else racks up points with you? Give me a list.” He whipped out his order pad and pen. “I’ll take notes.”
She looked down into her coffee. “Honesty,” she said.
He’d been hoping for more sexy repartee, but if she wanted to take this to the next level, that was fine. “No worries. I do honesty.”
She rolled her eyes. “No worries, my ass.”
“What, have you picked out some liars recently?”
She scooped up another bite, her gaze evading his. “Either that, or it’s all men who are lying rat bastards.”
“I don’t lie,” he assured her. “Ask me anything. I’ll tell you the uncensored, uncut truth. I swear.”
“Yeah? So tell me what you’re thinking right now.”
He was taken aback by the challenge. “Ah . . .”
“Don’t lie.” Her voice snapped like a whip. “Or I’ll know.”
She would. He could tell. She was smart, she had the eye, the ear. And he was a piss-poor liar in the best of circumstances.
He let out a sigh. “Thinking isn’t really the word for it.”
“Use whatever words work for you.”
He braced himself. “I was imagining having sex with you,” he confessed. “I have been since I first saw you
Her lips twitched. “That’s buhit.” She eyed the banana cream pie. “What cheap pop-science justification have you got for that one?”
He contemplated the pie. “Well, bananas are good for you. Lots of potassium, which helps you shed water weight, right? And there’s no trans fats in the crust. I can promise you that.”
“Yeah?” Her lips pursed, suppressing a smile. “So what is in it?”
He grinned wickedly. “Lard,” he announced. “Artery clogging, cholesterol-laden pig fat. Hope you’re not a vegetarian.”
Her smile broke free, and it was fucking blow-your-mind dazzling gorgeous. “At least you’re honest,” she commented.
“Always,” he said.
“I hate liars,” she told him.
“I don’t blame you,” he replied. “I don’t like them, either.”
More sipping, more silence, considering each other. He felt like he was under a blazing light, being silently interrogated. Except that instead of being a bad, scary feeling, it was . . . well, exciting. Like he was laid out naked. On the altar. Before the goddess.
Rigid and ready to serve. Yeah.
She picked up a spoon, let it dangle from her fingertips like a pendulum. The bowl of the spoon swung toward him, a blurred gleam in the foreground. He stared at the triangular arrangement of freckles on the bulge of her tit behind it. Where his gaze was helplessly focused.
“I can’t eat all of this,” she informed him.
“Try,” he urged. “I think your metabolism’s just fine.”
She held out the spoon. “You help.”
His cock jumped at the implied intimacy of the invitation. “No,” he said. “It’s for you.”
“It’s too much,” she said. “And I hate waste.”
He took the spoon, reluctantly, and waited. “You first.”
She went for the rice pudding first. Her soft, crimson lips parted slowly to accept the creamy mouthful, then contracted in eager surprise around the spoon. Her body went rigid with pleasure, her eyes softened in momentary bliss. Oh, man. He shifted on his seat to get some relief.
“Wow,” she whispered. “You made that?”
No need to repeat himself. He just waited for her to try the pie.
She forked up the tip of the triangle and stared at it, while the waiting silence took on an electrical charge that was almost unbearable.
She put it in her mouth, closed her eyes, savored it. Her eyelids twitched as she inhaled, sharply. “Oh, my God. That is delicious.”
Bruno sipped his coffee, trying not to look smug. “Told you.”
“A guy could rack up big points for desserts like this.”
He dipped his spoon into the rice pudding. It was damn good, if he did say so himself. Zia Rosa was a good teacher. “That’s good news,” he said. “What else racks up points with you? Give me a list.” He whipped out his order pad and pen. “I’ll take notes.”
She looked down into her coffee. “Honesty,” she said.
He’d been hoping for more sexy repartee, but if she wanted to take this to the next level, that was fine. “No worries. I do honesty.”
She rolled her eyes. “No worries, my ass.”
“What, have you picked out some liars recently?”
She scooped up another bite, her gaze evading his. “Either that, or it’s all men who are lying rat bastards.”
“I don’t lie,” he assured her. “Ask me anything. I’ll tell you the uncensored, uncut truth. I swear.”
“Yeah? So tell me what you’re thinking right now.”
He was taken aback by the challenge. “Ah . . .”
“Don’t lie.” Her voice snapped like a whip. “Or I’ll know.”
She would. He could tell. She was smart, she had the eye, the ear. And he was a piss-poor liar in the best of circumstances.
He let out a sigh. “Thinking isn’t really the word for it.”
“Use whatever words work for you.”
He braced himself. “I was imagining having sex with you,” he confessed. “I have been since I first saw you
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