Page 61 of Breaking All The Rules
Why had she gone there with Austin?
Because he’d felt less reckless than giving in to her artistic tendencies and that slippery slope? Ugh. Bea wasn’t sure she wanted to explore that too deeply right now. Which only left…because it felt good?
Jesus, seriously? She wasn’t a child. She couldn’t run her life on what felt good alone. That was her mother’s style—not Bea’s. Sure, she could sleep in every day and ditch her bra and her elliptical and watch reruns of Supernatural until the cows came home. But Austin was a human being and that wasn’t fair to him. He deserved better than being an expression of her…midlife crisis.
Or whatever it was called at thirty-five. He wasn’t a shiny sports car. He was a man.
The knock at the door felt like the knock of doom, and for a moment, Bea contemplated not opening it. Pretending she was out. But…that was cowardly and she wouldn’t be that person. Best to get this over with before it went on and on and feelings—Austin’s feelings—became involved.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Princess accompanied her as Bea opened the door, her warm body pressed against Bea’s ankle. Austin was leaning on the wall, one hand on his hip, grinning that grin she loved so much, looking super official in his uniform, which was, sadly for her, superhot. She’d never salivated just at the sight of a man before now.
He gave her the lazy once-over as well. “They’re not your Thursday panties.”
Bea smiled despite a heavy ache in her chest. “I had to go out.”
He gave an exaggerated sigh, sounding thwarted but resigned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Then he touched the brim of his hat in a formal gesture of hello and said, “Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m here to take your statement.”
She wanted to grab him by the lapels of his shirt and kiss him until he was groaning and his hands were siding into her sweats.
“I also”—he pushed off the wall and pulled a brown paper packet out from behind his back, presenting it the way another man might have presented a fancy diamond ring—“bought you some pie. Because pie.”
A sudden waft of simple sugars hit Bea’s system, and she realized she’d been too damn angry to even eat today. She’d walked to the library and back and hadn’t even thought to stop at Annie’s.
He waved the package in front of her face. “Lemon meringue made with fresh lemons from Annie’s very own tree.”
Bea’s stomach growled, and she salivated some more. If she wasn’t careful, she’d start to drool. “Seeing as how you bought pie, you can come in.”
She stood aside, and Austin took the two steps into her apartment, bending over to give Princess some love before entering fully. Bea shut the door, then headed for the sink, moving around the half-full trash basket still in the middle of the floor. She needed to put as much space between them as possible and get as far away from the bed as possible, because all she could think about now was how Austin’s abs would taste smeared in meringue, which was not helpful.
Why did her brain choose now to combine two of her favorite things?
Bea kept her back to him, looking down at the street as she had earlier today when she’d lifted her shirt. She was hyperaware he was approaching, in the same way she’d been aware of him from the first moment they’d met. He slid in behind her, placing the pie on the cluttered countertop before bracketing her hips with a hand planted on either side of the sink, his front pressing into her back.
Dipping his head, he nuzzled behind her ear and down the side of her neck, the brim of his hat brushing her skin. Every muscle in her body wanted to melt against him, but she held herself erect. “I missed you today,” he murmured.
Bea shut her eyes as his husky admission grabbed a hold around her heart. She’d missed him, too, and she wanted nothing more than to relax in his arms. But they needed to talk. So she locked her knees, gripped the edge of the sink harder.
Lifting his face from her neck, he slid his chin on top of her head and didn’t say anything for long moments. They both just stood there and stared out the window. Eventually, though, he initiated the conversation she was too chicken to start.
“You’re freaking out, aren’t you?”
She opened her eyes and gave a half laugh at his typical Austin approach. Casual but direct. Still, his insight was unexpected, and Bea practically folded in on herself in relief. Other men she’d had the it’s-not-working-out talk with in the past had always seemed oblivious to the undercurrent.
“A little.” Okay…maybe a lot.
“All right.” He kissed the top of her head and withdrew, and Bea missed him instantly as he stepped away. “You want to talk about it?”
Steeling herself for what was to come, Bea turned. Austin had removed his hat and thrown it on top of her messy coffee table and was ruffling his hair, and, if possible, Bea’s knees went a little weaker. Thank God she had the bench to lean into.
“You want to go first?” he asked.
He didn’t seem angry or even worried, necessarily, nor did he appear to be humoring her. His body was loose and relaxed, his gaze neutral. His body language was open and inviting. Clearly, he was up for the conversation and wanted to tackle it head-on, which fit Austin’s pragmatic personality.
Who knew pragmatism could be so damn sexy?
“I think this”—Bea gestured her index finger back and forth between them—“was a mistake.”
