Page 83 of Summer Heat
He gave her that familiar smile, the one that made her heart pump double time. “He’d eat a whole taco stand, if I let him.”
The dog in question wagged his tail, clearly eager for dinner. Or maybe some of whatever was in that bag Ethan held.
Ethan’s gaze met hers and locked. The memory of their previous kiss flashed through the air around them, like sunlight. Like twinkling lights on a string. His eyes turned wary. Was he worried she’d expect something from him?
Well, he wouldn’t be totally wrong.
She turned away and ran her finger along the countertop. “You don’t seem happy to see me. In fact, you didn’t seem happy to see me last time I drove up. You’re going to give a girl a complex.”
His voice was gruff—and closer than she’d expected. “I was surprised. Then. And now.” There was a long pause. “You left.”
“So did you. Without a forwarding address. Without even a goddamn note. Without answering my calls.” He’d left her in Austin, left her to wonder and worry. It had hurt, and it hurt worse to think she’d made him feel that way, because she’d done the same thing. “But I came back.”
“Lia.” There was urgency in his voice—power and desperation too.
She kept her gaze turned away, unable to face him. Unable to bear it if he lied… or if he told the truth. “Am I too late?”
Instead of his voice, she heard the rustling of paper. And Styrofoam? She turned. Her gaze dropped to the box he held. Something was written across the top in black marker. Top Secret.
His mouth lifted in a small rueful smile. “How do you feel about blueberries?”
Um… “I like them?”
He shook his head solemnly. “That’s what I thought too. Before.”
He opened the lid, revealing the largest piece of pie she’d ever seen. Slice wasn’t the right word for it. This had to be a third of the pie. Plump purple blueberries spilled from the sides. A browned crust was studded with tiny sugar cubes. The liquid part of the filling had bubbled up from a cutout star and caramelized during baking.
A little circular container held vanilla ice cream, and while the weather might not be ideal for chilled desserts, the thought of them paired made her mouth water. As did the sweet sugary scent.
“God,” she said.
“I know,” he said grimly, his brown eyes sparking with heat, and it felt a little like they’d both had an orgasm against their wills. Just from looking at the pie. What would happen when they ate it? “I’ve been waiting to share this with you. Waiting and wondering if I ever would.”
Then she didn’t have to wonder anymore, and neither did he, because he had grabbed a fork and tugged her to sit. The place where his hand touched hers felt like a firecracker, exploding into light before fading to smoke.
She breathed in deep and shivered, her senses suddenly alert. She could feel the heat coming off the pie. The heat coming off Ethan. She felt her own heat, pressing out, a tactile thing that could explore and touch and need, a manifestation of her own greedy desires.
Her thighs pressed together on the hard wooden chair.
A coarse and fatalistic excitement thrummed through her body as she watched him dig a piece with his fork.
Everything had always been leading to this: his arm reaching toward her, his gaze on her mouth. The softly spoken command. “Open.”
And she did, her lips parting like the proverbial red sea, and him marching between. He had sour-sweet berries for soldiers and flakes of crust to carry them. Flavor burst on her tongue, and she swallowed convulsively, savoring the hint of earthy berry skin left behind. Her eyes fell shut.
“Jesus,” he muttered, with just enough country twang to twist her up inside.
I know. I know. I know.
She found the strength to return the favor. But not with a fork or any other pretense at politeness. This felt feral, as she gripped three berries between thumb and forefinger. They were slippery on her skin, hard to hold on to, but she squeezed them tighter, feeling them burst on the ride to his mouth.
Open, he’d said to her, but she didn’t extend him the same courtesy. Where he was polite, she was demanding, and she pressed the berries to his full lips. He opened for her, welcomed her, drew her in with the suction of his mouth and the playful slide of his tongue.
He fed her another bite, this time with his fingers, and she sucked them clean, relishing the hint of salt with the sweet. They traded pieces of pie until half of it was gone, until both of their fingers were dyed blue with the juices, until her tongue felt swollen from sucking him.
His lids were low now—with arousal, she recognized. A mirror image of her own startling need.
He sat back, and she waited, heart sunk low, for him to tell her they were done. Done with pie. Done with this strange form of flirtation and sex. I can’t do this, he’d say, and the honest regret in his voice would only make her feel worse. She had lost him before she’d even known she wanted him. Just by dating his best friend. Just by being Ethan’s platonic friend for so long.
