Page 90 of Wicked Sin

I blink at him. When he points at the bag I’m still holding, I set it on the counter. Inside I find pineapple juice—proof the man is crazy—as well as ice cream, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, and bananas—getting closer.

He sets a sauté pan on the stove, and uses the juice and sugar to start a caramel. Once that’s bubbling away, he adds the bananas, sliced lengthwise, cooking them just long enough to give them a sticky caramel coating. Then he deftly scoops them out with an oversized spoon, putting them in two bowls.

“Stick those in the freezer,” he says as he turns down the heat.

I do as he instructs, and when I turn back, he’s got all the other supplies ready.

“Come here,” he murmurs, tugging me close. “We’ve got a minute while those cool. I haven’t gotten my good morning kiss yet.”

I give it to him, a long slow taste, and then I fetch the bowls from the freezer.

He serves up a scoop of ice cream, drizzles on chocolate sauce, adds a spoon of warm caramel from the pan, then he slides it across the counter. “Last bit is all up to you, princess. Add your whipped cream and blueberries to make it perfect.”

He goes to the bag and pulls out a pint of blueberries I missed.

“Unconventional.” But I still take a nice big handful and scatter them on top of my sundae.

“They were the first things you ate out of your salad when we went to Washington.”

“That’s a weird thing to notice.”

“It was a weird conversation. I latched on to the blueberries like a canary in a coal mine. I figured, if you were still eating them, you were okay to keep talking.”

I give him a somber smile. “I’m always okay to keep talking.”

“Sure. I see that. But it hollows you out. I see that, too.”

“Thank you.” I grab two spoons and hand him one. “Speaking of talking…how was your coffee date?”

He frowns. “Not a date.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“It’s just a phrase. What’s the latest? Can I ask that?”

“Sure. Eat your breakfast.”

I laugh and dig in. The caramel sauce is freaking amazing, and totally not what I expected. “This is yummy.”

“But is it the best?”

I lick my spoon slowly, grinning. “The best I’ve ever had.”

“Damn fucking straight.” He winks, eats his own bite, and then launches into a run down of the progress on the case—which isn’t very much, it sounds like. “We’re still in a holding pattern on getting Gerome Lively’s travel details. And this video leak feels like a shot across the bow in some ways, like someone knows that he’s on our radar, and is trying to mess that up.”

“How would that mess it up?”

“The higher profile a case, the harder it is to do the investigation properly. Evidence gets tainted, tip lines get flooded. And that’s even before the celebrity trial if it gets that far. He’s dodged the bullet more than once. Now he’s cocky, and that can work to our advantage, but only if we keep the upper hand.”

“Shit.”

He drops his gaze to my mouth. “Language.”

“Really?” I laugh and lick up another mouthful of ice cream. “You don’t want me to swear?”

He drags his attention back to my eyes. “Maybe I want you to swear and like the idea of punishing you for it.”

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