Page 14 of Blood and Fire

That whole crazy goatfuck had culminated with Bruno doing a perp walk along with Kev and Kev’s newly discovered biological brothers, in handcuffs in front of local news crews. They were found to be innocent of wrongdoing, but they’d had an uncomfortable time of it for a while.

That had put a big crimp in his social schedule. No more of that “Portland’s Most Eligible Bachelor” hoohah. Just as well. That shit got old. He’d tried to convince Zia Rosa to take down that cover of Oregon Magazine she’d put up in the diner, after the mag had done that ‘most eligible’ article about him. It embarrassed him now. But Zia Rosa liked his dimples in that picture, and Zia Rosa could not be reasoned with.

Something about the zombie duels, Tony’s death, had changed something in him. He wasn’t sure what, but he’d started to shut up occasionally. Not all the time, and not for too long, but he was now capable keeping his yap trap shut for a few minutes at a time.

So if this woman wanted to know something about him, she could ask. He wasn’t going to run the Bruno Ranieri promo spiel anymore.

He gestured toward the rice pudding. “I put cinnamon on it. Cancels out the cholesterol. Read about it on the Men’s Health website.”

Her lips twitched. “That’s bullshit.” 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 towards 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.”

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