Rule #42: Seducing a man who’s holding a chainsaw is dangerous for everyone involved.
An hour in, I was seriously considering the merits of spontaneous combustion as a viable exit when I heard it.
The tinny, slightly creepy music of an ice cream truck.
I looked up to see one rolling down the street, playing its jingle like it was two decades earlier.
Bridger killed the chainsaw and set it down. “You want something?”
“Ice cream for breakfast seems questionable.”
“It’s almost eleven.”
“Ice cream for second breakfast then.” I gave him a bright smile and started toward the truck.
We walked over and I studied the faded pictures on the side. Bomb pops. Drumsticks. Those character popsicles with the bubblegum eyes that always tasted like freezer burn.
“What do you want?” Bridger asked.
“Cherry popsicle.”
He ordered—one cherry popsicle for me, nothing for himself—and paid before I could protest.
We walked back to the square, and I unwrapped the popsicle. It was exactly as I remembered from childhood—bright red, artificially flavored. Perfect.
I closed my mouth around the tip of it and made a sound of pure happiness.
When I looked up, Bridger was staring at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
But he didn’t look away.
I gave it another lick, and his jaw clenched so hard I thought I actually heard it. I licked the popsicle again.
Then I set up a rhythm I hoped would break his control. A deep, hard suck, a twisting lick up the frozen length. Eventhough I was deliberately trying to torture him, I had to admit I was enjoying the sweet cherry flavor and the cold on my tongue.
A drop ran down my wrist, and I licked it off without thinking.
Bridger made a sound low in his throat like a caged animal.
I looked up. “You okay?”
“I’m watching you eat a fucking popsicle, Roxie. So no, I’m not alright.”
My eyes widened. Okay, Roxie. Time to escalate. I put as much of the popsicle into my mouth as I could, sucking until my jaws hollowed out. Now I was watching him watch me. I turned the entire experience into my own short porn episode, produced entirely to make my stubborn mountain man melt right along with the popsicle.
“Enough,” he growled, closing the distance between us. He grabbed my wrist, pulling the popsicle out of my mouth and tossed it into the trash.
He looked around and then he was pulling me into an alley between two buildings, away from the square, away from anyone watching.
He backed me against the brick wall and kissed me.
Hard.
Hungry.