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“Flying fruit?”

Marco sighed heavily. “When Izzy quit, in a fit of . . .well,rage, she threw half the fruit basket at me. The plums weren’t so bad. The grapes made good ammunition, admittedly. But the pomegranates? Difficult to avoid.”

Andrew laughed out loud. “What if I promise not to toss any pomegranates your direction?”

It was tempting. So goddamned tempting.

But then Marco remembered the bleak hurt flashing in Andrew’s eyes when he’d been asked about leaving Barcelona.

Maybe they still had to get to know each other as adults, now, but Marco knew one thing for sure: he was never going to fuck Andrew over the way his ex had. Blurring the lines until they were messy, then leave Andrew holding the short end of the stick.

“Okay,” Andrew said and unexpectedly reached for Marco’s hand. “Come on.”

“What?” Marco asked, confused.Come on what? Come on where?

“Come on,” Andrew repeated insistently, and this time he justtook,grabbing Marco’s hand and leading him, still without a shirt, outside the restaurant.

The lot was empty now, or mostly so.

Behind the restaurant was a little grouping of trees, and it seemed Andrew was leading them there.

Why? Marco didn’t know.

Maybe he was so tired he was hallucinating this whole thing. But Andrew’s hand felt strong and sure andrealin his.

Finally, they came to a stop, out of the circle of lights from the parking lot, right underneath the trees’ canopy. It was still warm outside, the July heat persistent even after the sun had set, but not sticky. Nothing like the South Carolina town where Luca now lived.

“What are we—” Marco began, but Andrew pressed a hand to his lips. It smelled like lemons and sugar and chocolate. An intoxicating combination.

“I wanted to do this,” Andrew said, “but considering why I left Barcelona and how you’re avoiding pomegranates, I thought maybewe shouldn’t do itinyour restaurant.”

And then Andrew leaned in and kissed him.

For a second, Marco let go and just let himself feel it.

Andrew’s mouth, firm and lush on his own, tasting like he smelled, like the sharp tang of citrus and the bitter richness of chocolate. Andrew’s hands in his hair and Marco’s hands curling into the fabric of his T-shirt. Andrew’s tongue, flickering teasing touches against his own.

Marco thought he might have groaned.

It felt like it had been an eternity since he’d been kissed like this. Like he wanted to be kissed. Until he lost himself, his body and his mind and his whole heart, in it.

He’d been in love before, in and out of it, throughout his twenties and even into his thirties, but it hadneverfelt like this before.

Like he’d just been waiting for Andrew to come home and claim him.

Like he knew it too, Andrew flipped them, so much stronger than he seemed, than he’d been the first time they’d known each other, like it was so goddamn easy to press Marco right into the tree trunk.

Imagine how it might be without all these inconvenient clothes between them.

Marco was breathless when Andrew lifted his mouth. “I don’t see how kissing out here changes anything.”

“Didn’t stop you from kissing me back,” Andrew teased.

“I only have so much self-control and your mouth is the limit of it,” Marco admitted.Your mouth. Your hands. Your body. Your cock. Your whole fucking irresistible self.

“I want you,” Andrew said, sighing happily.

Marco could feel it, Andrew’s cock hard against his thigh. He was so worked up himself, like he was a mindlessly horny teenager again. But it wasn’t mindless. Not at all. There was only one person he wanted.