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“And if I’d known that was waiting for me . . .maybe I would have seduced you in the walk-in,” Andrew joked.

“Come in,” Marco said, pulling out his keys with trembling fingers and letting them into his little house.

It wasn’t anything special, but he’d taken his share of the profits of the Nonna’s line of sauces from the last few years and had it built exactly to his specifications.

Open spaces. A living room with vaulted ceilings melting into a spacious kitchen with long bare countertops and top-of-the-line appliances. His bedroom, tucked in the back, a bathroom attached with a big shower and an even bigger bathtub he really enjoyed relaxing in at the end of a long day.

“I really like your house,” Andrew said, turning to take in every bit of the living room. “It reminds me of you. All that exposed wood, the lush textures. It’s quiet and comforting but challenging too.”

“Thanks.”

“I was always surprised you didn’t leave. I kept thinking, I’ll run into Marco someday in Rome or Marseilles or London. But I never did. Imagine my surprise when I came home, and here you were, still.”

“You were thinking about me, huh?” Marco teased.

Andrew shot him a hot look. “Yeah, I was. It’s funny. Right now, I think we’re both right where we need to be.”

It was easy to pull him close then, Andrew pressing his body against Marco’s. It was even easier to lean down and kiss him again. The kiss spun out between them, at points soft and tender and at others wild and passionate.

Marco was seriously considering tugging them towards the couch when Andrew finally lifted his head.

“Actually,” he said, “I think the place we’re both supposed to be is your bed. But first?—”

Marco didn’t need a reminder that they’d both worked a long, hard shift today.

“You want to take a shower?”

“With you? Yes,” Andrew said. “Lead the way.”

In the bathroom, Marco flipped on the water nice and hot, and then there was no way to avoid what came next.

Marco expected some hesitation from Andrew—hewas feeling a little nervous about stripping down in front of Andrew, the man he was rapidly developing complex feelings for—but after glancing around the spacious bathroom, Andrew wasted no time at all toeing off his shoes, pulling off his T-shirt and then unbuttoning and then unzipping his jeans, letting them drop.

Marco nearly swallowed his tongue. Trying not to look. Butlookingall the same, because looking anywhere else was impossible.

“I keep thinking I’ll lose my Spain tan, but it seemingly persists,” Andrew said, Marco’s fingers still tangled in the hem of his shirt, hesitating to pull it up.

Maybe he wasn’t self-conscious because he looked likethat. All lithe muscle dipped in golden sunlight, a trail of hair leading down to his tight blue boxer briefs.

Then, like it was nothing, he tucked his fingers under the waistband and tugged it, no shame whatsoever.

“You look like you’re about to swallow your tongue,” Andrew teased, leaning over, fingers brushing Marco’s, still lingering on the hem of his shirt.

“What I’m about to do is fall to my knees and praise God—or maybe Satan—that you look that fucking good,” Marco said honestly.

Andrew laughed.

“You wanna give me a chance to feel the same?” he murmured.

Marco swallowed his worry and pulled off his T-shirt, then his pants, and finally, his boxer briefs joined the pile on the floor.

“Oh yeah, I’ve only been dreaming about this for almost twenty years,” Andrew said, his hand trailing down Marco’s chest, heading in the direction of his cock, which was definitely not soft. Not if Andrew kept touching him with that sweet, hot reverence.

“Shower,” Marco said gruffly.

In a minute, he wouldn’t give a shit if they smelled like marinara and sweat.

He tugged Andrew in, the glass door shutting behind them, and didn’t waste a minute crowding him against the tile wall.