Page 14 of Delicious (Delicious #1)

Chapter Six

Night Four

F ridays were always busy at Nonna’s.

Marco was counting on the date nights and the big family dinners and the corporate glad-handing to get him through the afternoon of prep and then service.

To keep him from losing the rest of his mind and heading back towards the pastry kitchen, damn his promises to his family, to his employees, to himself.

He’d reminded himself half a dozen times on the drive home that Andrew wouldn’t work for him forever. It was only ever supposed to be a temporary job. In a month or two, he’d leave, to open his bakery and hopefully stay in the general vicinity of the Napa Valley. Then Marco could subsequently ask out Andrew and then kiss him and more , so much more, all he wanted.

But for now, he was going to be hands-off. And if he used his job as a distraction to do that, well so be it.

Marco subbed himself in on the line, pushing Jose to the pass-through as a final check, ostensibly because Jose needed the experience—which he did , though he was already good at it—but in reality because it meant Marco’s hands and mind were constantly occupied by the revolving line of tickets.

When he finally got a break, he went to Dario’s office instead of meandering back to where he wanted to be. Scarfed down a plate of salad and chicken parm and then went back to the line.

When the night finally ended, Marco was exhausted. Hollowed out by the repetitive work.

But ultimately believing he’d done the right thing. It would get easier, he decided, as he helped scrub down the grill and then the rest of the kitchen.

When it was finally clean, he headed towards the locker room. Had just finished pulling off his chef’s coat and the T-shirt he wore underneath, wiping himself down with a wet paper towel just so he wouldn’t offend himself on the walk home, when a noise behind him made him turn.

Andrew was standing there, fingers frozen on the tie of his apron. Gaze glued to Marco’s bare chest.

He didn’t spend the time in the gym that Luca did. He wasn’t chiseled, but he knew he was strong. Lithe too, because of the yoga classes Marcella had introduced him to.

But whatever Andrew saw, he liked it. He wanted it.

The heat in his eyes was evidence enough.

Andrew’s fingers fiddled with the tie on his apron. “Didn’t see you tonight.”

“No,” Marco said. Hoped that the single word was explanation enough. They’d been playing with fire yesterday.

How else would Andrew know how much he respected him, if he didn’t keep his hands off when it mattered most? How else could he show him that he wasn’t anything like his ex, who’d blended business with pleasure and then fucked Andrew over?

But of course Andrew wouldn’t let it lie. There was a reason he liked Andrew, and it was about so much more than just getting him naked.

“You’re avoiding me,” Andrew said bluntly.

“No. Well . . .a little,” he conceded, ultimately not really able to lie to him, to his face. “I’m trying to do the right thing. Not be . . .” He waved his hands around himself. “Not be myself. Cloud your judgment with my stupid Moretti-ness.”

Andrew’s eyebrow rose. “Your Moretti-ness?”

“Marcella says I can’t help it. But I can. I want to.” Marco shoved a hand through his hair, especially unruly because he’d tied it back for service.

Andrew took a few steps closer, which was plenty close enough. Marco thought it, but didn’t quite have the self-control to say it. When he was this close, Marco could almost pretend things were different.

And they will be, just not right now.

“You’re trying to avoid being my ex,” Andrew stated. His gaze softened, like this was touching. Like he was being seduced, even though Marco had gone out of his way not to.

“Yes,” Marco said. “And avoid flying fruit, too. I’m not entirely selfless here.”

“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 just took, 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 and real in 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 maybe we shouldn’t do it in your 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 had never felt 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.

“I think you know I want you too,” Marco murmured and then kissed him again.

Even though he’d been attempting to resist this man for less than a week, giving in felt like peace after a hard-fought battle.

But with Andrew’s tongue in his mouth and his hands stroking across Marco’s shoulders, it felt less like a bloodless accord and more like a whole body surrender.

“God,” Andrew groaned deep in his throat as Marco’s mouth found his neck, nibbling at the tendon there. “You’re too good at that. Too good at everything.”

“It’s the Moretti in me,” Marco admitted, panting as their hips aligned better. And yes, he might actually come in his pants like that randy boy he wasn’t anymore.

“No.” Andrew leaned back against the tree, putting an inch or two of distance between them. It felt like a mile. Or maybe that was the look in his blue eyes. Hard, suddenly, and determined.

“No?”

“You think I want you because you’re a Moretti?—”

“Apparently we’re an irresistible bunch,” Marco interrupted wryly. He didn’t like it, but he could see the truth in Marcella’s argument. Izzy alone made her point, and there’d been many, many others besides her.

“No,” Andrew repeated. Then he laughed self-consciously. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Marco shook his head, because apparently he didn’t.

“I only had the world’s worst and most obvious crush on you in high school. I couldn’t get enough of you.”

“But you and Marcella?—”

“Oh, we were friends. For sure. She took pity on me, a little, I think. Actually encouraged me to go to Paris, which frankly, was the best way to get over it.” Andrew’s eyes were a fathomless blue now, and Marco wanted to get lost in them. “Though I suppose the jury’s out on whether I ever really got over it.”

“I don’t want you to be over it,” Marco said gruffly. “Why didn’t you just say ?”

“Because it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference back then. And now? Well . . .I didn’t know . . .I didn’t know I still had it in me. Not until we met at the coffee shop and you looked so fucking poleaxed at how I’d grown up.”

“You came intending to say no, and you just . . .” Marco trailed off. Andrew had said it himself last night. He’d come to the Beanery thinking he might ask Marco out. Not that he’d work for him.

“Couldn’t resist?” Andrew teased and pressed a light kiss to Marco’s mouth. “You’re very persuasive, it turns out.”

“I didn’t do any persuading,” Marco protested. He’d barely gotten a word in, too shocked at how attractive Andrew was. How attracted to him he was.

Andrew’s hands curled into his hair at the base of his neck and tugged in an unexpected and highly arousing way. “You looked desperate and I felt bad. Also, I’m still looking around for a good spot for the bakery, so it seemed like a decent enough way to pass the time. And to get closer to you.”

“But—” Marco took a deep breath. “Now you work for me.”

“That would be very, very easy to remedy.”

“But the dessert menu! Daniel. I need—” Would he say fuck it to those things? He might. It would not be the kind of thing a responsible and business-minded Moretti might do. But it might be exactly the kind of thing an in-love Moretti might do. Case in point: Luca fucking off to the wilds of South Carolina when he’d fallen in love with his now-husband, Oliver.

“No need to worry about me. I said I’d give you a month or two to train Daniel, and that was before I even knew how promising he was.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to poach him,” Marco warned.

“No. No, of course not. I only mean I want to train him. He’s perfect for you, Marco. Perfect to be your head pastry chef. Responsible and dependable, without too much imagination.”

Marco heard what he wasn’t saying. That Andrew would be bored in a week. Less, probably.

“So what, we need to keep our hands to ourselves for a month or two?” Marco wanted to protest that Andrew definitely shouldn’t have kissed him then. Now that he knew what he tasted like and smelled like and felt like, it was going to be pure fucking torture to not do it again, and more .

Andrew laughed. “No. Well. Maybe for a few days. Depending on how good Dario is.”

“Dario?”

“You know him. He’s your brother. Three years younger than you. An inch taller. Wears glasses. Likes a cannoli while he does the books?”

“I know Dario,” Marco said. Exasperated and yet totally, completely charmed. “What I don’t know is what he has to do with this ?” He gestured between them.

Andrew tucked himself more fully into Marco’s embrace—which didn’t feel like a thing he’d do if he was about to counsel them to keep their hands off each other for the next month—or God , even longer.

“Easy,” Andrew said. “You will fire me, as your employee, and Dario will hire me as your contractor. Contracted to run your pastry kitchen and train Daniel for a set amount of time. Let’s say six weeks? You won’t be my boss, because I’ll be an independent contractor. And we can keep doing this.” Andrew laid a lush, insanely good kiss on Marco’s mouth. “And after that, I’ll be working on the bakery and we’ll own two completely totally separate businesses.”

“It’s hardly that simple,” Marco said, even though he desperately wanted it to be.

“Why can’t it be?” Andrew shot him a look. “If you weren’t so worried about this, and I hadn’t just been through the world’s shittiest breakup, it wouldn’t have even been necessary to go that far. But if it makes us both feel protected . . .why not?”

“You’re never going to throw a pomegranate at me?”

“You ever going to lure some intern into your office for a quick blowjob?”

Marco was speechless. Of course he wouldn’t. Whether he was dating Andrew or not.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Andrew said, answering his own question. He pressed another kiss to Marco’s mouth. “That’s to remember me by, until Dario gets the paperwork in order.”

“Trust me, I don’t think I could forget you a second time,” Marco said honestly.

Andrew smiled. “I’m going to hold you to that promise.”