Page 15 of Indulging Temptation (Tempting the Heart #1)

Her perfectly arched brows lift in amusement, begging me to continue.

“To please,” I blurt, internally begging myself to reel this conversation in.

Clearing my throat, and by nothing short of a miracle, I find a way to articulate my scattered thoughts.

“With food I mean. I like to please with food.” Get it together Tino .

“By cooking it, and breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Let me feed you with more than coffee in the morning. Can you do that for me?”

Lorena gives me a loaded stare, trying to follow this sinking ship of a conversation I started. “Fine,” she grumbles playfully, and I fist pump at the response, making her laugh.

I like when she laughs. I like when she’s happy and not mad at me. So, like the fucking jack ass I am, I do it again, this time with a little Salsa shimmy in my seat.

“Okay, Victor Cruz, chill,” she jokes.

As if she wasn’t perfect enough, the fact that she loves football elevates her already overflowing perfection.

Even if her, Tomás, and my damn brother, Dante, all like the Giants pains me.

However, being a Jets fan is synonymous with being the odd one out in the group.

Not many willingly root for a team plagued with more bad luck than a broken mirror on Friday the thirteenth.

“You like my moves, huh?”

She bites at her lip, tugging it into her mouth, squinting her eyes. “Oh yeah, they’re so hot.”

Is she doing this on purpose? Is she trying to both simultaneously kill me and have me combust in my goddamn pants right here and now?

I shift, as subtly as I possibly can to adjust myself, though my attempt is too late.

Lorena’s gaze has already fallen to my groin, making the ache she causes me below to intensify to almost painful proportions.

“I mean…” She clears her throat, searching for the words to say. “I guess there could be worse things than having a man cook for me.”

“Perk of having a chef as a…” Fuck . I don’t want to say it. But I have to. It’s where I’ve been doomed since the day I became friends with Tomas. “Friend, right?” My own words, and the weight of them, give my entire system a dose of the reality check I’m in dire need of.

“Mhm,” she murmurs as she brings the last bite of the food to her mouth. As she chews and swallows, I can’t help but notice the smallest amount of sauce escape her lips and begin to drip down her chin.

On instinct, I lean over, swiping my thumb at it, since I forgot to bring a napkin into my office. The simple act of using my damn thumb as a napkin feels incredibly intimate. As does the way she peers into my eyes, maintaining perfect eye contact, while humming a ‘thank you’ .

I remain hunched over the desk, in the balance, my hand still on her chin, cupping it in my calloused palm.

“Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever had a man cook for me.

You’re my first,” she admits. Pride once again fills me, as does sadness.

A woman like Lorena, who is so headstrong, smart, and sexy as all hell, should be worshiped, cooked for, waited on around the clock.

Anyone lucky enough to be with her should realize that and act accordingly.

And the fact that no one has, pisses me off.

But it also brings relief to me, because I don’t want her to be waited on by anyone but me.

“Like I said, I’m going to change that.” I let go of her chin, already missing the smooth decadence that is her skin brushing against mine.

“Deal,” she says as she redirects both of our attention to the clipboard on the desk. The list. The long fucking to-do list. “You can cook for me as long as you go along with what I have listed for us to change.”

“What about the other part?” I ask eagerly. “Commuting together.”

“I’ll see.”

“You’ll see?” I pout my lips. “I thought we were in this together?” I remind her.

“Oh, we are.” Once again, her attention is back on the list attached to the clipboard. “We have so much to do together.”

Yeah, except none of that has anything to do with what I’d prefer to do together.

“That looks like a lot.”

“I know, and the clock is ticking, but I’m confident we’ll get it all done.

That way you can have your line out at Apolito Market, and that James Beard Award will be yours.

We just have to make sure you learn how to control your emotions.

It’s the only way you can truly thrive in business,” she reminds me, but all I focus on is the emphasis she is putting on us working through all this… together.

I hear what she’s saying. I really do. I know I need to mend the damage I’ve caused to my career, so I can prove I’m not a hothead and that I’m worthy of the opportunities that’ve come my way.

And if there’s anyone who can help me, it’s her.

Problem is, I can’t help myself.

For this to work, and for us to exist in the same city once again, in the same spaces, near each other, with nowhere either of us can run, we need to clear the air.

And what better time than the present.

Here goes nothing.