Page 2 of Indulging Temptation (Tempting the Heart #1)

The longer we watch him talk to the host sitting across from him, the more my mind drifts to that list that Sarina was referring to.

He really does check all my boxes. The more that fact sinks in, the more I’m tempted to look at the natural bulge Sarina had to bring up as soon as Tino graced the screen.

Not like I, or anyone watching, could miss it.

Desperate for a reprieve, I lift my gaze up to the hand he has draped over the back of the chair. Well, that was a big mistake since those veins that are arguably as hot as his tattoos begin to compete for my attention.

Everywhere I look is more tempting than the last.

I’m about to suggest to Sarina that we change the channel, but her phone rings, startling us both. I’m thankful, however, since it was able to snap me out of the Santino-drenched daze I’ve been lost in.

“Who has their phone on sound anymore?” I joke.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” She waves her hand at me as she springs up from the couch to answer it. The remote still in her possession, she mutes the TV before she takes her call in the other room.

Stay strong, Lorena. Do not look up. Do.

Not. Look. At. Him. He’s not worthy of your time or attention.

I try to convince myself, in the hopes that I will listen and believe it.

To distract myself, I decide to do what I always do to pass time…

grab my phone. However, before I can, something on the screen catches my eye, practically begging me to look back up. And of course…I do.

Even with the volume off, and my periphery barely on the screen, there’s no denying the shift in Tino’s demeanor from whatever the interviewer is asking him. His chiseled cheeks may be lined with scruff, but the knot forming at his jawline is impossible to miss.

Before I know it, he springs up from his seat, ripping off the mic attached to his shirt and storms off the set, leaving the host noticeably shocked and speechless before the camera cuts and a commercial comes on.

Wondering and needing to know what got him so worked up, I open up the internet browser on my phone to see if any news outlets or blogs have a recap. I get halfway through typing his name when Sarina appears back in the living room, grumbling.

“Fuck, today!” she exclaims.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, slightly confused by the pile of black fabric in her hands.

Placing it down on the back of the couch, she grabs what looks to me like a sequin face mask and separates that from the lingerie now made visible in the pile. “I hate to do this on girls' night, but I have to go to work.”

I look at my phone for the time. “It’s seven-thirty in the evening. I thought you’re usually done with work by five?”

She offers me a sly grin as she slides a pair of tights on that stop mid-thigh, with a lace detailing that she snaps her garter onto.

“Yes, my main job has me done by five o’clock, usually. But my second job has me working evenings, and today was supposed to be my day off, but I got called in.”

Her main job I know is at some law firm downtown working as a paralegal. Though now as I see her in sexy lingerie, I’m genuinely curious what this second job is.

“Care to elaborate?”

She does a three-sixty turn. “Isn’t it obvious? I work at Luxe.”

Okay, now the lingerie makes sense. Luxe is known as the strip club for the rich and famous. Membership is by invite only. I think it’s safe to say that whatever she is making as a paralegal is tripled in one night there.

“Do you, girl. You look hot.”

“I know,” she says playfully before heading to the mirror to brush her onyx locks. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“It’s no big deal. Remember, I’m back in the city now, so we can hang and have girls’ night any time.” I walk over to my suitcase, and as I lift the handle, it catches Sarina’s attention.

“I told you that you are more than welcome to stay here with me. I have a spare room.”

For New York, her apartment is a comfortable size, but the room she’s referring to is a glorified closet…at best. In fact, that’s exactly what she’s using it for. There are rolling garment racks lined up everywhere, along with boxes of clothes and accessories.

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m going to stay with my mom…”

A look of disbelief holds her face captive, and the gasp Sarina lets out is so over the top, I think my family in Puerto Rico can hear it in real time. With how she’s acting, you’d think I just told her that I’ll be living on the moon.

I shouldn’t be surprised by her reaction. This is how all my friends and family act that live in the city. They think anything past Yonkers, even if it’s in Westchester, is going all the way upstate.

“You’re going to be staying all the way in Westchester?”

“Yes, all the way in Westchester,” I say sarcastically, but it does little to erase the look of shocked horror on her face.

“But that’s like…”

“Forty-five minutes away from the city.”

“Yeah, on a good day with no traffic that’s how long it takes to get to Scarsdale. But it’s New York, Lo, there’s always traffic. Anyway, if you’re trying to build your clientele, the city is where you need to be. Period.”

I shift gears by giving her a hug goodbye. Knowing that if I engage in this conversation any more than I already have, Sarina will find a way to convince me to move in.

Besides, I’m not sure if I want to continue being a publicist. Sure, I’m good at it.

When I attended NYU, where Sarina and I met, and decided to major in Public Relations, I figured being a publicist would be a good career to have, but it’s just not my passion.

And in the year that I’ve been away in Miami, while my mom has been struggling with her health here in New York, I’ve realized that life is too short to do something you don’t love.

Granted, I need to figure out what the fuck it is that I love so much if I’m willing to give up the nice paychecks my reputation as a celebrity publicist has given me, but I can deal with that later.

“What do you mean you aren’t going to live in the city?”

I look at my brother, Tomás, unfazed by his reaction. “Exactly what I said. I’m not going to live in the city.”

“Where are you going to live then?”

Before I can answer him, he’s looking at my suitcase that holds all my belongings. “Also, where the hell is all your stuff?”

“In my suitcase,” I respond. Which is the truth. I rented a pre-furnished apartment in Miami and never had much other than what fit in my suitcase, so it’s literally all that belongs to me.

“Lorena Juanita Ramos,” he begins. Great, here we go. He only uses my full name, and not Lo, like everyone calls me, when he goes into lecture mode. “You’re almost thirty…”

I lift my hand to stop him. “Ew, I literally just turned twenty-nine, calm your balls.”

“Ew.” Tomás shudders dramatically. “You’re my sister, the last fucking thing I want to hear you talk about is balls, first off, and second, exactamente, like I said, you’re almost thirty. You need to settle down. Establish some roots.”

As I sit at the marble island of my brother’s pristine Upper East Side penthouse overlooking the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which looks like something straight out of Architectural Digest, his words feel a bit hypocritical.

There isn’t a speck of dust anywhere, or anything out of place, because Mr. ‘You Need To Settle Down’ is a workaholic who is never home to make a mess.

So much so that he fast-tracked his way to partner at his law firm, earning him the title earlier this year.

He’s the youngest in the firm’s history at the age of thirty to become partner, which is a huge accomplishment, but I’m not too sure if he’s the one who should be talking to me about settling down or establishing roots.

He’s always so busy, I doubt he carves out time for dating.

I’m sure he makes time to do other things when he actually allows himself some time off, but I rather not taint my brain with thoughts of his sex life.

“Like I told my friend Ri just before I got here, I’m going to live with Ma.”

“In Westchester?”

Oh. My. God.

I sense a theme today.

“Yes, in fucking Westchester. And just like I told Sarina, I will make the forty-five-minute commute into the city, when and if I have work.”

His brows fall to a stern line.

“When and if you have work? Lorena, what are you talking about?”

Before I have the chance to respond to his first set of questions, he continues rattling off more questions, making my head spin. “Wait a minute, did you move back home without securing a job first? Is that what you are saying? Lorena, what the fuck is going on? Talk to me.”

“I would if you stopped talking and let me get a word in. One thing at a time. I literally just flew back today.”

Tomás is now pacing in front of his kitchen island. “This is unbelievable. Also, who is Ri?”

“Ri is my friend from NYU. I’ve told you about her before.”

Tomás looks at me blankly, cueing me to continue.

“Anyway, she picked me up from the airport and I was planning on hanging out there for the evening but she got called into work. I thought stopping by here to see you before getting an Uber to go to Mom’s place would be nice, but now you’re making me regret it.”

“Moms,” Tomás repeats as he shakes his head. “In Scarsdale. Outside of the city. Ay, Dios mío, Lorena. I don’t know what I should address first.”

“How about none of it? Because none of what I do with my time or my work is your business, so that’s the first thing.

Plus, I told you I wanted to move back home to be closer to Mom.

I felt terrible that I couldn’t fly home the last time she was in the hospital because of the weather, and I don’t want to be that far from her again.

” My voice cracks, unintentionally, but it’s apparently what Tomás needed to hear to soften his demeanor with me.