Page 37 of Indulging Temptation (Tempting the Heart #1)

As I begin to go over what he has coming up, starting with some restaurant admin, his eyes remain closed with his head tilted up.

At first, I’m irritated that he’s not listening to me, then I become irritated with myself because I can’t help but admire him, even as I’m maintaining — or trying to — a professional front.

It isn’t until I mention us having to go out of the city in two weeks for a reunion special for the show that put him on the map that he opens his eyes.

“Sorry, can’t,” he says, with a tense jaw.

“What do you mean can’t? Didn’t you hear what I said, this is for Chef Caiazzo. Considering what his competition show did for your career, I’m sorry, but can’t isn’t an option.”

“I’m aware Lorena, he mentioned it to me last time we spoke, but I opted out of it.”

“Care to explain why?”

He shrugs, clearly not in the mood to elaborate.

“Well, when I reached out to some of the producers on the Culinary Network during my damage control session, after…” I pause, wanting to say the other night, however, fully realizing the can of worms it’ll open, I opt to re-select my words.

“Current events,” I settle for. “Chef Caiazzo’s team reached out to see if you’d change your mind.

I told them yes, so you’re doing it, and that’s final. ”

“Is that right?” He cocks a brow at me, and I hate how attractive he always looks. It’s throwing me off my game a bit.

Clearing my throat, I take a deep inhale to respond. “Yes. You have no choice. Not when it helped set the career you keep jeopardizing on the map.”

“Jeopardizing?”

“Yes, Tino. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, but it’s the truth.”

“Yep.” He rolls his eyes, and even though he has every right to be annoyed with me, the fact that he is affects me more than I thought it could.

And just like that. The moment we had before and in the car, becomes an afterthought, and we’re back to, I guess, what we should be, a reluctant client and a determined publicist. Still, I can’t help but sense there’s more to his reluctance then he’s leading on to.

“I checked your calendar, you’re free then. So, what’s the issue?”

“Aside from here…the restaurant.” He lifts his hands to emphasize where we’re sitting. “I suck at remembering to add things to my calendar. Even when I do and it says I’m free, I’m not. This place takes up my whole life, even when I don’t want it to.”

“Dramatic much?” I attempt a joke, but he’s not laughing.

“What’s so funny, Lorena?”

My eyes bulge once again, and I can’t help but feel a defensiveness take form.

The way Tino is acting is reminding me why I was mad at him in the first place, and it’s bringing me back to where I need to be.

He’s a man of great passion, but also one who thrives on impulse, on his emotions, which he never can seem to get in check.

One minute hot, the next cold. A constant contradiction.

A beautiful, enticing, yet permanent, red flag.

It’s why I’m here. So, my repressed feelings for him aside, I need to take the frustration I have for him and let it fuel me to do what I do best, my job.

“Nothing, apparently.” I look down at my computer screen, clicking on the open tab I had for the hotel.

“I’m going to need your business card.” I don’t bother looking at him.

I simply hold out my hand for him to place it in.

And to my surprise, without a slew of smart ass, grumpy remarks, he does it.

“Here you go.” His tone is softer than before. “Get whatever you need with it.” His tone melts from angry to indifferent. I swear this man gives me whiplash.

“Thank you. I’ll have to make hotel reservations for us, since it’s two days of back-to-back filming. The producer said expect to be there at least ten, maybe twelve hours each day. We’ll both be too tired to head back to the city.”

“Anything else?” he asks.

I look back at our joint calendar. “I think that’s it.” I begin to say, before noticing the asterisk I have for the livestream coming up next week.

“No, actually, one more thing.” I wince in anticipation of telling him the date I set for the livestream. I know he wasn’t thrilled about it when I told him, and given how this conversation has gone, I doubt he will be enthused about it now. “The livestream we discussed…”

“What about it?”

“That’ll be next week. On Monday, when the restaurant is closed.”

“We’re really doing that?”

“Yes. Tino. We’re really doing it. I told you, part of creating and maintaining an image that sells, is having one that people can relate to. And I can’t think of a better way to do so than to remind people where you started.”

“You mean to remind them who I was before I started fucking up for cameras to see, right?”

“Well, I mean yeah.”

His confidence is deflating in front of my eyes.

God Lorena, it wouldn’t kill you to not be so blunt all the time, I scold myself internally.

“Tino, it’s okay, other than what I had to fix from the other night.” He literally perks up at the mention, and I go right over it, continuing to talk. I wave my finger at him. “You’ve been such a good boy.”

“Is that so?” There it is again, that damn smirk, that godforsaken charm, just revved all the way up to high.

I roll my eyes, downplaying the embarrassment I feel for letting the words slip, especially while we’re at work. “You know what I meant.”

“It’s okay. You don’t hear me complaining. I’ll be your good boy.”

Having had enough of the ups and downs that are ever associated with Santino, I decide to cut to the chase and lay the cards out on the table.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“This.” I motion my hand between us. “Going from grumpy to sweet, giving me whiplash.”

“Me? The one who is giving whiplash?" He looks dumbfounded.

“Yes,” I say, indignantly.

“Hypocritical much? You’re the one who had no problem suffocating me so that you could get off on my tongue, to then do what you do best. Avoid, ignore, deny.”

“Ew, what are you, my therapist?”

“Trust me, I’m the last one who is in a position to give mental health advice, but you know I’m right.”

“This was a mistake.” I go to gather my things from the desk, rising from my chair, but he rises faster, stopping me, and grabs my wrist.

“Which part? Working with me or giving me a taste of what I’ve been craving…”

Someone walks by outside the open door. It’s Roberto, the same sous chef who walked in on us before.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mumble as Tino lets go of me, turning around to wave at the sous chef walking by as he shuts the door.

Lowering his voice, he turns to me to continue.

“Don’t worry. Roberto is cool, he won’t say anything to ruin your perfect image or my broken one.”

“How reassuring,” I surmise.

“Anyway, I know I gave you mixed signals. We’ve been over this…”

“Not enough…”

“Lorena, please, let me finish.”

“Like you did in your pants,” I blurt uncontrollably, wishing I could take it back. But it’s too late, he heard me, loud and fucking clear.

“Yes. Exactly my point,” he says, unapologetically.

“I’ve never had that happen to me before.

” Fuck, it was just a suspicion, but I clearly was right.

And Sarina was right. Him coming in his pants is hot.

“You being near me, and having your come lingering on my tongue, did me fucking in. And I’ll tell you what, I’m still starving for more, and if I didn’t know any better, you are too.

I’m sorry for fucking up that job opportunity you had with that motherfucker DeStefano in Miami.

And I’m sorry for making you think that I didn’t want that shade you put on your lips every day, that drives me fucking insane, smeared all over my cock.

And I’ll have you know that moment ruined me, more than you can imagine. ”

My face screams ‘how so’, wanting him to elaborate, but my lips remain shut.

“You have no fucking idea what I’ve gone through since that night.”

“Please, Tino, enlighten me,” I say sarcastically, but it’s only to hide how desperate I am to hear him say it.

“The image I have of you from that night has become a permanent fixture in my fantasies. The way your eyes lit up and dimmed within seconds from being on your knees enthusiastically, to having to fight back tears when I had to say no, even though I didn’t want to.

Since saying no to you, I’ve said no to everyone else. ”

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“Damn it, Lorena, do I really have to spell it out for you?”

“Yes.” Please.

“Fine. Since that night, when I chose my friendship with your fucking brother, who has been like another brother to me and Dante, I’ve punished myself. The only hand that has come near me is my own. I haven’t touched anyone. I can’t. All I want is a chance to have you…”

“On my knees?” I roll my eyes, typical man.

“I was going to say wet and needy for me, again. Repeatedly. Which is why I asked you, not once, but twice, to consider using me for your pleasure.”

My lips part, but no words come out. I’m still processing how he’s saying everything I’ve ever wanted to hear and how I feel so utterly unprepared somehow to hear it.

He takes a step closer, and then another, until the small of my back is in his possession with one hand, and the other is tucking a loose piece of hair I didn’t notice was out of place behind my ear.

“So, forgive me for being a bit moody when I feel like I’m risking everything to just simply hang in the balance to mean or be something to you.”

In slow motion his hand leaves my hair and mirrors his words by truly hanging in the balance, taking its time to come closer to me while his eyes sear into mine, unblinking, as if he’s waiting for consent to touch me.

Involuntarily, my head nods yes, wanting to feel him on me again.

Taking his time, he settles his digits on my collarbone, caressing it first with his fingertips, then the back of his hand.

He continues this for a few seconds before he makes his way down my torso to the top of my skirt.

I suck in a breath, and as my stomach sucks in with it, he seizes the opportunity to slide his hand down my waistband then down to my thong, stopping there.

“I know how you feel about relationships. I also know that you have needs, so please, let me only ask one more time. Will you forgive me enough that I can be the only one responsible for making this…” His words trail for a second as his lips press a kiss against my neck.

“Pretty.” Another kiss, followed by his hand breaking the barrier of my lace thong.

“Perfect.” His fingers dip in, my wet walls accommodating him on contact.

“Wet.” He stops, and a whimper escapes him, that drives an aching pulse in my center, casting my eyes shut.

“Pussy come.” Another kiss of my forehead this time, before he continues.

“Fuck, mi cielo, I think your pussy is answering for you.”

I like the way that sounds. Him calling me, mi cielo.

I swallow, thickly, as he pumps into me, expanding to a second finger.

“Is she a liar?” Tino groans.

“No.”

“Use your words, Lo. No to which? No to me? Or no she’s not a liar?”

I can’t do this.

I can’t deny myself this anymore.

Just as I’m about to answer him, the door that he definitely forgot to lock swings open, and his brother Dante stands looking shocked, staring at us.

“Shit,” Tino mutters to himself, retracting his hand from my center, looking completely panicked, as am I. Because if there’s one sure-fire way of us getting outed to my brother, it’s by his.

Looking noticeably uncomfortable, Dante clears his throat, repeatedly, before speaking. “Umm. Is today not the day we discussed to meet for coffee?” Dante says, but he can’t stop looking our way, alternating his judgmental glare between the two of us.

“That’s right. I’m coming.”

Dante looks at me, adjusting his tone, but I can already tell Tino is about to get an earful when they leave here. “Lorena.” He nods his head. “Always a pleasure.”

Dante darts his eyes over to Tino, who is maintaining a stoic front despite, I’m sure, feeling nauseated with nerves like I am.

“Nice to see you too, Dante,” I say.

With that, Dante leads the way out the door, exiting the office.

Fuck, there’s no way that Dante isn’t going to open his big mouth to Tomás, not even giving Tino and I an opportunity to discuss what we need to. Not like my pussy didn’t answer his question already.

Mortified that we got caught, I sit down at his desk, expecting Tino to follow his brother, but he stops to look at me.

He juts his head in the direction of my phone, mouthing ‘text me’, right before he brings his hand that was just down my skirt, and his two fingers, still glistening from my arousal, to his mouth, sucking my taste in, humming around them.

The second he leaves, I stare at the wall, trying to process what just happened.

Knowing the risks.

Fully aware that this will likely end badly.

I know what I have to say.

I go to our text message thread and type my response, regretting it as I do.