Page 40 of Indulging Temptation (Tempting the Heart #1)

I knew that having him do a livestream to remind people of his roots would be a good idea. The only thing I didn’t consider, for whatever reason, is how many people would join the stream.

The comments have been pouring in. Some with questions. Others commenting how good it is to see him back to vlogging. While others are commenting on how hot he looks.

He really does.

The gray sweatpants have made an appearance once again, and to make matters hotter he has on a fitted black t-shirt with rolled up short sleeves showing off his ink, all topped off with his hat on backwards. He looks like sex on a stick, and the more I stare at him, the hungrier for him I become.

I lose track of time, caught in a daze watching him move with such precision, timing and balancing everything down to the last second.

He has me read any questions that come in, and I try to keep up with them as they do, but there are so many.

Lots about how the transition from vlogger to celebrity is, what his favorite food is, favorite thing to cook, work life balance, things like that.

But as he goes to grab two plates from the cabinet, and I read him the most recent question being what inspires him the most, is when I see him freeze up a bit.

“Umm I don’t know, a lot of things,” he answers in an avoidant scoff, not looking at the camera, instead focusing on his plating.

Expecting him to elaborate, I stand behind the phone, recording, but he waves me forward to stand next to him.

I wasn’t expecting to be on camera. Frazzled, I reach for the compact mirror in my purse to make sure there isn’t anything in my teeth before I walk over to him.

“Now, I’d like to welcome my…” He hesitates for a moment, causing an odd sensation to wash over me.

Nerves? Nausea? A combination of both perhaps?

Either way, whatever I’m feeling hits me like a ton of bricks as I walk over to stand beside him.

Every step feels like slow motion. I’m only pulled from this feeling when I’m at his side, and he wastes not even a second to wrap his arm around me.

“My…” he begins again.

Why is this so awkward?

What are we?

Colleagues feels impersonal.

Friends feels like a stretch.

Fuck buddies has technically been agreed on, but we haven’t done more than him going down on me and fingering me.

Truthfully, we’ve both been swamped with work, and then there’s Tomás who has been oddly lingering around the penthouse more than usual.

So, our opportunity to be alone has been limited.

Something we definitely need to change, as soon as possible.

His arm still around my shoulder, he pulls me in closer.

“Inspiration, who also happens to be the woman in charge of keeping me in line.” He winks at the phone recording us, but I can’t seem to not focus on the beginning of his sentence.

His inspiration.

Wanting to know how I could possibly be his inspiration, it kills me having to simply smile and wave as he now introduces me by my first name.

Maintaining a level of professionalism that suits him and makes me unbelievably proud of him, he dives into his curated persona. The one where he is sharing what brings him to life, his passion to cook and to share.

“Shall we?” he asks, and again those puppy dog eyes beam at me.

“Of course.”

I lift up the grilled cheese first. It smells delicious.

The sweetness from the guava, the earthy tang of the infused butter, and the crispness of the cheese, all blend together in an unexpectedly erotic way.

It’s the perfect balance of sweet and savory.

The first bite opens the floodgates for my humming approval, and I waste not a second to take another bite.

“?Está bien?” he asks me, with perfect pronunciation, and my face beams with pride hearing it.

Tino has never mentioned anything to me, but Tomás has told me, on numerous occasions, that Tino has expressed feeling insecure about his pronunciation and limited ability to speak Spanish.

Although his mother was fluent, being that Spanish was her first language.

When she and her siblings moved to New York from Puerto Rico and learned English in school, they were responsible for teaching their parents to speak English, which became their go-to language for communication in their household.

And seeing that Tino’s dad is Italian but only spoke English, when his parents got together and had Tino and his brothers, they only spoke English as well.

But those two words he just spoke, asking me if the most amazing grilled cheese I’ve ever had is good, were spoken more beautifully than he even realizes.

For me, growing up in a Puerto Rican household with two parents who were fluent in Spanish, I’m used to speaking Spanish interchangeably with English.

Although since my father passed, and my mom began dating Adrian, who doesn’t speak Spanish, my mom, Tomás, and me all started to speak Spanglish more than anything.

Which has been a sore topic for Tomás, not only because he felt it was taking away from that part of our culture by speaking Spanish less, but he blames Adrian for it.

“Sí,” I respond with my mouth full, and his face lights up.

I have my phone open in front of us to the livestream so I can see the questions coming in, but as we finish the grilled cheeses he made as well as the peanut butter cups, it seems we both forget where we are.

Laughs are exchanged.

Smiles stretch both our lips.

An undeniable gleam sneaks past both our irises, even as the weed he infused into both recipes causes them to become a bit red.

Tino says his outro, and I wipe my mouth with the napkin he placed in front of me.

I turn off the stream and go to glance at the remaining comments when his voice steals my attention — as it has an effortless way of doing.

“You really liked everything?”

“It was amazing. I don’t know how you do it. Turn two basic foods and make them so uniquely you. I can barely scramble an egg.”

Phone in my hand, wanting to start sifting through the rest of the comments, I look at him, knowing he has more to say.

“Don’t you worry, we’re going to change that.” The confidence in how he says that makes me swoon, the same way it sparks an idea in me. A fair trade of sorts.

“So you mean you’re going to teach me how to cook?”

His gaze travels past me to the stairs that lead to Tomás’ room. He got back from the gym a little while ago and should be coming out freshly showered and ready for our movie night any minute now.

With the coast clear and the weed working magic in both our systems, he responds, though he looks to his phone quickly. “You’re not still recording, are you?”

“No. I pressed stop.”

“Good. As I was going to say. I can teach you how to cook, the basics, if you’re interested.”

I nod my head. I definitely know there’s more he has to say.

“Sure.” I let my voice linger in the air a bit. For him to latch onto and continue. So he can stop fucking edging me.

“What else do you want to teach me?”

“Sorry, but those things are expressed better in practice. Together. Alone. Not out in the open. Someone might hear us.”

I bite my lip. “Fine.”

His brows perk up. “You with that ‘fine’ crap.”

“Ahh, whatever. Yes, chef, is that better?”

Oh my god, cringe. Why did I say that?

“Much,” he growls in approval.

My cheeks heat, there goes that fantasy again, but this time it feels different. Hotter. More attainable.

Still, with my brother now coming down the stairs, I need to switch gears.

An idea dawns on me as my high is most definitely setting in.

“How about you can teach me how to…” I swallow. Harshly. “Cook. And I’ll teach you how to speak Spanish. Deal?”

“Deal. Just say when and where, and I’m all yours.”