Page 52 of Indulging Temptation (Tempting the Heart #1)

“That’s why I rushed her to the hospital in the first place. She was complaining she was seeing double of everything, then a few minutes later her left eye completely shut, and she wasn’t able to open it. That’s when her breathing became labored, and I panicked.”

Lorena guides me to move closer to her mom, and keeping her palm cradled in mine, she takes her free one to rub her mom’s cheek on the side with the eye patch.

Her mom slowly brings her hand up to Lorena’s hand, laying it over top.

“As we know, the biggest fear with Myasthenia is that the muscles…” Adrian begins but I for some reason feel the need to finish his sentence for him.

“In the lungs can become weakened, and the potential for her to stop breathing is there,” I say, leaving the three of them stunned and speechless, all staring at me.

“Wait, what?” Lorena shakes her head, processing. “How did you know that?”

“I read about it.” I keep my response purposely short.

I don’t know why this is making me feel somehow more embarrassed than either her mom or her boyfriend catching on that there may — definitely is — something going on between us.

Truth is, once I found out what Camila had, I did my research.

I wanted to make sure I was well versed on it, in case I was ever in a situation that I needed to help her, if need be.

I’ve seen my friends grieve the loss of one parent, and although so much is out of our hands, I wanted to become knowledgeable enough that I know the signs of distress or what to look for in case I needed to step up.

“Yes, Tino is correct,” Adrian says, seeming surprised and impressed. Same way that Lorena does.

Camila finally has enough energy to join the conversation.

“Yes, in a worst-case scenario, since Myasthenia affects the muscles throughout the body, weakening them, the chance of respiratory muscle weakening or distress is there. The seeing double really scared me. But it turns out I was just having an anxiety attack from it. It made those ocular migraines I used to get when you and your brother were little seem like nothing, which is saying something, because the anxiety surrounding if I was going to get one used to render me frozen.”

“I remember. Ma, I’m so sorry,” Lorena says.

“It’s okay, mija. As Adrian was saying, using the eyepatch is supposed to help take the pressure and strain off the weakening eye so that the double vision won’t happen as frequently.

But I promise I’m fine. I just need to rest.” She glances at the clock on the wall ahead.

“Ay, Dios mío. I didn’t realize how late it is.

You two aren’t going back to the city, are you? ”

“Actually, we were in Rhinebeck when Adrian called.”

“Ah, I love it there. I remember when me and Daddy took you guys to the county fair there years ago.” Camila turns to look at me. “I remember you and your brothers came with us.”

“Of course, how could I forget,” I say, a sense of nostalgia taking over me.

“Oh boy, those were the days. We had you four boys and Lorena, and I remember Tomás, and your brothers, were giving you such a hard time, because they wanted to go on all the rides, but you were only interested in staying by the games…”

“The water gun game with the moving target,” I interrupt her, impressed that she remembered.

“Sí, that’s the one. And you did. You stood there all afternoon until you got that damn stuffed swan that Lorena had to have.”

“Yes, I did,” I say with pride.

“She still has it, you know.” Her mom winks with her uncovered eye.

“Does she now?” I ask, intrigued.

“Ma, stop.” Lorena lets go of my hand, crossing her arm, seemingly embarrassed.

“Oh, please, Lorena. It was cute. Wasn’t it Tino?”

I swallow, harshly, feeling like I’m being indirectly put on the interrogation block, and a ‘yep’ is all I can muster up.

“Like I said, it’s too late to drive back up to Rhinebeck or down to the city, so I hope you both are going to stay here.”

Me and Lorena look at each other. “Umm,” we say in unison, only adding to the awkwardness we are creating.

“What’s going on with you two, huh?” her mom asks, and I swear, all the blood feels like it’s exited my body.

Another ‘umm’ slips out of just my mouth this time.

“I’m kidding. You two seem almost as tired as I am. The guest bedroom upstairs is ready and waiting.”

“For the two of us?” Lorena asks, adorably.

Lorena’s mom, with the help of Adrian, moves to the threshold of the living room as she responds. “Sí, Lorena, we’re all adults here. Good night,” she says with a wink.

“Goodnight,” we both say.

Lorena remains with her hand still in mine. With her mom and Adrian out of sight, I bring hand to my lips and kiss it. “I’ll meet you upstairs, I’m just going to go grab our stuff from the car.”

She nods, breaking our handhold and goes upstairs as I grab both our things from the car, deciding to shoot Chef Caiazzo a text saying that a family emergency came up, and I won’t be able to attend the second day of filming.

I already know that Lorena will be pissed when she finds out, but oh well.

She’ll get over it. Being here — with her — is more important.

As I make my way back into the house and up to the guest bedroom, I hear the water from the bathtub running, and a heated knot forms in my stomach with the thought of Lorena in the water, naked, stirring in my mind.

I enter the guest bedroom, shutting the door and locking it, just to err on the side of caution, since who knows what will happen when the two of us are together…alone.

Leaving my suitcase on the ground unopened, I go to hers, opening it to take out a pair of pajamas and a lace black thong, as well as her toiletry bag.

I set both on the bed, about to get changed and throw on the TV while I wait for her to get out of the tub, but her muffled tears have me walking towards the half-open bathroom door, needing to see what’s wrong.

“Lorena,” I call out her name, though she doesn’t respond, and instead, the sound of more tears fills the air.

“Can I come in?” I ask, already taking a step forward, needing to make sure she’s okay.

“Yes,” she whispers.

I push the door open to the ensuite bathroom to see her leaned back in the bathtub.

Her entire body looking like a feast that I want nothing more than to dive into.

And as much as I want to walk over to her and take her bare breasts into my hands, kneading them as I alternate each into my mouth, I can’t ignore the tears streaming down her face.

I know every time she gets a call that her mom isn’t feeling well or in the hospital, it dredges up worry. Same way it did, when her father was ill. It scared her.

She needs me.

And sometimes the best way to do that isn’t through words, but through actions.

I turn the water back on in silence. Adjusting it to the ideal temperature before I reach for the wash cup on the ledge.

I fully expect her to fight me at this point, though, much to my surprise, she doesn’t, allowing me to do what I wanted to after we fucked like animals in heat at the restaurant…

take care of her. Let her know that I want more than her body.

I want her…to not be sad, to be taken care of, to know that she’s worth being taken care of… by me.

There’s a sense of comfort in the silence that lingers between us as I wash her hair then her body.

It feels like we are a well-oiled machine.

The entire time in the bathroom feels incredibly intimate, and as weird as it sounds, I feel privileged in this moment, to be the one to take care of her, knowing that she doesn’t let anyone this close to her, but she’s allowing me to be.

The silence continues until I drain the tub and wrap her in a towel, leading her into the bedroom.

She looks over to the bed, where I laid out her toiletries bag and her pajamas.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says through a grateful pout.

“What, take out what you needed?”

“No.” She takes a step closer, letting the towel drop to the floor. “That.” She nudges her head in the direction of the bathroom.

“Oh.”

“Mhm,” she hums, seeming bashful all of a sudden.

“You mean, take care of you?”

“Yes.”

“Of course, I did. I wanted to.”

“Why?”

Because you’re mine.

“Because I wanted to.” I settle for not wanting to scare her away.

Suddenly overcome with the feeling that I need to prove how I feel to her more. I realize I need to take it a step further, all without scaring her away. It’s in this moment that I realize I need to plead my case, with each gesture upping the ante.

She goes to reach for her toiletries bag, but I stop her.

“Let me,” I say, reaching for the bag. “Sit on the bed.” I instruct, my tone coming off harsher than I anticipated.

Almost reminiscent of the way it comes out when I’m in the kitchen barking orders to my staff.

I don’t know why I default to that tone, it’s probably because that environment is not only my comfort but one of the only times and places I feel like I’m in control.

And right now, I want nothing more than to feel — to be — in control.

To take care of her. Show her that it’s okay to let her guard down with me, more than sexually.

To my surprise, she likes the seriousness in my voice, and even more to my surprise, before I can correct myself for how I said it, she shimmies her bare hips side to side like a pendulum, moving slowly so I don’t miss a single bounce or sway of her bare skin.

And to make matters that much hotter, she stops at the foot of the bed, lifting one knee onto it, and then dragging one in front of other, arching her back in the process, as she crawls into the middle of the bed to sit, with me following behind her like an eager puppy.

Blood rushes to my cock. Craving a round two with her, but instead I reach for her hairbrush, grabbing a hair tie as I do.

Because I know she will want to default to sex right now, to avoid her emotions.

And as much as I want nothing more than to be her sexual punching bag, I need to be more to prove that I can be more to her.

I squirt some of her leave-in conditioner onto my palm and rub it through her hair before combing it through. I was going to leave it at that, but nostalgia hits me, and before I know it, I’m reaching for a hair tie to secure the French braid I just put in her hair.

She turns her head back to look at me, tapping a palm gingerly over the top of the braid.

“Who taught you how to French braid hair?”

“I did.” I shrug.

“For fun? Or what? Seriously, don’t be shy, tell me. I’m impressed. I can’t even do a regular braid in my hair.” She laughs, softening the mood I feel stirring in my chest.

“I taught myself when my mom got sick.” The words sting as they come out.

“Aww, Tino,” she says, reaching for my hand, cupping it in her palm, she brings it up to her lips to kiss.

Suddenly I’m the one feeling vulnerable.

I’m the one needing more. As her lips graze the top of my palm, I twist my wrist, maneuvering myself out of her grip, fast enough that she has no time to fight it.

Not like she would. That whimper that falls from her, vibrating around my hand as I move past her cheek to her neck, gently latching onto it with a half hold, is undeniable.

There are a million things we should be saying right now. And by her own rules, she should be stopping me…but she isn’t.

Together, in a unified moan, our lips skim one another’s, each stubbornly holding out for the other to make a move.

I don’t know how it’s possible. How we’ve explored each other’s bodies with our tongues, yet this simple act, a fucking kiss, feels the most forbidden.

“Tino.” My name sounds like magic coming from her, especially this close.

“Lorena,” I say her name, with our lips so close together…to break the kissing rule… again .

But we are going to work.

We have to.

I’m already in too deep.

“Everything’s going to be okay.” I breathe into her mouth.

“You promise?”

I break the barrier of her lips, sliding my tongue in, and her lips fall down to it, sucking my pierced tongue in, humming as her cheeks hollow around me.

Yes.

Savoring the fact that somehow kissing her feels just as sacred as claiming her with my dick.

Yes. It will be.

I’ll fucking make sure of it.