Page 7 of Indulging Temptation (Tempting the Heart #1)

LORENA

W ell, it looks like the outfit I decided to wear worked. Perhaps a little bit too well.

I swallow thickly, replaying the last few seconds in my head. If I thought Tino looked like he was packing while I was watching him on TV, that is nothing compared to how it looks and feels like in person.

Considering how I’ve always felt about Tino, I should be flattered.

And I would be if I still wasn’t harboring resentment towards him.

It was bad enough the aftermath I was left to contend with after he quite literally blew his fuse in Miami.

But the fact he waited until five minutes before he strolled in here to meet me and Tomás for drinks to reach out, really pisses me off.

Thankfully, Tino didn’t try to sit at the empty stool next to me, and I take reprieve sitting down with Tomás sandwiched between us. “I’m so glad the two of you are here,” Tomás says, alternating glances between Tino and me.

“That makes one of us,” I mumble into my drink, realizing that it’s empty.

I know Tomás heard me, the elbow nudge on my arm confirms it, followed by a ‘what the fuck has gotten into you?’ muttered under his breath in return.

Ignoring my brother, I wave over Tino’s brother, Dante, from across the bar.

Despite the crowd he’s contending with, being the hands-on owner that he is, he walks over to me.

Though as he approaches where the three of us are sitting, I can’t help but notice the stern look Dante shoots Tino’s way.

If looks could kill, Tino would be an absolute goner from the way Dante is intently glaring at him.

Yet Tino appears unfazed. He doesn’t say a thing to Dante as he passes in front of him, and he hasn’t said a word to Tomás either. Instead, he’s staring blankly ahead, sipping his drink in tense silence.

“I’ll have another, please,” I say, gliding my empty glass up to Dante, who is now standing in front of me, still with a tense look riddled on his brow.

“No más.” Tomás cuts in, pointing his finger at me like I’m a damn child.

“Excuse me?” The audacity of this man. Overbearing and protective brother or not, I’m a grown woman.

If I want another drink, I’m going to have another drink.

Hell, if I ask to purchase a damn bottle and drink directly from it, I’ll do that too.

Tomás should know this about me by now. When I want something, nothing and no one is going to stand in my way.

If anything, telling me I can’t have something makes me more determined to make whatever it is mine.

Waving him off, I redirect my focus to Dante, plastering the sweetest smile I can muster up onto my face as I eye the empty glass cupped in Dante’s hand. “Actually, make that a double.”

Dante looks at Tomás and shrugs. “Sorry man, it looks like she doesn’t give a shit about what you have to say,” he says with a wink that softens the tension that momentarily took hold of Tomás’ shoulders.

Before Dante goes to refill my drink, I snap for his attention, sitting upright slightly as I do. “Oh, and I’ll have a shot of whatever Tino bought the bachelorette party before.”

I didn’t mean for that to come out the way it did.

With a bit of edge and sarcasm disguising the tinge of jealousy I felt when I saw those beautiful women fawning over Tino the second he walked in.

It just sort of slipped out. Now Dante is off preparing a shot of god knows what alongside my double rum mojito.

Whether I intended to say it or not, there’s no denying that it got Tino’s attention.

Tino places his elbows onto the bar top, leaning forward, past my brother, to look at me. “It wasn’t like that, Lo.”

I arch a brow at him, crossing my arms. “Wasn’t like what?”

“Umm.” He fumbles his words, alternating glances between Tomás and Dante, who is now back with my drink and shot. “I mean, I only got them the shots because they were trying to…”

Uncrossing my arms, I raise a hand to stop him. “What you do with your cock is none of my business.”

Oh. My. God.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

Why?

Why did I say that?

In front of my brother?

Or at all?

“Enjoy,” Dante awkwardly says to me as I reach for the shot glass, downing it at lightning speed. I don’t even pay attention to what the shot looks like. I’m too desperate to drink it. Though, I immediately recognize the flavor combination to be a green tea shot…my favorite.

The awkwardness has now spread to my brother. “Umm.” He looks at Tino, then me, with an expression that mirrors the one Dante was giving to Tino just moments before. “What the hell was that about, Lorena?”

I push the empty shot glass to the edge of the bar and reach for my mojito as I think of how I’m going to respond to my brother’s question.

Especially since Tino is staring at me like a deer in the headlights.

Nothing witty, or otherwise, is coming to me, as I suck down about half of my mojito through the thin paper straw, in what feels like a second.

But Tomás of course isn’t going to let this one skate by. I can only imagine what’s going through his head. “Lorena, I’m talking to you.”

Tino thankfully swoops in. “It’s all good, bro. I deserved that.”

My stomach drops.

He continues talking, and I feel like I’m going to die inside.

“I ran into Lorena in Miami…”

Tino, what are you doing?

Tomás’ eyes bulge.

“No, no, it’s fine. I ran into her at the club.” Tino swallows; regret steeped all over his face. “Let’s just say she caught me in a compromising position that she talked me out of.”

I caught him alright, in a very compromising position that I had him in. I didn’t talk him out of anything. He did all that himself.

I don’t know whether I should stand up and pour the rest of my drink on him for saying such utter bullshit or thank him for throwing a raft my way to spare me from my brother’s questioning.

Tomás breathes a sigh of relief. “Damn Tino, you really were an absolute mess that night. Getting caught with your dick out, I assume, and then getting into a brawl with DeStefano? You’re a mess, man.

” My brother says it jokingly, but he really has no idea just how much of a mess Tino made that night.

Not only did Tino create a permanent enemy in Chef DeStefano, he squashed whatever we could’ve been before we had a chance to explore it.

“What can I say? I’m just a grade A fuck up.”

Fuck, Tino.

Why did he have to say it like that?

The hurt — the honesty — in his voice has my defenses coming down. Even though that night was a disaster, and the damage between us has already been done, I can’t help but feel bad for him. Only I don’t want to feel that or anything toward him. Not anymore.

“About that.” Tomás’ voice perks up a little too much for my liking.

I know that tone. So does Tino. When Tomás’ usually low baritone does that excited singsong thing, it usually means he has an idea.

And if it involves me and Tino, I already know whatever it is will be a bad idea.

“As I was saying, I’m glad the two of you are here because there’s something I want to discuss with both of you. ”

Fuck my life. Called it.

He pauses for dramatic effect. It’s made more dramatic by the way Tino’s hazel stare bores into mine, turning my blood cold, as it drives a contradicting heat to my cheeks.

I raise my drink up, abandoning the straw and taking a final gulp at what is left. The alcohol burns down my throat, but I welcome the sting as Tomás unveils whatever he’s dying to tell me and Tino.

“As you know, Tino, I spoke to Marty earlier. He told me about the interview you stormed off from this evening. Not that it wasn’t immediately put on social media for those who missed it to see.”

Tino’s head drops to his chest, and a long-winded sigh follows.

Keeping his neck angled away from Tomás and me, he responds.

“I didn’t storm off. I took my mic off, and I walked away.

And like I told Marty on the phone before I came here, I’m sick and fucking tired of people asking me about what happened in the past.”

“Six months ago isn’t that far back, first off,” Tomás corrects. “And I’ll tell you why it keeps getting bought up. It’s because you socked one of the Culinary Network’s top chefs in the fucking jaw. A chef that you have competed with multiple times.”

Tino’s hand resting on the bar top clenches, and as it does, the veins that entrap it become pronounced through his anger. “I didn’t know the paparazzi was going to be there.”

“Like it or not, that’s the reality of being a public figure. You have eyes on you constantly,” Tomas reiterates.

“I never asked for this.” The way Tino says it pulls at my heartstrings.

As long as I’ve known him, which has been the better part of my life, he’s always been an introvert.

Charismatic, yes. Absolutely capable of masking and working a room of people, the same way I do and can.

Though it doesn’t erase his need, much like my own, to live and work under the radar.

Tino never expected to have his life change the way it did when he went from vlogging himself cooking, to competing and winning a life changing competition show that put him on the map.

He's earned his place in the celebrity culinary world, but he has never done well with having eyes on him, watching his every move. That’s when he freezes, or in cases like Miami, it’s when he messes up.

“I realize that, but it’s not like you can just give it all up and go live under a rock,” Tomás states the obvious.

“Can’t I, though?” Tino asks smugly, as he drains his drink dry.

“No, you can’t. Listen, whatever beef you got with Luca DeStefano put you in breach of contract with Apolito Market. And because underneath all that anger you tote around, you still have talent and charm, the company decided to give you another chance, but they were clear no more tantrums.”