Page 23 of Delicious

Tossing and turning, thinking about that cheesecake, parsing every flavor he could remember, and when he did finally fall asleep, blue eyes and golden-brown scruff haunted his dreams. Taunting him with the recipe. Taunting him by stripping down to nothing. To just tanned skin and muscles and a hot smile that promised everything Marco craved.

Marco had taken a cold shower after the alarm blared, and he’d resolutelynottouched his hard cock, because he knew if he did, he’d think about Andrew, and that was the last thing he needed.

He walked to work in a bad mood, even though it was a gorgeous summer morning. Scowling at the sky because it was the same shade of blue as Andrew’s eyes didn’t change a goddamn thing, either.

Marco shoved open the back door, walking into the changing room, and of course, he was there.

Sitting on the bench in front of the locker Dario had assigned him, those blue eyes gazing up at Marco as he stopped short in the doorway.

Had Andrew been waiting for him?

“Hey,” Andrew said.

You are thirty-seven years old and a great chef who runs this restaurant brilliantly.

“The cheesecake,” Marco said, before he could snatch the words back. “What did you do to it?”

Sorry, Dario, I tried.

“You told me not to change the menu.” He was teasing again, the corner of his beautiful mouth upturned in amusement.

“Yes,” Marco said brusquely. He was annoyed. But not at Andrew. At himself. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants and paced. Back and forth. Feeling like he was losing himself. If Andrew looked even a fraction less interested or concerned, maybe he could deal.

But no. He couldn’t deal. Hewasn’tdealing.

“Are you alright?” Andrew sounded concerned.

No, he was not alright. Maybe Marcella was right. He was a Moretti, the blood running true in his veins. He wanted to fall in love. He wanted to wallow in the emotion, even as he tried to resist its inexorable allure.

“No,” Marco said. “What did you do to the cheesecake?”

Andrew raised a light brown eyebrow. Marco wanted to lick it. Wanted to lick him all over. “That’s what this is about? The cheesecake?”

No. And yes.

Marco nodded.

“You could’ve justasked.”

And I could’ve just left you alone.

“I’m asking now.”

“Candied orange and nutmeg,” Andrew said.

“But there wasn’t any—” Marco stopped abruptly. “It was the exact same texture. If you’d put candied orange in, I would’ve known.”

“Would you have?” That eyebrow rose again.

“This one of your fancy Paris tricks?” Marco asked gruffly. He’d come even closer than he’d realized, and he was only a foot away from Andrew now, those blue eyes gazing up at him. He didn’t seem bothered—he seemed . . .well,interested.

And he didn’t seem nearly as torn about it as Marco was.

Andrew smiled. “Youalsowent to culinary school. I checked.”

“You checking up on me?”

He stood then, pulling himself up to his whole height. He was still an inch or two shorter than Marco. Short enough Marco would have to lean down to kiss him. “Maybe. But it’s a trickyoutaught me, actually.”

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