Page 25 of Delicious

“Well, keep it up.” Marco cleared his throat. “The cheesecake, I mean.”

“Of course, what else could you mean?” Andrew said and skirted around him, shooting Marco one last knowing look out of those blue eyes as he exited the locker room.

Andrew had saidMarcowas irresistible, but he was wrong. So fucking wrong.

Marco let out the breath he’d been holding.

Scrubbed a hand over his face. Tried to clear his mind, but it didn’twantto be cleared.

It wanted to chase after Andrew and tell him he’d never fuck with him and then break up with him and then discard him, like his ex.

But that way lies insanity and possibly flying pomegranates.

So he didn’t.

Not until much, much later.

They were halfway through the night, when Jose, who handled the grill, offhandedly mentioned a comment about hoping there’d be some of the new limoncello dessert left, so he could try it.

“Oh yeah, Daniel mentioned it to me,” Elijah added. “Sounded fucking delicious.”

Marco’s hand froze on the plate he was pulling down from the stack.

“Chef? Chef? I got this prime rib,” Jose said, from behind him.

“Yeah, plate it,” Marco said and wiped his hands on the towel hanging from his apron. “One sec.”

It was not hard to ask Natalia, Dario’s wife who managed the front of the house when Marcella wasn’t around, for a copy of the dessert menu. She shot him a weird look but brought it, sliding it across the pass-through.

Sure enough, there it was. Printed in black and white.

Limoncello Dream, it said.

This washisrestaurant and he’d told Andrew that the menu didn’t change. He’d been here for what . . .two fucking nights and he was already screwing around?

That was not going to stand. Not if Marco had anything to say about it.

He stomped off towards the pastry kitchen.

Andrew was whipping cream again.

“For God’s sake,” Marco burst out.

Andrew looked up from his bowl. “What is it?” he asked.

Marco prowled closer, gesturing towards the bowl. “How much fucking whipped cream do you go through?”

Behind him, Daniel said tremulously, “Alot,Chef, especially with the new dessert?—”

Andrew interrupted him. “Thank you, Daniel. Go take your break.”

“But—”

“Now,” Andrew said, his tone brooking no arguments. No doubt he’d seen the fire in Marco’s eyes.

“What the fuck is this new dessert?” Marco tossed the printed card on the prep counter. “I told you. No menu changes.”

“Marcella approved it. What do you think I did to get it printed?”

---