Page 27 of Delicious

“It’s a good dessert,Chef,” Andrew murmured, and Marco swallowed hard.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked again.

“Because I want to,” Andrew said, and it made no fucking sense and Marco couldn’t understand it, but he could only accept it must be true. “You’re probably used to doing the charming, aren’t you?”

“According to Marcella, yes.”

Andrew turned away, like it was easy, and picked up his whisk again. “We good?” he asked. Like none of this had even happened. Like this was just another night of service.

Marco didn’t want to be “good.”

He wanted to slide the bowl and the whipped cream and every single other fucking thing on the counter to the floor, lift Andrew up and kiss him.

Even more now, than before.

Because he’d faced Marco’s fire,invited it,even, and didn’t seem all that bothered by it.

The guy was hot. That was a certifiable fact. Butthat, that backbone of steel, was even hotter.

Nuclear hot. Plunging-into-a-volcano hot. Marco-tearing-off-all-their-clothes hot.

“Yeah,” Marco said. “We’re good.”

He turned and walked away.

ChapterFive

Night Three

Six years ago, Marcella had started dragging him to the yoga class she was taking after the birth of her second child. Marco didn’t go often, but he’d found he enjoyed the hour of peace carved out of his normally hectic days.

He went to yoga this morning. Practiced his deep breathing.

Hoped that after, when he arrived at the restaurant, that hard-won peace might follow him. Might stick with him even after he was faced with Andrew and his annoying irresistibility.

Today was the day Marco regularly met with Dario and Marcella—and often Luca, calling in from South Carolina.

The purpose was theoretically to discuss the operations of the Moretti empire, though normally it devolved into a bitch slash gossip session.

It only took Marcella four minutes to bring up Andrew.

“We hired a new pastry chef.” She shot a knowing glance in Marco’s direction. “Or ratherMarcohired a new pastry chef.”

“Yeah?” Luca sounded distracted.

“You remember Andrew from high school? My friend who went to Europe for pastry school?”

“Yeah,” Luca said. “He’s back in Napa, right?”

Marco couldn’t help the frustrated noise he made.

“Someone sounds annoyed,” Marcella teased.

“I’m not—” Marco stopped. “He’s just pushing me.”

“Maybe you need to be pushed,” Dario suggested.

Marco rolled his eyes.

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