Page 119 of Love or Tequila in Unexpected Places

Resisting the urge to keep snooping for any hidden treasures, she headed off for a much-neededactualshower.

Allison descended the stairs twenty minutes later, feeling refreshed and smelling like Angelo’s fancy honey shampoo. Passing a stack of empty moving boxes, guilt crept in—she’d left her brother to handle the unpacking while she was, well, getting feasted upon.

A faint noise from the kitchen caught her attention. Curious, she turned the corner to find Angelo, cooking in nothing but sweatpants.

Oh Lord almighty. Help me survive this hornfest. Amen.

She cleared her throat, trying to signal her presence—and maybe dislodge the lump that had formed there. “Hello.”

Really? ‘Hello’? That’s the best you’ve got?

“Oh, you’re awake,” Angelo greeted, unusually cheerful, without looking up from the pan he was stirring. “Hope you like cacio e pepe. I’m adding chicken—my own recipe.”

The thought of creamy, savory pasta almost made her moan, but she held it in.

Oh yes, please.

She slid onto a chair at the kitchen island, fully appreciating the view of him pouring white wine into the skillet. “Didn’t know you could cook.”

He chuckled. “I wasn’t kidding about that avocado toast.” He glanced at her with a smirk that should’ve been illegal.

Allison discreetly crossed her legs. “Well, at least one of us can.”

“You don’t cook?”

She scoffed. “Only if overcooked pasta with burnt tomato sauce counts.”

He snorted, causing Allison to grin. “We can work on that. Though, I’d eat your soggy pasta any day.”

She resisted the urge to physically swoon, as a wave of heat washed over her. His slight accent added an extra layer of appeal to the word pasta. She’d noticed it earlier and naturally blamed her hormones, but now it was back, making everything he said sound positively sinful.

She cleared her throat again, desperately trying to refocus. “Let’s just hope you never have to.”

Angelo laughed, a deep snort escaping as he threw his head back. The sound always made her smile, though right now it did something else entirely. Her gaze lingered on his broad shoulders, the way his hands rested on the kitchen island, and she had to banish the improper thought that flashed through her mind before it went any further.

This was not the time—definitely not the place—but it was getting harder to remind herself of that.

He put a lid on the skillet, lowered the heat, and checked something in the oven she hadn’t even noticed was on.

Then he turned around, and Allison nearly blacked out.

His abs were on full display, the sweatpants hanging low enough to reveal that maddening V-line that led to her favoriteplace. The dim kitchen lighting only accentuated the perfection in front of her.

She licked her lips, imagining what it would be like to eat him instead.

Fucking yum.

“See something you like, sweet girl?” His teasing words broke her reverie, his smirk growing as he crossed his arms, muscles flexing in a way that was definitely on purpose.

That sexy bastard.

“I—”

“Because I do,” he cut her off smoothly.

Allison blushed hard, falling right into his trap. Her face grew hotter, and she narrowly resisted the urge to fan herself.

A flood of thoughts filled her mind. Did he really mean what he said earlier? Or was it just something blurted out in the heat of the moment?

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