“Yes. I’m sorry.”
The words tumbled from my mouth before I could stop them, and from Torre’s shocked expression, it was the last thing he’d expected me to say.
It sure as hell wasn’t what I expected either.
“Oh, well, fine. Apology accepted.” He turned away and slid the key into the lock.
Alarm seized me. I didn’t want to be alone, was desperate to keep this conversation going. I didn’t understand why, but knew if I let Torre go tonight without giving him some kind of explanation, I’d never see him again.
And that was unacceptable to me.
“Can I come inside? Not to have sex,” I added hurriedly when I saw his lips tighten. “I want to explain a few things.”
He probed me hard with that dark gaze, then shrugged. “Sure, whatever.” And he disappeared, walking swiftly into his place.
I hurried after him, hesitating for a moment, remembering the last time, when I’d pinned him against that door and gotten him naked. I wanted him naked and begging again.
Torre had taken off his coat and sat on the large sectional, arms folded, mouth still in that straight, unforgiving line. I stopped at the opposite end.
“May I sit?”
He jerked his head. “Go ahead.”
I hadn’t seen this side of Torre prior to tonight. In our two previous encounters, he’d been sweet and pliant, but seeing this other side, I had to admit the harsh, bossy tone turned me on. Might prove interesting in the bedroom, for future reference.
But I digressed. First to make amends.
“I’m sorry I didn’t try and get in touch these past few weeks.”
“How could you?” Torre challenged, his eyes shooting fiery sparks. “Do you have my number? Because I know I don’t have yours. I tried looking you up and couldn’t find a Frisco Evans matching your description. You aren’t on any social media. So just who the hell are you?”
By this time Torre had dropped the inscrutable expression and was showing his obvious distress. And while I wasn’t ready to give myself up at this point, I could let him in. A little. Hopefully it would be enough to let me into him later. I chose my words carefully.
“I’m just me. Frisco.”
“Which tells me absolutely nothing, so the door is there.” He pointed behind me. “I’m tired. Not in the mood for games.”
“Pity. I know a few we could play together.” I hoped my humor would smooth the conversation, but I’d underestimated the depth of Torre’s anger. His eyes shot sparks. Maybe I’d underestimated Torre, period.
“I knew this was all bullshit on your part. Just get out.”
He jumped up, and I followed him to the kitchen island. When I touched his arm, he wrenched away. “Don’t. Go find someone else to fuck around with.”
I raised my hands. “Okay. I’m sorry. I was trying to be funny, and it backfired.” He remained skeptical, but at least he didn’t punch me in the face. “Can we sit down again?”
“No. I’ll stand.” He met my eyes, unflinching, and my stomach twisted, not from any food I might’ve eaten, but something different. Something new and previously unexposed, even to myself. Pressure built inside my chest and I lowered myself onto one of the chairs.
“I-I’m not sure where to start.”
“Who you really are is a good starting point.”
I was used to driving the momentum of an evening from first touch to last good-bye. But I didn’t want to stop touching Torre, and I didn’t want to say good-bye. Nothing about this night had gone as anticipated. By now I’d hoped to be naked, sweaty, and balls-deep inside him. Instead, the man had me contemplating the impossible—opening up my life to someone besides Presley.
“I always wanted to be a chef and own a restaurant. I went to cooking school in Paris and studied under some of the most famous chefs both in France and Italy. I’m lucky in that I can afford to indulge my love of food, so I sponsor aspiring chefs in culinary schools in New York through a program I set up. I pay for their education and then find placements for them in restaurants throughout the city.”
“Oh. Wow. That was so not what I expected to hear.”
Encouraged by the softening of his attitude, I hitched my chair closer to him. “What did you think I was, an international spy?” I meant it as a joke, but recalling how Torre didn’t appreciate my sense of humor earlier, I trod gently, hoping not to fuck up again. “Kidding.”
