Page 70 of Lorenzo

EMILY

Lorenzo is the last one to leave. Or so I think, until I realize he isn’t leaving at all.

He just stands there with his hands in his pockets while Dante, Gina and Angie file out.

I watch as Lorenzo’s dark eyes move slowly around the dining room, pausing on the table, the chairs, the light fixtures, and the bar.

Taking it all in as if he finally recognizes what an asset the restaurant has become.

I feel a thrill shoot through my body when his dark eyes take me in. It’s like he’s seeing me as a personal asset in a similar way.

Some women might think the possessive way his dark eyes swept over me as chauvinistic.

And I always counted myself as one of those women.

At least, before Lorenzo.

Now I’m enjoying the sensation of being claimed. Especially by a man of Lorenzo’s stature and charm.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, sir,” Mike tells Lorenzo, after he and the young chef Paul scrub the kitchen clean. “I hope to hear from you and your brother once you make your decision.”

“You’ll hear news soon,” Lorenzo reassures him. “Dante makes fast decisions. And congratulations on pulling off such a great showcase meal.”

I sense Lorenzo’s praise is mostly for my benefit.

When he closes the door behind them, Lorenzo turns around and looks at me.

Neither of us says anything.

The air crackles electric between us.

We’ve only been together once. So many times, I felt compelled to call Anna and hash out the reasons we haven’t had sex since that first time.

But with Lorenzo and I just now connecting, I didn’t want Anna influencing how I behave toward Lorenzo.

Besides, even she doesn’t know the whole story of why I’m here.

“You really pulled it off,” he says, with a discreet nod. “After Gina got pregnant, I’d given up on the restaurant.”

“Why? She’d be back after the baby’s born.”

“Maybe. But she’s having Dante’s first-born son. That’s a bigger responsibility than handling any restaurant.”

“This isn’t the Dark Ages. Women can do both. I bet you think women belong in the kitchen,” I tease.

”Depends on what the woman’s doing in the kitchen,” he says, moving toward me. His fingers reach behind the pencil skirt I wore for the meeting to untie my apron.

He returns my teasing tone. I feel moisture gush from my pussy as I see the look of lust in his dark eyes.

Lorenzo leads me into the kitchen. It’s spick and span, but for some reason the chef left a bowl of rising dough and flour.

“You know how to roll dough, don’t you?”

“Yes.” My voice comes out a whisper. Maybe because he’s so near, I’ve lost my voice.

“’Start rolling, then.”

“Why?”