Chapter Four #2
Franco grinned. “This is Ben, our resident corporate vampire. He thinks all cheese should be neatly categorised by profit margin.”
Ben glared. “I did not say that.”
Maria cackled, slapping Franco’s shoulder. “He’s a grumpy one. You sure you don’t want a refund?”
Ben’s lips twitched despite himself.
Franco turned, his eyes softening for a moment as they locked on Ben’s. “Nah,” he said, his voice quiet. “I’ll keep him. ”
Ben’s stomach lurched. He looked away so fast he nearly knocked over a stack of brie.
Franco broke off a piece of soft cheese and turned, holding it out again. Ben scowled, but his lips parted before he could stop himself.
This time, Franco’s fingers dragged deliberately across Ben’s bottom lip as he withdrew, and Ben’s entire body lit up.
“Good boy,” Franco whispered.
Ben fought not to drop the entire bag of produce.
Maria shoved cheese into Franco’s arms, muttering, “If you get him to buy even one wedge, you’ll be a miracle worker.”
Ben ended up with three.
Oh, I am definitely going to die for this.
Ben looked at him as though he might strangle him at any moment, but each time Franco offered him something to taste, he opened his mouth and took it.
A dangerous thrill pulsed through Franco’s veins. They’d gone past mere flirting. Something was blooming, hot and alive, just beneath the surface, and it spurred him to push further, to see what else lay hidden under all that starched composure.
He knew he was pushing it. Touching too often, standing too close. But it felt like a dance: every scowl from Ben only made Franco want to step in closer, to see what he’d do.
When they finally started heading back, Franco carried most of the bags, insisting Ben hold only a small basket of herbs.
“Don’t want your delicate manager hands getting callouses,” Franco teased.
Ben narrowed his eyes. “I have literally carried entire wine crates by myself.”
Franco smirked. “Sure you did, grumpy.”
Ben made a strangled noise that might have been a laugh.
They moved through the final few stalls, Franco occasionally brushing against him, a hip here, a shoulder there. Each time, Ben’s breathing hitched, and Franco’s eyes would flicker over him, hungry and knowing.
Ben hated that he liked it. What was worse? He wanted more of it so badly.
When they reached the coffee stall, Franco ordered for both of them without asking, sliding the small espresso cup into Ben’s hand, his fingers brushing over Ben’s wrist, his thumb skimming the sensitive skin there.
Ben shivered, nearly dropping the cup.
Franco noticed. Of course he did. The man noticed everything.
“Careful,” Franco murmured, leaning so close Ben swore he could feel the whisper of stubble along Franco’s jaw. “Wouldn’t want to burn those pretty lips.”
Ben jerked away as if slapped, spilling a few drops of espresso onto his hand.
Franco caught his wrist in a flash, steadying him. “Easy.” His voice was suddenly low. He wiped the dribble of coffee from Ben’s skin with his thumb, slow and deliberate.
Ben’s arm trembled. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
Franco’s eyes stayed locked on his as he brought his thumb to his own lips and sucked off the coffee.
Jesus .
The noise of the market blurred into a distant roar. For a second, it was just them, Ben trembling, Franco holding his wrist, their eyes locked .
Franco let go reluctantly and stepped back, trying to steady the wild thunder of his own heartbeat.
“Let’s get out of here before you combust,” Franco teased, but his voice came out rougher than he’d intended.
Ben stared at him, his lips slightly parted, as if words had become a foreign concept.
At the car, Franco loaded the bags, humming softly. Ben stood a few feet away, his chest heaving, every nerve raw.
Franco paused and turned to gaze at him. His hair fell over one eye, and he brushed it back from his forehead.
Ben couldn’t look away.
Franco stepped forward, closing the distance between them again. He reached up slowly, brushing a stray leaf from Ben’s hair, his fingers drifting down to the curve of his ear, then the edge of his jaw.
Ben’s head tilted unconsciously into the touch, his breath stuttering.
“There you are,” Franco said quietly, scanning Ben’s face as if memorising every line.
Ben’s lips parted, his words trembling on the tip of his tongue. But before he could speak, Franco’s thumb ghosted across his bottom lip, feather-light.
Ben let out a ragged, involuntary sound.
Franco’s pupils blew wide, and for one electric moment, they stood there on the verge of something irreversible.
Then Franco pulled his hand back sharply, swallowing hard. He stepped away as if physically restraining himself, forcing his usual bright grin back onto his face like a mask.
“Next week,” Franco said, his voice too loud, too bright, “we’ll have you cutting squid guts like a pro.”
Ben slammed the boot shut so hard the entire car shuddered.
As they drove, Franco kept stealing glances at Ben.
Ben’s knuckles were white on the wheel, his eyes fixed dead ahead, his jaw locked tight. But the tips of his ears were pink, and every so often, his fingers tapped restlessly on the wheel, a rhythm that betrayed something deeper stirring beneath that carefully guarded surface.
Franco felt it too. Like a current running between them, tugging and sparking, waiting for one of them to slip. He pressed his palm to his own thigh, trying to ground himself, trying to keep from reaching across the console and touching Ben again.
The tension in the car felt heavy enough to crush them both.
Franco’s heart hammered, each beat screaming.
He wants this too.
Ben told himself he was angry. Furious, even. But underneath the fury lay a molten, terrifying truth.
He’d wanted every single touch, every tease, every accidental brush of fingers, every moment Franco leaned in too close.
It had been years since he’d let anyone get this close, and yet Franco had slipped past all his defences in one morning.
Ben pressed his heel down harder on the gas. He needed to get away. He needed to—
Franco’s humming drifted over, low and absentminded, a melody Ben didn’t recognise. Ben’s chest ached. He forced his eyes forward, gritting his teeth.
Do not fall. Do not fall. Do not—
Franco watched Ben from the corner of his eye, smiling softly to himself despite the riot of nerves twisting in his stomach.
He knew Ben was terrified. He also knew he should back off.
But after every micro-touch, every charged look, they were already past the point of no return.
And Franco wasn’t sure he even wanted to stop.