Page 10 of Café Diablo

“Right,” Edwin says dryly, eyeing us both like he might yellObjection!in true disgruntled lawyer fashion.

“Ironic too,” Connor continues. “A little poetic justice, if you will. You’ve been calling all our drinks the work of the devil tonight. Best to give you the devil himself.” Connor’s eyes flick to me for a moment. “Or herself.”

“I’m fine!” Edwin grumbles. “I really don’t need another—”

“Last drink,” I say, cutting him off and squeezing his sweating palm, before turning around to look through the room that’s started to empty out. The party is winding down and most of the party goers have left, allowing me to look out the picture window at the Waikiki bay. The dark water moves softly, the wind from earlier having died down to leave a single streak of moonlight glazing the dark water. “One last drink, then I’ll give you your freedom.”

I look Edwin in the eye, and he stares me down with those sexy blue eyes and his stoic scowl. It’s dangerously infuriating, except, I’m starting to figure him out. He can glare at me all he wants, but that’s just hiding all the heat and fluster and desire under it.

I lean forward, moving into his personal space, his muscles and breath tightening as he keeps that same stoic look on his face. I brush my lips against the tender shell of his ear, teasing as I whisper, “You can shoot daggers at me with your eyes all night, Mr. Angry Poker Face, but don’t forget, I know exactly where your hand has been.” He inhales sharply, a rigidness shooting through all his extremities, and I nip at his ear playfully. That stare is nothing but a ruse. We are both hot, both turned on, and neither of us can hide it.

“Café Diablo,” I repeat to Connor, who’s already pouring in coffee and mixing in the Kahlua. I can feel Edwin’s eyes scouring me—trying to figure out his next play and what to do with me. I give him a flirty smile and use my index finger to turn his chin so he’s no longer glaring at me but watching what Connor’s mixing. “You’re missing the show.”

The goblet used for a Café Diablo is a triple-size martini glass that’s large enough to be a bowl. The rim is so wide you have to carry it with both of your hands if you’re not careful. But it’s the amount of alcohol that’s poured into a Café Diablo that makes it sinful; there are seven or eight different liquors in it.

Then, to add to the fun, a Café Diablo is a juggling fire circus of flaming syrups. Each time Connor pours a new liquor into the goblet, he lights it on fire as he pours. The alcohol flashes with blue flame, licking up the entire stream and igniting into a flaming rope of turquoise liquid. It’s a show as much as a drink, with Connor looking like a Voo-Doo witch doctor as he concocts the thing. The heat of the blue flames sparks against my chest, and each time a new liquor is poured in, my lungs flush with the buzz of heat and adrenaline. It feels like standing next to a bonfire made of silver-blue magic.

“This strikes me as a very bad idea,” Edwin says in my ear, eyeing the drink, and I nod over my shoulder to the diminishing party.

“Everyone’s going home,” I assure him. “Just one more for me.”

“And if I refuse?” Edwin asks, clearly on edge, making me bite my lip and gaze at him through my lashes.

“Well, it’s your party, Edwin—” I pout mockingly. “You can cry if you want to. Or, you can live a little and see what the devil has in store for you.” I quirk my lip and his eyes darken, even though his poker face is just as hard as before.

I laugh, turning back to the spectacle of the drink, watching as Connor sprinkles the dark potion with cinnamon. Each toss of the spice bursts into a flash of sparks, sizzling in the air as cinnamon catches on fire. It’s a sparkler show of shimmering embers, like evil has truly manifested itself.

“Glitter and rainbows,” I say to Edwin, nudging his shoulder as the sparks snap and dazzle. It’s a completely ridiculous drink, completely excessive and over-indulgent and everything Edwin has spent the night avoiding.

Connor places the finished drink on the bar top, the black liquid filling the bowl with aqua-blue flames that flicker on its surface.

It’s fucking beautiful.

“I’m not drinking that,” Edwin growls in my ear as I pick it up with both of my hands and start backpedaling us toward the patio door.

“More for me,” I say sweetly, my fingertips heating from the sting of the flame-licked goblet.

“You’re going to get alcohol poisoning,” he chides, but I push the side door open and walk us out to the patio with little more than a shrug.

“We don’t have to drink all of it,” I tease, the night air kissing my shoulders with its soft humidity. I weave us through the patio chairs, past the hanging lanterns, which Edwin is tall enough that he has to duck to avoid them. I move us all the way to the railing, then follow it as we wrap around the side of the rooftop and out of sight of the party and the picture window. Edwin lifts an eyebrow at me, looking back at the party we just abandoned. “What?” I ask obviously. “This is completely innocent.”

“Olivia,” he scolds, shaking his head. “The last thing this is—is innocent.”

I turn to face him, holding the giant drink, but turning too quickly and accidentally splashing flaming coffee on my hand! Only, it doesn’t burn. It’s sticky and perfectly warm and feels fucking amazing instead. It matches the zip of courage thrumming through my chest.

“I get the feeling you like to play by the rules,” I say to Edwin, leaning back against the railing.

The thin fabric of my chamise doesn’t mask the cold chill of the rail seeping through the fabric. Right now, all the sensations in my skin are electric: my hand is hot sticky, my back chilled, humidity sprinkles my skin, and those blue eyes of Edwin’s look at me like this is never going to happen. God, it’s infuriatingly hot!

“I get it,” I say, leaning forward to lick the coffee off my wrist. “You’re a lawyer. The world is black and white for you. Guilty or not-guilty.”

“Hardly,” he says in a low voice that makes my skin shiver.

“But come on,” I tease. “Don’t you want to break one or two rules in your life?”

I lean forward and take a full sip of the drink, which—fuck-me against a wall—it’s wickedly divine. Coffee, tequila, brandy, cinnamon—all of it is hot and charred and dripping over my lips and down my throat like the devil himself wants me on my knees and opening wide.

“Oh fuck, that’s good!” I swear. “Damn! I haven’t had one of these in months. I forgot how divine it is.”

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