Page 12 of Torched

Pleased with my own thoughts, I moan into his mouth, my tongue swirling around his with urgency as I start to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“Wait, wait.” Liam breaks loose. “As much as I want to fuck you against this door, I need to know you’re okay. You got this?”

I swallow, thinking over his words for an honest reply. “I will be.”

“You got this?” Liam repeats.

“I got this.” I smile, those three little words causing a thousand butterflies to move through my stomach. I can do this. With Liam by my side? I can do anything.

“Good.” He kisses me, hard and crushing. “Now, hold that thought.”

He takes a step back, my arms annoyed by the lack of touch when he starts to redo his buttons.

“What? Why?”

“Because Cristina is walking around our yacht as we speak. We need a plan.”

“Okay, so what do you suggest?”

“I don’t know.” He grabs my hand. “But let’s find Callie and Kane first.”

4

CRISTINA

TWO YEARS AGO

Thecolddriftofthe air conditioning makes my skin shiver as I walk into the St. Regis. The brisk air inside is a slight attack on my senses after I walked the last two blocks in the May warmth that unexpectedly heated up the city over the last few days. You can see it everywhere, how everyone is getting completely into summer mode, me included. I love summer in the city, simply because it reminds me of the hot summers of Granada and how I would spend the whole season outdoors as a kid if we weren’t playing inside the caves. I love the feeling of the sun burning on my skin, warming me from the outside in.

I like the States. I like the endless possibilities this country provides, but I would lie if I’d said I didn’t miss my country like a long-lost relative that holds a permanent place in your heart.

Heads are turned as I make my way to the King Cole bar, lifting the corners of my mouth a little as I continue my path. My black hair bobs in waves over my bare shoulders, and I glance down at my skin-tight black dress that’s hugging all my curves in all the right places.

I guess I picked the right outfit.

But who am I kidding? I knew this was the perfect fit to demand some attention the second I enter a room. The perfect dress to grasp every male’s eye in the bar without any more effort than strolling through the room.

I take a seat on the bar, assessing the area for any familiar faces, then turn my gaze to the bartender when I can’t find any.

“Blue label, please. And make it a double.” I grab a twenty-dollar bill from my purse, throwing it on the bar top before I take off my black leather jacket and drape it over the stool next to me. The bar is remotely crowded, like you would expect on an early Friday night. Voices, mostly men, are carried through the area, but with my neck cocked and my ears pricked up, I check if the voice I hope to hear tonight is here yet, but take a deep breath of relief when I can’t detect it.

I glance at my watch.

I’m early enough to make this happen smoothly, so there shouldn’t be any setbacks.

“Anything else?” the bartender asks, switching the bill with my order.

I shake my head, lifting the glass to my lips. The soft notes brush over my tongue, and I take in all the sweetness of the honey as it slides down my throat.

“I got a date.” I flutter my lashes at him, with a coy smile.

He looks young, not a day older than twenty-one, but he holds himself with a confidence that sells his entire stance, and I can’t help respecting him for it. The mischief in his brown eyes, holding my attention with ease. Normally, I wouldn’t waste a second of my time with someone like a fucking bartender, but my gut is telling me I’ll be sitting here for a while, so I might as well make the most of it.

“Damn, girl. And here I thought I might actually stand a chance.”

Oh, mierda. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at his puppy behavior and instead conjure a teasing grin that is received with a lick of his lips.

“Could still be the case. I haven’t met my date yet.”

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