Page 24 of Torched

The restaurant is dimly lit, big chandeliers hanging overhead with a piano player filling the room with a background melody.

I help her into her chair, order a bottle of their finest wine, then sit down across the table with a grin on my face.

She still looks awkward, almost as if she’s intimidated, but I’m not completely buying it anymore. There is nothing insecure about this woman. If anything, she’s more self-assured than any other woman I’ve met.

“I feel like you have the advantage here,” I start.

“Por que?” I narrow my eyes at her use of Spanish, a little confused why she would assume I understand it, even though I do. The basics, that is. Leaning my elbows on the thick tablecloth, I make my shoulders broad, my attention zeroing in on her dark brown eyes.

“Because you know who I am, but I know nothing about you.”

She rests her back against the soft cushion of the chair. Her lashes flutter, a little coy, as if she’s shy. “What do you want to know?”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No, I’m alone.” Her head shudders on her neck. “I think it’s the main reason I want a big family.”

My eyes widen at her full honesty this early in the conversation, but I can’t help but feel a level of appreciation as well. “You do?”

She shrinks in her seat, an embarrassed flush pinkening her cheeks while she brings her hand to her heart. “Too soon? I’m so sorry. My mother always tells me I’m too direct for my own good. She says I scare people away the moment I open my mouth.”

My heart pounds in my chest, but in a good way. In a way that has me showing her teeth and grabbing one of her hands from across the table.

“I like direct,” I tell her, briefly covering my palm over her delicate fingers to encourage her. They’re so soft, meant to be touched, way too precious to do anything that isn’t of value. I don’t see this woman cleaning the dishes, but with the look shining in her eyes, I can definitely see her as a mother. “You want kids?”

She holds still, her gaze dropping to where I’m touching her hand as if I’m burning through her skin, the discomfort quickly creeping in again, so I let go. When I release her hands, she swallows, a hint of a smile dancing under the chandelier light.

“Si, at least four kids. Maybe even a dog or two. It was always quiet growing up.” The server lets me taste our wine, before he pours us both a glass and we both take a sip, our eyes staying locked over the rims.

“Do you want a family?” she asks.

“I never really thought about it.” That is not completely true. “In my line of work…”

“Right.” She takes another sip, disappointed, her eyes scanning the room before she fixes them on me again. “Is it worth it?”

“What is?” Curiosity tilts my head, because she’s showing a hint of condescension on her pursed mouth.

“This.” She waves her hand around. “The power. Is it worth it all?”

No. Yes. Sometimes. Most of the time. Two years ago, I would’ve given you a full-hearted yes. But lately I feel like I’m running around in circles, and I don’t know why. Something is missing in my life, and I can’t figure it out.

“That depends how you look at it. I have everything my heart could desire.”

“But is that really true?” Her tone holds just enough judgment to not be offended, but I can still detect her incomprehension. “Isn’t there something else you’d want more than power?”

“Like what?”

She holds still, a reluctant look on her face. “Love?”

I hold her gaze, keeping my lips pressed together.

“I don’t know.” She takes another sip, softly shaking her head, then shrugs her shoulders, seemingly disappointed about my lack of an answer. “I guess we just have different dreams. I want to make a career for myself, build my wealth steadily, and then, at some point, work less to focus on building a family.”

“I can still have that.” I don’t know why I answer her as if I wantthatwith her, but for unknown reason, my heart beats awfully loud in my chest as if it wants to weigh into the conversation.

“You could,” she offers. “But you have to admit it wouldn’t be safe to raise kids in your environment.” Her gaze trails off, a pained expression etched on her features. She looks troubled, long lost in thought, like she was in the car. It grips my heart, growing the desire to fix whatever has her looking like she’s being mentally tortured by something unknown to me.

“There is that look again.” I give her a kind smile. One that hopefully shows understanding and enough faith for her to open up to me. Because I desperately want to know what’s going through her head right now.

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