Page 23 of Torched

LIAM

TWO YEARS AGO

Shewashardtoreach. It took me two days to find out what realtor she was working for, and after that, it took me six phone calls to find her assistant to make an appointment. I never got her to the phone personally, but her assistant assured me she was looking forward to it. For forty-eight hours, I’ve been wondering if she would actually show up, given the fact that she hadn’t been easy to approach in general. No, this woman made me work for it, and it only made me want her more. But I was happy to see her leave her office building the minute my driver parked against the curb before she hopped in with a tiny smile.

Her entire appearance isn’t as open as I want her to be, as if she’s still hesitant about going to dinner with me. But I take her showing up as a win, thinking she just needs a while to really get comfortable around me. After all, I have no idea what she’s heard about me, but the fact that she knew my name probably doesn’t bode well.

I stare at the exotic woman next to me, mesmerized by her beauty. Her long black hair is braided at the back of her head, accentuating her slender neck, her taut lips covered in red lipstick like the other times I’ve seen her. She’s wearing a deep red dress, almost the color of blood, the thick fabric hugging her hips like it’s glued to her skin. I trail my gaze down her long legs until I reach her black Louboutins, not even a little surprised by her expensive taste in shoes. Giving her one single glance quickly reveals her opulent taste.

“Are you nervous?” I ask as I watch her fumble with her Dior bag.

She smiles, but doesn’t meet my eyes. “Maybe a little.”

“Hungry?”

Her shoulders slump a fraction with a heavy exhale.

“Starving.” She finally turns her head toward me. “So, where are we going? Jean-Bernadine? Tottori? Square Park?”

She blurts out a few of the best restaurants in the city from the top of her head and suddenly, I’m glad I made a reservation for the number one at the moment.

“L’Aranceto,” I disclose with a pleased smile. “Although I could do with a burger as well.”

A laugh finds its way into the car, mirth etched on her face, but the disdain in the sound is hard to miss. I watch her, amused, even though I wasn't really joking.

“You’re serious?” Her eyebrows move to her hairline when she notices she’s the only one laughing and a hint of awkwardness passes through the car. I wasn’t wrong when I figured she was a woman accustomed to luxury, and the expression of horror on her face tells me exactly that. Though I’m still surprised. I love myself some fine dining, but I’m definitely not against a burger and some fries either. Maybe a milkshake or two, along with some relaxed conversation to get to know each other. Something less uptight than a five-star restaurant.

“No, I’m kidding.” I chuckle, trying to save the moment. I shouldn’t have expected anything else. She’s not like any other woman. She’s sophisticated. Independent. A real boss lady, wanting and demanding nothing less than the very best from everywhere and anywhere around her. I can only appreciate that kind of mindset.

“Oh, great,” she huffs. “Becausepor un momento, I thought you were tempted to take me to Wendy’s or something.”

“I’m guessing you’re not a burger person?”

“I’m not a person who likes to eat shit for dinner,no.”

I swallow, offering her a coy smile. “Fair enough.” I appreciate food in all forms. I’m the guy who is willing to eat crickets on the Chinese market before sitting down at a five-star restaurant, but Wendy’s is just as high on the list if I’m feeling it. Sometimes I forget some people can’t appreciate junk food even as a treat.

She stays quiet, as if she doesn’t know what to say anymore. I give her a few side glances, unable to ignore the serious look on her face. It’s as if there is a big curtain hanging between us, thin, but not thin enough to break through, translucent but not enough to really see her for who she is.

Like she’s somewhere else inside her head.

This is not going the way I expected this to go. I’d expected her to be nervous, but still eager to be here, like any other woman I take to dinner. But instead, she’s sitting here like she’s being forced by the big bad wolf, just waiting for me to eat her alive.

Don’t get me wrong, I want to. Just not in the way I think she’s letting her mind wander to. It makes me wonder if I offended her in some kind of way.

“Thank you for coming to dinner,” I try to thaw the icy atmosphere.

“You’re welcome.”

I get a smile from her that seems genuine, but as quickly as she faces me, she turns her head back again. Fully focused on the streets passing by. A defeated feeling creeps its way under my skin. She’s a woman in control; I can see that in the way she carries herself, but she’s giving me the feeling she doesn’t want to be here. But she doesn’t seem like the kind of woman that does anything against her own free will.

It tests my patience, because I want her to open up to me and I’m used to taking things without asking, or demanding, what I want. She’s a puzzle that I need to crack. A mystery for me to solve, but I have no idea if I need to use full force or a more delicate approach.

Whatever it is… I have the next few hours to figure it out.

A few minutes later, I escort her through the restaurant as we follow the server to our table. My hand is on the small of her back, her vanilla perfume tempting me to brush my nose through her hair while I explore every inch of skin that’s now covered by fabric. Even though she had a closed off stance in the car, she now carries herself through the room like she’s floating. Her chin up in confidence, grasping everyone’s attention without effort as I notice the many men craning their necks to follow her movements.

She’s mine, boys.

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