Page 6 of Torched

The bartender gives both of us a refill, and I hand him a twenty-dollar bill.

“Salud.” She raises her flesh glass, then puts her lips against it. It doesn’t go unnoticed that she doesn’t tell me her name in return, but I refrain myself from repeating the question.

“Where are you from?” I tilt my head at her, my eyes traveling lower to her curves and wanting to feel them under my palms.

“My accent gives it away, doesn’t it?” Her voice pulls my attention back.

“Pretty much,” I answer, honestly.

“Spain.”

Not that far off.

“Beautiful country. What part?”

“Granada.” The way she pronounces her native regions is sexy as hell, each syllable tingling its way up my spine.

“What are you doing in New York? Pleasure or business?” Her English is perfect, but her accent tells me she’s not born in the States.

“I moved to New York a few years ago. More opportunities in the States. I’m a real estate agent now.”

My eyes narrow at that answer, since I actually thought she was a lawyer or something, someone who makes a living fighting her way through with her wills and believes. Though now that she told me, I can see it when I look at her complete outfit, with shoes that look like fine Italian leather. It also grows my respect, though, knowing she’s here to pursue her dreams.

I know it’s nothing more than a smoke curtain for a lot of people, but there are also a lot of people who can make it work for them. By the look on her face, I’m assuming she’s on the winning side of the coin.

“Good for you. Upper East Side?”

“Mostly the Meat District.” Her lips stay together, but she allows a small smile to travel my way. “What about you?”

I want to give her the answer I give every other person asking me: I’m an investor. In what? Everything. But for reasons I can’t explain, I don’t want to lie to her. I want to show her the real me, instead of the fabricated persona I created to improve our influences in the city’s corporations. As if I’m wondering if she has the potential to be more than just a casual flirt for the rest of the night.

“I do a little bit of everything.” I settle for vague.

“Sounds cryptic. Are you a broker?” She takes a sip of her drink, leaving a lipstick stain on the glass before her eyes lower to the rest of my suit.

“Why?” I chuckle. “Do I look like a broker?”

“That. Or a lawyer.”

Oh, I’d suck as a lawyer, sweetheart.I’d probably be a lawyer for the gangsters in this city, finding a way to bend the law just enough for us to make as much money as possible. But I don’t want to scare her away, not knowing what kind of wood she’s carved from, so I keep my mouth shut.

I bring my glass to my lips. “I’m neither.”

“You say that with a hint of contempt.” A dark eyebrow cocks, and I feel a little busted when she adds, “Like you don’t like the law.”

“I didn't say that.”

“No, but I can still hear it.” Perceptive. “You’re a bad boy, aren’t you, Liam?” The worst there is, sweetheart. “You dance on the wrong side of the law, wearing a suit to convince everyone you’re not.” I look for her disdain for the knowledge she seems to be getting just by observing me in the last couple of minutes, but when I don’t find any, she has me even more intrigued.

“What do you know about the wrong side of the law?”

The bright chestnut in her eyes grows stale, her jaw ticking, but I don’t think she notices herself because she’s doing everything she can to keep a straight face. Finally, she exhales loudly before fixing her gaze to the glass in her hands. “More than I wish.”

“How come?”

“No,no.” Her accent seeps through thicker than the moment before as she shakes her head, a reprimanding finger pointed my way. “I’m not showing you all my cards.”

I expected that answer, invoking a grin that shows my teeth.

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