Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
D amian walked into the empty breakfast room that doubled as a waiting area, and his breath caught in his throat.
Fucking hell, she was gorgeous.
Heat spread through him, rendering the cold shower he’d taken earlier useless. “I knew it would look good on you.”
She did a half turn, her eyes shining. “It’s very pretty. Thank you.”
The only problem was that every goddamned man in the place would be staring at her. If he’d wanted them to blend in, he’d made a colossal mistake. With her copper hair and pale skin, she was already a knockout, but now, in that dress—floral swirls and soft chiffon clinging to her every curve—she was absolutely stunning.
At least the attention wouldn’t be on him for once.
They walked across the plaza, absorbing the evening sounds. A group of teenagers lounged by the fountain, laughing and joking, while locals hurried home after a long day at work. “Clara said this place opens early and closes at ten,” he told Thorn.
“Sounds great.” Her smile made his heart lurch in his chest. He hardly recognized her now. She actually looked like she was having fun. They still had to talk—he knew that—but he wasn’t in any rush to end this brief respite between them.
He wasn’t a fool. He knew what she wanted to discuss, and she was totally justified. This insane attraction between them was throwing her off her game. He knew it, and she knew it. Thorn had lost her prickles, transformed into a beautiful Rose, but that meant she was vulnerable. And if she was vulnerable, he was vulnerable too.
Without her full attention, they were both at risk—as was his presence at CryptoCon, and the update the FBI so desperately needed him to implement.
For a crazy moment, he considered asking her to run away with him. Leave all this behind. Let the bad guys win this round. The FBI could hunt down Markov later.
At least they would be free.
He had enough money to support them both. It wasn’t a completely unrealistic fantasy.
Except, he knew she wouldn’t go for it. No way. Not Thorn.
She was too principled, too committed. Too proud to rely on him, no matter what he made her feel. He might have forced her to admit she had feelings for him, but she wasn’t about to give up her job, her independence, and her livelihood to follow him into the sunset.
Without this crypto update, he was just a common criminal.
The FBI would come after him for his past sins. They’d only agreed to wipe his record clean on the understanding that he’d help them bring down a whole bunch of bad guys, including the most notorious arms dealer in America.
That deal still stood.
He sighed, then glanced at Thorn, who was absorbing the sights and sounds of the plaza, a peaceful look on her face that he hadn’t seen before.
Maybe all they were going to get were snippets of calm, in which case, he was determined to enjoy it before it was gone again, and real life intruded.
The restaurant Clara had suggested was a simple, rustic taverna tucked away in a narrow alley on the far side of the plaza. The wooden door, set back in an alcove, was easy to miss during the day when shadows obscured the decorative tile bearing the restaurant's name.
“After you,” Damian said, holding the door open.
Thorn stepped inside and uttered a soft, “Wow.”
Damian looked around. The cozy taverna was already half full. Diners were laughing and drinking, while music played softly in the background. The smell of garlic filled the air, but it wasn’t overwhelming thanks to the open patio door on the far side that led out to a pretty courtyard bursting with pink bougainvillea.
“Buena noches.” The ma?tre d' came over to greet them.
Damian asked for their table.
At Thorn’s quizzical look, he said, “I made a reservation, but don’t worry, I didn’t give my real name.”
“You’ve thought of everything.” She shot him a sly look.
He had. He wanted this to be special—a small piece of normalcy in the madness that had overtaken his life.
The waiter led them to a table for two at the back, close to the courtyard. A soft breeze took the edge off the heat.
“This is perfect.” Thorn gave him a hesitant smile as she sat down.
He loved making her face light up like that. The way her green eyes sparkled… It stroked his ego, stroked other parts of his body too.
Shit, he had it bad.
Doug would say he was smitten. His friend had often asked if he’d felt that way about Christine, but when he’d said he hadn’t, Doug had let it slide.
Then again, Thorn was a beautiful, complicated, intriguing woman. Of course he’d be lusting after her. Any red-blooded man would, right?
Except in the back of his mind, he feared it was more than that. She’d gotten under his skin, and he couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d responded to his kiss, about what he’d like to do to her to make those eyes really shine.
The waiter came back with a jug of sangria and two glasses. Before Thorn had a chance to object, he’d poured them each a glass.
“I’m sure one won’t hurt.” Damian held it up. “Cheers.”
She eyed him across the table. “Maybe just the one. What should we drink to?”
“How about living in the moment?” He fixed his gaze on her.
She tilted her head. “Good one.”
For some reason, those two little words filled him with joy. She was his, if only for this moment.
They ordered carnitas tacos with a side of refried beans and arroz con pollo, a classic chicken and rice dish seasoned with saffron and peppers. It was insanely delicious. They were ordering coffee when a rakishly handsome Spaniard with long hair in a leather jacket carrying a guitar walked into the center of the restaurant.
The crowd, who as far as Damian could tell, hadn’t turned over once, applauded and whistled.
“What’s happening?” Thorn asked.
The waiter explained and Damian translated for her. “He said Carlos is a flamenco guitarist. He’s in town for one night only and is going to perform for us.”
From the first strum of Carlos's guitar, the crowd went quiet. It was as if someone had flipped a switch. Damian shifted his chair around, sliding in next to Thorn, noticing how everyone else seemed to be doing the same. The space was tight, so close their arms almost brushed.
Carlos was good—really good. The kind of good that made you stop whatever you were doing and just listen. He played a sweet, haunting melody, and next to him, Thorn went very quiet.
Damian couldn’t tell what was going on in her head, but he noticed how she gulped her water like she was trying to swallow something more than just the liquid. She blinked rapidly, and for a second, he thought he caught a glimmer of tears in her eyes, but before he could be sure, she was already looking away, pretending everything was fine.
The next song picked up the pace. The crowd sat up straighter and began tapping their shoes in time to the music. Carlos was really putting on a show now—his fingers dancing across the strings like they had a life of their own. It was impossible not to get caught up in it.
The song ended and everyone broke into enthusiastic applause, himself included, but Carlos didn’t miss a beat. He smiled, revealing a set of perfect teeth, and dove straight into the next number.
This one was different.
It started off slow and smooth, but there was something raw underneath it, something that made the air feel thicker. Damian was suddenly very aware of Thorn sitting beside him. When he leaned over to grab his beer, his arm brushed hers, and he felt a jolt, like static electricity, ripple through him.
Now that had never happened before. Not with Christine, not with anyone.
Carlos was pushing the tempo now, fingers flying over the guitar in a way that seemed almost impossible. The room felt like it was holding its breath, everyone on the edge of their seats, himself included, waiting for the final note.
And when it came, Carlos ended with a dramatic sweep of his hand, leaving the audience in stunned silence before they erupted into cheers.
Damian turned to Thorn. He didn’t know about anyone else, but he was fully aroused. Painfully so. Flushed, with her coppery hair tumbling around her face, and those huge emerald eyes glowing softly, luring him in, Thorn had never looked more enticing.
The air was thick with unresolved tension.
“Damian, I—” She stopped, searching for the right thing to say.
But there were no words for this.
He took her hand and leaned forward, his voice rougher than he’d intended. “Let’s get the check.”