Page 114 of Lethal Torture

The relief of that realization is so strong I actually slump against the counter, gripping the edge of it tightly.

“Okay,” I say, my voice slightly unsteady. “Yes. That would be... Yes.”

I turn toward the stove, but Luke’s hand comes out, touching my chin. He tilts my face toward him, his eyes examining mine closely. I’m terrified he’s going to ask me questions that will make the unsteady emotions in me even worse than they already are.

Instead, he just looks at me for a long moment. His thumb brushes over my cheekbone. “Okay, then,” he says quietly.

27

LUKE

Much later,I push my chair back from Zin’s dining table, stuffed to the brink.

“You weren’t lying when you said you can cook.” I finish the meltingly tender herb-encrusted rib eye and then steal the last piece of buffalo mozzarella from the side salad.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Smiling, Zin picks up a sweet potato fry with her fingers, then sips her wine. I find it mesmerizing, watching her eat. There’s something incredibly earthy about her when she’s dealing with food, whether preparing or eating it. It’s just as comforting as hearing the sound of her laughter, something that I find myself trying to elicit at every possible opportunity. Making Zin laugh is a challenge that is fast turning into one of my favorite things to do.

“You read my mind, you know.” I eye her across the round wooden table. It’s so unlike the austere marble formality of the Mayfair penthouse as to be another world, just like the bookson the shelves in three languages and the herbs growing on the windowsill.

“Oh?” She meets my eyes with a small smile.

“Uh-huh. I’ve been craving steak since Spain. Not that we went hungry. Mak ordered seafood from a local restaurant that was good enough to melt the mind.”

“I know the one.” She nods. “On the beach near Tarifa, right?”

“That’s it.” I look at her curiously. “You’ve been there?”

“With Mak and Dimitry, a while ago.” She nods. “I love it. You know...” Her voice drifts off, and she looks past me, a faint line on her porcelain forehead.

“Tell me.” I watch her, enjoying every minute shift in her expression, every glimpse behind the mask she normally guards with such ferocity. Everything about Zin feels different, somehow, ever since the moment I caught her on the stairs of the plane.

Not to mention the fact that I can’t stop looking at her mouth and remembering how it felt wrapped around my cock. Or at her ass, which looks ridiculously hot in those sweats. Or at the soft curve of her breast that swells so temptingly out of her top that I almost tore the fucking thing off the moment she walked out of her bedroom.

“I’ve always loved southern Spain,” she says. “The food, the climate, all of it. And being up at the finca with Darya... it was nice,” she finishes.

“Nice?” I raise my eyebrows at her.

She rolls the glass in her hand. “I guess lately I’ve been wondering... I love what I’ve built here,” she says, slightly defensively. “But when I was in Madrid, I was looking at an old building. I saw it ages ago, thought it would make a fantastic club. Now it’s up for sale, and I’m seriously tempted to go for it.”

She pauses, and I wait, watching her. I know how massive it is for her to talk openly about anything, particularly her business. I understand it, too. She didn’t get where she was by sharing her ideas.

But I didn’t miss the expression on her face earlier, when I told her I’d be the one interrogating Kozlov.

At first, I thought she was angry. It was only when I looked into her eyes that I realized what I was looking at: relief.

Not for the first time, I’m aware that I want to see that look a lot more often, just like I want to hear her laugh.

“It’s a massive project,” she says slowly. “A year, probably more. Then there’s all the time it would take after that, to get it to where it needs to be. Build the clientele, create the right mix.” Her eyes gleam as she talks, her hand movements becoming more animated. “I’d have to relocate, at least for a few years.”

“It’s only a couple of hours’ flight.” I turn my glass on the table. “It’s doable. And maybe now is a good time to shift your focus for a while. You’ve got a hugely competent team here.”

“Better now, because of you.” She meets my eyes directly. “I’ve never really thanked you for everything you’ve done. I didn’t see—I hadn’t realized how exhausted they all were.”

“You’re running an empire, Zin.” I lift a shoulder. “One you’ve built from the ground up in record time and which has exploded faster than anyone could keep up with.”

We’re quiet for a moment. The music in the background is nice, some acoustic mix that swirls in the air with her perfume and the delicious scent of her cooking. Rain is falling outside, and the low lighting in her apartment turns everything to a soft, mellow glow and her skin luminescent. The knit top is slipping off one shoulder, exposing an ivory strap and a hint of lace that I find it hard to take my eyes off.

The night feels electrified and peaceful all at once, like being lost in a private world. Like we brought Spain back with us and are still living in the last golden rays of sunshine.