Текст книги "Denial"

Автор книги: Lisa Renee Jones

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“Kayden—”

“No,” he says, his tone nonnegotiable, dragging my mouth to his, his tongue stroking against mine, ending the chance for words, but he lets me taste the answers he will not give me. The hate. His hate for himself in the here and now that I do not understand. I want to understand. But I am still new to him and he to me, and I can tell that questions are not what he needs from me now. I wrap my arms around his neck, and telling him I am his with my kiss, I hold on to him and refuse to let go, my actions echoing his earlier words to me.

He unzips my hoodie, his hands traveling up my waist, over the curve of my breasts, and my nipples tighten and ache with a soft brush of his fingers. He twirls them, his touch rough, arousing. Then his lips leave mine and he looks at me, letting me see what I have tasted, but he refuses to speak. In a blink, his expression has become guarded, the emotion banked deep in some part of him I know I will touch again tonight.

His hand slides to my back and he leans me toward the table, forcing me to catch myself on my elbows. He holds me there, his body cradling mine, his lips a breath from a touch. “I won’t let you fall.”

“I know,” I say, and I do now. Beyond time and reason, I trust this man.

His mouth brushes mine and then trails down my jaw, slowly teasing a path to my ear, where he whispers, “I’m not going to claim to own you the way he did.” He flattens his hands on my belly, possessiveness in the touch. “I’m just going to make you wish I did.”

My lips part with the erotic promise, and he is already kissing me, licking into my mouth, his tongue a sultry, seductive promise that he can make good on his vow. And while I do not wish anyone to own me again, I want what he offers in a way that defies reason.

He nips my lips and licks away the sweet ache, and somehow I feel that lick between my thighs where I am already wet and aching. His whiskers rasp on my cheek, down my neck to my shoulder, a wicked burn that is torment and pleasure at the same time. Like he is. His hands settle on my waist, lingering there, teasing me with all the places they could go, until finally he is caressing my body, up and down, a slow, sexy, torturous exploration.

He pinches my nipples again and he is not gentle, but I do not seem to want gentle. My sex clenches and my knees crush his hips. His lips curve to a small, satisfied smile that is wickedly sexy, and rawly male. He leans in and licks one of my throbbing nipples, sending a shiver down my spine, and I arch upward, the table biting into my elbows, but I do not care. He is sucking me, dragging deep on the knotted peak, and pleasure tingles through my nerve endings, my sex, forcing my legs to squeeze his hips again.

My arms tremble with my weight and he responds without me asking, moving closer and laying me on top of the table. My spine flattens on the hard surface and he lingers above me. “I want more.”

“More what?”

“Everything,” he says, his lips nuzzling my ear as he repeats, “Everything, Ella. Can I have it?”

The question affects me, but not as much as the way he waits, genuinely seeking my approval. He takes power but somehow gives it to me as well, and this is freedom to me, safety. Things I do not think I have often felt in my life. “Yes,” I whisper. “Yes.”

He inhales as if my approval surprises and pleases him, as if it is a gift he relishes, not a property he owns. And it is then that I give myself the freedom to just let go, the muscles in my body easing in ways they hadn’t before. I do give him everything. His mouth caresses mine and he whispers, “That’s what I wanted,” as if he knows I’ve made that decision.

And already his lips are traveling down my neck, tongue flicking here and there, his hand caressing, squeezing my breast. He assaults my senses with pleasure, touching me, kissing me, driving away my memories and enemies. His whiskers rasp my belly, his lips pressing to the center, his tongue flickering into my navel, and I tremble with the silent promise it will soon be where I want it to be. His hand flattens over my sex, inches lower until he is flicking my clit, back and forth, back and forth.

He lifts my legs to his shoulders, spreading me wide, and I am vulnerably his, and aroused beyond belief. He lowers his head, his breath a warm tease on my sensitive places, and I grip the edge of the table, bracing myself for what is to come. He laps at my nub, the barely there touch, and I am breathing hard, wishing I could touch him, incapable of moving, and the muscles of my sex clench so tightly it hurts.

He licks my clit and I am both relieved and on edge in the same moment, ready for more, for that everything he has promised me. Another lick follows. Yes, please, more, I think, and as if he’s heard my silent plea, he gives it to me. His hands slide beneath my backside and he lifts me to his mouth, and it is nothing shy of sweet bliss when his mouth closes down around me. He sucks, drawing deeply on my sensitive flesh, lapping at me, licking me again in all the right ways and right places. I am panting and moaning, and I barely recognize the sounds as my own. Sensations ripple through me and when his fingers slide inside me, I am undone, tumbling into orgasm. The intensity jerks my body and I lose all time and space. It’s escape, sweet, blissful escape, and he keeps me there, slowly bringing me down, the licks of his tongue growing softer, slower. Until I am sated, limp, and he pulls me back onto his lap, my head resting on his shoulder, his hand flattening between my shoulder blades.

“Everything or nothing,” he whispers, and this time, I do not believe he is talking about orgasms and pleasure.

I lean back to look at him, and the idea of what we are becoming is a sweet seduction, threatened by the emptiness of my past. “What if everything is too much?”

He drags two fingers down my cheek. “Sweetheart, I don’t have a ceiling. We’re going to find out if you do.”

He ends the conversation there, standing and lowering my legs to the ground, my feet settling there and my pill bottle tumbling from my pocket. Kayden reaches down and grabs it. “Maintenance, or are you hurting?”

“Just a little pain.”

He does not look pleased. “I pushed you too hard tonight.”

“No, I—”

He scoops me up and starts walking, the movement forcing my shirt and hoodie open, leaving me all but naked. I don’t fight it or him, though. There’s a message in the way he picks me up all the time, a part of him being the protector he has vowed to be so many times, to me. But I get it now. I’ve hit a nerve with Kayden. He doesn’t just want to protect me. He has to protect me. I’m not sure how to feel about that. What does that make me to him? What do I want to be to him?

We reach the hallway and I hold my breath to discover whether he goes left or right, and relief comes hard and fast as he turns toward his room. That is how much this man has slid under my skin. But knowing I could be some moral obligation terrifies me. He enters his room and goes straight to the bed, pulling back the blanket and setting me on the mattress. I climb underneath the covers, expecting him to undress and follow me. Instead, he stands above me and stares at me, and that wall he’s evoked between us in the past is here in the present. I can’t read him. I find myself holding my breath again, waiting, but for what I do not know. I’m blown away when he turns and walks away, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.

I stare at the door. I seem to do a lot of that where Kayden’s concerned, and I’m more confused than I’ve ever been in my life.

fourteen

He doesn’t come back. It’s nearly five in the morning when the physical and emotional toll of the past few days wins, and with nothing but Kayden’s unique spicy scent clinging to the blankets and surrounding me, I fall asleep. I wake to sunlight and an empty bed. As I sit up, disappointment fills me as I scan the room for any sign he’s been back, but find none. I glance at the clock and it’s nine in the morning, not exactly the definition of a good night’s rest. A sound comes from the bathroom and, certain it has to be Kayden, I throw off the blanket to climb out of the bed, tugging my shirt closed and rushing in his direction.

Reaching the open doorway, I scan the solid white room, disappointment filling me at the absence of the man whose presence I crave. That is, until he walks out of the closet, stopping in the archway, his hair lying in damp tendrils around his face, while black jeans and a snug black sweater, tugged up to display his powerful forearms, hug every inch of what I know to be his perfect, hard body.

He doesn’t speak, his expression impassive, his gaze never leaving my face, and the silence that follows is not as comfortable as it was at last night’s dinner. In fact, I’d call it excruciatingly awkward, and I can’t take it. “Hi,” I say, offering a ridiculous little hand wave that couldn’t make my nerves any more obvious.

His reaction is to close the distance between us, and there is no mistaking the predatory gleam in his eyes, matched by his long strides. When he stops in front of me, there is no question that he is pure sex and intimidation. “Ella,” he says softly, and my name does not bleed from him this time, nor is it a greeting. It’s . . . I don’t know what it is.

“When did you come back?” I ask.

“An hour ago.”

“Where did you sleep?”

“I didn’t.”

“Because I was here?”

“No. Because I needed to think.”

“About me?”

“About a lot of things.” A muscle in his jaw tics. “Who’s David?”

I swallow hard at the reference that tells me he read my notes in the security room, wondering how I’d managed to sleep through his return, and his obvious shower. “I came to Italy with him.”

“Who is he to you?”

I’m embarrassed that there was yet another man in my life, and my gaze lowers to his chest. “Ella,” he repeats, and this time my name is a command.

I press my lips together and look at him. “We were eloping, but things went very wrong.”

A beat of silence throbs between us. “Did you love him?”

“I feel nothing but anger when I think of him. I don’t understand why I was eloping with him. It makes no sense. Nothing adds up.”

“Did you love him?”

“No,” I say. “I did not love him.”

“But you thought you did.”

“No, I don’t think so. No. No, I didn’t love him. I’m telling you, there’s more to the story. I just can’t remember it.”

“What was his last name?”

“I know nothing else.”

His one reaction is a slight narrowing of his eyes, and I now have confirmation that he chose to let me see his emotions last night. He doesn’t choose to do so today. I might still be in his room, but I fear he’s already shut the door with me on the other side.

“There is more to the story,” I insist.

“I’m going out,” he says, obviously done talking. “Until we deal with Gallo, you’re stuck in the castle. Study the file and when I get back, we’ll figure out what comes next.” He’s already walking away.

I rotate and follow him, and he’s almost at the door, and I don’t want him to go. “Kayden,” I call out, and he stops but doesn’t turn, stirring dread in me over what I’m about to ask. “You brought me here and then left. Do you want me here?”

“Too much. That’s the problem.”

He exits the room, shutting the door with a finality that tells me he won’t be back any time soon. Too much, he’d said. I decipher that as confirmation of what I’d thought before, and the reason he’d been angry when I’d shown up at his door. While he drives away my demons, I’m the trigger that awakens his. I shouldn’t be here.

Everything or nothing. Kayden’s words replay in my mind as I walk to my room. I then proceed to take a long, hot shower, and the only flashbacks I have are of last night, every single kiss and touch we shared. The idea that he might have chosen “nothing” twists me in knots. I know that he and I are new to each other, but we seem to know each other in ways no one else can. I’m also fairly certain that our bond tears down a wall Kayden doesn’t want destroyed.

Once I’ve dried off, a clawing need for stability has me organizing the items in all of the bags on the counters and in drawers. I avoid the one with the gun, though, as I’m really not in a mental place this morning to deal with the memories it creates. I just need a little peace and quiet today. With the bags unpacked and folded, I dress in a light blue V-neck sweater and faded jeans, and pair the outfit with ankle boots. I open my new blow-dryer and flatiron and put them to use before moving on to my makeup. The selection of products in the bags is impressive but I keep it simple, satisfied with the pale pink shadow and gloss I use. My hair is another story, though. The honeysuckle shampoo and conditioner paired with a pass with the flatiron have rid me of frizz and turned my dark hair impressively soft and silky, but I still don’t look like me. This color is just wrong, like David. I shake off the thought, afraid it will trigger one of the flashbacks I’m avoiding this morning.

“Coward,” I whisper, and I force myself to grab the journal before heading to the kitchen, promising myself I’ll write in it while attending to my growling stomach.

As I make my way down the hall and into the living area, my thrill at the architecture I can’t wait to explore in more detail is detoured by the smell of fresh-baked bread that lures me straight to the kitchen.

“Smells yummy,” I say, stopping in the entryway as Marabella hums while preparing sandwiches.

Her head lifts, eyes lighting at the sight of me. “Good morning! How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” I say, not about to explain my lack of sleep. “Is that homemade bread?”

“Is there any other kind? And fresh mozzarella as well. Sit down and I’ll bring you a plate.”

“Sounds terrific,” I murmur, my eyes landing on the table, a memory of lying naked on top of it, while Kayden’s mouth was in the most intimate of places, heating my cheeks. Eager to direct my thoughts elsewhere, I sit down, sliding the folder closer and opening the journal to stare at my not so masterful butterfly. The image takes me back to that hotel room I’d shared with David. “We can’t even get married here!” I yell. “They don’t allow US citizens to get married here.”

“An oversight.”

“You don’t make oversights.”

His cell phone rings and he answers it. “I’ll be right there.” He ends the call. “I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

I grab him and he slaps me so hard I fall to the floor, my hand going to my burning cheek. The door slams, and I push through the pain and to my feet. I rush to the hallway just as the elevator shuts and go back into the room, leaning on the door and yanking off the necklace he’d given me. It lands at my feet and I stare down at it. A butterfly with blue stones and a ruby in the center.

I grab the journal and write: Deceit. Danger. A secret.

“Here you go,” Marabella announces, setting a plate in front of me.

Mentally shaking myself back into the present, I shut the journal. “Thank you. I can’t wait to try it.”

She sits down and studies me. “You look tired, sweetie. Did the commotion wake you up last night?”

I hesitate, pretty sure she knows I wouldn’t have known about the alarm if I wasn’t with Kayden. “I heard something about it. It was Giada, right?”

“Yes. She’s a troubled girl. She’s horribly angry at Kayden, when he’s done nothing but help her. She’s missing a female role model and I’m just too old to connect with her. I was hoping you might try?”

I’m shocked at this request, since I am as new to the castle as I am to their lives, and will easily be gone before I’ve ever become settled—which tells me she must be desperate to help Giada. “Of course I will. How is she today?”

Disapproval etches her brow. “Hungover. She was throwing up at the doorstep last night. She couldn’t remember the passcode to our tower, but she’s known it for years. Or rather, she claimed it didn’t work. When she finally stopped throwing a fit, she was embarrassed and crying. Poor child is just lost.”

“I guess she’s in bed today?”

“Adriel made her get up and work in the store. Maybe you could stop by and visit with her.”

“Of course. I’ll be happy to. I can stop by the store after I eat and meet her.”

“Well, today might be bad. She’s pretty foul.”

I laugh. “You should see me when I have PMS.”

She chuckles. “Warning noted.”

“You’ll be glad I remember that about myself.”

We share a laugh and she glances at a square, black-rimmed clock on the wall. “Oh, goodness. I’m sorry, but I have to head out to an appointment. I’ll check on you this afternoon. But before I leave, Kayden left something for you.”

A mix of curiosity and more than a little anxiety rushes through me. What could he have left me? She pushes to her feet and walks to the cabinet by the sink, returning with a box she sets on the table. “Here you go.” She glances at my plate. “I’m keeping you from eating.”

“No. You’re the reason I get to eat such great food.”

“My pleasure.” She hesitates. “I think it will be good for Giada to have you here, but it’s even better for Kayden. I’ve been worried about him since . . .” She waves it off. “It’s been a long time since any one woman has held his attention.”

This news both pleases me and confirms my worries: I’ve torn down walls he simply doesn’t want down. I downplay her observation. “I was mugged and left with no resources. He kind of inherited me.”

Her lips curve. “Oh now, missy. Don’t discount what’s happening between you two. Kayden would have found another way of helping you if he didn’t want you here, and I see how he looks at you. I’ll see you soon.” She breezes out of the room, and I am left thinking of my exchange with Kayden. Do you want me here? I’d asked, and his reply had been, Too much.

I shove aside my plate and grab the brown box Kayden has left for me. Flipping open the lid, I find a separate white box with an Apple logo on top, plus a note:

I asked for bubble proof but they tell me that feature is still in development.

I laugh and keep reading.

You’ll find the following numbers programmed into the phone:

Me

Matteo

Nathan

Marabella

Adriel

These people are my people, so now they’re yours.

–Kayden

My chest tightens on that last phrase, which implies I’m staying in his life. Considering I’m running for my life, which makes a person think about her end of days, he’s given me all the encouragement I need. I open the box and remove the phone, quickly finding Kayden’s number and punching the “call” button. He answers on the second ring.

“Ella?”

His voice does funny things to my stomach. “Hi,” I say, sounding a bit breathless.

“Is something wrong?”

I feel like we’re replaying the conversation from outside his bedroom last night. “No. I just . . . When are you coming back?”

“Why?”

“Because . . . the David thing. He didn’t mean anything to me. I don’t know why I was with him, but I think . . . I was lost, and I feel found with you. I know that’s crazy, because we just met—but you said ‘everything or nothing,’ and we are not nothing. But we can’t get to everything if you shut me out.”

Silence crackles on the line. I wait. And wait. And I’m going crazy when he finally says, “There are things about me you don’t know.”

“You said that already, and there are things about me we both don’t know. What I do know, though, is that I need you, and I’m not alone in this feeling. I know I’m not.”

“Ella—”

“Please don’t shut me out.”

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

I do not miss the way he phrases this sentence to avoid the word home, when he’s lived here since he was ten. “Okay,” I whisper, feeling defeated.

His voice softens. “We’ll talk when I get there.”

“Okay,” I say again.

“Ella. Sweetheart.”

“Just come back.” I end the call before he can say something else I don’t want to hear.

Everything or nothing. I don’t think I can do in between. I need to get my memory back. That’s all there is to it. I reach for the journal and my hand shakes, partly from hunger, and partly from the emotional toll that is Kayden Wilkens. I pull my sandwich forward and start eating, opening the folder and studying the new me who has replaced the old me. An hour later, I’ve eaten every bite of my wonderful sandwich, Kayden hasn’t returned, and I’ve spent way too much time drawing butterflies. And I’ve read my file at least ten times and just can’t do it again. I place my plate in the sink and leave the folder, box, and journal on the table, and decide to do as promised and try to make friends with Giada.

I stick the phone in my back pocket and make my way to the stairwell, eager to see this store filled with collectibles. A little history that’s not my own will be welcome right about now. I take the winding staircase to the main foyer, peeking into the room to the left, thrilled to discover a giant library with overstuffed chairs, a desk, a fireplace, and walls and walls of books. This will be my next stop.

I punch the button to open the dungeon door to the main room, reminding myself there is a code to reenter that I thankfully remember. Once I’m in the main foyer, I glance up at the ceilings, the trim wrapped in roses, and again, there is a stirring of something familiar that I can’t quite remember. I let it go and face the fact that I’m stalling, not exactly eager to face Adriel, admitting to myself that I am afraid he will stir some memory I don’t want to exist.

Frustrated at the idea, I hurry up the center stairs, a red-and-cream-colored rug beneath my feet and thick, shiny wooden railings at my sides, greeting the next level by another tower dungeon door. I glance left and right to find a stairwell on either side. Had Kayden said the store was street level? That’s the logical place, so I decide the door is the right choice. Noting a button to the left, I press it. The heavy wooden surface lifts rather quickly and I enter what resembles the corner of a museum, complete with two huge white pillars on either side of the room, shelves filled with books on the walls, and glass cases here and there. It’s an intriguing place that begs to be explored.

I walk forward, noting rooms to the left and right framed by beautiful arches, etched in more roses, and I don’t know why roses stand out to me, even call to me, but never fully evolve into a memory. Shaking off the thought, I continue, reaching the front of the store to find an inviting sitting area with high-backed brown chairs facing the public entrance, framed by bookshelves and decorated with stone tables a shade darker than the floors. To my right is a glass counter containing statues, and behind it is a doorway, voices lifting from inside. A male and a female are arguing in Italian, and I feel more than a tad awkward. I can’t speak Italian, but they might not know that and it feels like I’m eavesdropping. Part of me wants to leave. Another just wants this first meeting with Adriel to be over.

I inhale and make my decision. I’m here. I’m doing this. I call out, “Hello!”

Their conversation stops abruptly. I wait. And wait, worried about the first moment Adriel appears until finally it happens. He appears in the archway of the door, his features hard, even sharp, his black hair thick and curly, his deep green eyes fixed on me. He also has a long scar down his cheek that I have a bad feeling came from treasure hunting, and a picture is forming. People die and get hurt when they work for The Underground. Kayden could die or get hurt, and this realization is not a good one. I’m falling for him, and I fear that is a dangerous proposition in ways I have yet to fully understand.

“Ella,” he says in greeting, his jaw clenched hard, his navy collared shirt and dark jeans framing a large and muscular body. “Does Kayden know you’re here?”

I wait a moment to reply, and this time the blank space in my mind is pure bliss. I don’t know him, and I bite back a joyful smile he won’t understand. “Of course Kayden knows I’m here,” I reply, only to receive a skeptical arched brow, and I quickly amend with, “I mean, not exactly. I’m in the castle, so it’s logical I’d end up here.”

“I doubt he’d agree,” he says, his tone downright cynical.

Puzzled, I open my mouth to dig for more information when a brunette with olive skin appears beside him, managing to look quite pretty in an emerald silk top and jeans despite the dark circles under her eyes. “Kayden hates this tower,” she informs me.

“Giada,” Adriel snaps in warning.

She grimaces. “Right. Keep my mouth shut. Anything else you want, ‘master’?” She glances at me. “You must be Ella. What was it like being mugged?”

The random, out-of-the-blue question has me blanching. Adriel gives me a warning look that I read as “step cautiously,” though I’m not quite sure why. She’s his family. “Scary,” I reply, “and it came with a bonus headache.”

“I bet it’s not as bad as mine.”

“A different kind of headache. Neither is fun. Hopefully yours came with some fun in advance.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Adriel snaps. “She could have ended up mugged like you did.” He cuts her a warning look. “Or raped.”

She glowers at him. “Shut up, Adriel. I’m not doing anything you didn’t do.” She rounds the counter and walks away.

I close the distance between myself and Adriel, stopping at the opposite side of the glass from him. “Sorry,” I say softly. “I think I made that worse.”

“Most things do.” He lowers his voice. “She has a big mouth and we all want to stay alive. Your story to her is the same as your story to Gallo, which means amnesia right now. Understand?”

“Yes. Of course. And Marabella? Is it okay to speak honestly around her?”

“Yes. You can tell her anything. Same thing applies to Nathan and Matteo. Just not Giada.” He gives me a probing stare. “Any improvement in your memory?”

There is no concern in his voice or his eyes, just an obvious disapproval that hits like a slap. He doesn’t want me here. I don’t know why, but considering the death of his father, I would guess he thinks I’m dangerous. Like I thought last night, when that alarm went off. I am dangerous. And selfish for being here. “I should go,” I say, and when I would move away, he shocks me by covering my hand and holding it on the counter.

“What just happened?” he demands softly.

“You don’t want me here. I don’t blame you.”

“Did we have a conversation I wasn’t a part of?”

“You didn’t require words to get your point across. So I repeat. You don’t want me here.”

“I don’t want you dead, either. And without us, you would be.”

Either. That’s the word I latch onto. “But I bring Niccolo to your doorstep. I get it.” I glance at my hand, then back at him. “Please let me go.”

“Don’t tell Kayden I made you feel unwelcome.”

Not don’t go, but don’t tell. “If you hide it from him as well as you did from me, I’m certain he already knows.”

The door to my left chimes and opens. Adriel releases my hand and curses under his breath. I rotate quickly and my heart falls at my feet.

Detective Gallo is standing inside the shop.