Текст книги "Denial"

Автор книги: Lisa Renee Jones

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

seventeen

Kayden answers my silent reply by cupping the back of my head and kissing me hard and fast before wrapping my hand in his and leading me to the exit. We step outside and I shiver with the night that has turned colder, and Kayden responds, cocooning me in the warmth and shelter of his body, but I think that it’s him who needs shelter.

We fall into easy steps together, silence settling between us in that comfortable way it had over dinner last night. Blocks pass, and even with the absence of conversation, I can feel the heaviness of his thoughts, but I also believe he just needs me to be with him. I know this, and I don’t know why but I have this sense of togetherness with him that, beyond the emptiness of my past, I do not believe I have had before in my life. Even if I have, what matters is this man, and having it with him.

His cell phone rings, and for some reason, the sound fills me with dread. Without his pace faltering or his arm moving from my shoulders, he digs it from his pocket, answering the call and listening a moment before replying in Italian. It’s a quick, terse exchange that ends when we reach the entrance to the castle, his expression unreadable as he releases me to slide the phone back into his pocket and punch in a code to open the gate.

“Two-seven-two-seven,” he says, giving me the gate code, and I remove my phone from my purse and type it into the notes.

“Got it,” I say, as we cross to the private grounds of the castle. “I’ll delete it once I get all these numbers straight in my head.”

He hits a button to close the gate and wraps his arm around mine as we begin the walk toward the front door.

“I’m not trying to be nosy, but please just tell me that call wasn’t bad news.”

“You aren’t being nosy. You’re being concerned about one of my men, and that will never upset me. Matteo pinged Enzo’s phone and hacked his email. There’s been no activity in twelve hours.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“If you don’t want to be found, you go radio silent. It could be a choice, but it still means he’s in trouble.”

“You didn’t get to tell me what the job was. Can you? Will you?”

He hesitates. “Recovering a stolen piece of art.”

“You didn’t seem to want to tell me that, but it sounds like a reasonable job. Why didn’t you want him to take it?”

“Because the man who stole it has connections to a drug cartel. I finally agreed that he could commission the hunt, on the condition that he do nothing but find the painting and report the location to the client, without recovering it.”

“You think he tried to recover it.”

“He’s young, and as most young men do, he thinks he’s immortal. So yes. That’s what I think.”

A drop of rain hits my nose, and I stupidly look up to be splattered in the face. “Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand as we launch into a run and rush up the castle steps, reaching the overhang just in time to avoid a downpour.

“This is a crazy amount of rain,” I say, wiping off my coat. “You’d think it was rainy season in Paris.” I go still, and Kayden arches a brow. “Paris,” I whisper. “Kayden, I know Paris.”

“During rainy season,” he adds. “Matteo did a broad sweep for the name Ella, but I’ll have him hyper-focus on Paris. Do you remember anything else?”

“Of course not. Why would I make this easy on us? I don’t even know where that comment came from.”

“It’s a seed that might grow, and that’s better than no seed at all.” He snags my fingers. “Come here. I want to teach you how to get in the door.”

“I need a lesson?” I ask, letting him put me between him and the door. “Is it that complicated?”

“Not complicated, but there is a specific process or you’ll set off the alarms.” He taps the panel by the door. “First the code.” He keys it in. “Two-seven-one-one.” He holds up a key. “Then the lock. If you do it the opposite way, it won’t work.”

“And the alarm sounds.”

“Exactly.” He unlocks the door and flattens the key into my hand, curling my fingers around it. “That’s yours. You and I are the only two people who have access to enter through this door. Don’t tell anyone the codes and don’t let anyone use your key.”

“Not even the people who live in the castle?”

“That’s right. This way, if one tower is breached, the others aren’t.”

“You don’t trust Adriel or Giada.”

“Trust isn’t high on my list, and I don’t like people in my private space.”

The significance of that statement being his bringing me to his tower immediately, and my oversight earlier today. “Then I should tell you that I let Giada hang out with me in our tower. I didn’t let her go anywhere but the living room.”

His eyes glint steel. “I don’t want her there.”

“Why, Kayden? She’s just a young girl.”

“I don’t always have a reason, just a gut feeling, and they never fail me.” He changes the subject, making it clear he doesn’t want to talk about Giada. “Let’s go to bed.” He pauses and softens his voice. “Together.”

Together. It is a word I do not believe he knows well, but he offers it to me, the certainty warming me in places beyond my skin. “Together,” I repeat, sealing what feels like a deal.

The flecks of deeper blue in his eyes tell me that he is pleased with my reply, and as he had in the bar, he reaches around me and opens the door. Nervous energy spikes through me and I enter the castle; my feet carry me to the center of the foyer, where my gaze lands on the center tower steps. I swallow a knot in my throat at the knowledge that death occupies the rooms above. I wonder if Elizabeth felt safe here. I wonder if Kayden thought he could protect her. I wonder if he even knew that at that stage of his career, with Kevin still alive, he needed to protect her. And I wonder if this place is haunted by ghosts, or just the heartache of loss.

Kayden steps to my side, his gaze following mine. “We lived in that tower together for all of three months before they were slaughtered there like animals, which is why I hate every inch of it. I kept it sealed for three years.”

I shiver at the words “slaughtered like animals” and I turn to him. “You have no idea who did it?”

“No,” he says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “But if it had been about me, they would have come for me, too, and believe me, I wish they had.”

“If not about you, then Kevin?”

“It had to have been about something he was involved with, and Elizabeth just happened to be here when they came to kill him. She wasn’t a Hunter. She was a fashion designer by trade, who made me feel like my life was a little more normal. I met her at a retail store, looking for a gift for Marabella.”

“She gave you an escape from this world.”

“She hated The Underground and I pulled back from it because of that.” He hardens his voice to pure steel. “You need to know that won’t happen again. Had I been more involved with what Kevin was doing, I might have stopped it from happening. And so we’re clear: not only do I hate that fucking tower, I hate your being in it. Let’s go upstairs.” He walks to the door dividing the main foyer from our tower and punches in the code.

I hesitate, unmoving in the aftermath of his obvious anger. But it is not at me, though I have obviously stirred to life demons he hasn’t fully restrained. And while I am not sure what that means for us long term, I do know he needs someone to anchor him to the present and drive away the past, if only for tonight.

Crossing to stand next to him, I dare to link my elbow with his and say, “I hate that tower, too.”

He disengages our arms and wraps his around my neck and brings my chest to his, his breath a warm tease on my lips. “That was the right thing to say,” he declares, his mouth slanting over mine for a quick, deep kiss, the taste of his lingering anger spiking my taste buds and then fading as he releases me and leads me across the threshold to our tower. We pause just on the other side, and when he hits a button to close our door I have this sense of us being sealed in our own private world, at least for the rest of this night.

Side by side, we start up the stairs, barely touching when I want us to be touching everywhere. But the higher we climb, the more uncertain I become of what comes next, the memory of him leaving me alone in his bed sharply etched in my mind. Even more so, the certainty that no matter where we lie tonight, he is not a man to be held on to. He will leave. Or I will leave, and I can’t fall for him. But I am, I so am, and I can’t seem to care what kind of danger lies in the path to fully realizing all I can be, and feel, with this man. He halts at the main level, his hand sliding away from mine, a question in his action. Am I coming with him or not? But there is more. Am I afraid? Can I handle who, and what, he is? He is asking me to make the decision. There really is no real question in my mind about where I’m going, and where I want to be this night, and the way he can demand, command, and still offer me freedom seals my desire for this man.

I start walking toward his room and he falls into step with me, my pulse quickening with each inch we travel, until he opens the door and I step inside. He follows, flipping a lock into place and punching a button on the wall beside us. The fireplace across the room flames into life in response, and while the room is cold, my skin heats as he touches me again, leaning me against the door, towering over me.

But, much to my distress, his hands fall away, flattening on the wall on either side of me, signaling that a mindless escape isn’t as close as I’d hoped. “Before we go any further,” he says, “you need to understand exactly what you’re getting yourself into.”

“I told you at the bar. I’m not afraid of The Underground.”

“I’m talking about what I am and what motivates me. I wasn’t ready to tell you what happened five years ago, but you know now, which means you need to understand what it was and what it means to me. What happened to Kevin and Elizabeth was no car accident. It wasn’t an accident at all. It was murder. And make no mistake, if I find out who did it, I will kill them, and it will be with zero remorse. Just like I’ll kill anyone who threatens you with zero remorse. Make sure you can live with that, because I damn sure can.” He pushes off the wall and leaves me standing there as he disappears into the bathroom.

I inhale, barely able to breathe for the intensity of his emotions slamming into me. Yes, he has given me honesty, but I am certain this is driven by the same kind of doubt in him I’d felt walking up the stairs. He is trying to scare me, to push me away. But he has failed. No matter how brutal those words are, they are real. He is real, the wolf who doesn’t bother with the sheep’s clothing I’d first seen at the hospital, and his realness is part of his appeal. I need that. I think he does too, but maybe he needs to know that I come with no demands or expectations for a Happily Ever After I know he can’t give me and I’m not sure I even believe exists anyway. At least not for people like him and me.

The shower comes on and I allow myself no hesitation, crossing to the bathroom where his clothes are piled on the floor and he is hidden behind the stone walls of the stall. I take a deep breath for courage and undress, walking to the glass door. His back is to me and I have a full view of the tattoo between his shoulder blades, counting five skulls, and their meaning shakes me to the core. His mother, father, sister, Kevin, and Elizabeth.

I open the door and his shoulders bunch slightly, telling me he is aware of me, but he doesn’t turn. I step to him and press my hand to the center of those tattoos. “Everyone you’ve lost.”

He reaches around and pulls me in front of him, out of reach of the spray of water, walking me backward until I hit the wall. “Yes. Everyone I’ve lost, and I do not intend to let you become part of that circle. But if you want out, if you want to leave—”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t let me go.”

“Do you want to go?”

The question catches me off guard, but I don’t falter. “No. I don’t.”

“After all you’ve learned today, are you sure about that?”

“If you’re afraid I want more than you can give—”

“I’m afraid I want more than I can, or should, ask of you. But I seem to be incapable of stopping myself.” His gaze sweeps low, a hot caress over my naked body that I feel in all the places I wish he were touching me.

I reach for him and he captures my hand. “When I said I like things a little dirty, that was wrong. I like things a lot dirty.”

My pulse leaps wildly with the promise of dark, sexy things I want to know with this man. “Show me,” I say.

“I need to know I’m not going to scare you.”

I blink up at him, a cold spot in my chest expanding, the realization a blow I did not expect. “You think because he tied me up that I am afraid of your version of dirty? Damn it, Kayden, I told you. If you hold back and treat me like a wilting flower, he wins.”

“Sweetheart, that’s when we’re talking and not fucking. I’m warning that I’m not going to hold back. I won’t hold back. If you say yes to what I ask for, I will take full advantage of what that means.”

“Yes,” I say, sounding breathless, my knees weak and my nipples tight. “My answer is yes.”

His eyes darken, a muscle in his jaw flexing, and I can almost feel him restraining himself, holding back, and I hate it. I hate it so much. I flatten my hand on his chest, damp tendrils of light brown hair teasing my fingers. “I am not his captive. I will not be that and you will not make me that. So let me repeat my answer. Yes.”

His eyes glint hard and he turns me to the face the wall, the way he turned me to face that bedpost last night, and I know he’s testing me, pushing me. “Are you sure about that?” he demands, his erection at my hip, his hand cupping my breast and squeezing it roughly, erotically.

“Yes,” I pant out. “Yes.”

“Let’s define the meaning of yes.” His hand flattens on one of my butt cheeks. “Yes means I won’t just make you want me to own you. While we’re fucking, I will own you.” He steps to my side, at my hip, his shaft resting at the back of my thigh, his hand squeezing my backside. “Own you,” he repeats, his head resting against mine.

“What part of ‘yes’ do you not understand?”

He cups my sex. “And I will tie you up.”

“You said that,” I remind him, frustrated that he feels the need to go there again. “Stop warning me and just do this.”

“Do I get to define what ‘this’ is?”

“As long as you do it now.”

His teeth nip my ear, and I swear I feel it in my sex right where his fingers are pumping and moving. “Let’s see. Should I lick you? Bite you? Spank you?”

Shock rips through me and I try to turn, but his hand flattens on my back, holding me in place. “I thought you wanted it dirty?”

“Spank me? I—”

“Is this where you say no? Because you can always say no.”

“I’ve never—”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh yes,” I say quickly. “Yes, I am quite sure.”

“Good. Then I’ll be the only one you trust that much.” He turns me around again, nestling me in the corner, my wrists shackled over my head where he grips them. “The word yes,” he says, dragging his free hand over my breast, down my body, until it cups my sex again, “has a consequence. You know that, right?”

“What consequence?” I pant out, his fingers pressing inside me, thumb stroking over my clit and sending darts of pleasure straight to my nipples.

“Trust. Complete, absolute trust, and I will demand it in ways you can’t begin to fathom.” He brushes his lips over mine, fingers stroking deeper into my sex, moving back and forth.

“How is that a consequence?”

“It gives me control. It lets me own you, and when I do, I’m going to make sure you want more. Do you want more now?”

“Yes. Oh yes.”

“Close your eyes and don’t move your hands when I let go. If you do—”

“You won’t let me come.”

“Exactly. Now, do it.”

My lashes lower and his hands leave my wrists, and it is all I can do not to satisfy my need to touch him, my breath panting from my parted lips. But I am motivated to comply by the way he is touching me. Everywhere, all over, and sensations roll through me, pleasure lighting up every nerve ending in my body. I can barely take it, and yet it’s not enough, and I moan with the need for something else. For that “more” he wishes me to crave, that I wish to be him inside of me.

“Kayden,” I plead, and he answers by sinking to one knee, his tongue lapping my swollen nub; then he suckles deeply, while his fingers, his amazing fingers, slide in and out of me. And my hands are too heavy over my head, my fingers knotting in my hair, the only way I can stop them from lowering to his, and I cannot control the sounds of pleasure escaping my lips. There is a swell of arousal in my belly, low, lower, and I both want to quell it and want to drive it to the next blissful place, and it does go there. To that sweet spot from where there is no return. I lose control, my fingers twining into his hair, but he does not punish me or deny my release, as I feared. He lets me touch him, his tongue and his fingers slowly easing, becoming gentler, and then slipping away as my knees all but collapse.

Kayden stands and turns off the water, then returns to me to twine fingers in my hair, pulling my head back and forcing my gaze to his. “You have to learn to follow orders. Action equals consequence. Remember that.”

“I tried, but you—”

“There is no try. There is only do, but I’ll show you. I’ll teach you.”

I’ll teach you. The words speak to the woman in me in ways perhaps they should not, but I don’t care. They just do, and he does, and when he kisses me, licking into my mouth, the sweet, salty taste of me on his lips, he does own me. I tangle fingers in his hair, and he tears his mouth from mine, giving me one of those wolfish stares as he cups my backside and lifts me.

We exit the shower, and he sits me on the counter, wrapping me in a towel before he secures one at his waist, tendrils of water that beg for my tongue sliding down his arm. He steps into me again, his hands settling on my legs, branding me as if he hasn’t already, but the wolf is gone; warm tenderness is in his eyes as he asks, “You okay?”

It’s what I’d asked him, and my lips curve with that reference and with the idea that, while he’s pushed me, he’s still protecting me, even from himself. “Yeah,” I say, “I’m okay.”

He smiles his approval and gives me a low, sexy command of “stay here” that leaves me curiously tracking his every step as he disappears into the closet.

Grinning at just about everything that just happened in that shower, I cannot contain my desire to see what the sexy “king of the castle’s” closet looks like. I slide off the counter and quickly dart in that direction, only to have him appear in the archway before I enter, now wearing a pair of pajama bottoms, with a shirt in his hand. “I told you to wait.”

I grimace at his attempt at a reprimand. “I take orders better when naked than not.”

He arches a brow. “Is that right? You’re almost naked now.”

“I have a towel.”

“I can fix that.”

I clutch it to my chest. “I want to see your closet.”

“See it when you move your things in tomorrow.”

I blink, certain I’ve misheard. “What?”

He slides the shirt over my head and I slip my arms inside, my towel falling to the ground. “That’s so I can concentrate and give you a chance to make a decision.”

“Decision?”

“Either you’re in my bed or you’re not. I want you in it.”

I am pleased. I am confused. I am so many things with this man that I can’t even begin to define. “But you left last night.”

“Fucking some random woman and wanting you in my bed are two different things. I had to come to terms with what that meant for me. I have. Now it’s your turn.”

“What it means for you? If the answer is that I open raw wounds, I’ll choose nothing. If the answer is it lets you protect me and that is all you want and need, I’ll choose nothing.”

“I want you in my bed, Ella. I’ve said that to no one in a very long time. Why do I want you there? I just do. That’s the only answer I have for either of us. It’s back to you. Choose, Ella. Now.”

I just do. It’s my answer exactly, and perhaps the only one either of us can give this early in our time together. My decision made, I turn and walk into the bedroom and don’t stop moving until I’m in his bed, under the covers. By the time I am, he is joining me, making it clear he’s not leaving tonight. He lowers the lights, casting us in the dim glow of the fireplace, and moves close to me.

“Right here,” he says, wrapping me in his arms, my back to his front, and I am suddenly warm and sheltered, and he feels right in ways that make my lost memory second to this and him. But I do not miss the way he holds me a little too tight, as if he’s certain someone, or something, will soon rip me from his arms. And the truth is, I fear the same.