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I roll to my side and look at him. “You do know this song is called—”

“ ‘Monster,’ ” he finishes, giving me a sideways look, his lips hinting at a smile. “I thought it was appropriate, don’t you?”

Relieved we are over our argument, I feel a smile cut through my pain and find my lips. “Very,” I agree. “I guess Adriel likes American music?”

“Yes. He went to college in the States. And he’s a big enough Imagine Dragons fan to drag me to one of their concerts here in Rome.”

My eyes go wide. “Wait. You went to a concert?”

“I owed him a favor. And why is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t know. You just pressed a gun to your chest. It’s hard to think about you doing something so . . .” I lift a hand. “Normal.”

“Normal’s overrated.”

“I’d take normal right about now,” I argue offhandedly, and get back to my main goal: finding out who Kayden Wilkens really is. “Do you ever go back to the States?”

“Occasionally,” he says, detouring my mission by offering nothing more.

“How old were you when you moved here?” I ask, digging in another direction.

“Ten.”

“So this really is home to you, isn’t it?”

“It’s where I live. Yes.”

It’s a curious reply, with a hidden meaning I try to decipher. “Where you live? So it’s not home?”

“Semantics.”

“That’s an answer which I assume translates to you not wanting to talk about this.”

“Why do you?”

“Because if I can’t know me, I want to know you.”

“You mean, you still think you know me and don’t remember.”

“Do I?”

“No matter how many times you ask me that, the answer’s going to be the same.”

“Fine,” I say, but I’m not ready to give up. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-two. How old are you?”

“Twenty-five,” I reply, surprising myself. “And I really . . . don’t know how I know that.”

“A name and an age. It’s progress. Maybe if you write in that journal you grabbed at the hospital you’ll know I’m telling the truth.”

“I’m sure it’s ruined.”

“And easily replaced.”

“Unlike my memories,” I say. “And I’m not calling you a liar, Kayden. I can’t help how you make me feel.”

We stop at a light and he turns to me, and even in the darkness the blast of his full attention is like fire heating ice, and I’m the ice. “How do I make you feel, Ella?”

A million emotions rush through me, but I cannot name one of them, so I whisper, “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to know how you make me feel?” he asks, his voice a low seduction that promises hot nights, and hotter kisses. I want those kisses. I want more. He might not be a monster, but he’s still keeping secrets.

“Not yet,” I say, turning away from him to face the roof of the car, when I’d meant to simply say, “No.”

He laughs, that low, ridiculously sexy laugh of his, and I am again taken aback by how right and wrong he can feel at the very same moment in time. We fall into silence, the sound of the radio mixed with the raindrops on the roof filling the air. I start to drift off when “Take Me to Church” by Hozier begins to play. My gut knots, my chest tightening with some dark emotion that I think might be fear. Which is ridiculous. I’m sitting in the car with Kayden. The song is just a song, but the words sweep through me like a blade, trying to make me bleed.

There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin . . .

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the urge to shove away a memory I don’t want to see, but I can’t hide. I wasn’t a coward when Kayden held that gun on me, and I won’t be one now. Cautiously, I let myself slip inside the past, and it’s like I’m looking down on myself from above, not fully committed to being in the moment. First, there is just me. I don’t see the place I am at. I’m wearing a curve-hugging black dress with sheer, long sleeves. My lips are glossy. My makeup is perfect. My hair is red, vibrant, and this is me. The real me Kayden said he hopes to know. That he swore he would know.

My vision expands, and I can see that I am standing in the middle of a bedroom with expensive artwork on the walls, fancy hardwood floors beneath my strappy high-heeled shoes. To the right of me is a large brown leather chair, and beside it a wooden sculpture of a tiger, and I don’t like it. Not at all, but I do not know why, nor do I care to remember. I cut my gaze away from it, shutting out whatever memory it represents.

I refocus on where I stand, a massive mahogany bed behind me. Two gorgeously etched wooden doors are in front of me, and I’m waiting for them to open. And they do, as if my attention has invited them to do so, and he enters, stealing my breath, skyrocketing my heart rate. I try to see his face, but my mind is still protecting me. I don’t have to know who he is to feel his power or the way he owns the room. No. The way he owns everything, and everyone, around him.

He walks toward me, slow, confident, stopping a mere sway from touching me. He is tall and towers above me, watching me, and I can feel the heat of his stare, but I cannot see his eyes or even what he is wearing. And I don’t want to, I realize. That’s the problem. I’m hiding when I have to face this, and I force myself to go deeper into the memory. No longer am I watching myself from above. I’m right there in that room, living the experience all over again.

“Undress,” he orders.

I blanch. “What? I thought we were going out.”

He steps closer, towering over me, his suit tailored, expensive perfection, like his body beneath it. “You heard me. I told you to undress.”

“I—”

He twists rough fingers into my hair and drags my mouth to his, his breath a warm tease on my lips. “You like our games. Do as I say. Let me fuck you a new way.”

“Yes,” I whisper, and while I do like our games, there is something different about him tonight, an edge that frightens me. Or maybe it’s my inhibitions, my weaknesses, winning.

But he doesn’t let me go with my agreement, the twist of his fingers in my hair tightening, his mouth closing down on mine, the swipe of his tongue rough with demand I should revel in, but do not.

He releases me and sets me away from him, crossing his arms over his chest to watch me. I undress, but he does not, which is never the case, and my unease expands, burning in my chest. Once I’m naked, feeling at his mercy, his gaze rakes over every part of my body, and I expect him to come to me, or to order me to him. Instead, he turns and walks to a drawer, opening it and returning with a long piece of rope.

“Hold out your hands.”

This man has been my hero, and I should trust him, but I don’t want to do it. I want to grab my clothes and run. His gaze sharpens and I feel trapped, unsure of what to do. He arches a brow and I offer him my hands. Satisfaction gleams in his eyes as he binds me.

“Lie on the bed with your hands over your head,” he orders.

I do it, telling myself he’s always made me hot. He’s always been good to me. He will fuck me in some amazing way, and my nervous reaction is silly. He walks to the headboard and grabs my bound hands, and somehow, I’m not sure where, he ties them over my head. And then he just leaves. He walks out of the room and leaves me tied to the bed. And for the first time since I met him, I feel alone.

I return to the present with a flutter of my lashes and a splintering pain in my skull, and that song is still playing, reminding me of him, whoever he is. I want it to stop. Please make it stop . . . But still it goes on . . .

My church offers no absolutes . . .

I’m pulled back into the past, expecting, and dreading, seeing that man again, but I do not return to him or his bedroom. This time I’m at the church where Kayden found me tonight. And Kayden is there too, pressing me against the wooden door, his big body framing mine, his hands cupping my face as he kisses me. And I can taste his desire, his passion. His claim to me . . . the possession. And clearly now, when it had not been in the moment, I know that he wants—even needs—to own me. This discovery should scare me, but the scent of him, warm spice and vanilla, is so damn familiar, both soothing and arousing. I cling to him, kissing him back, hungry for more of him. And with him, I am not alone like I’d been in that room, tied to that bed. He is the answer I need. Kayden.

I open my eyes, and I feel like a hammer is pounding in my head. The song is over. The rain continues. And I don’t want to think about why my mind showed me him and then showed me Kayden. I just want to go to sleep.

I wake with a gasp and shoot forward, grabbing the dash, panting. The car isn’t moving. There is no rain and there appears to be a wall in front of the car.

“Easy, Ella.”

Looking right, I find a strange man with brown hair and eyes kneeling at the open passenger door. “Who are you and where is Kayden?” I ask.

“I’m here,” Kayden says, replacing the stranger by my side. “That was Nathan. He’s a friend and a doctor. You were grabbing your head and rocking back and forth. I pulled over and you passed out.”

“I passed out?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, you did. You scared the shit out of me. Nathan just gave you something for the pain.”

The man appears above Kayden’s shoulder. “And something to help you sleep. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with me? I feel like someone is hammering in my head. I can’t remember who I am and now I passed out?”

“I saw your medical records,” the man says. “You have a very bad concussion, and from what I understand you weren’t kind to yourself tonight. You need to rest.”

“I’m not even going to ask how he got my medical records.”

“Matteo,” Kayden says, taking my hand. “The hacker who’s trying to find you by your first name. This is his house. We’re staying here until we’re ready to deal with Gallo.”

“Okay. I don’t think I want to know what that means either right about now.”

The doctor, Nathan, I guess his name is, says something to Kayden in Italian, and I’ve given up fighting over speaking English. At least for tonight. Kayden kisses my hand, a gentle, intimate gesture that does funny things to my stomach. “Give me a minute and we’ll get you someplace where you can lie down.”

He stands and faces Nathan, and I don’t even try to listen to their conversation. My pain eases, but I feel kind of floaty and weird now, and I don’t like it. In fact, it’s freaking me out to have this little control over everything, including my own body.

Kayden squats back down beside me. “Ready to go upstairs?”

“I feel weird.”

“It’s the drugs, sweetheart.” He slides his arms under me. “I’ve got you.”

He lifts me, and I don’t fight him. In fact, I’m getting kind of used to this man carrying me around everywhere. I sink against him, my head spinning with every footstep and sway of our bodies as he exits the garage and starts up a stairwell.

We enter the main house, and I manage a barely there look at the giant, modern-looking living room with light wood floors and stainless-steel railings before we’re walking up another staircase, this one a dizzying, winding nightmare for my head and stomach. Finally, at the top, there is a door. In a few long strides, Kayden carries me over the threshold, my gaze doing a sweeping inspection of a loft-like bedroom, with the same light hardwood floor as the lower level, several corner pillars running from the floor to the ceiling, brick walls, and a giant bed with a high-backed gray headboard. That bed is the blast of reality I don’t want but need, and the magnitude of what is happening hits me with a force ten times that of the storm I ran through to escape him. I’m in a bedroom, alone with Kayden with no hospital staff, or Gallo, to intervene, after having a flashback about being tied to a bed, followed by one of him kissing me.

“Let me down,” I demand. “Let me down, Kayden! Let me—”

He sits me on the end of the bed, planting his hands on either side of my hips. “What part of you have a concussion do you not understand?”

“I know I have a concussion. Believe me, I know. It just won’t go away.” A wave of dizziness washes over me. “Oh wow.” I press my palm to my forehead. “I’m not feeling so good.” I fall back against the mattress. “What’s happening?” I try to lift my hand from my face and can’t. “I can’t move my hand. Kayden, I can’t move my hand!”

“You’re okay,” Kayden promises, lying down next to me.

“I can’t—”

“I’ve got it,” he says, removing my hand and holding it between us. “Nathan gave you some powerful medicine to make sure you rest. You’re just reacting to it. How’s your pain?”

“No pain. I just feel weird. Really weird.” My lashes lower, and unbidden, I am instantly transported back to another bedroom. To that night. To his bed. Deep inside the memory, I’m living it, feeling it.

Naked. Cold. I keep watching the clock, willing him to return. Two hours have passed, and the man I thought was my protector now feels like my captor. He is my captor. The doors he’d shut open, and he stands there, still fully dressed, sauntering slowly toward me. I try to see his face. Why can’t I see his face? He stops at the end of the bed, and I am angry with him. I am hurt. He undresses, and when I would normally watch him, reveling in every delicious inch of his body, I turn my head, every second that passes more punishment. And when his hands come down on my ankles, and he demands, “Look at me,” I don’t. I won’t.

My eyes fly open, and Kayden is still lying next to me, and when I look at him, I see a protector. I see passion. But I am certain he looked at me just as Kayden does now. Before that night. “Please don’t be him,” I whisper, and the darkness follows.

seven

I open my eyes and immediately become aware of being curled on my side, snuggled under warm blankets, rain spattering on the rectangular line of windows before me, dim light breaking through the curtains. Memories rush over me and I start piecing together the events that brought me here. The hospital. The stairwell and Gallo showing up. Adriel. The bitter cold run in the rain through the church parking lot. The sizzling hot kiss with Kayden by that very same church. Then there was the doctor friend of Kayden’s who gave me drugs, followed by Kayden carrying me to a bedroom in his friend’s house. Finally, there was him laying me on a bed, this one, I assume, where I wasted no time passing out. Because why wouldn’t I want to pass out while in bed with a man with a hotness factor off the charts, especially after sharing a scorching hot kiss? Curious about where he is, I try to roll over, only to realize there is a heavy weight at my waist.

“You’re finally awake.”

At the sound of Kayden’s deep, sexy voice, I roll over to face him, my gaze colliding with his at the same moment I realize that not only am I naked but so is he. Oh God. Maybe I didn’t fall asleep. “Please tell me we didn’t have sex and I don’t remember.”

“If we had sex, sweetheart, I promise you, I’d make sure you remembered.” His hand settles on my hip, over the blanket, but I am oh so aware that I’m all skin beneath it. “And I have on pants.”

“Oh. I guess I was too busy noticing my nakedness and . . . your chest.” I press my hand to my face. “I need to stop talking.” He laughs¸ and I peek through my fingers. “Please tell me I undressed myself.”

“You couldn’t even lift your own hand after Nathan gave you the pain meds.”

My hand falls from my face and I gape. “You undressed me?”

“You were wet and cold, and I couldn’t wash and dry your clothes with you in them.”

“You undressed me.”

“Yes,” he confirms. “I undressed you, and yes, I’ve been aware of just how naked you are every second you’ve been that way, as I am right this very moment.” He spares me a reply. “How do you feel?”

I clutch the blanket to me. “Feel?”

“Your head, sweetheart. Are you in pain?”

“Oh. I . . .” My brow furrows, and I forget my state of undress. “Wow. No. I’m not. It’s amazing. It’s wonderful. What kind of drugs did your doctor friend give me?”

“Nathan is his name,” he replies. “And when we first arrived last night he gave you a painkiller and a sedative. About four hours ago, he checked on you and gave you an anti-inflammatory that was supposed to ensure you woke up feeling good. Obviously it worked.”

“Wait. He came back and gave me another injection and I didn’t know it?”

“You didn’t know because you were still heavily sedated, and that was the idea. To get the drugs in you before you woke up.”

“He gave me drugs when I was naked. How many people saw me like this?”

“Only me.”

There’s a hard, possessive quality to his voice, and I am suddenly, intensely aware of how close we are. How close our mouths are, and I’m now officially thinking about our kiss. I decide I need a change of topic. “How long was I asleep?”

“Twelve hours,” he says.

“And it’s still raining?”

“It’s not supposed to stop until tomorrow.”

I decide the rain is as never-ending as my memory loss. “And we’re at your hacker friend’s house?”

“Matteo’s house. That’s right.”

“He’s the one trying to find out who I am using my first name?”

“Yes, and he’s still working on it.” He pauses. “We need to talk, Ella.”

My eyes go wide. “Oh no. He found something bad.”

“I’m not interested in what Matteo has, or has not, found right now. Who is he?”

“What?”

“Right before you passed out last night, you looked at me and said, ‘Please don’t be him.’ Who is he and what did he do to you?”

The memory of that man rushes back to me with an image of me tied to that bed, and I try to roll to my back. Kayden’s leg latches on to my legs, holding me in place. “Who is he?”

“I was drugged, Kayden.”

“So you don’t remember saying that to me? And before you answer, be clear. I don’t like secrets.”

“I know you have secrets, so don’t reprimand me. I’m not a child. I’m not your property. This is my life.”

“That has become mine.”

“It’s the past.”

“It’s impacting the present,” he counters. “Who is he?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You remember something or you wouldn’t have said that to me.”

“I told you, it was the drugs talking.”

“It was your memory talking.”

“Fine,” I say. “I had a flashback in the car.”

“And he was in it?”

“Yes.”

“So we’re back to the original question. Who is he?”

“I really don’t know.”

His eyes glint with dissatisfaction. “You don’t know or you aren’t going to tell me?”

“I don’t know.”

His lips thin, his expression tightening. “You’re afraid of him.”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I’m afraid of him.”

He studies me, his jaw set hard, seconds ticking by until he says, “I’m not him.”

I want to tell him that I know, but I can’t get the words out.

“I saved your life,” he reminds me. “I’m protecting and helping you.”

Now I can say it. “I know.”

“You don’t know, and that’s a problem for both of us.” He glances away from me, a long strand of his light brown hair teasing his forehead.

“It’s not a problem,” I say hastily, and without meaning to, I’ve all but admitted he’s right. I don’t know. I open my mouth to explain. “I mean . . .”

He cuts a sharp look at me. “I know what you mean, and it damn sure is a problem.” And then he’s tunneling his fingers into my hair, dragging me close, his breath teasing my lips as he adds, “One I plan to solve.”

“I can explain,” I say, hating the anger radiating off him, into me, but his mouth is already slanting over mine, tongue pressing past my teeth, a silky caress that has my nipples puckering and my sex clenching. But I need to talk to him, and my hand flattens over his chest, his skin hot, or maybe it’s just because I’m so hot, burning up for this man. And again, I mean to push him away, but I can’t. I don’t. I’m not sure I really want to. My moan says I don’t, and I give in to how much I want this man, sinking into the kiss, tasting him, getting lost in him.

He rolls me onto my back, the heavy, delicious weight of half his body on top of me, his leg draping mine, his stomach pressed to mine. The hard prod of his arousal is nestled next to my sex. My hands find his shoulders, holding on, not pushing away, as one of his drags the blanket down to expose my breasts. I arch into the touch, and he teases my nipple, nips my lips, and kisses me again, but his anger isn’t gone. I taste it, I feel it vibrating through him, into me, and I want to make it go away, but instead he tears his mouth from mine, staring down at me, our breathing filling the small space between us.

“Do I taste like him?” he demands, his voice gravelly, affected.

“What?” I gasp. Alarm bells go off in my head. “How do you know I kissed him?”

“We both know you did a whole lot more than kiss him, sweetheart, and that kiss was to make sure when you remember him, you know the difference between him and me.” He rolls away, sitting on the edge of the bed, giving me his back, his shoulders bunched with tension.

I sit and clasp the blanket to my chest. “Kayden—”

“Not now,” he says, standing and scrubbing his hand through his hair as he walks away, disappearing into a doorway I assume leads to the bathroom.

Stunned, I stare after him, not sure what to think or feel. We both know you did a whole lot more than kiss him. I do know, but he shouldn’t. Unless he’s him, or I ran my mouth in my drug-induced sleep. And if I did, what did I say? Will it give me a clue to figure out his identity or mine? I have to find out.

I lift the blanket and cringe at the reminder that I’m naked, blushing at the idea of him undressing me, which is absolutely silly. My breast was just in the man’s hand. I spot a throw blanket lying across a gray chair by the window, but I’m not getting it unless I walk over there in my birthday suit, which isn’t the way I want to have a conversation with Kayden. And we need to talk. Deciding there is really only one way to do this, I take a deep breath and decide to go for it.

Tossing off the covers, I rush to the chair, snatch the blanket, and wrap it around myself, letting out a sigh of relief when my task is complete without Kayden’s return. The shower comes on, and I bite my lip at the idea that those pants of his are not still on, and he too is naked, beautifully naked from what I’ve seen so far. In light of this assumption, and the obvious open-door invitation that isn’t about conversation, I hesitate in my pursuit, but decide the situation could be in my favor if I can resist the temptation to end up wet and at his mercy. I need answers, and while he’s trapped and unable to shut me down is the best time to get them.

Giving myself no time to chicken out, I dart forward and enter the magnificent all-white bathroom. I pause inside the doorway, a giant sunken tub to my left and a double shower to my right, with clear glass panels. My mouth goes dry at the sight of Kayden’s amazing, tight freaking backside, and further confirmation that I was right. He is beautiful and he has a tattoo on his back. Skulls, I think, and suddenly skulls are really, really sexy.

“Did you come to join me or just stare at my ass?” he asks without turning.

“I thought there would be a curtain or smoked glass.”

He rotates to face me, and I gasp, giving him my back. He, in turn, gives me one of those deep, raspy laughs. “Careful, sweetheart,” he warns. “I could drag you in here with me and you’d never see me coming.”

My heart leaps at the threat I have no doubt he’ll act on, and I turn around, rushing toward him, and pressing my back against the shower door to hold it shut. “What did I say about that man when I was drugged?”

“Not a damn thing.”

I turn to face him, forgetting he’s gloriously naked, until of course, he’s standing in front of me gloriously naked, but somehow I stay my course. “You said we both know I did more than kiss him.”

He stares at me, his eyes glinting hard, the pulse of the shower spray the only sound between us. One second, two, ten. He shuts off the water, giving me no warning as he shoves open the door, forcing me to back up. I’ve barely righted my footing before he steps out of the shower and onto the mat. My mouth goes dry at the sight of all that water clinging to all the beautiful parts of him. I’m spellbound by the drops tracking over his impressive six-pack and lower . . . lower . . . My head jerks up. He arches a brow, his lips quirking in cynical amusement. “I . . . don’t know why I just did that. I mean, I do, but—”

“Because you want me, like I want you, but you have questions. Well, guess what. So do I, sweetheart.” He grabs a towel off the rack and dries his hair, leaving all his manly hotness on display.

My instinct is to turn, but there is a glint in his eyes that is one part challenge and one part intimidation, and I do not let him win. I lift my chin, refusing to let my eyes wander again. “If I didn’t tell you anything about that man, why did you say we both know I did a whole lot more than kiss him?”

He wraps the towel around his waist, his damp hair teasing his defined cheeks, accenting those cutting blue eyes. “Are you saying you didn’t?”

“Did I say something that made you think I did?”

“Are you saying you didn’t?”

“Stop answering my questions with more questions.”

“Then give me an answer.”

“I could say the same to you,” I snap. “I had one pain-induced memory of that man. One. Just one, Kayden.”

“That’s not an answer I’m looking for.”

“You already know the answer. He was . . .” I stop, not sure how to fill in the blank.

“Your lover,” he supplies.

“No,” I say quickly, the word lover somehow too good for that man. “He was not my lover.”

“But you had sex with him.”

An image of me tied to that bed has me gripping the blanket a little tighter. “My memory had nothing to do with sex.”

“Then what was it about?”

“Control,” I say, no hesitation in me. “Power.”

His eyes sharpen. “Did he hurt you, Ella?”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” I try to twist away from him, but his hands encircle my waist.

“What did he look like?”

“I couldn’t see his face.”

“What could you see?”

“I told you—”

“What could you see?” he presses.

“That’s private.”

“Not when my life is on the line, right along with yours.”

“It’s private and it’s not about what I saw anyway. It’s more what I felt.”

“Which was what?”

“I told you. He scares me.”

He narrows his eyes on me. “ ‘Please don’t be him,’ ” he says, repeating my words from the night before.

“I’d just had the flashback, Kayden, and the drugs and the pain made me feel helpless.”

He stares at me, blue eyes like pure ice. “Got it,” he says, setting me away from him. “Your clothes are under the sink, and the bag on the counter is hair color. Fix the streaks so it’s not obvious you colored it.”

“So no red. No going back to me.” But even as I say the words, I know it’s not possible, no matter how much I want it to be.

“You can’t even remember who he is. You can’t have you back until you figure him out. Come downstairs when you’re done. We’re moving to my house.”

“Your house? But what about Gallo? Won’t he come looking for me there?”

“I told you. I have a plan.”

“But—”

His hands come down on my arms, and he backs me up and sets me on the edge of the tub. “The only thing I’m going to explain to you while we’re both half-naked is how easily I could fuck you until you don’t remember your name that you just remembered. And I don’t think either of us wants you forgetting anything more than you already have.”

His hands fall from my arms, leaving me chilled in their wake, and I try to grab him, to pull him back and force him to talk to me, but he’s already exiting the bathroom, leaving me stunned and unsure of what just happened all over again. Holding the blanket around me, I listen to his movement in the bedroom, wishing I knew what to do next. But I don’t know what he wants from me. I don’t know what I want from him. Actually, maybe I do. I want to be able to trust him and he wants me to trust him. That’s why he shoved a gun into my hand at the church. I’m pretty sure he thinks it didn’t matter at all. But it did. I just can’t be a fool and pretend that couldn’t have been a gamble that went his way. I don’t know how to get to a place of true trust until I get my memory back.

I stand up and decide I have to try to talk to Kayden again, though I really don’t know what to say. I walk to the open door, pausing in the archway to find him fully dressed and sitting on a chair to put on his boots. He stands at the sight of me, and we stare at each other, the look in his eyes downright chilly. He doesn’t speak. I think he’s waiting for me to say whatever I came in here to say, and I toss around possible ways to clear the air, discarding every option. I’m pretty sure anything I say will be wrong no matter what.

Date: 2016-03-03; view: 628