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“Were you thinking about it?”

“You didn’t give me time to think about anything.”

“You didn’t say you needed to think. You said you wanted to talk to me. So let’s go inside where it’s warm and talk.”

“I like the cold,” I declare, darting around him into the open space, and only when I have several safe steps between us do I turn to face him, as he does me.

“You didn’t like it last night.”

“I like it now,” I say. “I like it a lot. It’s real, when not much else is.”

His eyes glint. “Why do I know that’s about me?”

“It’s about everything, including you. It’s about you feeling familiar when you say you aren’t. And me believing I’m Ella, but I’m not in the passport system. Now I’m Rae Eleana. She’s not real, and yet she’s me.”

“A name doesn’t define you. We talked about this.”

“A name is a part of the identity I’ve lost. Someone just snapped their fingers and I was gone.” Laughter bubbles from my lips, bitter, almost hysterical. “It might have been me. How brutal is that, when I’d do anything to have me back right now? So you see, I need the cold. The rain. I need things that are definable. That are real.”

His eyes flash, and before I even know he’s moved, I’m crushed against his chest, the fingers of one hand tangled in my hair, the other molding me to him. “How’s this for real?” he murmurs, his mouth claiming mine, his tongue sweeping past my teeth in a deep stroke I feel in every part of me. A moan escapes my lips, and I both hate him and crave him in this moment. He knows it, too, deepening the kiss, his tongue doing a slow, seductive dance against mine. I want to fight. I want to push him away, and the more I can’t, the angrier I become. He just keeps making me angry. Keeps caressing me with his seductive tongue, keeps making me want more. And when he does tear his mouth from mine, he softly declares, “That was real. I’m real. And you are not alone.”

“Until I am again. Matteo just set you free.”

He leans me against a beam, one hand pressed above my head, his leg nestled between mine. “And you think that means what?”

“I . . . You’re out.”

“I was in from the minute you opened your eyes and looked at me in that alleyway; I just didn’t know it yet. So if you think I’m done with you, sweetheart, you’re wrong. I’ve barely gotten started.”

Suddenly he is my hero, and that means my instincts to trust him were right. It also means I have to trust my instincts about that box and that gun. “I need to go underground. If you can lend me money—”

“No. You stay with me. I’ll protect you.”

“And who’s going to protect you?”

“Sweetheart, I have nine lives and I’ve only used four.” He links our fingers. “Come with me.” He starts to move.

I dig in my heels. “No. No. Stop. Please.”

He turns back into me, his hands rubbing my arms. “You’re shivering. Let’s go inside.”

He’s right. I am. “Not because I’m cold. I can’t stay here. There are things—”

“You can and you are. End of subject.”

The command in his voice hits a nerve in some deep, dark part of me, and I do not like it. “Are you protecting me or keeping me prisoner?”

His eyes narrow, yellow flecks of heat in their depths. “I’m not the man who hurt you. I’m the one who’s fucking keeping you alive, and I can’t do that if you aren’t with me.”

“You don’t understand.”

“ ‘Please don’t be him,’ ” he says, quoting me again. “I understand fine. You can’t get past the fear that I’m him. I’m not him.”

I grab handfuls of his shirt. “I know you’re not him,” I hiss. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you and you wouldn’t listen.” I drop his shirt and try to scoot away again.

He’s still not having it, his hands bracing my hips, his legs shackling mine. “Who is he?” he says, his tone hard.

“I still don’t remember.”

“Yet you suddenly know he’s not me.”

“I never thought he was you.”

“Bullshit.”

Adrenaline is buzzing through me at this point, and I don’t even try to contain my anger. “Bullshit yourself, Kayden. You still aren’t listening. You’re attacking. So hear this. I have to leave. In case you still don’t get it: I have to leave.”

His fingers close around my wrists, grounding me in a way I don’t understand, his tone a soft caress that is still stronger than I feel, as he promises, “I’m listening now. Talk to me.”

His voice is silk, his eyes warm, and the contrast in this gentleness and the wolf that would kill for me undoes me. My eyes and chest start to burn and I lower my head to his shoulder. He releases my hands, his settling on my hair. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“It’s bad,” I whisper.

His hands come down on my head and he lifts it, forcing my eyes to his. “I’m no angel, just like I’m no hero.”

“And yet you’re trying to save me.”

“No ‘trying’ about it. I am going to save you.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “Tell me.”

“I think I killed him. At the very least, I tried.”

To his credit, he doesn’t so much as blink. “The man in your flashback?”

“Yes. The man in my flashback. I had a gun, Kayden.”

He takes my hand, his bigger one swallowing mine, and starts for the door, and this time I don’t try to stop him. My head is spinning, and not from the pain. Because somehow speaking my fears makes them more real. I might have killed someone and I can’t breathe with the idea. I try and I just can’t get air into my lungs, let alone process where Kayden is leading me. I blink and we are inside a small, round room wrapped in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and I don’t even remember how we got here.

Kayden sits me in one of two gray leather chairs, kneeling in front of me. “Easy, sweetheart,” he says, his hands settling on my legs. “We’ll deal with this. Tell me what you know.”

I finally draw in a deep breath and let it trickle from my lips. “I was in his room and I knew he was about to return. I was pacing and giving myself a pep talk that ended in me walking to a dresser and opening a drawer. Inside was a gun.”

“And then what?”

“I meant to hurt him.” My words are confident, strong—the way I wish I were about everything, not just murder.

“But you don’t know that you did?”

“Yes. No. Yes.”

He arches a brow. “Okay. Let’s move to something cut and dry. Do you remember what he looks like?”

“No.”

“What did you do with the gun?”

“I just remember looking at it and knowing I had to use it.”

“Nothing else? You’re sure?”

“That’s it.”

“We don’t know that you even tried to kill him.”

“I know what I feel.”

“You also keep saying I’m familiar beyond what is the truth.”

“No one else I’ve met feels like you do to me.”

“Case in point,” he says. “Your mind is sending you messages you aren’t always reading right. You can’t jump to conclusions until you fully recover your memory.”

“What if it was Niccolo?”

“He’s alive.”

“What if I tried to kill him?”

He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his phone, punches a couple of buttons, and then offers it to me. “Niccolo.”

I close my hand over his and take the phone, staring down at the image of a man in his thirties with curly dark hair and dark eyes, dressed in an expensive fitted suit. And I wait for the familiar feeling to follow, but it doesn’t.

“Anything?” Kayden asks.

I shake my head and look up at him. “No, but you just said my memory is not working right. Maybe it’s not. I mean, Niccolo is hunting me.”

“I’m not convinced it’s because you tried to kill him.”

“Then why would he be chasing me?” I ask.

“That’s what we need to find out.”

“What if ‘he’ was someone close to Niccolo?”

“We’ll go through pictures of everyone close to him once we’re at my place.”

“Go home with you?” I say. “Are you crazy? You have to see that I can’t do that now. I have to go underground.”

“Gallo won’t leave this alone if you do. He’ll chase you down and document it all.”

“I can call him. I’ll convince him I’m fine.”

“He won’t settle for a phone call that could be coerced. Even seeing you in person, he’s going to check every piece of your puzzle. You need to hide in plain sight, exactly where no one will expect Ella to be. And you do it with me.”

“Adriel could have died instead of those men. Anyone around me is in danger.”

“They have to find you first, and obviously I don’t believe that’s going to happen.” He stands and takes me with him. “Let’s give Matteo his house back and go to mine.”

“You’re sure I shouldn’t go underground?”

“I never say anything I’m not sure of.” He reaches down and laces his fingers with mine and starts walking toward the door, and I let him for one reason and one reason only: if he’s wrong, we’re both dead. I can’t think of any agenda he could have that makes that work for him.

An hour later, Kayden and I are in the Rolls-Royce again, and he pulls us out of the garage, into a downpour. “I can’t believe it’s still raining like this,” I say, watching the splatter hit the front window over and over.

“Be glad it is,” he says, cutting onto a narrow road I assume leads to one that’s more drivable. “Because I promise you, the weather made the search for you a little less aggressive and bought us some time.” He motions to the file. “Test time. Full name?”

“Rae Eleana Ward,” I answer as he turns onto yet another narrow road.

“Birthday?”

“July 20, 1988,” I answer, and suck in a breath as he maneuvers the car around a corner and onto a path so narrow I am certain we’re going to crash. “Holy crap,” I say, grabbing the door handle. “Are all the streets this narrow?”

“Most of them, yes.” He cuts me a sideways look. “Makes you appreciate my motorcycle a little more now, doesn’t it?”

“I’d rather walk, thank you.”

“Motorcycles are fast and efficient. You’ll get used to riding them.”

“No,” I say, a thought hitting me. “I can’t get used to anything. My passport is only good for ninety days.”

“I have a plan,” he says. “I always have a plan.”

“Matteo?”

“Yes. Matteo.”

We take another crazy narrow turn and I cover my eyes. “Yep. Walking for me.”

“Walking’s certainly popular here. In fact, you can’t drive in certain neighborhoods, this one included, unless you live in the area and have approved plates.”

“What neighborhood is this?”

“It’s called Trastevere, and thanks to several American colleges in the area, it has a large population of English speakers.”

“I’m relieved to know I’m not such an outsider here. Do people speak English near your house?”

“It’s not as English-friendly as Trastevere, but it’s close. And we’re here.” He cuts into a driveway, and I gape at the towering structure in front of me, two steps barely visible in the midst of the rapidly falling rain.

“Kayden. It’s a castle.”

“This area is largely medieval, but yes. It’s a castle, and it has one of the few garages in the neighborhood.” He hits a button and a door begins to rise.

“I can’t imagine living in a castle,” I say. “Is it remodeled like Matteo’s place?”

He makes a disgusted sound and pulls out of the storm to drive down a ramp. “I wouldn’t destroy history the way Matteo has in a place that was once a work of art. I’ve done some restoration work, but made an effort to keep the original architecture in place.”

“How long have you lived here?” I ask. The garage is big enough to hold a mini car lot inside, and from what I can tell from the rows of sport vehicles and motorcycles, it does. He hits the button to seal us inside and kills the engine. “I inherited the castle five years ago.”

Inherited. The meaning of that word is unmistakable. Someone died, and some part of me aches with a hurt that runs deeper than the moment. I cut him a look to find him resting his wrist on the steering wheel, staring ahead. “Are you alone, like me?”

“Not like you,” he says, still not looking at me, his body rigid, like his voice. “No one I’ve lost is coming back.”

My gut twists into knots, and I look away, wondering about the family I may have lost. No. I have lost. “Mine are gone, too,” I say, my voice cracking with the admission.

“You don’t know that,” he says, and our heads turn at the same time, gazes colliding.

“I do. I just wish I had their memories to hold onto.”

“Memories are the enemies that never die,” he says, turning away and shoving open his door, leaving me with the pain carved in those words that I am fairly certain he didn’t want me to hear. But I did, and they speak to me, diving deep in my soul with the blood of my own loss, and taking root. I say I want my memories back, but I’m not so sure I really do. It’s an idea I reject as I shove open my door and stand.

Kayden is already at my side of the car, and I face him, the door between us. “If the memories die, so does everyone we loved. That might be okay with you, but it’s not to me.”

His jaw tics, but he offers me no agreement or disagreement, a wall firmly placed in between us as he says, “Let’s go inside.”

I step around the door, letting him shut it, my gaze scanning the four motorcycles to my right, and beyond them three cars with Jaguar logos. “Do you have a thing for Jaguars, or just cars in general?”

“Just the Jaguar F-TYPE, but I won’t turn down anything else that catches my eye.”

My attention shifts to a sleek, shiny blue sports car directly in front of the Rolls-Royce. And I walk toward it, stopping by the passenger’s door to examine the curve of the hood. Kayden steps to my side and I glance up at him. “How rich are you?”

“I inherited a substantial amount of money and I have my own.”

“Translation. You’re so crazy rich it’s almost dirty.”

He laughs, his eyes flashing with wicked heat. “I like everything a little dirty.”

I blush, having no doubt that’s true, and refocus on the fancy vehicle in front of us. “This isn’t a Jag, right? It’s a race car?”

“It’s a Pagani Zonda, and yes, it’s designed for the racetrack. They only make twenty to twenty-five a year.”

“Do I even want to know how much something like this costs?”

“A million dollars, give or take, but in my case, it was a gift for a job well done.”

I whirl around to face him. “What do you do to earn a car like this?”

“The client wanted to pay me in cash but I wanted the car. That was my price to do the job.”

I do not miss the way he’s dodged my direct question and I try again. “Price for what, Kayden? What do you do?”

“I work for a group called The Underground. We call ourselves Treasure Hunters. If the price is right, and in this case the car was the right price, we find just about anything for our clients.”

I remember the tattoo on Matteo’s arm that matches Kayden’s. “Does Matteo work for them, too?”

“Yes.”

“What about Nathan?”

“No.”

I dare to reach for his arm and study his tattoos, confirming that the one on his wrist is a square with a king chess piece inside. I glance up at him. “Matteo has this too.”

“Everyone in the Italian division of The Underground has it.”

My thumb caresses the script up his forearm. “And the writing.” I glance up at him. “What does it say?”

“It’s an Italian proverb. Once the game is over, the king and the pawn go back in the same box.”

I close my hand over the words, and it is as if they burn my palm. “In death we’re all equal.”

Surprise flickers in his eyes at my understanding of the meaning, but he’s no more surprised than I am. “Yes,” he confirms softly. “In death we are all equal.”

“Why that proverb?”

“It’s a reminder to us that no one, no matter how powerful, is better than The Underground.”

I reach for his other arm, and trace the image of a bird with bright blue extended wings etched across his wrist. “A hawk?”

“Right again.”

“Why a hawk, Kayden?” I ask, wanting, needing, to understand this man.

“It’s symbolic of me being a protector. I’m the leader of this division of The Underground, thus the protector of those reporting to me.”

“Like you’re protecting me.”

His eyes burn through me, and there is a swell of response in me that borders on longing. “Yes,” he agrees, a velvety quality to his voice. “Like I’m protecting you.”

I am seduced by this man, easily able to forget the questions in my mind, but I do not allow myself more oblivion to add to what is in my mind. “What kinds of things does The Underground find?”

“Whatever the client wants. It could be a car. A painting. A computer file, in Matteo’s case.”

“Do you break the law?”

There is a slight clench to his jaw, but his reply is instant. “Everything we do is not simple.”

The absence of denial is confirmation, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. “What did you find for the man who gave you the car?”

“His ex-wife, who ran off with his money.”

My throat thickens. “You found a person?”

“Yes,” he confirms, his expression unreadable. “I found a person.” Kayden covers my hand where it rests on his arm. “Just like I found you so no one else could. And no one else will. No amount of money will change that.”

I think of the car. “A million dollars is a lot of money.”

“I already have a lot of money.”

“What about the other members of The Underground?”

“The only ones who know about you are my inner circle; they won’t betray us. Besides, it would take a lot more than a million dollars to get the attention of any one of them.”

“What if it’s a lot more?”

“You’re safe. You have my word.” He releases me abruptly and steps back, and I can almost feel that wall slam between us again. “Let’s go inside.”

I frown, not sure what just happened, but then, this is my life, and what’s new? I want to ask, but one look at the steely set of his jaw and I decide better. I’ll figure him out inside. I walk toward the door, curious about his home, about him, this man who is my reluctant hero. I’m aware of him following me, and once I am at my destination, he is there too. My hand closes on the knob, but before I can turn it, he reaches around me, his hand covering mine, his warmth stealing the slight chill of the garage. “When I said you were safe,” he says softly, a hint of wickedness in his voice, “I meant from everyone but me.”

And somehow I know he’s testing me, asking for my trust when, for whatever reason, he doesn’t believe he deserves it. He doesn’t know what I know. Right, wrong, or dangerous, I already trust him. He steps back from me, and I don’t look back. I open the door and enter a corridor where a winding stone stairwell awaits me and start up the path that leads to both the king’s and the wolf’s domain. And with nothing but the clothes on my back and the purse he bought me, I am truly at his mercy.

ten

A wave of nerves settles deep in my belly and radiates lower and lower with each concrete step, and I really have no clue why. Oh yeah. I have a wolf at my back. A really sexy, rather cranky wolf, who I’m apparently about to be living with. In other words, he really does have me at his mercy, as he’s unapologetically made clear. So why am I not afraid of him? Nervous, yes. Afraid? No. Kayden does not scare me, and unlike last night, when I ran, I don’t seem to fear my lack of fear anymore. In fact, as I reach the top of the stairs and a huge dungeon-style dark wooden door greets me, my nerves are quickly replaced with the excitement of seeing the castle.

I quickly thumb down the door lever and shove it open, entering into a foyer with yet more stone beneath my feet, and I discover a giant winding staircase on the opposite side of the stunning room. In awe, I happily give Kayden space to enter behind me and cross to the center of the room, seeing towering dungeon doors to my left and right. Turning in a circle, I admire the intricate trim work around the walls with what appear to be handcrafted roses. There is a flicker of a memory in my mind that I reach for, though I do not believe it’s about this place, but another. He sent me roses. Dozens of roses. I frown, not sure where the words came from, but nothing else follows, and I let it go to look up and inspect the conical ceiling, with more of the same design dissecting it into quarters.

Kayden joins me, stopping in front of me, his eyes half veiled, his energy dark, his expression all hard lines and shadows. “It’s gorgeous,” I say, when he doesn’t speak. “How big is it?”

“There are three towers in total. The central tower behind us is about eight thousand square feet. The east and west towers, divided by this room, are both around six. Adriel, his sister, and the housekeeper live in the east. You’ll be staying with me in the west.”

I’ll be staying with him. This pleases me, though I suspect he simply wants to ensure I don’t lead him on another race through the rain and frigid temperatures.

“This way,” he says, motioning toward one of the dungeon doors.

I nod and follow him, watching as he keys in a code and then hits a button, and the massive wooden door begins to lift. “The door is code protected,” he tells me, “with an alarm if it’s breached. I change the code once a week, and each wing has its own code. Right now, ours is one-nine-eight-nine.”

“One-nine-eight-nine,” I repeat. “Got it. Is the central tower empty?”

“Adriel runs a high-end collectibles store out of it.”

“High-end collectibles?” I ask as we enter yet another foyer, with an archway directly in front of us that appears to lead to some sort of sitting room. “What do you mean by ‘high-end’?”

“Anything and everything, all high-dollar items, many of which are museum-worthy.”

“That can’t be as profitable as treasure hunting.”

“Yeah, well, his father was killed on a hunt two years ago when his sister was sixteen. She blames The Underground.”

We reach the next level and enter another foyer, and before he can continue forward, I grab his arm and stop walking. “He died because of a hunt?”

“Yes.”

“So what you do is dangerous.”

“We each choose the jobs we take, and accept the danger that comes along with them. Generally the higher the payday, the greater the risk.”

“And Adriel’s father, what was he after?”

“A file that proved a certain pharmaceutical company had faked the results to clinical studies to get FDA approval. Which I damn sure found and turned the payday into a trust for Giada. She gets it at twenty-five.”

“How much was it?”

“Ten million.”

I gape at the astounding figure he mentions so nonchalantly. “You gave her ten million dollars?”

“Yes.” Tightness forms around his mouth. “I gave her ten million dollars, but all that money doesn’t bring their father back, and it damn sure didn’t stop the pain.” There is a hint of rasp to his voice, and he cuts his gaze to indicate the room beneath the arch and the end of the topic. “You have to enter the living area to get to the kitchen. It’s well stocked, and Marabella, the housekeeper, picks up anything I need. She’ll do the same for you. She has a whiteboard on the counter to leave a note.” He points to the walkway forking left and right of the arch. “You’re left. I’m right.” He starts walking left.

I fall into step with him and enter a chilly corridor with high ceilings. We pass what looks like a library, and he motions to a set of stairs. “There’s a full gym on the next level if you want to work out. And this,” he says as we reach the door at the end of our path, “is your room.”

This is your room. The words echo in my head, and again, I have a memory of another time and place. He opens the door, and I enter ahead of Kayden to find myself in a much warmer room that is truly made for fairy tales. The spectacular bed is the centerpiece, thick, high posts of mahogany towering ridiculously high and draped with sheers. A white wooden fireplace is alight and sits to the left of the bed and directly in front of me, with a comfy-looking brown leather chair next to it.

“Marabella turned on the fireplace for you,” Kayden says, crossing the room to stand beside it. “It’s gas, one of the modernizations I made to the place a few years back, to offset how cold the castle can get.” He reaches for a switch and turns the fire off and then on. “Easy and effective.”

“Great. Thank you. It’s a wonderful room.” But I’m really thinking about him. Me. And that bed.

He motions to a rectangular, narrow, floor-to-ceiling window in the corner. “It doesn’t open or offer much light.” Next, he indicates the flat-screen TV on the wall above a heavy wooden dresser. “The remote’s in the dresser drawer, and there’s a mini-fridge on this side of the bed stocked with drinks and snacks.” He advances on me again, and while the man in my flashbacks moves with grace, Kayden is all loose-legged, rebellious swagger. And I like it. I like it a lot. “We can go shopping for anything you need once the rain dies down,” he adds, stopping in front of me. “In the meantime, Marabella took the liberty of picking up a few things that you’ll find in the closet.”

“She didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to do that. Thank you, Kayden.” I lift my hand to touch him, and catch myself, folding my arms in front of me instead. Awareness flickers in his eyes, and I know he knows what I almost did and still want to do.

We stand there, a weighted silence ticking between us that has nothing to do with my words, and everything to do with the bed sitting behind him. He steps closer, but doesn’t touch me, his gaze drifting to my mouth and back up. “You have no idea how much I want to strip you naked and throw you on that bed. But you were right about memories. They keep the past we don’t want to forget alive, and they remind me of all the reasons I’m bad for you. And why I need to walk out of this room before I don’t give a damn anymore.”

And to my utter shock, that’s exactly what he does. He steps around me and starts walking. I turn in time to watch him disappear into the hallway, the door shutting behind him. Shutting me inside. I’m not sure how long I stand there staring at the space where he was moments before, willing him to return, the way I did in the bathroom when we played out a scene almost like this one. But he doesn’t return, and I finally turn to look around the room that is the closest thing to home I have. A memory surfaces, transporting me to another room. Another house. And that man.

He opens the huge double doors at the top of the stairs and motions me forward. I step into the glamorous room with heavy pale wooden furnishings and a floral love seat in the corner beside a window. It’s amazing, and so unlike anything I have back home. I turn and face him.

“It pleases you?” he asks.

“Of course it pleases me. Thank you for letting me stay with you. I’ll go to the passport office tomorrow and try to figure out how to get home.”

“Don’t rush on my behalf. In fact, I think I might benefit from having an angel such as yourself in the house. It will keep the devil in me in check.” His eyes sweep my body and lift. “Or perhaps not.” He turns and walks to the door, pausing without turning. “You should lock your door.”

I smile as he exits, quite certain I will not be locking the door. In fact, I might just leave it open.

I blink back to the present, and I don’t even have to ask how I ended up leaving that guest room for his. I probably did open the damn door. I rotate and face the one to this room, and while I do not feel any fear or need to lock myself inside, I hadn’t then either, and this version of me does not wish to be as stupid as the one of the past. I rush toward it to turn the lock, but there isn’t one. I rotate again and lean on the hard surface, irritated at the doubt rolling through my mind. That man is not Kayden, and I don’t need a lock. I was naked in a bed with him and he didn’t take advantage of me.

My stomach interrupts my one-on-one chat with myself with a groan of demand. I push off the door and round the bed to note the time from the clock by the bed—five o’clock—unable to remember the last time I ate. I find the fridge Kayden mentioned and go to my knees in front of it, discovering it to be quite well-stocked as promised. I grab a mini chocolate milk and an apple, and sit Indian-style to begin eating, but I’m only a few bites in when my mind flickers with the image of me tied to that damn bed.

I down the milk and put the rest of the apple back in the fridge before standing and removing my purse to set it on the marble-topped nightstand. That’s when I spot the pink leather journal lying in the center of the bed, along with a pen. The bed is so high I have to go up on my toes to climb on top, and once I’m there I grab the journal and pen. Settling on my back, I open the first page, and to my surprise there’s writing:

Date: 2016-03-03; view: 566