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“Wake up!” she shouts. “Wake up!”

“Ella. Ella. Holy hell!”

Kayden’s worried voice brings me back to the present and I blink to find myself sitting on the floor of the dressing room, clutching the ballerina slippers to my chest, Kayden squatting in front of me. “I’m okay,” I rasp out, but I’m trembling all over, deep, hard shakes that I feel clear to my soul.

Kayden doesn’t hear me though. He’s on his phone. “Nathan,” he says. “Ella passed out. She’s—”

I grab the phone and put it to my ear. “Okay. She’s . . . I’m okay. Don’t worry.” I drop the phone, dampness clinging to my cheeks. “I’m okay.”

His hands pat my arms. “You scared the shit out of me. Your teeth are chattering.”

“It was a . . . flashback. I just . . . I . . . It was bad. Give me . . . a moment to get past it.” I inhale, and I swear the breath feels like glass cutting my throat.

“We need to get you out of here,” Kayden says. “Can you stand?”

I grab his shirt and twist it in my fingers. “I need to tell you what I remembered. I just . . . I need to say it so I don’t forget it. Well . . . no. I won’t forget it. I just need to say it.”

“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m listening.”

“My father . . .” I inhale and try to calm the trembling running through my body. “Military. He was military, but I think some sort of special unit.” My words are stronger now. I feel the edge easing. “The memory,” I continue. “My father was home for once. I was seventeen.” I swipe at a tear dripping down my cheek and a cold, cold calmness begins to roll through me. “Men came into the house and my father made me and my mother hide in the pantry, like you hid in the closet, Kayden. No wonder you’re so familiar.”

He cups my cheek and I lean into the touch as he says, “You were right. We do know each other. You don’t have to talk about this now.”

“I need to. I can’t explain it, but I need to.” I pause to let the images solidify in my mind. “I heard the struggle between my father and the men in our house. There were shots, but they were muffled. Silencers. I knew they used silencers. After that, there was quiet, and I had the feeling my father needed me. I fought my mother to be free of her hold and I got out of the pantry and he was lying on the ground, bleeding. Dying.” My fingers dig into Kayden’s arms, which I didn’t even realize I was holding. “My father was holding a gun, and the two men who attacked him were still in the house.” My eyes meet Kayden’s. “I killed them, and my only regret is I didn’t do it sooner.” I push to my feet and Kayden follows. “I don’t regret it, the way you said you wouldn’t regret it if you found the people who killed Kevin and Elizabeth.”

His arm wraps my waist, and only then do I realize I was wobbling and he’s kept me from falling. “You saved your mother’s life.”

“But not his. Not my father’s.”

“And no one knows what that feels like more than me.” He wipes the tears from my cheeks. “Let’s go home.”

Home. Now he says home and I want to be happy about that, but there is the ball in my chest that demands answers and actions. “We’re supposed to see the profiler.”

“It can wait, sweetheart.”

“It can’t wait. My father raised a fighter, and I’m going to fight.” I shove against him. “Let go. I need to stand on my own.”

He hesitates, but he releases me and I’m steady now, rejecting all weakness. I hold up the slippers. “I need these. Apparently I’m good with a gun and in ballet slippers. And I want to go to the shooting range, Kayden. Can the profiler meet us there?”

“Ella, I don’t think—”

My hand flattens on his chest. “I need to do this now. Please.”

His hand covers mine, his look probing, concerned, and whatever he sees, the result is his agreement. “I’ll have him meet us there.”

Thirty minutes later, after a silent drive to the outskirts of the city, in which I replay my father’s death far too many times, we arrive at the shooting range and sit at a small cafeteria-style table in the snack area. Tyler, a good-looking thirty-something blond American man, sits across from us.

“I’m ready when you’re ready,” Tyler says, opening his sketch pad, and it’s then that I notice the tattoo on his arm. “You’re a Hunter,” I say.

He glances at Kayden, who replies for him. “He transferred from a division in America.”

“And now you have resources inside the FBI,” I assume, shocked at just how far The Underground’s reach truly is.

“We always have,” Kayden surprises me by saying. “That’s how I met Tyler in the first place. Let’s get this drawing done.”

“Tell me about the shape of David’s face,” Tyler instructs, and I hesitate, suddenly reminded of how much Kayden hates the topic of my ex-fiancé, or whatever David was.

Kayden’s hand settles on my leg, a silent show of unity and understanding, just as his silence on the ride over here had been strength and comfort, rather than demand and questions. “Square,” I say. “Or his jaw was square and his cheekbones very defined.”

I watch as Tyler starts drawing, showing me his efforts, and when I give an approving nod, he asks, “Nose?”

“Straight, but not large.”

We go on like this for fifteen minutes, until I am staring at a picture of the man from my memory. I glance at Kayden. “That’s him.”

Kayden eyes Tyler. “Scan that and send it to Matteo.”

“Will do, boss.” Tyler pushes to his feet.

“Wait,” I urge. “Can you draw a necklace if I describe it?”

Kayden gives him a nod and he sits back down. “I’m ready.”

I describe the butterfly, and in a matter of minutes he’s drafted an exact duplication of my memories. I am cold inside. So very cold, and the pulse in my temple seems to grow faster and deeper.

“The necklace is the key to everything,” I say, staring at it, not at either of the men. “Find it, and you’ll find out why Niccolo is after me.” I stand and walk to the shooting range’s registration counter, filling out my paperwork with one of the few English-speaking attendants.

“Gun preference?” the man asks when I return the forms to him.

There is no hesitation in my reply. “Do you have a Ruger LC9?” It’s the gun my father had me practice with.

“We do, and I must say that’s an excellent choice for a petite woman like yourself.”

I don’t reply, remembering a similar comment from my father. The attendant hands me earphones, safety glasses, and a small box with my weapon inside, and while I am aware of Kayden’s continued absence, I am focused on one thing. I need a gun in my hands. Adrenaline surges through me, and with it, a whirlwind of dark, edgy emotions. Anger. Loss. Guilt. More anger. I walk to the shooting area and stop at the first booth available, setting my box down and putting on my glasses and earphones.

Kayden steps behind me, but I don’t turn. I grasp the gun and aim at the target, and for a moment I’m back in that kitchen, firing at those men. I picture the man in black falling face first. I picture my father lying in his own blood with my mother sobbing over him. My finger comes down on the trigger and I empty the gun, every shot hitting within target range.

Then I settle the gun back inside the case, seal the lid, and take off my gear, tossing it into a basket next to me.

I face Kayden. “Is that accurate enough for you?” I don’t wait for an answer. “I’m done being afraid. I’m going to get answers about who I am, and I’m going to do it with whatever force is necessary.”

“I’m taking care of this for you,” he insists.

“Not anymore. You can stand by my side, step aside, or try to lock me up—but you’d better be sure I don’t have a gun if you do.” I shove the box at him and take off walking. He falls into step with me but doesn’t speak, dropping the gun off at the counter as we head to the door. We exit the building, gravel crunching under our boots, neither of us in a coat. I barely feel the rapidly dropping temperature, but I am aware of the unison of our steps. I stop at my side of the Jag and he opens my door, but before I can enter, he pulls me against him.

“I’m standing in front of you, protecting you, whether you like it or not.” He releases me and all but sets me in the car, shutting me inside.

My heart is racing, a new rush of adrenaline assaulting my body, and the instant he is in the car, the door sealed, we whirl on each other, our gazes colliding in a battle of wills. “I don’t need you to protect me,” I grind out through clenched teeth.

“Too fucking bad.”

“I am not your responsibility.”

“Yes. You are.”

“Says you.”

“That’s right. Says me. And if you think that because you can handle a gun, you can handle the mob, you’re sadly mistaken. You’re running on heartache and adrenaline right now. And you need to come down.”

“I just remembered killing two men, and watching my father die in a pool of his own blood. How the hell am I supposed to come down?”

“The same way I do. Sex.” His fingers twine in my hair and he drags my mouth to his, his tongue licking into my mouth, a hot rasp of demand. I lean into the kiss, needing the outlet, needing it so damn bad.

“Don’t you dare coddle me,” I hiss when his mouth leaves mine.

“You want dirty, sweetheart, I’ll give you dirty.” He releases me and starts the car.

twenty-one

Kayden and I enter the castle without speaking, sexual tension crackling between us, and he is right. I need to come down from the adrenaline rush. I need the escape I know he can give me and that he claims sex can deliver. Sex with him. And it’s not just about the escape. It’s about honesty and choice, about the freedom for him to be him and me to be whatever I feel I need to be right here and now with him. We climb the stairs side by side and he doesn’t touch me. I know it’s to drive anticipation, a way to claim control, and I’d rather he have it than I have this firestorm of emotions inside. With every step we take, the promise of an experience that will be dark, erotic, and all-consuming echoes through me.

My pulse races as we approach the door to his bedroom, our bedroom, and Kayden is at my back, reaching around me to open it, and still he does not touch me. I cross the threshold and he is quick to follow, a wolf at my back, and I am most definitely his willing prey. I whirl around to face him, and he kicks the door shut. “Get naked,” he orders, tearing his shirt over his head, giving me a wicked, hot view of taut skin over lean, hard muscle.

I wet my lips and turn away, walking to the rug in front of the fireplace as it flickers to life. There is no hesitation in me as I undress, and oh how I feel the heat of his stare, a heavy caress that might as well be his tongue for the way it licks every intimate part of me. I toss away my bra and step out of my panties, but when I’m about to face him again, his hand comes down on my back.

“On your knees,” he commands, his voice low, sultry in its demand, but the order stirs a memory I try to reject. On my knees. A tight knot forms in my chest as my mind takes me back to that night in the club. To the woman tied up. To me tied up and the punishment, and the pain, that followed. But this is not then or him. This is Kayden. This is a man I think I’m falling in love with, who I trust. He won’t hurt me. There is no question of this in my mind or heart, and it infuriates me that the monster of my past has invaded this night.

Rebelling against my own weakness, I lower myself to my knees, but Kayden doesn’t follow. Seconds tick by, and I listen for every sound that does not come, waiting for a touch I desperately crave, goose bumps rising on my skin that have nothing to do with being cold, and everything to do with how much I want Kayden. It is amazing to me how alive my nerve endings are, how my nipples tighten and my sex clenches, when he has done nothing but issue a command. That is the power of this man over me, but there is no fear. There is only arousal. And the promise of pleasure.

Finally, though, he kneels in front of me, naked, magnificently male, his thick shaft at my hip. There is power in knowing I arouse him, and that no matter what control I give him, it is never all his.

His finger slides under my chin, that one touch shivering through me and tightening my nipples, his gorgeous, pale blue eyes glinting with what manages to be lust and tenderness, when I never knew two such things could coexist. “The things I want to do to you are many, and not enough. But tonight, I have only one purpose. One goal. I want you to conquer a fear tonight.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Not of me, but this isn’t about me, now, is it? It’s about a past you might not fully realize, but it affects you and us.”

“You’re talking about him—and he doesn’t belong here with us.”

“He, like Elizabeth, has to be here, because those pieces of us we can’t escape. We shouldn’t try. They’re part of who we are, separately and together. We can’t pretend the things they make us feel don’t impact who we are.”

As much as I wish to reject this idea, Kayden is right, and he is only trying to make me, and us, stronger. “What are you suggesting?”

“I have no intention of destroying us, Ella. Just the opposite. I want to give you a memory of being tied up that isn’t about punishment, but trust and pleasure. I want to bind your wrists.” He holds up a black silk sash. “This is your choice, though. Say yes or say no. It changes nothing and it does not mean we won’t try again later. There is no pressure. This isn’t our only night together.”

My chest is tight with the magnitude of this moment and the mix of nerves, arousal, and tenderness this man stirs in me. “Yes is my answer,” I whisper, but as sure as I am as I issue my reply, a dark memory tears at the back of my mind, words finding my lips that I did not even know existed. “But I will never call you Master.”

Surprise registers on his handsome face, his arm circling my waist, molding me close to him, that silk sash dangling at my hip, teasing my skin. “How do you even know that word?”

The question is a soft demand I can’t really answer. “It just came to me. I think . . . I know he made me call him that.”

“Made you? I’ve played around in that world, Ella, and you don’t make someone call you Master. It’s a choice. The submissive is ultimately in control, and I have no interest in your being my submissive. Because I like control during sex doesn’t make me your Master. You call me Kayden, or asshole; I don’t care. I care about your pleasure and your safety.” His tone is vehement, anger barely contained in its depths, and I can feel the thunder of his heart beneath my palm where my hand has settled. “Tell me you understand.”

“Yes. And it matters to me in ways I’m not sure I even understand yet. I don’t want to say no to you, Kayden.”

“But you can. Even after you say yes.” He cups my face and repeats those words. “Even after you say yes.”

“I know.”

“Now your promise.”

“I promise.”

He kisses me, a deep caress of his tongue against mine that entices, seduces, but I taste the gentleness in him, the worry, that places him, and us, so far from his version of “dirty” I am not sure we can find it again. “Don’t you dare coddle me,” I demand, shoving against his chest and grabbing the silk sash he’s allowed to fall to the floor. “Tie me up.”

“Not tonight.”

“Yes, damn it. Tonight. You promised me a new memory, and I want it. Don’t take that from me.”

“Ella—”

“I need to face my fears. I need to know he doesn’t win.”

His expression tightens, his eyes probing mine, searching. I hold out my wrists. “Trust,” I say. “I’m giving it to you. Take it.”

“I want far more trust than I’m sure you should give me.”

“What does that mean?”

His chest expands, thick lashes lowering, forming dark circles on his cheeks, my eyes lingering there a moment, and I think . . . I think the past he’s talked about being a part of us has found its place in this moment, and for him that is guilt, and mistrust of himself.

“I trust you,” I whisper, holding out my hands.

He doesn’t look at me but he shackles my wrists, easily holding them with one hand while he twines the silk around them with the other. And when his gaze finally collides with mine, the man I want and need is back within reach, darker flecks of blue heating the pale blue of his stare. “It’s loose enough that you can slide out of it if you absolutely want to. Next time it won’t be.”

The way he says ‘next time it won’t be’ sends an erotic thrill down my spine. I don’t know why or how it is possible, but being at Kayden Wilkens’s mercy is sexy and exciting, not terrifying. Not about fear and degradation. “Understand?” he asks, and it’s more than a question. It’s a clear opportunity for me to use the word no he has stressed is mine to own and control.

“Yes,” I say, choosing the word to send a message. I’m making my choice, and trusting him is that choice.

“Be clear, Ella. I’m going to push tonight. Not the way I’m capable of pushing you, but you won’t argue with me on that.” He tightens his grip around my hands. “You will not win that war. Now you say ‘yes.’ ”

“Yes,” I whisper, the absoluteness in him too intense to fight.

“That time will come, and I’m not ready yet to find out how you’ll react. Not because of some man in your past. Because of me. Because right now, I don’t deserve that kind of trust.”

“Kayden—”

He kisses me, fingers twining roughly, erotically in my hair, and I taste the demons of his past, the inner war he battles but will not fully allow me to fight with him. I lean into him, trying to feel him close, but he is quick to deny me that touch, and almost as if he is punishing me for trying, he tears his mouth from mine, leaving me panting for the more that is now out of reach.

He moves behind me, the thick ridge of his erection nestling between my thighs, pressing into the silky wet heat of my sex, teasing me with how easily he could be inside me. And I want him inside me. His hands caress up and down my sides, leaving me cold where he is not touching and hot where he is. I arch into him, my breasts thrusting in the air, a silent plea for his hands, but I am granted only a side brush, a light tease of fingers on my pebbled nipples. A soft brush of fingers on my clit never fully realized.

“Kayden,” I whisper, squeezing my thighs around his shaft, the need for everything when he gives me so little pure torture I can do nothing to resolve.

“Lean forward,” he urges, a command in his voice. “Elbows on the rug.” He doesn’t give me time to digest the order, pressing me forward, hand flattening on my back, the position thrusting my backside into the air, leaving me vulnerable and exposed, but there is no time to think of what might happen. He cups my backside, caressing me over and over, and his words play in my mind. I will tease you. Bite you. Spank you. As if he is in my head, his palm lifts and comes back down with a fast smack that is not painful, but shocking, and has me yelping and trying to sit up. But that hand of his is back on my spine, holding me down.

“Trust,” he says. “Do I have it or not?”

I bite my bottom lip, willing my heart rate to calm. He hasn’t hurt me. Not even close, and I whisper, “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

He smacks the other cheek. Not a spanking. No pain. Just a slight sting that delivers an erotic thrill and the promise of so much more, if not now, soon. Too soon. Not soon enough. My sex clenches fiercely and I want the hidden part of him he still denies, but I know he will not give it to me tonight. He will not rush this and as much as I want to change that, there is safety, there is trust I can give him, in knowing he is being cautious with me.

His hands drag up and down my sides, and then finally, his body curves around mine, and he is hot and hard between my thighs, sliding the head of his cock along the slick line of my sex. “I need—”

“I know what you need,” he promises, but he does not give it to me. He slides his shaft back and forth, the nerve endings he is touching lighting up like the fire burning in front of me. I sink lower into the rug, weaker with need, and finally, finally, he presses into me, driving deep and fast, his cock finding the farthest part of me and staying there. He isn’t moving, and I am panting to the point I can barely breathe when finally he pulls back and thrusts hard into me. And oh God, that one hard pump and already I am on the edge of orgasm. Another thrust and I push against him, his only reply his hand bracing my hips, his cock nudging left, right, deeper, before he starts a fast, hard pumping rhythm. I lose time. I lose the room. The rug. The silk at my hands. I climb that peak of pleasure and tip over far too fast, all but collapsing as my body clenches around him. His hand flattens on my belly, holding me up, and then he is shaking, shattering with me, the deep, guttural sound he makes a sexy, erotic charge that ripples through me.

I shut my eyes, riding his pleasure with him, sighing with the way he slowly relaxes against me, his fingers softening at my hips, and then he folds himself around me, holding me in the most intimate of ways. “You okay?” he murmurs near my ear.

My lips curve at what is becoming our little question to each other. “Yes. Are you okay?”

He laughs, low and sexy. I really love his laugh. I think I can really love this man. “You’re naked,” he says. “Of course I’m okay. Let me get rid of this condom and I’ll untie you.”

He pulls out of me and I gasp, which earns me another one of those sexy laughs. “The feeling’s mutual,” he says of my reaction.

A smile on my lips, I sit up, my eyes lifting to the fireplace, and I don’t know why, but I see the past in those flames. I flash back to the club. I am there, living it again, afraid. So afraid.

He shoves me to my knees and I try to get up, but he holds me while the woman in leather ties me up, stretching one arm to the side and roping it, then the other. I fight. I fight as hard as I can but he, he holds me down and then I am bound, a prisoner, and he moves away. I hear her speak to him. “How badly do you want her bruised?”

He squats in front of me, caressing my lips, and I try to bite him. Fury radiates off him and he stands. “Don’t leave scars.”

I blink the fireplace back into view. “Kayden! Kayden!” I try to free my hands, but I’m shaking so hard I can’t get them free. “Untie me. Untie me now! Please! Now!”

Kayden kneels in front of me, ripping away the silk in a flash. “Sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He cups my face. “I would never—”

I grab his arms. “It’s not you. We . . . we are good. He . . . he tied me up. He had me whipped. That’s what woke me up yesterday, but I didn’t want to tell you, and—”

“He fucking beat you? Tell me it’s Niccolo and I will go there, beat him, and kill him, tonight.”

“I still don’t know. And you don’t get to beat him and kill him—I do. Do you hear me? I do! And now I’ve made it so you can’t be you with me. Tie me back up. Tie me back up now.”

He takes us down on the rug, pulling me close, his legs twined with mine. “I’m not tying you back up.”

“Kayden—”

“No.” His tone is absolute. “Fuck, Ella. I teased you with a possible spanking, and now you tell me he beat you? I should never have let this happen tonight, when you just remembered your father’s death.”

“I’m right. You’re going to be afraid with me.”

“No. I’m not, but the timing of this was wrong.” He strokes my hair behind my ear, his voice softening. “We will get by this and we will be okay together. I promise you.” He molds me to him, into the cocoon of his body. “Tell me about dancing.”

I blink at the sudden change of topic. “Dancing?”

“Yes. I want to hear about dancing. I want to know about what you love. Who you are. What you want from life.”

My fingers tease a loose silky strand of his light brown hair, tears prickling my eyes. “You’re amazing, Kayden Wilkens.”

“The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.” He kisses my knuckles. “Now. Tell me. You danced. You dance.”

Tension uncurls inside me, replaced by an image of my mother smiling as she watches me dance, both of us in ballet slippers, a piece of the past coming back to me. “My mom was a dance teacher, and I took it seriously enough to audition for either a big production or an elite school. I think it was a school. It was important to me and to her. Her gift to me was dance. My father’s was the ability to protect myself. I’m eager to see if I remember dancing as well as I remember shooting a gun.”

“A woman who can dance and shoot. Sexy, sweetheart.”

I smile. “Let’s wait and see if I can actually dance.”

“We both know you can.” He lifts up on one elbow. “The school thing is interesting.”

“What do you mean?”

“There can’t be that many elite dance schools.”

Hope rises inside me. “You think you can find me that way?”

“It’s a long shot, but everything is worth trying.” He stands and takes me with him.

“What are we doing?”

“I want to show you something.” He snatches his shirt and hands it to me. “Put that on, and socks or slippers. The castle floors are cold.”

I pull it over my head and he drags on his jeans commando style, not bothering to zip them. I stuff my feet in my slippers. “Where are we going?”

He smiles and shakes his head, a long lock of light brown hair teasing his forehead. “It’s a surprise.” He motions me to the door and holds it open, and I follow him into the hallway, shivering with the cold, deciding I should have bought a robe today. Kayden hits a button on the wall and a panel opens. I grin. “I love this castle.”

“I’m glad you do.” He waves me forward and I step inside a small foyer to find a path with heavy stone steps wide enough for both of us. Kayden steps to my side and we start the climb that halfway up forks left, right, or straight.

“Straight up,” he says, but I am curious about every direction.

“I’m exploring tomorrow. That’s all there is to it.”

“After the doctor. I meant to tell you. Nathan called while you were in the lingerie store. He got you an appointment tomorrow afternoon.”

“For Giada, too?”

“Oh, yeah. Her too. The idea of her pregnant was enough to get my attention.”

I laugh, and it hits me that it’s truly a miracle I can laugh after all that has happened today, and it’s because of Kayden. I can only hope I do the same for him. Finally, at the top of the stairs, we enter an incredible, well-equipped gym with moonlight peeking through a giant, arched floor-to-ceiling window. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Are you kidding? One mention of the gym and Marabella will be feeding you gallons of ice cream. She’s convinced you’re too skinny.”

“She just wants an excuse to feed us all,” I say as he walks to the far right wall and punches a button; with no surprise at this point, it slides open and reveals a secret room. He waves me forward, and ever so curious, I enter to find a long, empty rectangular room with hardwood floors. “What is this room?”

He leans on the door frame. “Your new dance studio, if you want it to be.”

A dance studio. The idea hits a nerve, a piece of my past I don’t know but feel. I hug him, tilting my chin up to look at him. “This is the sweetest thing ever.”

“Something no one else would ever call me.” He wraps an arm around my waist, sealing us together, one hand cupping my face. “And he, whoever he is, will not think I’m sweet when I am done with him. That absolutely is a promise.”

The next morning, Kayden has some sort of lead on Enzo. He doesn’t seem eager to talk about it, but the result is him calling a meeting with a group of local Hunters to be held in his “War Room” in the central tower. In light of this event, he lines up Nathan to escort Giada and me to the doctor, despite my insisting we can handle it on our own. I’m not sure if that means I’m less safe than he’s claimed or if he’s just being his protective self, both of which are easy to believe.

Whatever the case, Giada and I meet in the main foyer and laugh as we come face to face in almost the same outfit of skinny black jeans, black sweaters, and boots. The only difference is her black leather coat and my trench coat.

“Twinkies,” she claims, and we exit the castle to find Nathan’s black Mercedes waiting on us. Even his car screams Mr. GQ Doctor and I relax a little. If Kayden were really worried about my safety, he’d have sent someone else with us.

Nathan steps out of the car and motions us forward, his brown hair fluttering in a cold breeze. “He’s so damn sexy,” Giada murmurs. “I get the front seat.”

Date: 2016-03-03; view: 629