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.
Finally, he walks toward me, each step a loose-legged swagger, all confident, sexy male, every part of him lean, hot, and, right now, mean. He stops in front of me, towering over me, taller than I think I realized until this tension-laden moment. “You know,” he says, his voice a soft taunt, “since you’re so against putting clothes on, maybe I should just rip that blanket away and fuck you before you decide I’m him. Or maybe I need to fuck you to make sure you know I’m not him.” His lips thin. “Or maybe that’s exactly what he would do and why I need to just walk away.” He turns and leaves, crossing to the doorway, and disappears into the hallway. I straighten and consider going after him, but one look at my blanket and I turn toward the bathroom. It’s time to put clothes on and keep them on.
Coloring my hair requires that I let a messy mixture sit on my head for forty minutes, giving me plenty of time to replay every part of my conversation with Kayden. I also have a conversation with myself, in which my good ol’ voice of reason returns and I promise myself that it, not my hormones, will dictate my interactions with Kayden. Still, by the time I finish rinsing my hair, I decide Kayden gave me a gun as an offer of trust, which earns him the cautious benefit of the doubt.
Once I’m out of the shower, I bundle myself and my hair up in towels and kneel in front of the sink, opening the cabinet to find my clothes neatly folded, smelling of fabric softener, and nice and dry. With them is my Chanel purse, and a new toothbrush and toothpaste, both in unopened packages.
“He got me a toothbrush and washed my clothes,” I whisper, and I can’t imagine the man in my flashback being thoughtful enough to do these things. At some point, though, that man in my flashback had to have been good to me or I wouldn’t have been shocked when he tied me up. And I am certain that night was the night he’d shown me he was a monster. Monster. It’s a word I used with Kayden last night, and I don’t like what this connection implies.
Shaking myself, I grab the pile of my items, stand up to set them all on the ledge of the giant garden tub, and start to dress. I quickly tug on my jeans, only just now realizing a very slight heaviness in my skull, but it’s manageable for sure. I reach for the bra and stare at the label again, willing a memory of buying the fancy garment, but there just isn’t one. I put it on, and I’m pleased that even my tennis shoes have been dried. Fully dressed now, I give myself a once-over in the mirror and decide I’m too skinny. I need to eat, but I’m pretty sure, despite decent breasts, I’ll never be lucky enough to sport Beyoncé curves. I grimace. Right. I know Beyoncé but not my own last name. It’s infuriating.
“Ella, Ella, Ella,” I murmur, willing my last name to come to me as I squat at the cabinet again and locate the blow-dryer, doing the best that I can with my hair with no styling products, and when I find myself hating the dark brown color, I know the reality here. I don’t hate my body or my hair. I hate looking at a stranger in the mirror.
Giving up the struggle with my hair, I locate my purse, surprised at how well it survived the rain. Unzipping it, I set the ruined journal aside and freeze at the sight of the gun, not even sure how it and the journal fit inside in the first place. Wetting my suddenly dry lips, I remove the gun and set it on the counter, recalling the moment Kayden had drawn it and the blow it had been to believe he really was my enemy. I ran from Kayden last night because of Adriel, but if I’m honest with myself, I also ran from my fear that I’d trust him no matter what. A fear I still haven’t conquered.
Leaving the gun behind, I snatch up the purse and move back to my spot in front of the mirror, and do a fast job with my makeup. I slide my purse strap over my head, wearing it cross-body, and then I have to face that gun again. Dread fills me at the idea of touching it, and I don’t know why. I just had it in my hand, and, impatient with all these weird feelings, I reach for it, only to jerk my hand back and grab the sink as my mind thrusts me into the past. And Lord help me, I am back in that room. His bedroom. I can see myself from above again. I’m dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and I’m pacing, tears streaking my cheeks. And then I’m there. I’m in the past, living the hell all over again.
I stop pacing, my hand trembling as I shove my fingers through my long red hair, trying to calm myself, but I know that he’ll be back soon. If I’m going to do this, I have to do it now. “I have to do this,” I say, and my voice is strong and sure. I turn and stare at a tall mahogany dresser that matches the bed I so hate at my back. My chest expands on a huge breath, and I walk to the dresser and sink to my knees. I dig through lingerie, beautiful, delicate lingerie, and uncover a black box. And I don’t let myself think—I open it and display the gun I’m after.
The image fades, and I gasp with the impact of what I just felt, shocked to find I’ve sunk to my knees, as if I was in front of that dresser all over again. And I’m trembling, like I was that night. I remember that night. What I felt. What I thought I had to do. I shove off the sink and reach for the gun, checking the ammunition chamber to ensure it’s loaded, and I do it with the ease of someone familiar with weapons. Someone who would know how to use one to kill if she so chose. Or needed to.
I place the gun in my purse and zip it up, folding my arms in front of me, a burn in my chest as I look at the woman in the mirror, and I was right. I don’t know her. “What did you do, Ella?” I whisper, and then grab the sink again to yell, “What did you do?”