Demand (Careless Whispers #2)(17)

“We barely knew each other at the church.”

“I’d already decided you were mine. You just didn’t know it yet.”

I glower at him, frustratingly aroused and angry. “I know you haven’t lived in America in a long time, but that’s a very caveman-like, antifeminist statement to make.”

“I wasn’t aware you were a feminist.”

“Yes, well, I wasn’t either specifically, but my skill with a gun and my attitude say I am.”

“Then let me say this to this new feminist side of you. You own me in ways I do not want to be owned, and should not be owned as The Hawk of The Underground. That is power. That is control, whether you want it or understand it. That is what you do to me.”

Now he’s the one who sounds angry, as if he doesn’t quite comprehend how this has happened, either—how I have control he doesn’t want to cede. And once again, without even trying, he has taken control, and given it, in a way that balances out the overwhelming alpha part of him. “Kayden—”

“Pick up the gun. Hear me out. And then decide what to do with it.”

“I don’t want the gun,” I say, pushing off the island and going around it to the coffeepot on the counter behind him. I’m aware of him right behind me, and I inhale, his spicy scent mingling with the richness of coffee, wreaking havoc on my senses, and it’s all I can do to open the cabinet and grab a mug.

Kayden steps to my side, and I turn and offer him a cup. He closes his hand around mine instead, and heat rushes up my arm and into my chest. “Ella,” he says softly, and my name on his lips slides under my skin and nestles deep in my soul. And Lord help me, I don’t know if I am even capable of being objective with this man.

He inhales, that perfect chest expanding a moment before he takes the cup and sets it on the counter. I grab another and set it down beside it, and he fills both with coffee. Part of me thinks that this domestic act should downplay my worries and calm my nerves. It doesn’t even come close, but I think it should, and I stick to this strategy. Try something normal. Do something normal.

Kayden sets the pot on the warmer while I tear open several packages of sweetener, my stupid hand trembling with the adrenaline I’m battling, and I drop one of the packages in the cup. Frustrated at my lack of control, I hold up my hands. “What are we doing? I don’t want coffee. You don’t want coffee. We’re just going through the motions.”

“Come on,” he says, lacing our fingers together in that intimate, familiar way and leading me to the table. Rather than putting it between us, he pulls two chairs out to face each other, each of us claiming one. “First,” he says, resting his hands on his knees. “I want you to know that I haven’t lied to you about anything. I didn’t know you until I found you in the alleyway. I don’t know who you are now. And I had no idea you were connected to the necklace until you remembered it.”

“So you were looking for the necklace before you found me,” I say, confirming what seems obvious.

“I was, but not for hire. This isn’t a treasure hunt, and it has nothing to do with money. At least not for me.”

“What does that mean?”

“That necklace is a century old, and property of the British government. It disappeared fifty years ago. It’s worth a large enough fortune to have the Italian and French mafia looking for it, and now, it appears, Raul and the cartel, as well. In any of their hands it’s dangerous, but considering Niccolo is twice as powerful as the others, in his it’s downright lethal.”

“And you’re trying to get to it first.”

“I’m going to get to it first and return it to the British government, where I know it won’t be used to profit Niccolo or anyone else.”

“Because it’s stolen?

“Because it represents the kind of power we can’t allow someone like Niccolo, or anyone in his class of pursuers, to have.”

“When you say fortune, how much money are we talking?”

“It’s valued at a hundred and fifty million euros, but there’s a private collector willing to pay double that.”

“Oh my God. I didn’t even know a necklace could be worth that much money.”

“There’s some history to this one, including the trail of ownership.”

“And it was stolen from the British government?”

“Fifty years ago. And when I say stolen, I mean, it vanished. There were occasional rumors of its reappearance, each time starting a frenzied search. Interestingly, considering your involvement, none of those rumors placed it in the United States.”

“But it must have been, if I was used to transport it to Europe.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But I’m not convinced you weren’t wearing a decoy, meant to draw attention away from the real necklace.”

“Why would you think it was a decoy, if I’ve obviously ended up on Niccolo’s radar?”

“Because from what I know of the original’s construction, there would be no place to slip a note inside. And you found one.”

“Could the note give the location of the real necklace?”

“More likely, it was about a payoff for transporting the decoy. But whoever’s behind that transaction knows where the real necklace is located.”