Surrender (Careless Whispers #3)(55)

His eyes warm, and while yes, there is a hint of that sin and sex he does so well, there is a different kind of warmth I decide is even better. It’s trust and friendship. When he glances at the piece of paper in my hand, he asks, “What’s that?”

“This is the chocolate shop I keep remembering,” I say, offering him the paper.

He reaches for it and looks at the page, then at me. “I know where it’s located.” He folds the printout and sticks it in the pocket of his pajama bottoms. “You think the necklace is there?”

“I can’t imagine there would be a place to hide it there, but I went there with it in my possession. Going there, when it’s possible, might be the final trigger to unlock my memory.”

“I can at least go there and search the place when I’m in Paris.”

“When you’re in Paris,” I repeat, my gut twisting with that idea. “I hate you going without me.”

“You know—”

“I know what you’re going to say. Sasha said it, too. But consider this: I could be used as a good distraction. I—”

He reaches for me and pulls me to him. “No. Not this. You can help plan everything, and be involved in every way except putting yourself in his reach.”

“Can we at least—”

He cups my head and kisses me. “No. If that means we fight, we fight.”

My hand flattens on his chest. “I’m really not feeling like fighting with you, Hawk, but I reserve the right to change that at any minute.”

A low rumble of sexy masculine laughter escapes his lips. “Duly noted, future wife of The Hawk. We need to get you a ring.”

“You choose it. That will make it special.”

“I have something in mind.”

“Then that’s what I want.”

He gives me the tender, warm look that defies the dark, hard parts of him, and makes him even sexier and more alluring. “Blake won’t be here until this afternoon,” he says. “We have plenty of time for you to grab those slippers and use your studio upstairs. You can show me your moves.”

The suggestion is unexpected, as is the jolt it delivers. “No,” I say, that jolt turning to a squeeze in my heart. “It reminds me of my mother, and right now, I need to just deal with my father. I’ll revisit that other part of me later—but I wouldn’t mind hitting the gym.”

“I want to see you dance,” he says, his voice a gentle, stubborn prod.

“You think I’m hiding from something.”

“You haven’t resisted the idea of dancing before now, sweetheart. Something else is going on. I think you’re afraid that giving yourself permission to do something you love, just because you love it, makes you weak. It doesn’t.”

He’s hit a nerve I didn’t know existed, and it’s far closer to the truth than the answer I’d given us both a few moments before.

“When was the last time you danced?” he asks. “Really danced?”

Okay, maybe there is truth to both answers. Because my chest tightens and I look to the ceiling, fighting an unexpected wave of emotion. “A little here, when I was alone one night.”

“Before that?”

“The day my mother died,” I grudgingly admit, refocusing on him. “And I haven’t relived losing her yet. I guess there are more things my mind is hiding from me than I realized.”

He gives me a three-second intense look. “Would she approve of you turning your back on ballet?”

“She’d roll over in her grave.”

“And how long has it been since your mother died?”

“Years,” I say, a firmer answer coming to me. “Right after my college graduation.”

Those blue eyes of his fill with challenge and mischief. “In other words, you don’t remember how to dance.”

He’s goading me and I don’t want it to work, but I grab the slippers anyway. “I promise you, I can handle these slippers as well as I handle a gun any day.”

“How would I know that? You won’t show me.”

“Fine,” I say. “Let’s go.”

He smiles, and when this man really smiles, it’s devastatingly sexy. And before I know his intentions, I’m over his shoulder, his hand on my ass, and we’re moving.

I inhale his spicy, almost woodsy scent that’s so addictive. “It’s a good thing you smell so great, because that’s the only thing making me forgive you for making the blood rush to my head.”

Rather than putting me down, he simply says, “I’ll walk faster.”

And that proves true. In a blink we are in the hallway and making our way up the narrow wooden stairs that lead to a small passage and an office halfway to the left. Continuing onward and upward, we enter the gym. “I’m seeing spots, Kayden,” I murmur, and moments later he sets me down in the middle of my newly finished dance studio.

I sway and he catches me at the waist, his big hands strong and welcome. “We really have to talk about this habit of you carrying me everywhere,” I tell him.

“I don’t do it often enough?”

I laugh. “That’s it,” I tease. “You need to carry me everywhere.”

“Careful what you ask for,” he teases back, and I feel his mischievous, light mood becoming contagious. “Put your slippers on and let’s see you dance,” he orders, because he can’t help but give commands, but he doesn’t let me go. He glances around the rectangular room with the new hardwood floor that he, Carlo, and Adriel installed over the old flooring for me just last week. “You need a bench to sit on and mirrors in here. We’re still a work in progress.” He refocuses on me. “I’ll hold onto you so you can change into your ballet slippers.”