Denial (Careless Whispers #1)(13)

“I’m trying to save your life,” he says, rotating me and pressing me against the hard wall, fingers flexing into my shoulders where he still holds me. “What’s your name?”

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“You do know.”

“No,” I bite out. “I don’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit.”

“Your memories could change everything we do when we walk out of this room—you know that, right? Every move we make that could be wrong, you can make right. Now: what’s your name?”

I don’t know, but I can’t say that to him again. “Let me off the wall.”

“After you tell me your name.”

“Stop being an *!” I explode, shoving against his hard, unmoving body.

“I’ve been called worse, sweetheart,” he says, cupping my face. “Give me what I want.”

“I can’t give you what I don’t know.”

“What’s your name?”

“I told you—”

“What’s your damn name?”

“Ella,” I shock myself by saying. “My name is Ella.”





four



Ella,” I repeat, joyful laughter bubbling from my lips. “Ella. Ella. Ella!” I grab his shirt, balling it in my hand. “Kayden, I remember! I remember my name! Thank you for being an *.” I point a finger at his chest and manage a moment of sternness to warn, “But don’t do it again. It won’t work next time. I’ll know what you’re doing.”

His hands slide from my face to my shoulders, those blue, blue eyes meeting mine as he says, “Ella.”

“Ella!” I exclaim, absolutely giddy. “Oh God. It feels good to hear my name.” Even better in his rich, deep, sexy voice, and I demand a replay. “Say it again.”

His fingers flex where he holds me. “Sweetheart, I need you to listen to me.” His voice is firm, directive. “I know you’re happy, but—”

“But?” I repeat, my bubble quickly deflating. “That’s not a good word. It prefaces a problem.” My eyes go wide. “Please tell me my name doesn’t mean something horrible to you.”

“I’ve never heard your name before now. And what it means to me isn’t what’s important.”

“If I’m a crazy person and don’t know it, but you do, yeah, I kind of think it does.”

“You’re about to make me the crazy person, woman. Time is not our friend right now. I need to know if ‘Ella’ is just a name to you. Or did we unlock your memory?”

I inhale on the question that might as well be a knife drawing blood. Ella is as much a stranger to me as Kayden. “Ella is not just a name?” I argue, rejecting that this revelation means nothing. “It’s my name. And I know it’s my name, and that’s more than I had five minutes ago.”

“I understand that,” he says. “But—”

“It’s not enough.”

“Can you remember your last name? Give me that name and I’ll find out who you are and how you might be connected to Niccolo.”

“A last name,” I repeat, willing it to come to me.

“Don’t think,” he reprimands. “Just answer like before. Yes or no. Time is ticking.”

“No, but Ella isn’t a common name. Surely there can’t be that many of us who’ve traveled to Italy in the short window tourists are allowed to be in a country.”

His eyes sharpen, his tone with them. “I take it that’s a no on the last name.”

I force out a reluctant, “No.”

“And we don’t even know if you are a tourist.” He releases me, adding a murmured, “Fuck,” before diving fingers through his hair and flashing the tattoo on his left wrist, which appears to be some sort of bird, while I can now tell the box on his right has a chess piece inside. I wait for either to mean something to me, like his watch and his scent, but nothing comes to me.

“You’re sure?” he presses, his hands settling on his jean-clad hips.

The fact that he’s gone from “Don’t think” to this says he’s desperate, and I’m pretty sure he’s not a man who gets desperate often. “I wish I wasn’t.”

“Not even a possible name?”

I give a shake of my head and his lips tighten, his chest expanding on a breath he exhales with the declaration, “Plan B it is, then.”

“Plan B?” I ask.

“That’s right,” he says, giving me a once-over that has my nipples puckering beneath the thin gown, before he levels a stare at me and orders, “Get dressed. We need to be gone before Gallo gets back.”

“Please tell me the extent of Plan A, which is always the best plan, wasn’t just you being an * to try and jolt my memory.”

“Plan A was, and is, you remembering who you are, and that will remain the case. I told you. The details of your relationship to Niccolo are a potential game changer.”

My fingers curl into fists by my sides. “I don’t have a relationship with Niccolo. I’d know if I did. I’d feel it. Like I know you’re . . .” My voice trails off while the certainty of knowing this man beyond that alleyway takes root, and reality hits me. I’ve been swept away by this man so much so that I chose him over a detective, and I’m about to leave the hospital without even knowing where we’re going.