Denial (Careless Whispers #1)(15)

“Need help?” he asks.

“No!” I say quickly.

He gives a low, sexy rumble of laughter and holds his hands out to his sides. “Just trying to speed up the process, but I have to warn you. In about sixty seconds you get my help whether you want it or not.”

He might have prefaced that warning with laughter, but he’s serious, and I quickly hook the clasp at my back and reach for my shirt, only to freeze at the sound of activity in the other room. Kayden hears it too, rotating to face me, his finger pressed to his lips, warning me not to speak. I nod, praying Gallo hasn’t returned sooner than expected, and preparing to feign illness to avoid those fingerprints.

Kayden’s gaze sweeps low, raking over my nearly naked breasts, and when my nipples pucker beneath the silk in reaction, his jaw clenches, eyes flashing with one part heat, another two parts disapproval. He closes the space between us, snatching up my shirt and pressing it to my belly, mouthing, “Now.” It’s a small action that tells me he’s as concerned as I am that Gallo has returned and he’s preparing for a fast departure.

My hand closes over the cotton tee, and I’m about to pull it over my head when a knock sounds on the door, and I fumble it, letting it drop to the ground. Heart thundering in my chest, I hold out my hands, silently asking Kayden if I should answer the knock, receiving a quick, negative shake of his head in reply. And so we stand there, neither of us daring so much as to blink. I assume we’re waiting to find out who we are dealing with to decide on a response.

Another knock sounds, and I swear I jump a mile high before I hear, “Are you doing okay in there?”

Relief washes over me at the sound of Maria’s voice, and even Kayden’s shoulders visibly relax. “I’m good, Maria,” I call out, rushing toward the door, fully intending to peek outside and send her on her way. Kayden is there in front of me, though, blocking the door and giving me another negative shake of the head.

I grimace at him, and a silent conversation between us ensues.

Me: “Why can’t I open the door?”

Him: “Don’t ask questions, just do as I bid.”

I surprise myself with a “Fuck you!”

He arches a brow, eyes hinting at amusement, not anger.

“Can I get you anything?” Maria asks.

Offering Kayden my back, I press my hands to the door, preparing to wing this any way I can without his silent bossiness. “No thank you,” I reply. “Just brushing my hair and washing my face.”

“You really must be feeling better,” Maria replies, sounding pleased. “Do you want something special for dinner to celebrate? Maybe chocolate cake?”

I jump on a chance for privacy. “Actually, my brother’s bringing me dinner soon.”

“Oh, how nice! I’ll cancel your dinner tray, then. Buzz me if you need anything.”

“Thank you!” I call, holding my breath to await her departure, listening as her footsteps sound and begin to fade. Finally breathing again, I turn around and flatten against the door, finding Kayden standing in front of me, a long, sexy lock of light brown hair brushing his brow, my shirt in his hands. My almost naked breasts between us.

“Put it on this time,” he orders, tossing the shirt to me, his gaze sweeping low, brushing over my breasts, where they linger a moment before landing on my bare feet. “And shoes,” he says, his eyes meeting mine again. “Quickly.” He snaps out the last word, turning away and crossing to the cabinet where he retrieved the duffel bag, while I try to catch the breath he’s stolen from me.

Shaking myself, telling myself that I have to find a way to put his impact on me on mute, I tug the T-shirt over my head and grab the tennis shoes and socks I retrieved earlier. Sitting on the edge of the toilet, I ignore the increasing pressure in my head and bend over to put them on, irritated that I know the brand “Keds” when I still don’t remember my own last name.

I stand up about the time Kayden shrugs into a sleek, fitted brown leather jacket that matches his boots, not to mention hugs every perfect inch of his torso. I’m irritated that I’m even noticing such things when I’m about to be on the run from the Italian police.

Slipping my hands inside the front of my jean pockets, I say, “So we’re really doing this?”

“This?” He laughs. “We’re not breaking out of jail, Ella.”

“We’re running from Gallo,” I point out, wondering how he so easily uses my newly discovered name.

“I told you,” he says, “we aren’t running from anyone. We’re making sure things happen on our terms.”

“It feels like we’re running,” I argue, hugging myself. “Isn’t he going to come after you to find me?”

“Leave Gallo to me,” he says, reaching inside the cabinet again to produce another jacket, this one in black and my size. “It’s February and cold. You’re going to need this.” He holds it open for me.

“It’s February,” I say, closing the distance between us to rotate and slip into the coat. “I know I’m wearing Keds tennis shoes, but I don’t know the month. My brain is ridiculously illogical.” I face him again. “What’s today’s date?”

“The fourteenth,” he says, and while I think “Valentine’s Day” and glance at my naked ring finger, he doesn’t seem to notice, moving on to more important things, like getting us out of here. “Here’s the plan,” he says. “I’m going to check out the hallway and see if I need to create a distraction for our exit.”