Denial (Careless Whispers #1)(71)

“No!” I stand and face him. “No. No. No.”

He grabs my hair and drags me toward the two women, glancing over my shoulder to say, “She goes first.”

“Ella. Sweetheart. Wake up.”

I roll over to stare into Kayden’s blue eyes, blinking several times to make sure he’s real. “Oh God.” I cup his cheek. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

He covers my hand with his. “Flashback?”

“Nightmare. Flashback. Whatever you want to call it.”

“Him again?”

“Yes. Kayden, he’s . . .” My throat thickens. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“It does matter. Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“No. I can’t talk about this and it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t help us figure out who he is.”

“How do you know?”

“It doesn’t help,” I insist. “Please. Just let it go.”

He strokes hair from my face. “I won’t push, but I want you to be able to talk to me. Everything or nothing, remember? That doesn’t change when your memories come back. Remember that.”

His cell phone rings, and he kisses my forehead and then rolls over to grab it from his nightstand, sitting up to take the call. I sit as well, curling my knees to my chest, and while the beating isn’t important, the necklace is, and that means talking about David, a subject not easily broached with Kayden. I listen as he speaks quickly in Italian, deciding it’s time I learn the language. He ends the call, scrubbing a hand through his hair and exhaling.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Matteo picked up some internet chatter early this morning that he thought was a lead on Enzo, but it went cold on him.”

“You have a bad feeling about this, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I do. Really f*cking bad, and my feelings aren’t wrong.”

His phone rings again while he’s still holding it and he grimaces and glances at the number. “Adriel,” he says. “He’s looking for Enzo too.” He answers, looking both irritated and confused. “Giada? How do you have my number?”

She doesn’t have his number? That’s odd.

“Hold on,” he says, and offers me the phone, looking exceedingly grumpy as he announces, “For you.”

I accept it, thinking her timing has not played in her favor with Kayden. “Hi, Giada.”

“Hi, Ella. I was wondering if you want to go shopping?”

I glance at the one window in the corner opposite the fireplace, watching rain hitting the glass. “It’s a pretty wet day.”

“We have indoor shopping centers. It will be fun and we can talk.”

Talk. That is her real goal. She needs another woman to bond with, just as Marabella had thought. “Hold on,” I say, covering the phone to run the idea by Kayden. “She wants me to go shopping with her.”

He scowls and takes the phone. “She’ll call you back.” He hangs up.

“Oh my God. Kayden. That was horrible. I know we have to go to the consulate for my passport, but I could have worked around that with her. And I could have handled it nicely.”

“Gallo will be waiting on us if we go today. We’ll go when his boss can make sure he isn’t around.”

I forget about Giada. “You have that much pull with his boss?”

“Yes, I do. And before you ask, Gallo has no idea just how much.”

“How is that possible, if you don’t work for the police department?”

“I do a few things on the side for them when necessary. This will cost me one of those jobs, but so be it to keep the relationship and get what we need.” He rolls me onto my back, his arm bracketing my body. “Today we stay here. Just you and me.”

“Don’t expect me to complain about hiding out with you on a rainy day, but you were still mean to Giada.”

“I don’t want her negativity influencing you.”

“I’m my own person, and she needs a positive influence. Actually, Kayden, you lost your family as a minor as well. You could help her. Maybe we could take her to lunch.”

“No,” he says, his tone flat and absolute.

“Kayden—”

“No. End of topic.” He rolls off me and the bed, and is crossing the room and entering the bathroom before I’ve sat up.

I gape in disbelief, but I am not dissuaded from the topic or finding out what the heck is up with him and Giada. I scramble off the bed, quickly crossing to the bathroom, where I find him slathering on shaving cream at the sink. “No?” I demand. “You sound like Gallo. I only take orders in bed. I am not one of your Hunters.”

He sets the brush down and turns to face me. “Is that right?”

“Oh yes. That’s right.”

“You really are a redhead, aren’t you?”

I have a flickering memory of my mother, and my temper deflates. “Yes. I am.”

He drags me to him. “Then you leave me only one option,” he declares, his tone flat.

“And that would be what?”

He kisses me, and I gasp into his mouth as shaving cream smudges all over me. I shove on his chest to free my mouth. “No, you didn’t.”