Denial (Careless Whispers #1)(74)

I laugh and he kisses me, his tongue licking seductively against mine, and it’s official. I forget all about pancakes.



An hour later, it is a surreal feeling to be lost and yet found in Kayden’s world, having claimed one of the two sinks in his bathroom—our bathroom, as he’s called it quite freely—where I’ve arranged various toiletries for my use. I blow-dry my hair while Kayden lets his dry on its own and dresses in faded jeans and a black tee. He looks absolutely yummy when he exits into the bedroom to answer a call. I dig around in my bags and choose a pair of comfy black leggings that I pair with a long-sleeved, light blue sweater, and I slip on a pair of UGG boots for warmth, since we aren’t going out today.

I head into the bedroom, and, finding the security door open, continue in that direction to find Kayden sitting at the desk and instant messaging with someone. “Hi,” I say.

“Ciao, beautiful,” he says, turning to me. “Did you take your medicine?”

“I did,” I say, charmed that he’s running The Underground and still manages to be concerned about me. “Thank you for reminding me, though.”

His eyes gleam with wicked heat. “It’s self-serving, sweetheart. I have plans for you when you’ve fully recovered.” He grabs my hips and drags me to him. “When you trust me.”

“I do trust you, Kayden. I’ve told you that.”

“There’s a whole lot more to trust than words.”

I curl my fingers around his jaw. “You’ll teach me, right?”

His eyes light with approval. “Yes, I’ll teach you, but I’m starting to think I have some things to learn from you, too.” He cups my hand and kisses it. “Are you ready for breakfast?”

“Isn’t it close to lunch?”

He glances at his watch, and damn it, it stirs that odd, familiar feeling I don’t understand. “Eleven thirty,” he informs me. “We’ll call it brunch. Give me a second.” He releases me and I lean on the desk while he returns his attention to his keyboard, typing in a reply to whomever he’s chatting with, and stands. “Done. Now we eat.”

“Any news on Enzo?”

“Nothing yet, but that was one of my men in Milan, where Enzo was last known to be. He’s digging around.”

“How many Hunters do you have reporting to you?”

“Fifty across Rome and France.”

“I thought you only ran Rome.”

“I recently took over France as well.”

“Please tell me it’s not because the prior Hawk, or whatever you call the leaders, is dead.”

“We do call them Hawks, and no. He’s not dead. He moved to another country, like my father did when Kevin took over Rome years before I was born.”

“Has any Hawk from any country died?”

“Sweetheart.” He wraps me in his arms. “Don’t do this.”

“I can’t start needing you and then you go and die on me.”

“The feeling is mutual. Neither of us is going anywhere but to the kitchen to get pancakes. Okay?”

“I’d make you promise, but I know it’s not a promise you can keep.”

He strokes the hair from my face and tilts my head back. “I promise,” he says, his words absolute steel, as if his sheer will can make it so when we both know that isn’t true. “And I don’t make a promise I don’t intend to keep.”

His computer buzzes with a different sound than before and he gives me a quick kiss. “We’re going to be okay,” he assures me, sitting back down at the desk to check his screen. I step closer, and the very fact that we fear for his Hunter’s life tells me any version of “okay” with Kayden is still dangerous, and yet he’s somehow, illogically, safe. I don’t know what to do with that piece of information.

“News?” I ask, as he keys in a message and stands once more.

“Unfortunately, no. It’s just someone wanting to talk to me about a job. They can wait.”

“A Hunter or a client?”

“A client.” He picks up a large notebook from the desk. “This contains pictures of every person we know who works for Niccolo.”

“Why do you have that?”

“Money is a common denominator between Hunters and mobsters, and I try to steer our paths in different directions. That requires knowledge and effort.”

And there it is. The answer I realize I’d still desperately wanted. Or at least part of it. “Have you met Niccolo?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” When I would ask more, he changes the subject. “I figured you can look over the photos while we eat, and then we can try and forget all of this for the rest of the day.”

I draw in a heavy breath and exhale on an admission: “I really hate the idea of those photos when I should be embracing them for the answer they could hold.”

He caresses a lock of hair behind my ear. “We can wait until morning, if you prefer.”

The touch is tender, and I wonder what it says about me that the combination of the gentleness in this man and the dirty, dark danger that is also him is so very alluring. But what isn’t alluring is running, hiding, and dying. I take the notebook from him.

“I want to get this over with,” I say, unsure of why I am so certain this book holds a secret I’m not ready to reveal.