Denial

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “I’m not even going to ask how he got my medical records.”

  “Matteo,” Kayden says, taking my hand. “The hacker who’s trying to find you by your first name. This is his house. We’re staying here until we’re ready to deal with Gallo.”

  “Okay. I don’t think I want to know what that means either right about now.”

  The doctor, Nathan, I guess his name is, says something to Kayden in Italian, and I’ve given up fighting over speaking English. At least for tonight. Kayden kisses my hand, a gentle, intimate gesture that does funny things to my stomach. “Give me a minute and we’ll get you someplace where you can lie down.”

  He stands and faces Nathan, and I don’t even try to listen to their conversation. My pain eases, but I feel kind of floaty and weird now, and I don’t like it. In fact, it’s freaking me out to have this little control over everything, including my own body.

  Kayden squats back down beside me. “Ready to go upstairs?”

  “I feel weird.”

  “It’s the drugs, sweetheart.” He slides his arms under me. “I’ve got you.”

  He lifts me, and I don’t fight him. In fact, I’m getting kind of used to this man carrying me around everywhere. I sink against him, my head spinning with every footstep and sway of our bodies as he exits the garage and starts up a stairwell.

  We enter the main house, and I manage a barely there look at the giant, modern-looking living room with light wood floors and stainless-steel railings before we’re walking up another staircase, this one a dizzying, winding nightmare for my head and stomach. Finally, at the top, there is a door. In a few long strides, Kayden carries me over the threshold, my gaze doing a sweeping inspection of a loft-like bedroom, with the same light hardwood floor as the lower level, several corner pillars running from the floor to the ceiling, brick walls, and a giant bed with a high-backed gray headboard. That bed is the blast of reality I don’t want but need, and the magnitude of what is happening hits me with a force ten times that of the storm I ran through to escape him. I’m in a bedroom, alone with Kayden with no hospital staff, or Gallo, to intervene, after having a flashback about being tied to a bed, followed by one of him kissing me.

  “Let me down,” I demand. “Let me down, Kayden! Let me—”

  He sits me on the end of the bed, planting his hands on either side of my hips. “What part of you have a concussion do you not understand?”

  “I know I have a concussion. Believe me, I know. It just won’t go away.” A wave of dizziness washes over me. “Oh wow.” I press my palm to my forehead. “I’m not feeling so good.” I fall back against the mattress. “What’s happening?” I try to lift my hand from my face and can’t. “I can’t move my hand. Kayden, I can’t move my hand!”

  “You’re okay,” Kayden promises, lying down next to me.

  “I can’t—”

  “I’ve got it,” he says, removing my hand and holding it between us. “Nathan gave you some powerful medicine to make sure you rest. You’re just reacting to it. How’s your pain?”

  “No pain. I just feel weird. Really weird.” My lashes lower, and unbidden, I am instantly transported back to another bedroom. To that night. To his bed. Deep inside the memory, I’m living it, feeling it.

  Naked. Cold. I keep watching the clock, willing him to return. Two hours have passed, and the man I thought was my protector now feels like my captor. He is my captor. The doors he’d shut open, and he stands there, still fully dressed, sauntering slowly toward me. I try to see his face. Why can’t I see his face? He stops at the end of the bed, and I am angry with him. I am hurt. He undresses, and when I would normally watch him, reveling in every delicious inch of his body, I turn my head, every second that passes more punishment. And when his hands come down on my ankles, and he demands, “Look at me,” I don’t. I won’t.

  My eyes fly open, and Kayden is still lying next to me, and when I look at him, I see a protector. I see passion. But I am certain he looked at me just as Kayden does now. Before that night. “Please don’t be him,” I whisper, and the darkness follows.

  seven

  I open my eyes and immediately become aware of being curled on my side, snuggled under warm blankets, rain spattering on the rectangular line of windows before me, dim light breaking through the curtains. Memories rush over me and I start piecing together the events that brought me here. The hospital. The stairwell and Gallo showing up. Adriel. The bitter cold run in the rain through the church parking lot. The sizzling hot kiss with Kayden by that very same church. Then there was the doctor friend of Kayden’s who gave me drugs, followed by Kayden carrying me to a bedroom in his friend’s house. Finally, there was him laying me on a bed, this one, I assume, where I wasted no time passing out. Because why wouldn’t I want to pass out while in bed with a man with a hotness factor off the charts, especially after sharing a scorching hot kiss? Curious about where he is, I try to roll over, only to realize there is a heavy weight at my waist.

  “You’re finally awake.”

  At the sound of Kayden’s deep, sexy voice, I roll over to face him, my gaze colliding with his at the same moment I realize that not only am I naked but so is he. Oh God. Maybe I didn’t fall asleep. “Please tell me we didn’t have sex and I don’t remember.”

  “If we had sex, sweetheart, I promise you, I’d make sure you remembered.” His hand settles on my hip, over the blanket, but I am oh so aware that I’m all skin beneath it. “And I have on pants.”

  “Oh. I guess I was too busy noticing my nakedness and . . . your chest.” I press my hand to my face. “I need to stop talking.” He laughs¸ and I peek through my fingers. “Please tell me I undressed myself.”

  “You couldn’t even lift your own hand after Nathan gave you the pain meds.”

  My hand falls from my face and I gape. “You undressed me?”

  “You were wet and cold, and I couldn’t wash and dry your clothes with you in them.”

  “You undressed me.”

  “Yes,” he confirms. “I undressed you, and yes, I’ve been aware of just how naked you are every second you’ve been that way, as I am right this very moment.” He spares me a reply. “How do you feel?”

  I clutch the blanket to me. “Feel?”

  “Your head, sweetheart. Are you in pain?”

  “Oh. I . . .” My brow furrows, and I forget my state of undress. “Wow. No. I’m not. It’s amazing. It’s wonderful. What kind of drugs did your doctor friend give me?”

  “Nathan is his name,” he replies. “And when we first arrived last night he gave you a painkiller and a sedative. About four hours ago, he checked on you and gave you an anti-inflammatory that was supposed to ensure you woke up feeling good. Obviously it worked.”

  “Wait. He came back and gave me another injection and I didn’t know it?”

  “You didn’t know because you were still heavily sedated, and that was the idea. To get the drugs in you before you woke up.”

  “He gave me drugs when I was naked. How many people saw me like this?”

  “Only me.”

  There’s a hard, possessive quality to his voice, and I am suddenly, intensely aware of how close we are. How close our mouths are, and I’m now officially thinking about our kiss. I decide I need a change of topic. “How long was I asleep?”

  “Twelve hours,” he says.

  “And it’s still raining?”

  “It’s not supposed to stop until tomorrow.”

  I decide the rain is as never-ending as my memory loss. “And we’re at your hacker friend’s house?”

  “Matteo’s house. That’s right.”

  “He’s the one trying to find out who I am using my first name?”

  “Yes, and he’s still working on it.” He pauses. “We need to talk, Ella.”

  My eyes go wide. “Oh no. He found something bad.”

  “I’m not interested in what Matteo has, or has not, found right now. Who is he?”

  “What?”

  “Right
before you passed out last night, you looked at me and said, ‘Please don’t be him.’ Who is he and what did he do to you?”

  The memory of that man rushes back to me with an image of me tied to that bed, and I try to roll to my back. Kayden’s leg latches on to my legs, holding me in place. “Who is he?”

  “I was drugged, Kayden.”

  “So you don’t remember saying that to me? And before you answer, be clear. I don’t like secrets.”

  “I know you have secrets, so don’t reprimand me. I’m not a child. I’m not your property. This is my life.”

  “That has become mine.”

  “It’s the past.”

  “It’s impacting the present,” he counters. “Who is he?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You remember something or you wouldn’t have said that to me.”

  “I told you, it was the drugs talking.”

  “It was your memory talking.”

  “Fine,” I say. “I had a flashback in the car.”

  “And he was in it?”

  “Yes.”

  “So we’re back to the original question. Who is he?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  His eyes glint with dissatisfaction. “You don’t know or you aren’t going to tell me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  His lips thin, his expression tightening. “You’re afraid of him.”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I’m afraid of him.”

  He studies me, his jaw set hard, seconds ticking by until he says, “I’m not him.”

  I want to tell him that I know, but I can’t get the words out.

  “I saved your life,” he reminds me. “I’m protecting and helping you.”

  Now I can say it. “I know.”

  “You don’t know, and that’s a problem for both of us.” He glances away from me, a long strand of his light brown hair teasing his forehead.

  “It’s not a problem,” I say hastily, and without meaning to, I’ve all but admitted he’s right. I don’t know. I open my mouth to explain. “I mean . . .”

  He cuts a sharp look at me. “I know what you mean, and it damn sure is a problem.” And then he’s tunneling his fingers into my hair, dragging me close, his breath teasing my lips as he adds, “One I plan to solve.”

  “I can explain,” I say, hating the anger radiating off him, into me, but his mouth is already slanting over mine, tongue pressing past my teeth, a silky caress that has my nipples puckering and my sex clenching. But I need to talk to him, and my hand flattens over his chest, his skin hot, or maybe it’s just because I’m so hot, burning up for this man. And again, I mean to push him away, but I can’t. I don’t. I’m not sure I really want to. My moan says I don’t, and I give in to how much I want this man, sinking into the kiss, tasting him, getting lost in him.

  He rolls me onto my back, the heavy, delicious weight of half his body on top of me, his leg draping mine, his stomach pressed to mine. The hard prod of his arousal is nestled next to my sex. My hands find his shoulders, holding on, not pushing away, as one of his drags the blanket down to expose my breasts. I arch into the touch, and he teases my nipple, nips my lips, and kisses me again, but his anger isn’t gone. I taste it, I feel it vibrating through him, into me, and I want to make it go away, but instead he tears his mouth from mine, staring down at me, our breathing filling the small space between us.

  “Do I taste like him?” he demands, his voice gravelly, affected.

  “What?” I gasp. Alarm bells go off in my head. “How do you know I kissed him?”

  “We both know you did a whole lot more than kiss him, sweetheart, and that kiss was to make sure when you remember him, you know the difference between him and me.” He rolls away, sitting on the edge of the bed, giving me his back, his shoulders bunched with tension.

  I sit and clasp the blanket to my chest. “Kayden—”

  “Not now,” he says, standing and scrubbing his hand through his hair as he walks away, disappearing into a doorway I assume leads to the bathroom.

  Stunned, I stare after him, not sure what to think or feel. We both know you did a whole lot more than kiss him. I do know, but he shouldn’t. Unless he’s him, or I ran my mouth in my drug-induced sleep. And if I did, what did I say? Will it give me a clue to figure out his identity or mine? I have to find out.

  I lift the blanket and cringe at the reminder that I’m naked, blushing at the idea of him undressing me, which is absolutely silly. My breast was just in the man’s hand. I spot a throw blanket lying across a gray chair by the window, but I’m not getting it unless I walk over there in my birthday suit, which isn’t the way I want to have a conversation with Kayden. And we need to talk. Deciding there is really only one way to do this, I take a deep breath and decide to go for it.

  Tossing off the covers, I rush to the chair, snatch the blanket, and wrap it around myself, letting out a sigh of relief when my task is complete without Kayden’s return. The shower comes on, and I bite my lip at the idea that those pants of his are not still on, and he too is naked, beautifully naked from what I’ve seen so far. In light of this assumption, and the obvious open-door invitation that isn’t about conversation, I hesitate in my pursuit, but decide the situation could be in my favor if I can resist the temptation to end up wet and at his mercy. I need answers, and while he’s trapped and unable to shut me down is the best time to get them.

  Giving myself no time to chicken out, I dart forward and enter the magnificent all-white bathroom. I pause inside the doorway, a giant sunken tub to my left and a double shower to my right, with clear glass panels. My mouth goes dry at the sight of Kayden’s amazing, tight freaking backside, and further confirmation that I was right. He is beautiful and he has a tattoo on his back. Skulls, I think, and suddenly skulls are really, really sexy.

  “Did you come to join me or just stare at my ass?” he asks without turning.

  “I thought there would be a curtain or smoked glass.”

  He rotates to face me, and I gasp, giving him my back. He, in turn, gives me one of those deep, raspy laughs. “Careful, sweetheart,” he warns. “I could drag you in here with me and you’d never see me coming.”

  My heart leaps at the threat I have no doubt he’ll act on, and I turn around, rushing toward him, and pressing my back against the shower door to hold it shut. “What did I say about that man when I was drugged?”

  “Not a damn thing.”

  I turn to face him, forgetting he’s gloriously naked, until of course, he’s standing in front of me gloriously naked, but somehow I stay my course. “You said we both know I did more than kiss him.”

  He stares at me, his eyes glinting hard, the pulse of the shower spray the only sound between us. One second, two, ten. He shuts off the water, giving me no warning as he shoves open the door, forcing me to back up. I’ve barely righted my footing before he steps out of the shower and onto the mat. My mouth goes dry at the sight of all that water clinging to all the beautiful parts of him. I’m spellbound by the drops tracking over his impressive six-pack and lower . . . lower . . . My head jerks up. He arches a brow, his lips quirking in cynical amusement. “I . . . don’t know why I just did that. I mean, I do, but—”

  “Because you want me, like I want you, but you have questions. Well, guess what. So do I, sweetheart.” He grabs a towel off the rack and dries his hair, leaving all his manly hotness on display.

  My instinct is to turn, but there is a glint in his eyes that is one part challenge and one part intimidation, and I do not let him win. I lift my chin, refusing to let my eyes wander again. “If I didn’t tell you anything about that man, why did you say we both know I did a whole lot more than kiss him?”

  He wraps the towel around his waist, his damp hair teasing his defined cheeks, accenting those cutting blue eyes. “Are you saying you didn’t?”

  “Did I say something that made you think I did?”

  “Are you saying you didn’t?”

  “Stop a
nswering my questions with more questions.”

  “Then give me an answer.”

  “I could say the same to you,” I snap. “I had one pain-induced memory of that man. One. Just one, Kayden.”

  “That’s not an answer I’m looking for.”

  “You already know the answer. He was . . .” I stop, not sure how to fill in the blank.

  “Your lover,” he supplies.

  “No,” I say quickly, the word lover somehow too good for that man. “He was not my lover.”

  “But you had sex with him.”

  An image of me tied to that bed has me gripping the blanket a little tighter. “My memory had nothing to do with sex.”

  “Then what was it about?”

  “Control,” I say, no hesitation in me. “Power.”

  His eyes sharpen. “Did he hurt you, Ella?”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.” I try to twist away from him, but his hands encircle my waist.

  “What did he look like?”

  “I couldn’t see his face.”

  “What could you see?”

  “I told you—”

  “What could you see?” he presses.

  “That’s private.”

  “Not when my life is on the line, right along with yours.”

  “It’s private and it’s not about what I saw anyway. It’s more what I felt.”

  “Which was what?”

  “I told you. He scares me.”

  He narrows his eyes on me. “ ‘Please don’t be him,’ ” he says, repeating my words from the night before.

  “I’d just had the flashback, Kayden, and the drugs and the pain made me feel helpless.”

  He stares at me, blue eyes like pure ice. “Got it,” he says, setting me away from him. “Your clothes are under the sink, and the bag on the counter is hair color. Fix the streaks so it’s not obvious you colored it.”

  “So no red. No going back to me.” But even as I say the words, I know it’s not possible, no matter how much I want it to be.

  “You can’t even remember who he is. You can’t have you back until you figure him out. Come downstairs when you’re done. We’re moving to my house.”