Finally, he faces the bed, closing in on me, his body as perfect as his suit, his cock jutted forward. I look away, refusing to be seduced by a man who is obviously a chameleon who has only now shown his true colors. My gaze might have left the man, but it lands on the statue of a tiger in the corner, so a part of him. He says it’s about power, control, and a willingness to do anything to defeat his enemies. I was wrong. He’s no chameleon. He’s a pure predator.
The bed shifts and his hands come down on my knees, and before I realize what is happening, he’s pressing them to my chest. His fingers dig into my legs and he moves closer, leaning over me. And damn it, I am looking at him when I swore I would not. “You’re angry,” he says.
“Two hours,” I say. “Two hours you left me here.”
“I told you not to leave the house.”
“You don’t own me. You can’t tell me—”
“I can and I will. And I left you here to make sure you think twice the next time you disobey me. A painless punishment, considering how disobeying me might have ended. I am a powerful man, angel. You know this. My enemies will lash out at anyone I care for. And that’s you. So if I tell you to fucking stay in the house, I fucking mean it. Understand?”
His demand is guttural, the rasp in his tone telling me he truly feared for me. “Yes,” I say, realizing now that I really was in danger today, because he isn’t the only one who will do anything to win in life. So will his enemies.
He stares at me for several seconds, assessing my reply, weighing it before his voice softens. “Good girl.” He lowers my legs and slides between them. “There is always a price for power, but losing you will not be mine. I protect what is mine.” He leans into me, his cheek pressed to mine, his lips at my ear, to add, “And you are mine.”
I jerk to a sitting position and look down to discover the journal still clasped to my chest. Scanning the bed, I locate the pen and open the journal, trying to document everything I just remembered, along with the stupid certainty that I forgave him that night. I search my mind, looking for more details, trying to see his face, or identify a clue that tells me he’s Niccolo. Five pages later, I’ve discovered nothing new about myself or him.
Frustrated at how unsuccessful this journal-writing session has been, I set the pen and journal on the nightstand, the throbbing in my scalp warning of an imminent headache. Scooting off the bed, I reach for my purse on the nightstand. I dig out my bottle of medicine and snatch another chocolate milk, downing a pill with it, and then finish off my apple. Taking my purse with me, I head to the bathroom, discovering a room of pale blue and white the size of a small bedroom and, to my delight, a massive claw-foot tub in the corner.
Walking to the tiled white counter of the double-sinked vanity, I admire the matching wooden cabinets with cute blue knobs, and I can’t help but wonder what Kayden’s room looks like. Dark and moody, like the man, I suspect. After setting my purse on the counter, I walk to the tub, pleased to find a small bag of toiletries on the ledge that includes razors, bubbles, and body wash. I turn the faucet and pour some of the bubbles beneath the spray of the water, the scent of sweet honeysuckle flaring in my nostrils. I ignore the razor, since I appear to be waxed, and considering how fast and horrific my first dye job was, I doubt that was to hide my hair color.
Searching for something to wear, I walk into the closet, a light automatically flickering to life to illuminate a room half the size of the giant bathroom. Clothes intended for me, I assume, hang to the left, while the right is lined with built-in drawers and shelves. A cushioned stool claims the middle, as does a variety of bags from various stores. Lots of bags, and guilt hits me hard. Kayden not only paid my hospital bills, now he’s giving me a place to live and replacing all the things a woman has when she doesn’t have a past. Maybe I can help in the store, or with his hunts, to do something to pay him back.
I squat down and begin digging through the bags, and guilt aside, I’m downright giddy to find a curling iron, a blow-dryer, and a flatiron, along with all kinds of makeup and products. There is also a bag of lingerie from a store called La Perla. I frown, almost certain that’s the name on the label of the bra I’m already wearing. I tear away my T-shirt and remove my bra to discover I’m right. It’s the same brand. I’m not sure what to make of the coincidence.
Still trying to conjure my memories, ready to evoke some magic I don’t possess, I undress and select a black bra-and-panty set, a black Chanel T-shirt, and a pair of Chanel black jeans that fit surprisingly well, after several other items have failed to work out. Then I undress, pile my hair on top of my head, dig my phone from my purse, slide into the wonderful, warm bubbles of my bath, and Google La Perla. Aside from admiring the lingerie on their site, I find nothing seems familiar.
Frowning, I decide I need to go by the store to jar my memory and search for a location, only to discover there are stores across the world, including several in the US, including Las Vegas, New York, and San Francisco. San Francisco. I sit up, a memory from the dream coming back to me. Sara lives in San Francisco, which means I must, too. I reach for a towel and drop the phone. In the water. No! I fish it out, and have to wipe bubbles away to even see the screen and discover it’s dead. Of course it is. I just gave it a bath. I grab the towel and start drying it off, when a loud pounding starts on the bedroom door. I search for another towel and can’t find one, and there is more knocking, telling me something is wrong.
I set the phone on a silver tray but still have to contend with a sheet of bubbles on my skin that will leave a trail on my way to the door, brushing enough off to finally secure the towel at my chest. Grabbing the edge of the tub, I step to the small light blue rug, securing a footing at the same moment I hear the bedroom door open, followed by Kayden’s voice. “Ella!”
“In here!” I call out, rushing to the door and reaching it at the same instant Kayden appears in front of me. He grabs my arms and pulls me to him, but not before my towel falls to my feet. “Why didn’t you answer the door?”
“Kayden, my towel—”
“You have a damn concussion,” he continues, his tone a hard reprimand. “Marabella couldn’t get you to answer and she came to me, afraid for you.”
It seems more like he was afraid for me. “I’m okay. I’m sorry. I was in the tub and—”
“I called your phone. Keep it with you.”
“I dropped it in the tub.”
He downright glares at me and gives a guttural “Fuck” as his response.
“Sorry,” I say.
“I don’t give a damn about the phone,” he says, and while his gaze does not leave my face, I know from the darkening of his eyes and the straightening of his spine that he’s fully aware of my state of undress, proven by how quickly he sets me away from him. “Marabella made dinner. She wants to impress you.”
I grab the towel and hold it in front of me. “I’ll be right there.”
I’ve barely spoken the words and he’s gone, exiting the bathroom, and he seems unaffected by me being naked. I stand there, questioning the attraction and connection I thought we shared that I can’t shut out, while he doesn’t seem to suffer the same affliction. But then, according to the “me” in my flashbacks, I’m pretty bad at judging men. In fact, I’d say it’s a good bet that’s what got me in this boat in the first place. The last thing I should want is a man, or a relationship, and yet I do want Kayden.
Several beats pass, and I realize I haven’t moved, but neither have I heard the door open and shut. Tentatively, I walk to the archway separating the two rooms to find Kayden still here, standing at the door, his back to me, his hand on the knob, his head on the wooden surface. I inhale and don’t dare breathe, counting out several more beats before he curses and leaves the room. I lean on the doorjamb, a heavy breath escaping my lips. He wasn’t unaffected, and I am reminded of his earlier declaration about memories. They keep the past we don’t want to forget alive, and they remind me of all the reasons I’m bad for you. A monster lurks in his past, and I wonder what torments a man as strong and dominant as Kayden Wilkens, and why do I know I’m a trigger that gives it life? I push off the wall and hurry to get dressed, determined to find out why, and ready to meet the real man behind those seductive blue eyes.