I snap back, “You think I don’t know that?”
His eyes glint, the wolf back in spades, and he grabs the clothes, tossing them in the bag and shoving it aside, his hands closing around my arms. “It’s time to remember.”
My anger is instant, fear nowhere in sight. “You can’t order me to remember and I just do it.”
“I’ll take that challenge,” he declares, standing and lifting me with him.
“Stop bullying me,” I hiss, grabbing two handfuls of his shirt, and giving not even a tiny flip about my gaping gown. “Stop bullying me!”
“I’m trying to save your life,” he says, rotating me and pressing me against the hard wall, fingers flexing into my shoulders where he still holds me. “What’s your name?”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”
“You do know.”
“No,” I bite out. “I don’t.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit.”
“Your memories could change everything we do when we walk out of this room—you know that, right? Every move we make that could be wrong, you can make right. Now: what’s your name?”
I don’t know, but I can’t say that to him again. “Let me off the wall.”
“After you tell me your name.”
“Stop being an asshole!” I explode, shoving against his hard, unmoving body.
“I’ve been called worse, sweetheart,” he says, cupping my face. “Give me what I want.”
“I can’t give you what I don’t know.”
“What’s your name?”
“I told you—”
“What’s your damn name?”
“Ella,” I shock myself by saying. “My name is Ella.”
four
Ella,” I repeat, joyful laughter bubbling from my lips. “Ella. Ella. Ella!” I grab his shirt, balling it in my hand. “Kayden, I remember! I remember my name! Thank you for being an asshole.” I point a finger at his chest and manage a moment of sternness to warn, “But don’t do it again. It won’t work next time. I’ll know what you’re doing.”
His hands slide from my face to my shoulders, those blue, blue eyes meeting mine as he says, “Ella.”
“Ella!” I exclaim, absolutely giddy. “Oh God. It feels good to hear my name.” Even better in his rich, deep, sexy voice, and I demand a replay. “Say it again.”
His fingers flex where he holds me. “Sweetheart, I need you to listen to me.” His voice is firm, directive. “I know you’re happy, but—”
“But?” I repeat, my bubble quickly deflating. “That’s not a good word. It prefaces a problem.” My eyes go wide. “Please tell me my name doesn’t mean something horrible to you.”
“I’ve never heard your name before now. And what it means to me isn’t what’s important.”
“If I’m a crazy person and don’t know it, but you do, yeah, I kind of think it does.”
“You’re about to make me the crazy person, woman. Time is not our friend right now. I need to know if ‘Ella’ is just a name to you. Or did we unlock your memory?”