“Double-edged sword,” I whisper, pressure forcing my eyes shut again.
“That’s it,” he says. “We’re getting you out of here.” He slides his arm under my knees.
“No,” I plead, grabbing his shoulder, the sound of the rain splattering on the pavement promising misery I can’t take right now. “Please. Not yet. It’s too cold.”
“The car is at the curb and the heater is running.”
“Yes, but—”
He scoops me up and stands, curling me easily against his body. Some piece of sanity breaks through the pain and I grab his jacket, fighting to even keep my eyes open. “I’m going with you, but I know how to use that gun and I will if I have to.”
“That’s why I gave it to you,” he surprises me by saying, already starting up the stairs, pausing just before we’re about to leave the overhang. “Ready?”
“No. No. I’m not. Kayden—”
He steps out into the downpour anyway, and I gasp when the icy water instantly consumes us, huddling against him for the mercifully short run to the curb. Kayden sets me down on my feet, his arm shackling my waist while he opens the door and helps me inside, water pouring all over the expensive leather seats. I expect his quick departure, but despite the storm punishing him from all directions, he lingers by my side, hitting the button to lower my seat, his wet hair draping his face. And it’s all I can do not to reach up and shove it from his forehead, to see his eyes and try to understand the man who has become the only person I can depend on in this world.
But I don’t, and he’s gone, shutting the door, and sweet heaven, the engine really is running as he promised, the warm air blowing on me, offering a tiny bit of relief. Still shivering, I roll to my side as Kayden climbs into the car and shuts us inside, water pouring from his clothes and hair as he shrugs out of his coat.
He tosses it on the backseat. “Your turn,” he says. “You’ll feel better without that wet leather weighing you down.”
“I’d rather not move.”
“You can rest when you get it off.” He reaches over and maneuvers my purse over my head.
Regret fills me. “I’m sure it’s ruined. A Chanel purse is not meant to be drenched in water.”
“I’ll buy you another one,” he says, as if a five-thousand-dollar expense is nothing to him.
“How rich are you, exactly?”
He tugs the zipper down on the front of my jacket. “Not as rich as Niccolo, and that’s a problem.”
“Because money is power,” I whisper, shivering, and this time it’s not from the cold.
He gives me a keen look. “That sounds like experience talking.”
Images flash in my mind. A white mansion. A huge mahogany bed. A man’s hands. “Probably. Maybe.”
“Whatever the case . . .” he says, reaching up and brushing hair from my lips. His fingers linger there just a moment too long. “You’re right. Money is power, and Niccolo’s supply of both is limitless.”
“How do you know him, Kayden?”
“How isn’t what’s important,” he says, his tone hardening, and I can almost feel a wall come down between us. “Just be glad I know enough to keep us off his radar.” He reaches for my jacket. “We need to get you out of this and get moving.”
I grab his arm. “You really don’t know how to take no for an answer, do you?”
“And here you said you know nothing about me.”
“Not enough.”
“You do know,” he says, covering my hand where I hold him, holding me to him, and I have this sense of a shift in control, from mine to his. “I could say the same of you.”
“But I’m the one at a disadvantage,” I remind him.
“Are you now?”
“How can you ask that? Of course I am.”