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.
eleven
Fifteen minutes later, I’m dressed in the black jeans and tee I pi
cked out earlier, and have paired the outfit with a pair of fur-lined lace-up boots. Opting to leave my purse behind, I exit the bathroom and head for the door, pausing long enough to stuff the phone I attacked with bubbles into my pocket. I reach for the doorknob and just happen to glance down, my gaze catching on a latch of some sort. Frowning, I squat beside it and slide it from the wall to the door. I smile, a full-blown, happy smile. The door locks. I have no idea why this pleases me so, but it really, really does.
I’m lighter on my feet as I head into the hallway, admiring the lantern-style lights along the path I missed on the first walk. I pass two closed doors, wondering if the rooms beyond them are in use, planning on a little exploration of the place later, if Kayden doesn’t mind. I reach the spot where the hall unites with the archway to the living area, and I step inside the opening, the ceiling transitioning from high and flat to high and conical. The room is large, with modern brown leather furnishings that marry with the medieval architecture with unexpected elegance.
My nostrils flare with a spicy, wonderful scent, drawing my attention to yet another archway. I walk in that direction, passing a small desk on the way, and pausing as I reach the entrance of a kitchen. It’s rectangular, with stunning gray cabinetry and a granite island to my right that stretches for several feet, under a stainless-steel hood. But décor and castles aren’t what’s on my mind. It’s Kayden, standing to my left, his back to me, while he seems to stare into the darkness beyond a floor-to-ceiling window. Tension ripples off him; his broad shoulders are bunched beneath the navy T-shirt he now wears, and I’m certain that he’s at war with his memories, which he’s declared his enemy.
“You must be Ella!”
My gaze reluctantly leaves Kayden and lands on a fifty-something dark-haired woman, who rushes toward me. “Ciao, sweetie. I’m Marabella. So nice to meet you.” She hugs me, her presence inviting and warm, while I sense Kayden’s attention is hot and heavy.
“Ciao,” I say, as she releases me. “Nice to meet you.”
“I hear you have amnesia,” she announces, “and you need stability and my good food to heal.”
I laugh. “Yes. I do believe that’s what the doctor ordered.”
She gives me a critical inspection. “Good thing, too. You’re too skinny.” She eyes Kayden. “Have you been starving her?”
“Who’s starving who is debatable,” he answers dryly, his eyes landing on me for several beats before he lifts the cup of coffee in his hand toward Marabella. “So far this is all you’ve fed me.”
The comment is directed at Marabella, but my stomach flip-flops with the certainty he’s talking to me, though she doesn’t notice. Instead, her eyes light and fall on me, as if he’s just made a suggestion she finds perfect. “Would you like a cappuccino?”
“Yes, actually,” I say. “That would be delightful.”
That light in her eyes brightens and she disappears around the island again, leaving me with the full impact of Kayden’s attention, a thick, heavy blanket that is both inviting and suffocating at the same time. I don’t know what this man does to me, but it’s undeniably intense. Inhaling, I face him, my eyes meet his, and the air charges, the possibilities between us a live wire that both entices and confuses me.
I walk to the table, stopping directly in front of him, my hands resting on the back of a leather chair. “You said you don’t play games.”