“I don’t.”
“I disagree.”
He arches a brow, his hands resting on the chair opposite me. “Meaning?”
“Your comment. Your look. Who’s denying whom?”
“I’d say it’s mutual.”
“You implied it was me denying you.”
His eyes sharpen, a hint of shadows in their depths, there and gone in an instant. “This is a conversation better had alone,” he says, lowering his chin to indicate the file on the table. “You left it in the car,” he adds, disapproval etched in his tone.
Our verbal sparring is forgotten, a burn starting in my belly. “I guess I did.”
“You do know—”
“Don’t say it’s important. I know it is. I just . . . becoming Rae Eleana Ward feels like the end of Ella, of me, and I don’t want that to happen. Which really is ridiculous since I don’t even know who ‘me’ is.” My fingers dig into the leather of the seat. “Obviously that means I don’t want her back.”
He sets his coffee on the table and moves to the high-backed leather seat to my left, and pulls it out. “Come join me.”
His voice has softened to a gentle caress that manages to soothe a few of my frazzled nerves and makes me feel just a little less alone. I wet my lips and nod, claiming the seat, and allow him to scoot me forward. I wait to see which of the seven chairs he will choose, relieved as he sits next to me. “Here you go,” Marabella announces, setting a cup in front of me, waiting expectantly for me to taste it.
Lifting the cup, I sip the warm beverage, a rich coffee taste exploding in my mouth. “Hmmm,” I murmur. “Delicious.” I take another sip. “Really delicious.”
She tilts her head to study me, snickering as if she is amused by a joke I’ve missed. “The salads will be out in a minute,” she says, glancing at Kayden and speaking to him in Italian before hurrying away.
Frowning, I set my cup down, wondering what amused her so. “Look at me,” Kayden says, laughter in his voice, and the very fact that he’s gone from moody to amused has me obeying.
My head turns his direction and he grasps my wrist, pulling me close and leaning into me. “What are you doing?” I ask, as he reaches up and strokes my lips with his thumb, sending my heart into a race.
“Wiping the foam off your lip, as instructed by Marabella.”
Heat rushes to my cheek. “Please tell me it wasn’t a mustache.”
“Just a small one.”
“How embarrassing.”
“The part where I wiped the foam from your lips instead of kissing it away like I wanted to? Or the part where Marabella told me to?”
My eyes go wide. “She told you to kiss me?”
“Yes,” he murmurs, his breath a warm fan on my lips where I want his mouth. “She told me to kiss you.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Hmmm. I was afraid I wouldn’t stop, and that would have been embarrassing.” He smiles. “For you and Marabella.” He releases me, wicked heat in his stare as he drags the folder in front of him. “Let’s see what you remember. Remind me. When’s your birthday?”
I blink, stunned by the sudden shift from warm to cold. “You’re going to give me whiplash to go with my concussion.”
His expression turns somber with his mood. “Yes, well, I don’t have a choice but to give you whiplash. Gallo came by here looking for you while we were at Matteo’s. He’ll be back again, and we need to be ready. So I repeat. When’s your birthday?”
“July twentieth.”
“What year?”
“Nineteen eighty-eight.”