Denial (Careless Whispers #1)

by Lisa Renee Jones

  I open the door and his shoulders bunch slightly, telling me he is aware of me, but he doesn’t turn. I step to him and press my hand to the center of those tattoos. “Everyone you’ve lost.”

  He reaches around and pulls me in front of him, out of reach of the spray of water, walking me backward until I hit the wall. “Yes. Everyone I’ve lost, and I do not intend to let you become part of that circle. But if you want out, if you want to leave—”

  “I thought you said you wouldn’t let me go.”

  “Do you want to go?”

  The question catches me off guard, but I don’t falter. “No. I don’t.”

  “After all you’ve learned today, are you sure about that?”

  “If you’re afraid I want more than you can give—”

  “I’m afraid I want more than I can, or should, ask of you. But I seem to be incapable of stopping myself.” His gaze sweeps low, a hot caress over my naked body that I feel in all the places I wish he were touching me.

  I reach for him and he captures my hand. “When I said I like things a little dirty, that was wrong. I like things a lot dirty.”

  My pulse leaps wildly with the promise of dark, sexy things I want to know with this man. “Show me,” I say.

  “I need to know I’m not going to scare you.”

  I blink up at him, a cold spot in my chest expanding, the realization a blow I did not expect. “You think because he tied me up that I am afraid of your version of dirty? Damn it, Kayden, I told you. If you hold back and treat me like a wilting flower, he wins.”

  “Sweetheart, that’s when we’re talking and not fucking. I’m warning that I’m not going to hold back. I won’t hold back. If you say yes to what I ask for, I will take full advantage of what that means.”

  “Yes,” I say, sounding breathless, my knees weak and my nipples tight. “My answer is yes.”

  His eyes darken, a muscle in his jaw flexing, and I can almost feel him restraining himself, holding back, and I hate it. I hate it so much. I flatten my hand on his chest, damp tendrils of light brown hair teasing my fingers. “I am not his captive. I will not be that and you will not make me that. So let me repeat my answer. Yes.”

  His eyes glint hard and he turns me to the face the wall, the way he turned me to face that bedpost last night, and I know he’s testing me, pushing me. “Are you sure about that?” he demands, his erection at my hip, his hand cupping my breast and squeezing it roughly, erotically.

  “Yes,” I pant out. “Yes.”

  “Let’s define the meaning of yes.” His hand flattens on one of my butt cheeks. “Yes means I won’t just make you want me to own you. While we’re fucking, I will own you.” He steps to my side, at my hip, his shaft resting at the back of my thigh, his hand squeezing my backside. “Own you,” he repeats, his head resting against mine.

  “What part of ‘yes’ do you not understand?”

  He cups my sex. “And I will tie you up.”

  “You said that,” I remind him, frustrated that he feels the need to go there again. “Stop warning me and just do this.”

  “Do I get to define what ‘this’ is?”

  “As long as you do it now.”

  His teeth nip my ear, and I swear I feel it in my sex right where his fingers are pumping and moving. “Let’s see. Should I lick you? Bite you? Spank you?”

  Shock rips through me and I try to turn, but his hand flattens on my back, holding me in place. “I thought you wanted it dirty?”

  “Spank me? I—”

  “Is this where you say no? Because you can always say no.”

  “I’ve never—”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oh yes,” I say quickly. “Yes, I am quite sure.”

  “Good. Then I’ll be the only one you trust that much.” He turns me around again, nestling me in the corner, my wrists shackled over my head where he grips them. “The word yes,” he says, dragging his free hand over my breast, down my body, until it cups my sex again, “has a consequence. You know that, right?”

  “What consequence?” I pant out, his fingers pressing inside me, thumb stroking over my clit and sending darts of pleasure straight to my nipples.

  “Trust. Complete, absolute trust, and I will demand it in ways you can’t begin to fathom.” He brushes his lips over mine, fingers stroking deeper into my sex, moving back and forth.

  “How is that a consequence?”

  “It gives me control. It lets me own you, and when I do, I’m going to make sure you want more. Do you want more now?”

  “Yes. Oh yes.”

  “Close your eyes and don’t move your hands when I let go. If you do—”

  “You won’t let me come.”

  “Exactly. Now, do it.”

  My lashes lower and his hands leave my wrists, and it is all I can do not to satisfy my need to touch him, my breath panting from my parted lips. But I am motivated to comply by the way he is touching me. Everywhere, all over, and sensations roll through me, pleasure lighting up every nerve ending in my body. I can barely take it, and yet it’s not enough, and I moan with the need for something else. For that “more” he wishes me to crave, that I wish to be him inside of me.

  “Kayden,” I plead, and he answers by sinking to one knee, his tongue lapping my swollen nub; then he suckles deeply, while his fingers, his amazing fingers, slide in and out of me. And my hands are too heavy over my head, my fingers knotting in my hair, the only way I can stop them from lowering to his, and I cannot control the sounds of pleasure escaping my lips. There is a swell of arousal in my belly, low, lower, and I both want to quell it and want to drive it to the next blissful place, and it does go there. To that sweet spot from where there is no return. I lose control, my fingers twining into his hair, but he does not punish me or deny my release, as I feared. He lets me touch him, his tongue and his fingers slowly easing, becoming gentler, and then slipping away as my knees all but collapse.

  Kayden stands and turns off the water, then returns to me to twine fingers in my hair, pulling my head back and forcing my gaze to his. “You have to learn to follow orders. Action equals consequence. Remember that.”

  “I tried, but you—”

  “There is no try. There is only do, but I’ll show you. I’ll teach you.”

  I’ll teach you. The words speak to the woman in me in ways perhaps they should not, but I don’t care. They just do, and he does, and when he kisses me, licking into my mouth, the sweet, salty taste of me on his lips, he does own me. I tangle fingers in his hair, and he tears his mouth from mine, giving me one of those wolfish stares as he cups my backside and lifts me.

  We exit the shower, and he sits me on the counter, wrapping me in a towel before he secures one at his waist, tendrils of water that beg for my tongue sliding down his arm. He steps into me again, his hands settling on my legs, branding me as if he hasn’t already, but the wolf is gone; warm tenderness is in his eyes as he asks, “You okay?”

  It’s what I’d asked him, and my lips curve with that reference and with the idea that, while he’s pushed me, he’s still protecting me, even from himself. “Yeah,” I say, “I’m okay.”

  He smiles his approval and gives me a low, sexy command of “stay here” that leaves me curiously tracking his every step as he disappears into the closet.

  Grinning at just about everything that just happened in that shower, I cannot contain my desire to see what the sexy “king of the castle’s” closet looks like. I slide off the counter and quickly dart in that direction, only to have him appear in the archway before I enter, now wearing a pair of pajama bottoms, with a shirt in his hand. “I told you to wait.”

  I grimace at his attempt at a reprimand. “I take orders better when naked than not.”

  He arches a brow. “Is that right? You’re almost naked now.”

  “I have a towel.”

  “I can fix that.”

  I clutch it to my chest. “I want to see your closet.”

  “See it when you mo
ve your things in tomorrow.”

  I blink, certain I’ve misheard. “What?”

  He slides the shirt over my head and I slip my arms inside, my towel falling to the ground. “That’s so I can concentrate and give you a chance to make a decision.”

  “Decision?”

  “Either you’re in my bed or you’re not. I want you in it.”

  I am pleased. I am confused. I am so many things with this man that I can’t even begin to define. “But you left last night.”

  “Fucking some random woman and wanting you in my bed are two different things. I had to come to terms with what that meant for me. I have. Now it’s your turn.”

  “What it means for you? If the answer is that I open raw wounds, I’ll choose nothing. If the answer is it lets you protect me and that is all you want and need, I’ll choose nothing.”

  “I want you in my bed, Ella. I’ve said that to no one in a very long time. Why do I want you there? I just do. That’s the only answer I have for either of us. It’s back to you. Choose, Ella. Now.”

  I just do. It’s my answer exactly, and perhaps the only one either of us can give this early in our time together. My decision made, I turn and walk into the bedroom and don’t stop moving until I’m in his bed, under the covers. By the time I am, he is joining me, making it clear he’s not leaving tonight. He lowers the lights, casting us in the dim glow of the fireplace, and moves close to me.

  “Right here,” he says, wrapping me in his arms, my back to his front, and I am suddenly warm and sheltered, and he feels right in ways that make my lost memory second to this and him. But I do not miss the way he holds me a little too tight, as if he’s certain someone, or something, will soon rip me from his arms. And the truth is, I fear the same.

  eighteen

  I wake to the dull thrumming of more rain, not sure where it’s coming from, and I don’t care. Kayden is wrapped around me and I have zero desire to wake up. My lashes lower and I will myself back to sleep, the thrum of the rain a song lulling me into slumber, and suddenly I am back in that hotel room moments after David left. It is the moment after he’d gone and I’d ripped the butterfly from my neck.

  Appalled at what I have done, I stare at the necklace on the floor, stumbling forward and falling to my knees. I grab the butterfly, and frown as I find a piece of paper sticking out of the back. I tug on it and stare at the handwritten words.

  I blink drowsily, my gaze catching on the fireplace, and Kayden shifts behind me, his hand slipping under my shirt to flatten on my belly. I cover it with mine and hold on tight, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to force my mind back into that hotel room where I can read the words on that piece of paper. Instead, I am transported back to a moment with him.

  He is angry. He is always angry. He is also at my back, stalking me as we walk down a hallway in a club he says I will soon enjoy as he does. There was a time when he would have said such a thing to me and I’d have believed him. That time has passed. The path ends and he punches a code into the door panel, an odd thing in a club, but of course, he wouldn’t frequent any place that isn’t exclusive in every possible way. The door buzzes open and I enter what looks like a small, round coliseum, stepping past two huge pillars to find a naked woman with long, dark hair, on her knees, with her arms tied to some sort of posts. I gasp and turn to leave, but he steps in front of me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I don’t want to be here.”

  “You need to see what happens if you disobey me again.”

  “I already promised I’d listen from now on.”

  He caresses my cheek and I cringe. He notices and is not pleased, his fingers digging into my arm as he turns me to face forward. “You watch. You learn. If you move right now, you will become her.” He shoves me to my knees, his legs at my spine, and my gaze meets the woman waiting for whatever punishment is soon to be hers, but she is not afraid as I am. She welcomes it. She wants it. A door opens to the left, and a beautiful blond woman in leather holding a whip enters the room.

  “No!” I stand and face him. “No. No. No.”

  He grabs my hair and drags me toward the two women, glancing over my shoulder to say, “She goes first.”

  “Ella. Sweetheart. Wake up.”

  I roll over to stare into Kayden’s blue eyes, blinking several times to make sure he’s real. “Oh God.” I cup his cheek. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  He covers my hand with his. “Flashback?”

  “Nightmare. Flashback. Whatever you want to call it.”

  “Him again?”

  “Yes. Kayden, he’s …” My throat thickens. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

  “It does matter. Talk to me, sweetheart.”

  “No. I can’t talk about this and it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t help us figure out who he is.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It doesn’t help,” I insist. “Please. Just let it go.”

  He strokes hair from my face. “I won’t push, but I want you to be able to talk to me. Everything or nothing, remember? That doesn’t change when your memories come back. Remember that.”

  His cell phone rings, and he kisses my forehead and then rolls over to grab it from his nightstand, sitting up to take the call. I sit as well, curling my knees to my chest, and while the beating isn’t important, the necklace is, and that means talking about David, a subject not easily broached with Kayden. I listen as he speaks quickly in Italian, deciding it’s time I learn the language. He ends the call, scrubbing a hand through his hair and exhaling.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Matteo picked up some internet chatter early this morning that he thought was a lead on Enzo, but it went cold on him.”

  “You have a bad feeling about this, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I do. Really fucking bad, and my feelings aren’t wrong.”

  His phone rings again while he’s still holding it and he grimaces and glances at the number. “Adriel,” he says. “He’s looking for Enzo too.” He answers, looking both irritated and confused. “Giada? How do you have my number?”

  She doesn’t have his number? That’s odd.

  “Hold on,” he says, and offers me the phone, looking exceedingly grumpy as he announces, “For you.”

  I accept it, thinking her timing has not played in her favor with Kayden. “Hi, Giada.”

  “Hi, Ella. I was wondering if you want to go shopping?”

  I glance at the one window in the corner opposite the fireplace, watching rain hitting the glass. “It’s a pretty wet day.”

  “We have indoor shopping centers. It will be fun and we can talk.”

  Talk. That is her real goal. She needs another woman to bond with, just as Marabella had thought. “Hold on,” I say, covering the phone to run the idea by Kayden. “She wants me to go shopping with her.”

  He scowls and takes the phone. “She’ll call you back.” He hangs up.

  “Oh my God. Kayden. That was horrible. I know we have to go to the consulate for my passport, but I could have worked around that with her. And I could have handled it nicely.”

  “Gallo will be waiting on us if we go today. We’ll go when his boss can make sure he isn’t around.”

  I forget about Giada. “You have that much pull with his boss?”

  “Yes, I do. And before you ask, Gallo has no idea just how much.”

  “How is that possible, if you don’t work for the police department?”

  “I do a few things on the side for them when necessary. This will cost me one of those jobs, but so be it to keep the relationship and get what we need.” He rolls me onto my back, his arm bracketing my body. “Today we stay here. Just you and me.”

  “Don’t expect me to complain about hiding out with you on a rainy day, but you were still mean to Giada.”

  “I don’t want her negativity influencing you.”

  “I’m my own person, and she needs a positive influence. Actually, Kayden, you lost you
r family as a minor as well. You could help her. Maybe we could take her to lunch.”

  “No,” he says, his tone flat and absolute.

  “Kayden—”

  “No. End of topic.” He rolls off me and the bed, and is crossing the room and entering the bathroom before I’ve sat up.

  I gape in disbelief, but I am not dissuaded from the topic or finding out what the heck is up with him and Giada. I scramble off the bed, quickly crossing to the bathroom, where I find him slathering on shaving cream at the sink. “No?” I demand. “You sound like Gallo. I only take orders in bed. I am not one of your Hunters.”

  He sets the brush down and turns to face me. “Is that right?”

  “Oh yes. That’s right.”

  “You really are a redhead, aren’t you?”

  I have a flickering memory of my mother, and my temper deflates. “Yes. I am.”

  He drags me to him. “Then you leave me only one option,” he declares, his tone flat.

  “And that would be what?”

  He kisses me, and I gasp into his mouth as shaving cream smudges all over me. I shove on his chest to free my mouth. “No, you didn’t.”

  He grins, and it’s truly sexy and hot in every possible way. “That’s what you get for messing with me, sweetheart.”

  I laugh and push to my toes and kiss him again. He cups my head and gives me a long, drugging kiss, and then turns me to the mirror, and I have as much shaving cream on me as he does him. I grab the towel he has sitting on the sink and pat my cheeks.

  “Now you know what happens when you argue with me,” he teases, reaching for the brush again.

  “I’ll do it,” I say, stepping in front of him and taking the brush from his hand, our laughter in the middle of what could have been a fight feeling right in the same way our comfortable silences are.

  He lifts me and sets me on the counter. “Are you as dangerous with a razor as you are with a gun?”

  I grin. “Of course, but at least I’m accurate with the gun.”

  “You aren’t making me confident about putting a blade in your hand, and how do you know you’re accurate with a gun?”

  “My father made me practice. I resented him then, but it’s actually really comforting to know I can handle myself.”