“No,” he agrees, and in this moment, his famously intense eyes live up to their reputation, inviting me to drown in a sea of blue. “No, I do not,” he adds softly, and then he kisses my nose, pushes off the bed, and heads down the stairs. I roll to my side and watch him disappear, sighing. Kace August is here in my apartment, and he knows who I am.
I’m suddenly drifting back in time again, and this time, I’m reliving the night he’d chased me down outside the bar:
I turn as Kace steps in front of me, his hand settling on the top of the door, successfully caging me between his big body and the car.
“I thought you’d come back by the table,” he says.
“I didn’t want to intrude.”
“Alexander is intruding. You wouldn’t have. And—about Alexander.”
That statement is a stab of reality. He’s not here for me. He’s here because of some battle between the two of them. “What about him?”
“He’s got an agenda.”
I bristle, embarrassment heating my cheeks. I actually thought he came out here for me. And I don’t understand this man or what game he’s playing. “What about you, Kace? Do you have an agenda?”
His eyes darken, burn, heat. His gaze lowers to my mouth and lingers before it lifts. “Yes. I do.” And before I know his intent, he’s stepped into me, tangling fingers into my hair and leaning in close, his breath a warm fan on my lips and cheek. “This,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted to do this every damn second I’ve been with you.”
Instantly I’m melting like chocolate under the hot sun for this man and doing it in the middle of a cold October wind. I sink into him, his hard body absorbing mine. And then he’s kissing me, his tongue licking against my tongue, a delicious caress that tastes of passion and hunger. His hand slides up my back, molding me closer, possession in that touch that should scare me, but it doesn’t. I’m lost in the intensity of my need for this man, a stranger I should resist, but I can’t remember why. Why was I supposed to resist?
A horn honks, and Kace pulls back. “You are my only agenda,” he says. “Don’t forget that.” And then he’s setting me away from him, leaving me cold where I was hot only moments before. “Good night, Aria.” He turns and walks away, leaving me panting and stunned.
I return to the present, and suddenly his vow that night has new meaning. He knew who I was. The question is: would he have told me sooner than later, or would he have waited for me to tell him? And really, at this point, does it really matter?
My lashes lower and I decide that no, it doesn’t matter. What matters are his motives, and his agenda, which he claims is me, just me. But, is it?
And I’ve drifted into two memories in one night.
Why these two memories?
CHAPTER FIVE
I blink awake to a throbbing pain in my hand, a dimly lit room and the ache of my hand and the leaden feel of my arm, no doubt from the tetanus shot. That’s when I realize that I’m not only in my own bed but that Kace is right here with me, propped up on the headboard, watching television.
“Hey,” he says, scooting down to lay next to me on his side, his hand settling possessively on my belly. “You’re finally awake.”
My brows furrow and I try to remember how I even got into bed. “Finally? What time is it?”
“Seven. You’ve been asleep for hours. I tried to get more pain meds down you about an hour ago, but you refused.”
“I did?”
“You did. You just wanted to sleep. How are you?”
“I hurt and I need to pee,” I confess. “And if that kind of frankness doesn’t scare you off, I’m certain you either love me or you want the formula to make the violin.” It’s out before I can stop it, a product of pain, drugs, and grogginess. “And on that awkward note, I have to get up.” I roll away from him, but just when I think he’s going to allow my escape, he’s already standing above me, offering me his hand. He’s also shirtless. I’m instantly mesmerized by the musical notes on his naked belly. An easy fixation even if I hadn’t just told the man he’s in love with me or he’s using me. So much so that I dare to reach out and press my hand to the taut hard muscle of his belly. He pulls me to my feet, his free hand flattening on my lower back, and suddenly I am flush to his hard body.
“Careful, baby,” he says. “You might start something you’re not ready to finish.”
I’m presently not sure if he means with my words or my hands. “What I said—”
The blue of his eyes fleck with amber. “What about it?”
“I wasn’t suggesting—I just—”
His mouth brushes my mouth. “Have to pee,” he teases, his perfect mouth curving. “I know.” He strokes my hair. “Go pee. Jenny dropped by some soup, homemade bread, and cookies. I’ll warm up the soup and bread so you can take some more medication.”
My eyes go wide. “Wait. What? Jenny was here?”
“Relax, baby. I wouldn’t let anyone into your home without your permission. I met her at the downstairs door. And her soup is incredible. I might have tested this batch out for you.”
Emotion wells in my chest. No one has taken care of me in years, not even Gio. I mean, I know Gio would die for me, he would, but Gio is just—Gio. A player. A wild card. A man on a mission he never explained.
Spontaneously, I reach up and rest my fingers on Kace’s jaw, searching his face for some sign of betrayal, some reason to send him away, but all I find is that bond I’ve shared with him. That magnetic pull between us dragging me deeper under his spell. He grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Stop looking for what’s not there and see me again.”
“I just need—”
“I know. We’ll talk. I’ll explain. I promise. Right now, I’m going to get that food down you.”
“Thank you, Kace.”
“Her manners return,” he teases, releasing me and heading down the stairs.
I inhale on the exchange, and God, I want this to be real, I want us to be real, but I’m scared. I turn away from the stairs, grab my purse, and head into the bathroom, the only other room on this level. Once I’m inside, I shut the door, pee, wash up, and then study myself in the mirror. I’m a mess. My hair is all over the place. My mascara looks like something out of a horror movie. My lips are bare. Meanwhile, my hand looks like it’s ten times its normal size. The ER wrapped it with a ridiculous quantity of bandages.
Kneeling in front of my cabinet, I dig out some gauze I bought eons ago and set out to rewrap it.
Ten minutes later, I am thankful that the injury and leaden feeling is in my left hand, not my right. I’ve managed to re-wrap my left in a reasonable amount of bandage, my face is washed and bare, and that’s all I have in me. I can’t handle pain pills and I grab Advil from the cabinet, pop four, and use the glass by the sink to down them. That’s when my gaze catches on my bare feet and pink painted toes. I didn’t take off my shoes and socks. Kace did. On a subconscious level, I trust him so much that I didn’t even notice. I have never trusted anyone but Gio. That means something. Doesn’t it?