but my skill with a gun and my attitude say I am.â
âThen let me say this to this new feminist side of you. You own me in ways I do not want to be owned, and should not be owned as The Hawk of The Underground. That is power. That is control, whether you want it or understand it. That is what you do to me.â
Now heâs the one who sounds angry, as if he doesnât quite comprehend how this has happened, eitherâhow I have control he doesnât want to cede. And once again, without even trying, he has taken control, and given it, in a way that balances out the overwhelming alpha part of him. âKaydenââ
âPick up the gun. Hear me out. And then decide what to do with it.â
âI donât want the gun,â I say, pushing off the island and going around it to the coffeepot on the counter behind him. Iâm aware of him right behind me, and I inhale, his spicy scent mingling with the richness of coffee, wreaking havoc on my senses, and itâs all I can do to open the cabinet and grab a mug.
Kayden steps to my side, and I turn and offer him a cup. He closes his hand around mine instead, and heat rushes up my arm and into my chest. âElla,â he says softly, and my name on his lips slides under my skin and nestles deep in my soul. And Lord help me, I donât know if I am even capable of being objective with this man.
He inhales, that perfect chest expanding a moment before he takes the cup and sets it on the counter. I grab another and set it down beside it, and he fills both with coffee. Part of me thinks that this domestic act should downplay my worries and calm my nerves. It doesnât even come close, but I think it should, and I stick to this strategy. Try something normal. Do something normal.
Kayden sets the pot on the warmer while I tear open several packages of sweetener, my stupid hand trembling with the adrenaline Iâm battling, and I drop one of the packages in the cup. Frustrated at my lack of control, I hold up my hands. âWhat are we doing? I donât want coffee. You donât want coffee. Weâre just going through the motions.â
âCome on,â he says, lacing our fingers together in that intimate, familiar way and leading me to the table. Rather than putting it between us, he pulls two chairs out to face each other, each of us claiming one. âFirst,â he says, resting his hands on his knees. âI want you to know that I havenât lied to you about anything. I didnât know you until I found you in the alleyway. I donât know who you are now. And I had no idea you were connected to the necklace until you remembered it.â
âSo you were looking for the necklace before you found me,â I say, confirming what seems obvious.
âI was, but not for hire. This isnât a treasure hunt, and it has nothing to do with money. At least not for me.â
âWhat does that mean?â
âThat necklace is a century old, and property of the British government. It disappeared fifty years ago. Itâs worth a large enough fortune to have the Italian and French mafia looking for it, and now, it appears, Raul and the cartel, as well. In any of their hands itâs dangerous, but considering Niccolo is twice as powerful as the others, in his itâs downright lethal.â
âAnd youâre trying to get to it first.â
âIâm going to get to it first and return it to the British government, where I know it wonât be used to profit Niccolo or anyone else.â
âBecause itâs stolen?
âBecause it represents the kind of power we canât allow someone like Niccolo, or anyone in his class of pursuers, to have.â
âWhen you say fortune, how much money are we talking?â
âItâs valued at a hundred and fifty million euros, but thereâs a private collector willing to pay double that.â
âOh my God. I didnât even know a
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