expecting an answer you’ll want, you’d better pick up that gun.”
We stare at each other, a push and pull between us that has nothing to do with fear or intimidation, and everything to do with a bond we both know is being tested. “I know what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?”
“The same thing you did outside that church, when you helped me hold the gun to your chest.”
“Which is what?”
“Offering me the façade of control.”
“You holding a loaded gun on me in no way equals a façade.”
“I know you now,” I counter. “You don’t give up control, even when you say you are.”
He rests his hands on the counter, one turned just enough for me to catch a glimpse of the hawk inked on his wrist, its wings spread, the mark of a man whose rules of many must dictate his actions. “There are two sides to this coin,” he says, his words drawing my attention, his pale blue eyes piercing mine. “The me with you, and the me with everyone else.”
“We barely knew each other at the church.”
“I’d already decided you were mine. You just didn’t know it yet.”
I glower at him, frustratingly aroused and angry. “I know you haven’t lived in America in a long time, but that’s a very caveman-like, antifeminist statement to make.”
“I wasn’t aware you were a feminist.”
“Yes, well, I wasn’t either specifically, but my skill with a gun and my attitude say I am.”
“Then 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.”
Now he’s the one who sounds angry, as if he doesn’t quite comprehend how this has happened, either—how I have control he doesn’t 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. “Kayden—”
“Pick up the gun. Hear me out. And then decide what to do with it.”
“I don’t want the gun,” I say, pushing off the island and going around it to the coffeepot on the counter behind him. I’m aware of him right behind me, and I inhale, his spicy scent mingling with the richness of coffee, wreaking havoc on my senses, and it’s 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. “Ella,” he says softly, and my name on his lips slides under my skin and nestles deep in my soul. And Lord help me, I don’t 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 doesn’t 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 I’m battling, and I drop one of the packages in the cup. Frustrated at my lack of control, I hold up my hands. “What are we doing? I don’t want coffee. You don’t want coffee. We’re just going through the motions.”
“Come on,” 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. “First,” he says, resting his hands on his knees. “I want you to know that I haven’t lied to you about anything. I didn’t know you until I found you in the alleyway. I don’t know who you are now. And I had no idea you were connected to the necklace until you remembered it.”
“So you were looking for the necklace before you found me,” I say, confirming what seems obvious.
“I was, but not for hire. This isn’t a treasure hunt, and it has nothing to do with money. At least not for