He growled against her skin, and for the briefest instant, Jordana felt the sharp tips of his fangs dragging over her vein. “Christ,” he hissed. “Even if the son of a bitch walked in the door right now, I wouldn’t take my hands off you, Jordana. I want him to know he’ll never have you.”
“No, he won’t,” she panted. “And he won’t be coming here anytime soon because I ended things with him.”
Nathan stilled. Then his head lifted, his stormy eyes ablaze with crackling heat. “You ended it.”
She gave him a small nod. “Last night. Just before I went after you and found you at La Notte.”
For a long moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak a single word.
When his lips parted, his fangs gleamed, the tips as sharp as daggers.
He muttered something dark and hungered.
Then, without warning or excuse, he scooped her up into his arms and headed toward the bedroom.
15
JORDANA WAS LIGHT IN HIS ARMS AS NATHAN BROUGHT HER TO the bedroom at the end of the hallway.
A delicate crystal chandelier hung from the center of the vaulted ceiling, casting soft light in the room. Beneath the elegant fixture sat Jordana’s sumptuous king-size bed, which was heaped with fluffy pillows, frothy white coverlets, and fine, crisp sheets. The walls were painted in an equally snowy hue, the plush area rug just inside the door crushing easily under his black combat boot as he entered the room.
Everything about Jordana’s private sanctuary was soft like her, pure like her.
And he, the invading darkness soon to defile both.
Crossing the threshold into her bedroom, Nathan recognized the moment now was do or die. Jordana could leap out of his arms and barricade herself inside. Or he could set her down on her feet and make his escape.
Run? Hell, yes. That was exactly what he was contemplating—admittedly, not for the first time where this woman was concerned.
The thought perished swiftly, scorched into oblivion, when instead of fighting to get loose from his arms, Jordana turned her head and buried her face into the crook of his neck and shoulder.
Christ, the feel of her so close to him was arresting. It shot through him like a jagged flash of lightning, impossible to ignore.
And bewildering too. He didn’t know what to do with the humid rush of her breath against his throat. The touch was too intimate. Too tender.
Too honest and trusting.
It wasn’t too late to stop this. His intellect was quick to warn him of that, but his body had other ideas. With blood pounding furiously through his veins and to points lower, his c**k grew even more demanding behind the confines of his patrol fatigues. His lust was vying for control of the situation now, and it had no intention of backing down.
Jordana nuzzled closer, innocently unaware of the depth of her impact on him. The scent of her swamped his nose, drugging him with the combined fragrance of the vanilla soap that she must have used in her bath and the more intoxicating perfume that was simply Jordana. She smelled warm and soft and innocent, yet heady with the scent of arousal.
How would her body taste against his tongue? And if he pierced the tender vein that fluttered so temptingly in the side of her neck, would her Breedmate’s blood flow down his throat like sweet nectar or boldly exotic spice?
Saliva surged at the mere idea. His fangs were already filling his mouth, but now they ripped farther out of his gums, the long canines pulsing with an even darker need than the one that practically owned him tonight.
Nathan set Jordana down on her feet beside the bed, his entire being vibrating with a barely restrained hunger.
If she were any other woman, he’d already have her na**d and spread open wide to receive him—facedown or tied down, his long-standing requirement of anyone he f**ked.
No kissing him.
No touching him.
No watching him as he exorcised the weakness of his flesh-and-bone body.
He fed and f**ked because he had to, but he did it on his terms. Always under his strict control, in order to retain the edge of the honed, unfeeling weapon he’d been born and raised, mercilessly trained to be.
Jordana Gates had broken all of his rules.
If she were anyone else, he wouldn’t be standing there with a raging hard-on, a need that bordered on savage, and no damned clue how to begin what he’d started here tonight, let alone how to finish it.
She must have finally sensed the threat in him as he stood before her near the bed. She retreated a couple of steps, only until the backs of her thighs hit the mattress and she dropped down onto its edge. She swallowed hard as she looked up at him, her alabaster face and wide blue eyes gilded in the amber glow of his transformed irises.
“You’re afraid,” Nathan said, the statement rolling out of him like a growl.
She gave a small shake of her head, her long, loose platinum hair tumbling around her like a bridal veil. “Not afraid,” she murmured, her voice somehow more steady than his. “You don’t frighten me, Nathan.”
He grunted, incapable of speech as heat spiked into his bloodstream. Jordana’s lavender robe had fallen open, revealing the flimsy excuse for clothing underneath. Her spaghetti-strap tank did nothing to conceal the buoyant shape of her br**sts, nor could it hide her ni**les, which stood erect and far too tempting under the pale silk. Her loose-fitting shorts were nothing but a whisper of fabric that covered her h*ps and the tops of her thighs.
Jordana’s legs were na**d and seemed to go on forever. Nathan followed the line of them with his gaze, drinking in every flawless inch.
He could hear her breath racing now. He watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the frantic ticking of her heartbeat at the pulse point in the hollow above her sternum.