“Would you want to touch the bloodied edge of a blade?” He spoke without turning to face her, his deep voice even, utterly devoid of emotion. “Or willingly put your hand in the jaws of a fighting dog?”
He slowly pivoted then, his stormcloud gaze flat and unblinking. “I’m not the kind of man you should want to get close to. I don’t function the way you expect me to. A weapon doesn’t require touch or comfort. And if you reach out to a creature bred and trained to kill, it’s liable to be your last mistake.”
Jordana swallowed, a keen ache opening up in the center of her chest for what Nathan must have endured as a young man—as a mere child—while he was part of the Hunter program.
She’d heard little more than rumors about the secret breeding labs that had been disrupted by the Order some twenty years ago. There were whispers of neglect and brutality, of terrible abuses suffered on the Gen One boys who’d been created to serve as the private army of one diabolical Breed madman.
Boys like Nathan who, according to Carys, had been removed from his mother as an infant and spent the first thirteen years of his life under those unthinkable conditions.
Jordana’s heart broke for that infant, for that tragic little boy.
And for the detached, battle-hardened man who sat before her now. The beautiful, deadly Breed male who had shown her such unexpected tenderness tonight and who had awakened her to a passion that still stirred, potent and alive, within her.
“You’re not a blade or an animal, Nathan. Whatever awful things you were forced to do in your past don’t define who you are today.” She inched closer, braved the smallest caress of his stern jaw. “Nathan, you are not what they tried to make you.”
This time, he didn’t remove her hand from where it rested lightly against him. But he stared at her with a calmness that chilled. “Yes, Jordana, I am. Don’t try to imagine I can ever be like the other men you know.”
“I don’t.” She gave a small shake of her head. “I wouldn’t want that.”
She’d proven that to herself in recent days, if not to Nathan. All her life, she’d known the warmth of a loving home and the safe embrace of family and friends. She’d had no shortage of admirers, no lack of even the smallest thing she’d ever wanted or required.
And yet she would give all of that up right now, trade her past with his, if it would remove the hauntedness from Nathan’s stormy eyes.
Oh, she was in trouble here.
She was falling fast, one foot over the edge of that steep, storm-swept cliff she felt teetering beneath her whenever Nathan was near.
Tonight, she’d given him her virginity. If she wasn’t careful, he would own her heart as well.
Maybe he already did.
The realization washed over her, left her speechless as she stared into his impenetrable gaze.
Nathan didn’t permit the silence to linger. Nor her touch either.
He pulled away. “It’s late. I should go.” He started to get up, then scowled and uttered a low curse. “Fuck … you’re bleeding.”
Jordana glanced down at the sheet beneath her. A faint pink stain wet the pristine white cotton where she’d lain with Nathan. Embarrassment flooded her face with heat. “Oh … no, it’s nothing.”
“Like hell it is.” He grunted, his brow furrowing deeper. “Dammit, I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Awkwardly, she shook her head. “You didn’t. It was just a little blood, and I’m not hurt. I’ve actually never felt better in my life.”
“Christ, Jordana.” He snarled under his breath. “You deserved someone who would’ve been more gentle with you. You still deserve that.” Another curse boiled out of him, but with less venom now. He held out his hand to her. “Come with me.”
Jordana slipped her fingers into his grasp, not that he had intended to wait for her agreement, of course. That dominating side of him was in full control of the situation—and her—before she could even utter a syllable.
He hauled her up from the bed. In the adjacent bathroom suite, the shower turned on with a sharp hiss, obeying his mental command.
Led by the hand, Jordana followed after him. As her bare feet padded softly on the hardwood a pace behind his long-legged strides, she tried not to gape at the lusciousness of his na**d body. Six and a half feet of muscle and gorgeous, glyph-adorned skin, all of it moving in catlike fluidity as he prowled across the room with her in tow.
Her blood warmed in her veins, and that molten pool in the center of her began to simmer all over again.
God, she really had it bad for this man.
Nathan brought her into the steam-filled bathroom, his fingers yet clamped around hers. When he opened the tall glass door of the shower, she half expected him to toss her inside and order her to attend herself.
Instead, he led her inside, bringing her under the hot spray with him.
He didn’t speak, didn’t explain. Nor did Jordana need his words. Not when his hands were tender as he began to wash her, handling her with utmost care and gentle attention.
She needed nothing more than this.
This moment.
This man.
Jordana closed her eyes as Nathan’s cleansing touch eventually turned sensual and his mouth found hers through the steam of their surroundings.
Heaven help her, she was on unsteady ground here.
She was stepping off that ledge tonight, falling too fast.
Falling too hard for a lethal, untouchable Breed male who’d promised her nothing.
She knew this, the same way she understood that if reality waited for her at the bottom of this mad leap, it was certain to break her.