“Jesus, Nathan.” Rafe frowned, gave a slow shake of his head. “This is serious shit.”
Yes, it was. But what he felt for Jordana was serious too.
And Chase was right, he needed to sort it out. He needed to see if there was any way for both the Order and her to fit into his life.
“What are you going to do?” Rafe asked.
Nathan chuckled. “I guess I’m going to go to Jordana’s exhibit opening at the museum tonight.”
Rafe gaped. “What? You mean, like some kind of date? You’ve got to be joking.”
“I’m not.” When Rafe paused outside the weapons room, Nathan kept walking, heading for his quarters.
“I hope you don’t plan to go there in full patrol gear,” Rafe called out from behind him, laughing now.
Shit. Nathan hadn’t considered things that far. He, the consummate tactician. The expert at weaponry and warfare didn’t have the first clue how to present himself as anything even remotely resembling a man going to be with his woman in a social gathering.
A date, for crissake.
Nathan pivoted and strode back to find Rafe. He pulled him outside the weapons room and lowered his voice. “What the f**k does someone wear to a museum party?”
19
JORDANA STOOD IN THE GALLERY OUTSIDE THE EXHIBIT HALL of the museum, feeling a sense of relief—a sense of pride and accomplishment—as she looked out over the packed house at the grand opening that evening.
She had been hoping the event would be well attended, but the sea of benefactors, society elite, museum members and general public arriving to fill the space far exceeded anything she’d dared to imagine.
Everyone was there tonight, her father included. Martin Gates mingled easily among his Darkhaven peers and the other upper-class citizens of Boston. Dressed in a conservative charcoal gray suit, pristine white shirt, and perfectly knotted silk tie, the handsome, staid, dark-haired Breed male looked every bit the wealthy investor and businessman that he was.
It was hard even for Jordana sometimes to remember that her father wasn’t a Brahmin product of this city but a self-made man who’d established himself in Vancouver before relocating to Boston with Jordana almost twenty-five years ago.
She’d been just a newborn then, an orphaned Breedmate adopted by Martin Gates only days after her birth. She could never repay her father for the life he’d provided her, and it warmed her heart to see him there to support her tonight.
Hundreds of people strolled the exhibit, conversing with one another, admiring the art and sculptures, enjoying the canapés and champagne being served by catering staff in tuxedoes while a small orchestra played softly in the background. The exhibit hummed with conversation, laughter, and enthusiastic energy.
Even Elliott had come, despite the graceless way she’d ended their nonrelationship. But that was Elliott—dutiful, political, in all things. Then again, watching him blithely chat up a couple of Back Bay socialites in front of the French tapestry collection, she had to wonder if his prior interest in her had been more about pleasing her father than any kind of true affection he may have felt for her.
It certainly hadn’t been desire, not even during Elliott’s most ardent moods. Jordana knew true desire now—scorching, insatiable, consuming desire. What she and Elliott had was little more than a tepid, companionable regard for each other.
Nothing like what she’d experienced the past few nights with Nathan.
Jordana scanned the exhibit hall again, looking for the one face in the crowd she longed to see above all others.
She knew better than to think Nathan would actually come. This wasn’t his kind of place, not his kind of event at all. He had far more important things to do. She knew that even when she’d sent him those impulsive messages earlier in the day.
God, what did he think of her now? She was sure she wouldn’t want to know.
If only she could erase those messages, take back the photo she’d sent him. He hadn’t responded, so there was a chance he hadn’t seen her messages. Maybe Carys had given her the wrong number.
She could only hope to be that lucky.
“Old Mr. Bonneville sends his regards,” Carys said with a wry grin, emerging now from inside the exhibit hall to join Jordana in the quiet of the adjacent gallery. “As do Mr. Delano, Mr. Putnam, and Mr. Forbes. I told you that dress was amazing. Every man in that room who still has a pulse is waiting to get another glimpse of you. What are you doing hiding out here?”
“I’m not hiding, I’m—”
“Waiting,” Carys gently finished for her. She strolled over, catlike and graceful in a pair of strappy, stiletto sandals that perfectly complemented the midnight hue of her body-hugging cobalt blue dress. “Come on. Rune won’t be here either, and we both look much too hot to be flying solo.” Carys looped her arm around Jordana’s elbow and gave her a bolstering smile. “Let me be your date tonight.”
They walked into the noise and bustle of the party, offering greetings to clusters of happy patrons and supporters who sought Jordana out as soon as she entered the hall.
It didn’t take long for her to put aside her disappointment that Nathan hadn’t come. There were too many people to welcome, endless hands to shake, one conversation after another to attend to as she slowly circulated through the crowd. Carys drifted away as the attendees converged on Jordana.
“An exquisite collection, my dear,” enthused the jewel-draped Breedmate of a prominent Darkhaven leader from within her circle of elegant society companions. The ladies all nodded in agreement. “Each display offers something to delight or intrigue.”