Desire ignited in a flash, hot and consuming. His cock answered the surge of need coursing through him, suddenly straining behind his black combat fatigues.
Nathan knew his pupils were winnowing down to narrow slits as he drank in the sight of Jordana’s disheveled beauty. The amber light of his transforming irises bathed her face in a dim glow.
His body’s swift reaction shocked him. And he was more than a little disturbed that he couldn’t seem to master his urges when it came to this particular woman.
Never one to back down, however, Nathan advanced on her. He called a command to his teammates to sweep out the back rooms and VIP lounge, ordering them to send every last person out of the place.
“The party’s over,” he snarled, his eyes still rooted on Jordana.
She scowled up at him, planting her hands on the tempting curves of her hips. “What right did you have to do that?” she demanded, her words sounding thicker than normal, no doubt thanks to the alcohol she’d consumed.
Nathan held her annoyed stare. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice this place makes its profits off illegal blood sport and gambling. Not to mention other deviant amusements you’d rather not know about,” he added. “It’s about time someone shuts this hellhole down.”
“No,” she said, tossing her head back and forth. The motion collapsed her loosely gathered mane and sent the platinum waves tumbling around her shoulders and down her back. “No, I’m talking about you, Nathan. What right did you have to storm into my life and mess everything up?”
He frowned, taken aback, not only by the question but by the sound of his name on her lips. “I stormed into your life?”
“Yes, you did.” She moved closer to him, until there was hardly an arm’s length between them. Then closer still. “You’re a dark, dangerous storm, Nathan.” She tilted her head back, her glacial blue eyes arresting, even in the darkness of the club. “If I’m not careful, I’m going to leap off a cliff with you.”
He blew out a curse, peering harder at her. Christ, just how much had she had to drink tonight? She might be speaking nonsense due to one too many cocktails, but her steady, searching gaze and parted lips were communicating to his senses clearly enough.
“You’re the worst thing that could ever happen to me, Nathan.”
“At least we agree on something.” She listed toward him and he growled, whether with need or irony, he wasn’t sure. “Collect your things, Jordana. I’m going to have one of my men take you home.”
“No,” she murmured, shaking her head. “No, I don’t want to go home to my apartment alone. I want to wait for Carys.”
He glanced over, recognizing that Carys was in no better shape herself. Plus, she was wrapped around Rune in one of the booths outside the cages. It didn’t appear she would be leaving for a while, and Nathan had no intention of allowing Jordana to hang around the club in the condition she was in now.
And despite Carys’s obvious trust and affection for Rune, there was no way in hell Nathan would leave Jordana’s well-being in that male’s hands.
Fuck.
Her apartment wasn’t far. He could drop her off safely and be back on task with his patrol team in no time.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Nathan clamped his hand around her wrist and took her with him outside.
9
FIVE MINUTES LATER, JORDANA WAS SEATED ON THE PASSENGER side of her car, watching Nathan navigate the Back Bay’s maze of one-way streets en route to her apartment. “It really wasn’t necessary for you to take me home. I could’ve managed on my own.”
“Out of the question,” he said, his stern profile bathed in the milky glow of the dashboard.
His deep voice brooked no argument, and she was instantly reminded that Nathan was no Darkhaven gentleman. He was an Order squad captain. A Gen One Breed male and former assassin.
A man adept at killing in God only knew how many ways. And yet here he was, playing designated driver to her after she’d foolishly over-imbibed.
Already she was sobering up, the mild alcohol buzz replaced by the twitchy flutter of her pulse as she sat beside Nathan in the dimly lit vehicle.
“Anyway, thank you,” she murmured belatedly, unable to tear her eyes from him.
He was handsome in a harsh way, his cheekbones too sharp, his jaw too square and unyielding. His eyes were stormier than ever as he sped her home, a blue-green thundercloud under the severe slashes of his black brows.
His mouth was easily the softest of his features, his lips far too full and lush for the cool, almost constant grimness of his expression. Jordana knew all too well how warm those broad, sculpted lips could be. As she looked at him beside her in the vehicle, she was wildly tempted to taste them again.
He glanced her way, no doubt feeling her eyes on him. “I wouldn’t have guessed La Notte was your kind of place, considering what goes on there.”