Nathan gave her a sidelong look. “And yet you went there tonight.”
“Elliott Bentley-Squire doesn’t own me. I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.” She scoffed lightly, realizing how perfectly incapable she must appear to Nathan right now. “Well, I can usually handle myself. Tonight was an exception. I’m embarrassed that you feel you have to see me home.”
“It’s nothing,” he replied.
But it was something to Jordana. It was a chivalrous gesture from a man who hadn’t exactly struck her as the noble type. She would not have imagined he’d had it in him, considering he was more accustomed to combat and brutality and death.
There was probably a lot she had to learn about Nathan, and as she studied his grave profile, she found herself hoping she might have the chance to understand everything about the remote, unreadable man.
“Before we left the club,” Nathan said, “you told me you didn’t want to go home alone. What was that about?”
Jordana tried to wave off the question. “It was silly. Something happened at work tonight as I was leaving, and I got spooked. I’m sure it was nothing.”
“What happened?” Nathan was all warrior now, no longer posing a light inquiry but demanding an answer.
“I thought I saw someone outside the museum tonight, as I was heading for my car. I thought he was watching me.” It sounded foolish to her now, even though at the time she’d been more than a little rattled.
“He,” Nathan said, his deep voice edged with suspicion and a protectiveness that surprised her, warmed her. “Did you see this man? Did he threaten you in any way?”
“No,” she replied. “No, nothing like that. I saw someone standing outside the museum as I was leaving, that’s all. As I said, I’m sure it wasn’t anything but my imagination running away with me.”
Nathan made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded less than convinced, but he didn’t press any further. “We’re here,” he announced, slowing down as they approached her building. He drove around to the underground parking, then found Jordana’s assigned space without her telling him where it was.
She stared at him from the other side of the vehicle as he killed the engine and handed her the remote starter. “I can’t decide if I’m impressed or unnerved that the Order not only knows where I live but where I park my car.”
“Not the Order,” he said, slanting her a look that made her nerve endings tingle in response. “Just me.”
Nathan didn’t give her much chance to process that information. Before she could stammer a reply, he was already out of the car and coming around to the passenger side. He opened the door and took her wrist to help her to her feet. His strong fingers clamped around her in a grasp that was equal parts command and comfort.
Heat sizzled through their connection, and Jordana struggled to appear unaffected as she came to stand in front of him with hardly two inches of space between their bodies. “Well,” she said, forcing a lamely polite smile. “Thanks again for seeing me home, Nathan.”
“You’re not there yet.”
When she would have demurred, he released his grasp on her and gestured toward the elevator leading to the lobby of her building. He strode alongside her to the waiting lift and rode up with her.
Seamus was on duty, as usual. The doorman rose from behind his wide reception desk and gave her a welcoming nod as she stepped into the quiet lobby. “Evening, Miss Gates.”
“Hello, Seamus,” she greeted, trying to walk nonchalantly across the polished marble floor.
“Mr. Bentley-Squire’s looking for you, Miss Gates,” Seamus informed her. “He called several times tonight to ask if I’d seen you, even stopped by a short while ago—”
The doorman abruptly clammed up the instant he noticed Jordana wasn’t alone.
“Thank you, Seamus,” Jordana said, keenly aware of Nathan’s presence as he followed her out of the elevator and across the lobby, neither waiting for permission nor asking for it.
She saw the middle-age human guard warily eye the dark and dangerous-looking Breed warrior at her heels. It wasn’t every night that Jordana traipsed through her building in the company of a man, let alone one dressed in patrol gear and bristling with deadly weapons.
And it didn’t help that she likely carried the unsavory fragrances of the club on her as she sailed past Seamus’s desk.
The doorman cleared his throat. “Everything okay tonight, Miss Gates?”
“Yes, of course. Everything is fine. Good night, Seamus.”
She gave him a practiced smile, one that invited no further comment, as Nathan proceeded to trail her to the penthouse elevator in broody silence.
As soon as the polished steel doors closed behind them, Jordana closed her eyes and blew out a sigh. “The whole building’s going to know about this tomorrow. Seamus is sweet and well meaning, but discretion isn’t one of his strong suits.” She slowly shook her head, then pressed the button for the penthouse floor. “I can only imagine what he must be thinking about me right now—”
“Why do you care what that human rent-a-cop thinks?” Nathan’s low voice was little more than a growl as he moved so he was facing her inside the lift. “Why do you care what anyone might think of you?”