Crave The Night (Midnight Breed 12)
Bit by bit, a path opened between Jordana’s place in the room and Nathan, standing just inside the doors.
He came after all.
And, God, he looked good.
Tall and dark and dangerously handsome in a basic black suit that looked anything but basic on him. He wore an ebony silk shirt, unbuttoned below his throat, exposing just the sexiest hint of the Gen One dermaglyphs beneath his clothing.
Glyphs Jordana was now intimately familiar with and couldn’t wait to see in their full, naked glory once again. Along with the gorgeous Breed male they belonged to.
Her mouth watered just thinking about it, and her heart rate kicked into a faster, heavier tempo.
Without a word of excuse to her father or anyone else who had stopped to gape, Jordana waded into the parting crowd and headed straight toward Nathan. She could hardly keep from running to him, and there was no curbing the smile that spread across her face as she came to a halt in front of him.
“I didn’t think you’d be here.”
His stormy eyes took a long, slow trip from her face to her toes. When he met her gaze again, amber sparks glowed in his irises. “How could I refuse such an enticing invitation?”
She felt warmth flood her cheeks. It had nothing to do with shyness, but an eager reaction to the hunger she saw written so plainly on Nathan’s face. It was written on his skin too. The tawny-hued glyphs at his throat surged with deeper saturation, and she knew the rest of his Breed markings would be livid with wild, waking colors underneath the urbane dark suit.
She smiled, barely resisting the urge to touch him. To kiss him and press herself against him, even in front of hundreds of observing eyes.
“I’m glad you came,” she murmured. “I realize you probably can’t stay long. Your patrols—”
“My patrols will wait. For tonight, anyway.”
Hope flared in her belly. “You have the night off?”
“More or less,” he replied, his sensual lips flattening slightly. “I was instructed to take the night off.”
“Because of me?” She frowned, reading the meaning in what he didn’t say. “Because you stayed with me last night. Oh, God … not because of the messages I sent you today? I never should’ve done that. I overstepped—”
“You did nothing wrong.”
His hand lighted gently along the side of her face, an unexpected touch Jordana savored. She tilted her head into his palm, greedy for the brief contact.
“I chose to be with you,” he said, bringing his hand back down to his side. “I knew what I risked last night.” Nathan’s voice was a rumble in the back of his throat, low and deep, as his heated gaze drank her in once more. “As for the messages you sent, I haven’t been able to focus on anything else since I saw the photo of you in this dress. You look even more incredible in the flesh.” His mouth curved wickedly. “But then, I already knew that.”
Her veins thrummed in response to his innuendo. All it took was his dangerous smile and her core bloomed with liquid heat at the remembrance of their night together.>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.