“Yes,” she said, seeing it now. “You care for me, the same way my father does. The same way a dear uncle would. Like a child, a ward in need of guidance and protection. Not the way you would if I really meant something to you.”
He cursed now, but there was no passion there either. “Come inside, Jordana. I forgive whatever went on between you and that miscreant from the Order. Let’s put this night behind us where it belongs.”
“No. I can’t do that.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her feet refusing to move, even when Elliott came over and tried to guide her away from the elevator. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she ducked out of his embrace. “I can’t do any of this anymore.”
“Any of what, darling?”
“This. Us. All of it.” God, she hadn’t imagined she’d be standing there, ending the farce of her relationship with him like this, but it felt good to let it go. It felt right, for both of them. “I’d like you to leave now, Elliott.”
“Leave?” He studied her cautiously for a moment, then shook his head in denial. “No, I don’t think I will, Jordana. I understand. It’s late, and you’re upset. I don’t think you realize what you’re saying or doing right now.”
She barked out a sharp laugh. “Stop telling me how I feel, Elliott. Dammit, I wish everyone would stop telling me what they think I should do and think and feel!”
He stared at her like he might look at a furious, hissing snake suddenly dropped in his lap. “This kind of outburst isn’t like you, Jordana. You’re only proving my point that you need someone to look after you right now. I really think it best that I stay awhile—”
“Fine,” she replied. “Then I’ll go.”
She punched the elevator call button, half hoping it would come back up with Nathan still inside. But when the doors whisked open a moment later, the car was empty.
“Jordana, you’re being ridiculous,” Elliott said as she stepped into the lift. “This kind of behavior isn’t like you at all.”
“No, it isn’t,” she agreed. “But maybe it should be.”
“Jordana—”
“Good-bye, Elliott.” She pushed the down button, feeling a sudden surge of exhilaration—her first taste of newfound freedom—as the doors slid closed in front of Elliott’s incredulous expression.
11
NATHAN MADE THE TREK BACK TO LA NOTTE ON FOOT. NOT EVEN the brisk run through the cool night streets managed to curb the rawness of his need for a woman he should never have pursued in the first place.
He was a man used to being in control of every situation, especially when it came to sex. He f**ked who he wanted, when he wanted. He called the shots. He controlled the rules, the pace, the boundaries. He decided how things started and ended—all of it, every time.
And then she came along.
Jordana, and that impulsive kiss that had ignited a flame in him that he couldn’t seem to put out.
Taking things as far as he had tonight had only made that heat flare hotter. If he’d expected to have a taste of her only so he could finally get her out of his head—get the need for her out of his blood—then he’d just proven himself a goddamned fool.
He could still see her face as she pleaded with him to keep his silence, to play along with her where Elliott Bentley-Squire was concerned. It shouldn’t have mattered to him, but it did. What she had with the other Breed male was a f**king farce that burned Nathan almost as much as the fact that he still craved her with a fierceness he could hardly reconcile.
She had made it pretty clear that she intended to keep to her own, even if she had to do it unhappily. So now Jordana was back at her place with a male who didn’t deserve her, and Nathan was hoofing it into Cassian Gray’s seedy club with a raging hard-on and a deadly bad attitude.
He found Rafe down in the empty arena of the old neo-Gothic church, questioning a trio of humans employed as blood Hosts to serve the club’s vampire clientele. As Nathan strode in, the blond warrior lifted his chin in acknowledgment and dismissed the group with a low command.
“Got the place swept out, except for the fighters and some of the staff,” Rafe informed him. “Nobody’s giving up anything on Cass, though. We’ve questioned everyone. They’re all telling the same story—no one’s seen hide or hair of the son of a bitch for the past several days.”
Nathan grunted, his voice gravel in his throat for the way his blood was still pounding in his veins. “Maybe the disruption of tonight’s revenue stream will get his attention.”
Rafe arched a tawny brow. “Right now, that’s all we’ve got. Where the hell did you go? I looked for you an hour ago, but you were gone. When I saw Carys with Rune a few minutes ago, she said she thought you left with Jordana Gates.”
Nathan bit back the ripe curse on his tongue. Barely. “She was in no shape for driving, so I brought her home. Took longer than planned.”
His friend and teammate studied him, then blew out the curse that Nathan strived to contain. “You and Jordana. Jesus, Nathan. Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“No, I don’t,” he replied, not interested in explaining himself, nor in reliving what had gone on between Jordana and him tonight. “I think it’s one bad f**king idea. And after tonight, it’s not happening, so feel free to drop the subject and tell me what you and the rest of the squad have been doing while I was gone.”
As Rafe gave him a quick rundown, one of the club’s other service workers came out of the back corridor that led to the BDSM dens. Dressed in a few straps of black leather held together by silver metal rings, the brunette female sashayed into the arena in a pair of tall, glossy boots with sky-high heels.