He was quiet for a long moment. Then he dropped to his knees in front of me.
I stared down at him—this proud, dangerous man, kneeling on the library floor like a supplicant before an altar. His hands rested on his thighs. His head was bowed, just slightly, and when he looked up at me, his eyes were dark.
"I will never hurt you," he said. "Not physically. Not intentionally. But I won't lie to you either. I'm not gentle. I'm not kind. I don't know how to be those things. What I am is yours—if you want me. For one night. You give me one night. If you hate it, I'll never touch you again."
"And if I don't hate it?"
His mouth curved. "Then we'll talk."
I thought about Aleksander. About the way he'd touched me—tender, worshipful, like I was something precious. I thought about Gabriel. About the way he'd kissed me—desperate, hopeful, like I was something worth saving.
And I thought about Nathan. About the way he looked at me—like I was something to be consumed.
"Tonight," I said. "My room. Aleksander's away."
Nathan rose to his feet. He didn't touch me—didn't kiss me, didn't take my hand, didn't do any of the things I expected. He just looked at me with those dark, hungry eyes and nodded.
"Tonight," he said.
He walked out of the library without looking back. I stood against the bookshelves for a long time, my heart pounding, my body trembling, my mind racing with thoughts I couldn't catch.
I had just invited the devil into my bed.
And I wasn't sure I regretted it.
My room was dark when I entered.
The fire had gone out hours ago—I'd forgotten to stoke it before I went to the library—and the cold had seeped into the walls, into the floor, into the silk of my robe. I shivered as I crossed to the bed, my bare feet silent on the carpet, my breath fogging in the air.
I lit the candles on my nightstand. One, two, three—small flames that cast dancing shadows across the ceiling. I didn't light the fire. I wanted the cold. I wanted to feel something other than the heat that was building between my legs.
I sat on the edge of the bed and waited.
The clock on the mantel ticked. The house settled around me—the creak of old wood, the whisper of the heating system, the distant sound of the wind against the windows. Somewhere in the city, Aleksander was doing business—making deals, shaking hands, ordering things I didn't want to think about.
And somewhere in this house, Nathan was coming for me.
I heard his footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Deliberate. The kind of footsteps that knew they had all the time in the world. I watched the gap beneath my door, waiting for the shadow of his feet, the soft glow of the hall sconces illuminating his approach.
The door opened.
He didn't knock. He didn't announce himself. He just walked in, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest.
He'd changed clothes. Black trousers, no shirt. His chest was bare—broad and muscled and covered in scars. Some old, some new, some still pink and healing. I wanted to trace them with my fingers. I wanted to press my mouth to the places where he'd been broken.
"You came," I said.
"You asked."
He pushed off from the door and walked toward me. Slowly. The way he did everything. The candlelight caught his face, his chest, the dark hair that trailed down his stomach and disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers.
He stopped in front of me. I sat on the edge of the bed, and he stood over me, and I had to crane my neck to look at his face.
"Stand up," he said.
I stood.
He reached out and untied the belt of my robe. The silk parted, sliding off my shoulders, puddling at my feet. I was naked beneath—I hadn't bothered with anything else. I'd known he would undress me. I'd wanted him to.
