Willow went utterly still at the feel of his touch on her cheek. Her lungs seemed to stop functioning altogether, and all she could hear was the quickening beat of her heart as a flood of heat bloomed in the wake of his unexpected caress.
“Why did you do that?” She blurted the question before she could stop herself. “You don’t have to be nice just because you know what I am now.”
He scoffed quietly. “That’s not why I touched you.”
“Then, why?”
“Because I can’t sit this close to you and not want to touch you, Willow.”
A jolt of shock went through her. She didn’t know what to say, or what to do. Part of her wanted him to touch her again, but another part of her—the part of her that still recalled the horror of what Razor’s kind was capable of—sat frozen in confusion and conflicting emotions.
At that same moment, the train rocked on its tracks as it approached a crossing. The movement sent Willow off-balance, tossing her against the heated wall of Razor’s body. He caught her in his arms, holding her steady as bells clanged outside the container and the train roared through the crossing.
“Sorry,” Willow murmured lamely. “It’s so dark in here, I can’t see a thing.”
He made a low, amused sound. “I can see you perfectly. My vision is even better in the dark.”
Oh, great.She winced, then abruptly cursed under her breath at the realization that he saw that too. He was still holding onto her. Against the inky blackness of the container, twin embers began to glow like smoldering fire about to erupt into flames.
This wasn’t anger lighting up his Breed eyes. It was something far more dangerous . . . and too damn tempting for her peace of mind.
Desire.
Holy shit, he really did want her.
As the amber glow of his irises flared hotter, she saw the quicksilver flash of his fangs. The points were so sharp, like white daggers glinting in the gloom. She should have been afraid, but it was something other than fear that made her breath catch. The temptation to move closer to him instead of away was nearly overwhelming.
She swallowed hard, staring up at him in a mute state of shock. On reflex, one of her hands inched up toward her throat.
With a low curse, Razor let her go at once.
“Relax,” he said, his voice clipped and dark. “Your carotid is the last one I’ll be biting into anytime soon, Breedmate.”
Willow opened her mouth to mumble an apology, an excuse, an explanation—anything.
She couldn’t find the words. And Razor didn’t give her the chance to try. The amber light of his eyes went out like doused candles as he moved farther away from her—as far as their cramped quarters would allow.
“I’m going to rest while I can,” he muttered. “I suggest you do the same.”
CHAPTER 9
Razor settled back against one of the cardboard crates and closed his eyes—more to conceal the bright amber glow of his transformed irises than out of any true need for sleep.
If only it were as easy to pretend he wasn’t still vibrating with desire for Willow.
Unwanted desire, especially now that he knew she was a Breedmate.
The urge to kiss her, to touch her, had coursed through his veins like a lick of fire. The impulse had been to comfort her, but burning underneath that instinct was hot, demanding need. If she had allowed him to do anything more than simply brush the tear from her cheek, there would have been no saving him from the arousal she ignited inside him.
Even now, he burned with the need to feel her lips against his.
He wanted to feel more than just her sweet mouth against him, and that desire had its hooks in him from the moment he first set eyes on her for the very first time all those months ago on his computer monitors.
It was disturbing enough how badly he had wanted her when he assumed she was human. Now, she was completely off-limits.
One slip of his fangs against her tender skin would be a mistake he could never undo. A blood bond was forever, and given his background and the life that waited for him back in Florida with his Hunter brothers, he and Willow Valcourt were a hard no-go.
Which is why he had decided to bring her to Chicago and put her into the far more capable hands of the Order’s district commander of that city. On more than one occasion in recent years, Razor had lent his covert, specialized skills to Lucan Thorne and his warrior brethren. While Razor didn’t take for granted that he had any personal leverage with the Order, the teardrop-and-crescent-moon symbol on Willow’s body was all the persuasion the warriors would need to bring her under their protection.
