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Grace flinched at the sound of his voice when he said the words husband and father . He softened, a sense of wonder flashing in his eyes. He stared at her as though she meant something, as though she were important, as though she held his soul.
That look overrode her horror at what he was telling her. It diluted her anger. And nothing should have been able to dilute her anger.
"You knew all along. That's why you made me fall in love with you," she accused him, trying to hang on to the fury. "You deliberately made me care for you. "
He pulled his shirt back on, though he didn't button it.
"Only because I cared as well," he stated, his voice rough. "All my life I've had to hold back. I've had to force myself to care for no one, because I knew they would suffer for my emotions. Once I escaped the labs, that restraint was so much a part of me that even forming friendships has been difficult. Until you. " He shook his head, his dark gold eyes locked on her. "You gave me a chance to know what I've been missing all my life, Grace. You still the fury inside me, and you made me hope there was more to my life than the constant battle for freedom. You made me love you. Why shouldn't I respond in kind?" She had hoped he would love her. She had teased him, she had tempted him, she had done everything to draw him into a touch, a kiss. She had laughed with him, and knowing he was a Breed, tried to show him a softer, gentler side of life. She had set out to bind him to her, believing this scarred, shadowed wolf she was coming to love needed her.
And maybe he did, in more ways than she knew. But he was a killer, wasn't he? He had taken Albrecht's life without remorse, hadn't he? Or had he?
The blood red teardrops on his shoulder told another story. Teardrops, a sign of pain and regret. They told a story she knew he would never admit to. Teardrops denoted sorrow, blood red teardrops, grief. She wondered if he even realized the grief that lurked in his gaze, and in his soul?
God, he was killing her. He stared at her with such longing, with such hunger, that it broke her heart.
"I would give my life to touch you and not have you pull away from me now," he whispered, moving slowly toward her. "If I swear not to kiss you, would you let me touch you?" Wild, unquenched hunger rose inside her.
"Matthias, that's not fair to you. " She shook her head desperately as she backed against the door of the refrigerator.
"Not fair to me?" His lips quirked mockingly. "It's far more than I deserve. I need it, Grace. Just this once, let me touch you. "
CHAPTER SEVEN
She wasn't a virgin. Grace liked to consider herself a well-rounded, experienced woman, but even for her, the way Matthias touched her made her feel almost innocent. She felt unable to deny him, unable to reassert her common sense and run like hell.
It was one thing to know the ways of the world, and in some cases, the ways of men. But with Matthias she was finding out that everything she had learned over the years was just wrong. Matthias didn't act like other men. He didn't react as other men, and he sure as hell didn't go after what he wanted as other men did. If he had argued, gone dominant, arrogant, and stubborn, she could have walked away, she told herself.
But he stared at her with such hunger. A hunger he didn't attempt to hide or push away. She wasn't a threat to his independence. The way he watched her, she was imperative to his survival.
"You're so pretty," he whispered, as he stopped before her, causing her to ache as she stared up at the wonderment of his expression. "I look at you, and sometimes, I'm afraid of touching you. Of giving you the power to destroy me. Most people have a little healthy fear of Breeds, but you stand before me, knowing in your soul, I'd never harm you. "
The backs of his fingers smoothed over her cheek, sending curious tingles racing through her body.
"I'd die before I ever harmed you, before I'd ever see you harmed. Do you know that, Grace?" She could feel it, see it in his expression and in his eyes. This wasn't stalker material, nor was it an edge of desperation. This was a man, a strong, powerful man, stating his intent, nothing more. It wasn't tinted with fanaticism or with a threat. It was clear statement.
"Matthias, you need someone"
"No. " His fingers covered her lips, stopping the words. "I need whatever you'll give me, right here and right now. Nothing more. Just my hands on you, Grace. Let me touch you. " His thumb smoothed over her lips as she leaned her head against the refrigerator and stared back at him, torn, uncertain.
"I touched silk three months after our rescue from the labs," he whispered, as his fingertips moved over her jaw. "I swore there was nothing softer in all the world, until I touched your hand. " His hand smoothed down her arm, lifted her wrist and brought her palm to his stubbled jaw. "Your hands were warm and so soft. As soft as innocence itself. "
His eyes closed, and he held her hand against him as he worked his cheek over it. She let her fingers touch his cheeks, smooth over them, and his expression shifted to one of bliss.
"I'm not innocent," she told him, but she meant the reminder for herself. Because he made her feel innocent. He made her feel nervous, excited, uncertain, but without the fears of virginity. He made her feel so much a woman that it was frightening.
"But you are innocent. " He laid his cheek against hers, his lips at her ear, as he pushed her robe over her shoulders. "Innocent of deceit and corruption. When I smell your scent, I smell summer. I feel warmth. All the things I wondered if I would ever know. "
Grace shivered with excitement at the guttural sound of his voice, the latent growl that bordered it. He was breathing hard and deep, his chest rasping over her gown-covered nipples and sending shafts of pleasure to tighten around them.
"Matthias, what are you doing to me?" Her head fell to the side, as his chin stroked over her neck.
"Just touching sunshine," he said softly. "Heat and magic. Warm me, Grace. Just for a minute. " At this rate, she was going to forget all that pertinent information he had just given her on what sex with him would be. Hormonal aphrodisiacs, mating heat, and biological bindings be damned. Her clit was screaming a silent demand for touch, and her sex was clenching in need. And he hadn't even kissed her. His rough cheek and jaw were doing no more than smoothing over her
neck, her shoulders, as his hands slowly did away with her gown.
Her gown.
Grace gasped as the material pooled at her feet, leaving her naked but for the high-cut cotton and lace thong she wore.
