tiger-eyes." He forced himself to smile, his own gaze deliberately softening as he stared into hers.
Jocelyn frowned and turned away. "Of course not."
A moment of awkward silence passed between them before she spoke again. "And by the way, Nathaniel, I'm not your tiger-eyes or your sweetheart." She sounded amazingly defiant, considering how helpless she looked. "And I'm not your woman either." She said the last statement in a somewhat softer tone, as if she suddenly feared that she might provoke him.
Nathaniel reached out and took her hand a second time, absently rubbing his fingers in slow, caressing circles just above her wrist. He knew she would continue to resist his touch. To resist him. But he also knew that he could impart far more warmth and reassurance through physical contact than with his eyes alone. He wanted her to begin to sense him, to begin to feel who he was, and he knew she had it within her to do so.
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He wanted her to become aware of her own attraction—the preordained chemistry between them—to remember who she was.
Nathaniel deliberately made his touch light, like a cooling balm on a hot day, even as he braced himself against the images he was picking up in her mind: distressing pictures of his own eyes glowing in the forest, disturbing flashbacks of him appearing more predator than man, unsettling glimpses of him confronting his brother on the deck...with fangs.
"Don't look at me like that," she said.
"Like what, angel?"
"Like you're reading my mind. Like you know me. Like I actually mean something to you."
Nathaniel shook his head. "I'm not trying to hide anything from you right now, Jocelyn. Yes, I am reading your mind—
and your body language—and your emotions. And you mean far more to me than you realize." He continued to caress her hand. "But make no mistake; I know exactly who you are."
"Really?" she said sarcastically. "Who am I, then?"
"You're mine."
Jocelyn winced and closed her eyes.
He found her listening to the trickling sounds of the waterfall in conjunction with the crackling of the fire, simply letting the ambient noise take her over for a time, while blocking out the overwhelming intensity of the moment, and he waited....
Nathaniel waited as she watched the flames dancing and dodging between the burning logs. As she tried to ignore the subtle heat she was beginning to feel in his touch. Her 81
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response to their contact was barely noticeable, but it was there just the same—magnetic, undeniable.
The attraction was evident in her scent: the faint smell of fear mixed with arousal, the subtle hint of anticipation behind her anxiety. She must have felt like her body was betraying her, as he sensed her mixed emotions.
Nathaniel purposefully turned up the heat between them.
After some time had passed, she lifted her head and met his steady gaze. "My emotions are not going to override my brain, Nathaniel, no matter what you do."
Nathaniel didn't blink. "And I would never want such a thing."
Jocelyn sighed. "Fine..." She drew in a deep breath. "I suppose it doesn't do either of us any good for you to continue to talk in riddles—or for me to continue to remain in the dark."
He nodded, watching her intently.
"But I'll only talk to you on one condition—or there's really no point."
"What is that?"
He reached up and absently traced the arc of her eyebrow with the pad of his thumb. He tucked several loose tendrils of hair behind her ear and softly brushed her face from her jaw to her chin. And then he waited, while she leaned back and shut her eyes.
When she sat forward, her mouth was set in a stern line.
"What is this continuous need of yours to touch me?" She sounded exasperated, yet the rosy flush of her cheeks betrayed something else.
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Nathaniel held his ground without apology. He said nothing.
"It's unnerving," she whispered, even as she tilted her head slightly to
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