Lazaro ignored the pointed complaint, even if it had merit. “I see you didn’t eat anything either.”
“What do you care?” she tossed back, her fine auburn brows pinched together.
“I care, Melena. For now, you’re under my watch. It’s my responsibility to ensure that you’re comfortable and healthy. That you’re fed and clothed.” He gestured toward the boutique box on the bed. “I arranged for some things to be sent here for you from one of the local shops.”
She cast a sidelong glance toward his gift, then back toward the bathroom where her ruined skirt and blouse lay in rags on the tile floor. Warily, she drifted over to the bed and lifted the lid off the box. She glanced inside, then one by one, pulled out the skirt and pants, then the blouse and sweater he selected for her.
“I didn’t know what you’d prefer,” he murmured.
She lifted the charcoal gray, fine-gauge sweater first, then the pair of black slacks. The understated classics of the collection, which didn’t surprise him. She glanced at the two pairs of shoes he’d purchased as well, taking out the elegant Italian flats. “These are all in my sizes. Perfectly in my sizes.” She slanted him a guarded look. “I wouldn’t think you’d paid attention long enough to notice.”
“I noticed.” Lazaro slowly approached her near the bed. “I should be focused on a thousand other things right now. Instead, here I am. Noticing everything about you, Melena.”
If she had flinched at all when he came to stand beside her, Lazaro would have somehow found the strength of will to leave her in peace.
If she had resisted even a little when he lifted her chin on his fingertips and drew her gaze up to his—if she had looked into his transformed Breed eyes with anything close to fear or uncertainty—he would have forced himself to let go of her and refrain from ever touching her again.
But Melena did none of those things.
And when he slowly lowered his mouth to hers, this time, not even he or his iron will could pretend the desire that arced between them was anything either of them would be able to deny.
He kissed her, hard and hungry. Any illusions he might have had for taking things slowly with her, or giving her a chance to get away before he pounced, were all but obliterated once their lips and tongues had come together.
A fresh surge of molten need scorched through his veins, and all at once it didn’t matter to him that getting involved with Melena Walsh was the last thing he needed to be doing.
He wanted her.
She wanted him—he knew that even in the cave.
And the fact was, he’d already let himself get involved, whether or not they allowed this undeniable, if untimely, desire for each other to flare any further out of control.
Melena awakened a need in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. A new kind of need, something white-hot and irresistible. She had done in less than a day what no other woman before her had managed to do in two decades.
She made him feel alive again.
Lazaro growled and took her mouth in a deeper kiss. She moaned, reaching up to burrow her fingers into the short hair at his nape. Her soft curves felt like heaven against him, even through the barrier of their clothing. Her mouth tasted warm and sweet. Her body arched into his, pliant, consenting.
Welcoming.
Hot with need.
He smoothed his hand down her throat, breaking their kiss as his thumb grazed over the Breedmate mark nestled in the hollow between her collarbones. He lifted his head to look at it—to remind himself of what she was and why he could not allow himself anything more than this desire they shared.
“I should ask you if there is someone else,” he uttered thickly. He dragged his smoldering gaze back up to hers. “I should ask, but right now I don’t think I’ll give a damn if you say there is.”
“No.” She gave a faint shake of her head, her breast rising and falling with each rapid pant of her breath. “There’s no one. Not for more than a year. And even then, I never wanted anyone like this...”
He registered that sweet confession with a growl that vibrated deep in his chest.
He kissed her again, gathering her face in his hands while his mouth moved intensely, hungrily, over hers. Being Gen One, his appetites were stronger than most. With Melena all but undressed and willing in his arms, those appetites were on the verge of owning him. It was only the dim knowledge of her lingering injuries that kept him in check.
And she wasn’t helping in that regard.
Meeting each thrust of his tongue, parting her lips to take him deeper, she stoked his arousal even further. Her body pressed against his, heat igniting everywhere they touched. He couldn’t resist the loosened opening of her robe. His hand slipped inside to feel the softness of her skin. Her pulse banged against his fingertips, strong and certain. Erotic and primal.
Melena groaned in pleasure. Her voice rasped sensually against his mouth. “I like the way you kiss me, Lazaro. I like the way you touch me.”
Holy hell. Her words made fire erupt in his already molten blood.
With fangs filling his mouth and his c**k gone hard as granite behind the zipper of his pants, Lazaro moved his hand to cup the buoyant underside of her breast. A hot, pent-up sigh gusted out of her as he caressed her bare skin beneath the slackened robe. Her nipple was pebbled and erect, a temptation he lightly tweaked, then rolled between his fingers. Melena’s grasp at the back of his neck tightened, her fingers curling into his hair as a moan leaked through her parted lips.