A soft moan drew her attention to the young woman sitting beside the blank-faced boy. Oh dear. The girl had her hand underneath the table, her chair squeaking loudly as she rocked back and forth, making it obvious to anyone that might be looking what she was doing as she sought her own release.
“My fault,” Rose muttered apologetically, focusing on pulling herself together. The pushing wasn’t something she did on purpose—it was involuntary. Like the hiccups…only with orgasms.
It was a gift she’d never been able to control, unlike the rest of the women in her family. They used it like a weapon. Pushed and pulled to get what they wanted. Rose had always wished for that kind of discipline, but all she could do was stay away from dirty movies and situations where public displays of affection were unusual enough to be noticed.
Situations like this one.
She saw the vampire’s fingers hesitate, watched his eyes narrow and focus on the woman at the table. Empathy. He could feel the girl’s desire. Desire Rose had caused because it belonged to her.
At the moment, she’d rather have all his attention, and there was only one way to make that happen without stripping down and standing in front of the stage.
She opened her mouth and started to sing.
Her voice carried over the near-empty bar as she moved closer to the stage, harmonizing with his husky baritone and causing an old man sitting alone at a nearby table to whistle wildly.
She could see the storm erupt in his beautiful wintry blue eyes, though he didn’t sound rattled at all. Their voices merged with an ease that pleased her, but only seemed to increase his ire.
Didn’t he hear it? How perfectly matched they were? How powerful? She knew sex with him would be the same. Just as intuitive and passionate.
Rose’s skin warmed and her blood heated with each new verse. They would fit so well together.
She couldn’t wait.
Mac’s expression told her he knew what she was and why she was here. Demon hunter. He would make her pay for taking this moment away from him.
Rose wanted to pay. She would get on her knees and let him punish her until they were both hoarse from screaming out their pleasure. Those large hands, so delicately strumming the strings of the guitar, could control her as easily. Pin her down. Spank her. Tie her up. She could pretend to be an innocent virgin taken by the bloodthirsty Highlander.
Damn, she really liked the sound of that fantasy. It was going right to the top of her list.
Her voice wavered as they reached the climax of the sad love song, every member of the small audience groaning so loudly with need she doubted they would catch her minor mistake.
The imposing Scot stood abruptly, leaning the guitar against the chair. Grabbing Rose’s wrist, he pulled her behind the curtain without a word.
When they were hidden from view he whipped her around to face him, gripping her shoulders in a rough way that made her shudder with arousal.
“Whatever you’re doing to them, stop it now, my dear.”
Oh fuck, the way he spoke…
“Um, huh?” The people in the bar. “Oh. That isn’t as easy as it sounds.”
“I can’t promise I’ll... Stop them. Now.”
She wanted him right now… “I’ll try, but you have to stop touching me first.”
He took his hands away with obvious difficulty and Rose inhaled deeply. “Thank you, Mac.”
“So informal?” He took a deep breath. “I don’t suppose we really need introductions since you’ll be leaving now.”
She wasn’t going anywhere. He might as well learn about her stubborn streak now.
A strange sound, like a snore, broke the tense silence.
Rose glanced down at his jeans. “Is something dying in your pants?”
Mac swore and reached in his pocket, pulling out a cell phone and swiping his large thumb across the screen. “Fucking juvenile delinquent keeps getting into my phone. Thinks he’s funny…”
Rose crossed her arms across her chest so she wouldn’t give into the temptation to touch him. She didn’t have to ask who he was talking about. “He does that to you too?”