She watched the handsome stranger fold himself into the booth, and out of the corner of her eye, she sawChaz , the bartender, spring from behind the bar. The previously laid-back -- read stoned -- fellow practically fell over his own feet in his frantic attempt to reach the leather man. He hovered near the booth, wringing his hands, nodding energetically at whatever the new customer was saying.Chaz finally pointed toward the pay phone near the shelves of liquor and rushed in that direction, leaving the man alone.
Tempest realized she’d been holding her breath duringChaz’s strange performance. Of course, she’d only met the bartender that day, so she had no idea what his normal behaviors were. But still, the vibe he gave off around the stud muffin was unusual, almost as if he was afraid or something. She could feel the thrum of his anxiety from her observation post. No surprise, really. Most of the businesses in the inner city were mob controlled. Maybe the eye candy in the booth was high up on the motherfucker feeding chain. She smirked. A lesser woman might take a pass on rolling around with a member of The Family, but she always enjoyed a challenge. None of the a**holes had gotten the upper hand with her yet, and she felt confident she could call the shots with this yummy specimen, too.
Tempest watched the leather god for a couple more minutes, trying to guess what drink he’d ordered, but whenChaz returned to the booth, he was empty handed. Gorgeous Guy nodded atChaz , who slinked away. The mystery man tilted his head back against the wall of the booth and closed his eyes.
The movement appeared oddly vulnerable.
The other musicians returning from their break surprised Tempest out of her daydream. She couldn’t believe she’d been standing there in the dark for the entire fifteen minutes. She hadn’t even gone for her usual shot of tequila. It was completely out of the ordinary for her to be so intrigued by a man. Usually she just picked one out during the course of the night, and collected him at the end. Not much pre-boink lust indulgence. Something about this guy was different.Arousing.Dangerous.
Leon, the bass player, eased around her, plugged the PA back in, and clicked on the bar’s cheap stage lights. As the dim colors framed her, Tempest saw the man in the booth jerk his head in her direction, predatory eyes locked on hers.
Chapter Two
Malveaux’senhanced sense of smell gave him trouble when he had to be in disgusting places like the bar he’d slipped into. Smoke, alcohol, and the stench of human emotions prompted him to wrinkle up his nose in distaste. Of all his expanded senses, he struggled most with his need to integrate the overload of aromatic stimuli in this garbage-infested, poverty-stricken area.
He could argue with himself that spending time in this dump was better than being out in the blizzard, but he knew that really hadn’t been why he’d ducked in.Since he didn’t experience cold as humans did, being out in the winter onslaught merely caused him to be wet.An inconvenience, at worst. He’d long since stopped trying to make sense of why he didn’t choose to use his wide range of vampire abilities more often. At almost two hundred years old, the idea of transforming into fog or one of his many animal forms had lost a lot of its original appeal. He’d certainly utilize the skills if the reason was important enough, but if he could avoid it, he would. As odd as it was to admit, he always felt faintlycreeped out after one of those episodes.
No, if he were truthful with himself, sometimes he came to places such as this to have the illusion of being normal.Human. To indulge in memories of a time when he wasn’t the cursed abomination he was now.
Forgetting, just for a moment, his dark reality. The place was familiar to him because it was a favorite meeting place for some of his lowlife associates, but he wasn’t expecting company tonight. Even vermin stayed indoors during a snowstorm.
He chuckled quietly as he caught the bartender’s reaction to his arrival. His reputation was well known here, and he encouraged the mythos that had sprung up around him. The man --Chaz , if he recalled correctly -- had frozen at the sight of him, andMalveaux half expected him to keel over from fear. He thought he probably shouldn’t have terrorized the fellow by mentioning an expected phone call, but sometimes he couldn’t resist acting out the worst of his vampire nature. Phone calls usually meant trouble was brewing, and makingChaz stay on the alert for the imaginary call would keep him out ofMalveaux’s way. The bartender just thought his sullen customer was a hit man, which was true as far as it went. But if the skinny junky knew what was really sitting in his corner booth, he’d run screaming.Malveaux had considered drinking from the bartender in the past, just because he was convenient, but the guy was so strung out on he**in that his blood was useless.
Breathing in the smell of smoke and liquor,Malveaux almost wished he could still drink his favorite whiskey. It was true that blood was a much more intoxicating substance, but old habits die hard.
At least the place was empty tonight. Not so many emotions to sense or thoughts to intercept. Fewer heartbeats to pound like drums in his ears. He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes for a few seconds to savor the silence.
The stillness was broken by a loud click, like the amplified flipping of a switch, and his eyes flew open.
Soft color illuminated the interior twilight, and he swiveled his head in the direction of the noise. Standing on a shabby stage at the end of the room was a woman, a woman radiating sex and sensuality so powerfully he felt a painful tightening in his groin. He was pleased to realize that she’d been staring at him from the darkened stage, and curious about how she’d slipped under his usually sensitive radar. He tuned into her emotions and thoughts and smiled at the potent lust flowing toward him from the exquisite female.
His smile widened as he watched her strap on a shiny black electric guitar. She’d be a worthy sexual partner for the night -- or maybe for more than that. He shifted in his seat as the blood filled his c*ck again, pressing his flesh uncomfortably tight against the zipper of his leather pants. It was always such a pleasure when a perfect receptacle crossed his path so easily, like the spider and the fly. He knew he could simply send mental commands, and she’d do whatever he wanted. Sometimes he enjoyed the chase, the psychosexual foreplay that made his release even sweeter. Of course, he’d distract her so she wouldn’t notice the bite on her neck or the blood he was taking, but he was sometimes tempted to let his victims’ fear rush through him. That kind of orgasm was off the scale, and he wouldn’t kill her.Probably.
Watching her gyrate on the stage, flailing her arm in a windmill motion as she plucked the strings of the guitar was highly arousing. Long hair flying, she commanded the stage like a wild woman, fronting the band with fierce charisma. Her slender, curvaceous body constantly moved in electric bliss as she kicked up stiletto-heeled boots to punctuate sporadic musical crescendos. Her voice was surprisingly alluring, sometimes husky,sometimes sweet. He found himself intrigued with her stage persona, imagining sucking on those ripe br**sts while his c*ck slid in and out of her wet slit.
He could see the sweat glistening on her chest and arms and appreciated the short tank top, molded to her skin by the moisture. She had a habit of lifting her guitar away from her body, and he amused himself by thinking the maneuver was to give him an enticing view of her bra-less promise.
She seemed to be performing just for him; her eyes sought him at every opportunity.
Malveauxsignaled the bartender over to his booth again.Chaz approached, gaze lowered so he wouldn’t inadvertently make eye contact. The anxious bartender telegraphed his thoughts. He didn’t know why making contact withMalveaux’s cold blue eyes feltbad . He just knew it did.
“How much longer does the band play tonight?”Malveaux asked.
Chazglanced up, eyes wide, focused on a point aboveMalveaux’s nose. “This is their last set. They play until 1:45, but if they’re bothering you, I can tell them to stop now.” The frightened bartender was shaking so badly the coins rattled in his baggy pants pockets.
“No. I’m enjoying the music. I was just curious. Thanks.”
Chazsprinted away like he’d gotten a last-minute reprieve from the governor.
Malveauxlet a wicked grin take control of his lips as he absently rubbed the palm of his hand over his bulging erection. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been excited about f**king a particular person, but the beautiful dynamo on the stage had his full attention. His night had definitely taken a turn for the better. The only question now was whether he wanted to be the pursuer or the pursued. He got the impression the vixen definitely went after what she wanted. He’d wait and see what the lady had in mind.
As the last notes of the band’s cover of BonnieRaitt’s Slow Ride floated out through the speakers, Tempest stepped up to the microphone, preparing to give her standard end-of-the-night speech. As they had since he arrived, her eyes zeroed in on the man in the booth. She was imagining grabbing onto that long hair and riding him like a wild bronco. “We want to thank you for showing up in a blizzard and for being such a great audience. We hope you’ll come back and listen again the next time we’re here, but, unfortunately, it’s that time again.The end of the night. You don’t have to go home, but you do have to go. Drive carefully.”
She smiled at him and wasn’t the least surprised to see him smile back. She wondered if he’d picked up the sarcasm in her great audience statement. She hoped he wasn’t thick as a brick.
The two remaining drunks at the bar had long ago surrendered the use of their bones and muscles, and were lost in a substance stupor, their faces mashed into the wood in front of them.
Tempest lifted her guitar away from her body and leaned it against her amplifier. For just a few seconds, a flutter of nervousness erupted in her stomach, and she turned to make sure the man-candy was still in the booth. He was. She smiled as she wiped down her guitar and put it in its case.
It was actually fun to find a man who turned her on. Sex was always good. Well, almost always. But it had been a while since she felt genuinely excited. She enjoyed it when it was more than just her pu**y getting wet and hot. Her pu**y was always wet and hot, apparently.And impatient.Impatient Pussy.
Sounds like a p**n film, she thought, or a great name for an all-woman band.
This guy looked like someone she might want to enjoy for a while. Even if the gorgeous stranger turned out to be stupid rather than the strong, silent type, as long as he had a big, warm cock, they’d have a memorable evening. She turned and glanced at him again. He was still staring at her. She could almost feel the heat of his laser-like gaze on her ass. He had amazing eyes. She couldn’t wait to see them up close. She hoped he wasn’t one of those violent a**holes. Some of the pretty boys were. But she had her favorite knife tucked inside her boot, so she wasn’t particularly worried about fighting off an attack. Shit.
How f**ked was it to have to think about stuff like that? Welcome to my world, she thought.
She turned to Stan, “Hey, did you call the roadies?”
“Yeah, on the last break. They’ll be here in a minute.”
She’d enticed a couple of Stan’s old high school buddies to do the equipment set-ups, tear-downs and loading. They were actually groupies more than roadies who eagerly invested sweat equity in exchange for vague promises of future sexual favors. She’d put in her years of lifting the heavy crap, and was now happy to solicit guys to do the physical-strength thing and relieve her of that duty. She was a kick-ass feminist, but no fool. Why lift and carry if she didn’t have to? She’d have to amend her list of the things men were good for: sex, making music, and heavy lifting. Did that make her a female chauvinist?
Getting out of the way of Rob, the rhythm guitar player, as he moved his stack of amplifiers, she picked up her guitar case and stepped down onto the dance floor. She balanced her instrument case against the cigarette machine and turned toward the lust object in the booth.
“Hey, Tempest!Whereyagoin ’?” Stan yelled.
She glanced back over her shoulder. He was standing near the edge of the stage, pounding out a rhythm on his thighs with his drum sticks. He did that when he was nervous. He glared at her, and then at the booth inhabitant, and frowned. “I thought we had plans for tonight?”
“Plans change, my man. Catch you next time.”
A hurt expression passed over his face before he turned away and began removing his cymbals from their stands. She had a quick twinge of something that might have been guilt, but easily stuffed the feeling down deep in the unwanted-emotion morgue she’d created in childhood. She’d learned that attachments equaled disaster and disappointment. Stan knew her well enough to know she was a sexual free agent.
Yes, they were old friends and often sex partners, but that didn’t give him any say about what she did.
She didn’t have to explain herself to anyone.
She brought her eyes back to the night’s target and pulled out all the stops in the sensual walk department. She noticed he’d sat there for the last hour without drinking anything. That usually meant one of two things: either he was doing the twelve-step trip and might be one of those self-righteous sober drunks, or he preferred drugs. She didn’t care as long as his preferences didn’t get in the way of her orgasms.
He sat in the booth, relaxed, slouched down, hands folded in his lap. Now that she was closer, she could see his T-shirt was blue. So were his eyes. Sky blue, framed with long, dark lashes. She wondered for a few seconds if he might have had cosmetic surgery. Nobody’s face was that perfect, and men were lining up to go under the knife in the name of vanity as fast as women these days.
She stood near the end of the booth and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Tempest.” Cocking her head, she gave him a dazzling, come-hither smile.