“What’s this?” Maggie peered into the glass as if she thought the deep red liquid inside was going to answer her.
“It’s the official drink of the band. The Impaler,” Ren told her, then took a sip.
“The Impaler?” Maggie frowned. “As in vampires and a stake through your heart impaling?”
“Exactly,” Ren said with an oddly resolute nod. “The Impalers is also the name of the band.”
Maggie realized she’d never heard them say their name while they were playing. The name did aptly fit with the whole vampire/New Orleans connection, thanks to Anne Rice. And now that she thought about it, even though they were encouraging the crowd to have a good time and party, they did exude a dark edginess, a latent danger, when they played.
They were hypnotic too. That was a big vampire trait, right? Okay, she had only noticed that Ren was hypnotic. She couldn’t say what the rest of the band was really like.
Then she realized she was staring at him. Not that he seemed to mind. He met her gaze easily.
Still, she blushed at her own blatant behavior.
“Taste it. It’s to die for.” He chuckled at his own lame joke—the husky sound reaching her like a brush of warm suede on her skin.
She again peered down into the highball glass.
“The color is a nice touch,” she said.
Ren smiled again, and even just in her peripheral vision, it was breathtaking. Distracting.
She took a deep breath and lifted the drink to her lips. It was…
“This is good,” she said with surprise after swallowing the tiny sip. A little tangy and nicely sweet.
She took another drink.
“I wouldn’t steer you wrong, darlin’.”
Maggie smiled. She really liked his accent. A slow drawl. Southern, she supposed, although she couldn’t say from where. Being a Northerner, she didn’t know southern accents very well. But it was different. Nice.
Then again, she liked everything about this man. A wave of nerves stirred up the calm that the wine had done a decent job of creating. She liked him, but she didn’t have any idea what to do with him.
God, what was she going to do with him? She wished she had even an ounce of Erika and Jo’s flirting abilities. Another wave of nerves hit her, until her posture was stick-straight on the edge of her chair.
She glanced up from her drink; he was watching her. Those intense eyes, a shade somewhere between amber brown and moss green. Sitting this close, she noticed that the eye surrounded by white lashes appeared a shade lighter than the one surrounded by brown. An optical illusion created by the difference between the lashes. Amazing.
Her body reacted to the sight, arousal replacing some of her nervousness. Everything about this man had a way of making her feel aroused. He seemed to ooze sexuality.
And that promptly made her uneasy again.
What was she doing? She couldn’t have a fling. Not with this guy. Maybe she should start out with a waiter, or even a bartender. Something about jumping right to musician seemed like too much.
Like she was hitting the sexual big leagues before she even signed up for T-ball.
“So are you having fun in the Big Easy?” he asked, his voice a little husky yet smooth, reminding her of the lowest notes on a violin. An almost soothing sound, as if he was aware of her anxiety and trying to calm her.
Almost against her own volition, she began to relax against the back of her chair. Calm like that created by the cheap wine weakened her limbs—although his voice was much nicer than the wine.
“Are you doing the usual tourist stuff?” he asked, his smile curling up slightly in one corner, as if he knew she’d already forgotten he’d asked a question.
Maggie quickly swallowed the drink she’d just taken, nodding as she did. “Yes. We’re having a great time.”
“What have you done?”
Maggie took another sip of the tasty drink with the rather naughty and exciting name. At least it seemed naughty and exciting when sitting so close to this lovely man that her knee kept bumping his under the table. Why was she having so much trouble following his questions?
“We went to Café Du Monde.” She slowly tried to recall some things she’d done. “And we went on a cemetery tour.”
She paused to think about what else she’d done. Why did everything suddenly seem discombobulated? As if her thoughts, and the room for that matter, had become strangely scattered.
“How was the cemetery tour?” Ren asked.
Maggie focused on him, thankful that she could.
“That’s one place I’ve never been,” he added, and Maggie noticed wryness in his tone that she didn’t understand.
“It was interesting,” she said, relieved that she wasn’t feeling quite so dizzy now that she was centering her own gaze on him. On his white-lashed eye. “I even made a wish at Marie Laveau’s tomb.”
Ren raised an eyebrow. “Did you? What did you wish for?”
“A wild fling,” she said, then snapped her mouth shut. Oh, dear. Had she really announced that to him? Judging from the slow unfurling of his Cheshire cat smile, she had indeed. Maybe she wasn’t as centered as she thought.
“That’s a good wish,” he said. His knee bumped hers again under the table, and the brief contact shot need through her body as if he’d run his hand up her thigh. What would she do if he did?
She took another sip of her drink. She needed to get this situation back on less…obvious terms.
“Have you enjoyed the band?” he asked, before her fuzzy mind could find a new topic.
She nodded. “Yes, you’re all so good. Do you like playing with them?”
Ren seemed to consider that for a moment. “I guess. It pays the bills and keeps me fed.”
Maggie frowned, surprised by his words. He was such an obvious showman, so good at working the crowd, encouraging them to have a good time. She just assumed he’d have to love it to be so at ease up there. But his words didn’t reveal that.
“I’ve been playing a long time,” he said by way of explanation. “I guess I’m a little burnt-out.”
“Well, it doesn’t show.”
“That’s good, I guess.”
She looked at him, realizing he was the one who was now uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. She tried to think of something that would be neutral for both of them.
“I had a woman read my tea leaves today, too.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew that wasn’t it.
And unfortunately, Ren’s interest was piqued.
“Oh yeah. And what did you find out? Something about having a wild fling with a long-haired, white-eyelashed musician?”
From her violent blush, Ren realized his flirtatious joke had been dead-on. Well, damn. He had to find that tea-leaf reader and give her a big kiss.
He studied Maggie. Had she revealed she wanted him to the fortune-teller? There was something thrilling about the idea that she’d made it clear to someone else that she wanted him—even after his brush-off. He didn’t deserve one, but he was damned glad he was getting a second chance with her.
And a wild fling was exactly what he wanted, too. Man, this all seemed to be falling into place so easily. There were brief times in his existence when he didn’t feel quite so cursed. This was definitely one of them.
Of course, he still sensed some reservations in her that he would have to get around. Actually two distinct feelings swirled around her like a cocoon, one real and one manufactured.
Her announcement had her embarrassed, and she’d also had too much to drink. He could take care of her embarrassment; she had nothing to be ashamed of, period. But he did not want sex with this woman to be the drunken variety. He should have realized that alcohol would affect her more in his presence.
Humans always got more drunk, more tired, more overwhelmed in his presence. A side effect of his nature. Even when he wasn’t trying, he still stole some of a human’s energy, which brought their natural tolerance down. It was a part of being a lampir that he couldn’t totally control.
He did not want Maggie drunk when he was with her. He wanted her fully aware of him when he ran his hands over her soft skin, kissed her, and entered her curvy little body.
His cock pulsed against the material of his jeans as if cheering at that idea.
And Maggie was so worth cheering about. Her energy snapped between them. So alive, so powerful. She had a wholesomeness that radiated from her and filled him. He liked that feeling.
Wholesomeness. When had he ever known that feeling?
He started to reach out to tuck one of her flyaway waves behind her ear, but stopped himself. She was too uncomfortable now. He needed to give her time to settle down again before touching her, even in the most innocent way.
Instead, he pushed away her drink. “I think you’ve had enough Impaler for tonight.” God, no double entendre there.
She didn’t argue. “I think you’re right.”
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked, needing to take her somewhere where he could touch her. Not that Sheri would think twice if he decided to make out with Maggie right where they sat. Hell, he’d done more than that at this very table. But Maggie wasn’t like the women he was used to. She needed seduction, not the usual inelegant groping he’d become accustomed to.
“I think that’s a good idea,” she said.
He noticed that her eyes tracked the features of his face as if they were moving. Oh yeah, she’d drunk too much—and he’d taken too much of her energy too. It was so damned hard not to.
“Fresh air might be good,” she said, still looking a little disoriented.
Ren nodded, and immediately regretted the action as she nodded in response, trying to focus on him.
He waved to Sheri, thanking her. Maggie thanked her too, her voice sweet and only a little slurred.
“Maybe we should walk around for awhile,” he suggested.
“I think that’s a good idea.” This time that’s was only slightly slurred.
He took her elbow. She allowed the touch, even leaned into it. He liked the feeling of her against his side, warm and soft. He focused on giving some of his energy back to her. Another trick a lampir had. He constantly took energy from those around him, but he could also give it back. That made him less of a leech, right?
They stepped out of the bar and he headed left onto Bourbon, only to take the next side street off it. The smells of Bourbon did not even approximate fresh air. Between the smell of beer, trash, and other disgusting things, it was not the place to sober up someone who was a little tipsy.
He walked slowly, not pushing her into conversation, in case she didn’t feel quite up to it. But once they were away from the music blaring from within the bars and the air was a little less aromatic, she spoke.
“I already feel better. Thanks.”
“Sure. Not like I haven’t been there.” It took him a lot more than three tumblers of wine and half an Impaler to get there, but he did understand. And yes, he had been counting her drinks. He’d been aware of everything she’d done since she’d walked into the bar tonight.
They reached Jackson Square, and he gestured to benches lining the outside of the wrought-iron fence. “Want to sit?”
She nodded.
Once they were settled, she turned to him, her big gray-green eyes regarding him solemnly—and more focused.
“I’m sorry I told you about the—thing at the cemetery and the tea-leaf reading.”
He wasn’t. He liked both announcements, a lot.
“Well,” he said slowly, “technically you didn’t tell me anything about the tea leaf reading. And I really liked what you had to say about the cemetery tour.”
The dim light couldn’t hide Maggie’s blush.
“That was a really good story,” he added when her gaze dropped to her hands folded on her lap.
“I don’t think blurting out that I wished to have a wild fling really constitutes a story.”
Ren smiled at that. “Oh, I don’t know, I think there’s a story there. And frankly, I’m really hoping that I get to be an integral part of it.”
Her head popped up, surprise clear in her wide-eyed expression. How could she possibly be surprised by that? Did she still doubt that he wanted her? Silly woman.
“Ren,” she started, and the slow way she said his name didn’t make him think he was going to like what she had to say after it. So he did the first thing that came into his mind.
He kissed her.
M aggie froze at the pressure of Ren’s mouth. This gorgeous man was kissing her. Her.
His lips teased, brushing against the curve of her mouth. Molding to hers. Surprise was promptly replaced by a violent rush of desire, so strong, so overpowering, all she could do was curl her hands into Ren’s shirtfront and cling to him. His lips sampled hers, strong yet velvety soft.
Wonderful.
In a fleeting sweep, his tongue tested the seam of her lips, and she instantly opened for him, not once considering denying him. He tasted her, her tongue sampled him in return. Brief, delicious touches.
Jolts of desire like electricity coursed directly from him into her. The sensation was almost too much. Too intense. Still she couldn’t let go. She wanted more.
A small moan escaped her, and he responded by pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. Soon they were clutching each other, his arms holding her tight to the hardness of his chest. Her hands tangled in the silkiness of his hair.
Silk, steel, heat and desire—all she could comprehend.
She moaned again. And this time, Ren lifted his head to look down at her.
“Damn,” he murmured, the word almost reverent, and Maggie pulled in a ragged breath. Yes, that about summed it up. She’d never, never experienced anything as intense as that kiss.
Desire sizzled in her limbs, in her very skin.
“Maggie.” His voice sounded huskier. “Come back to my place.”
She nodded. Yes. She wanted that desperately. She wanted to keep kissing him. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to feel him deep inside her.
As soon as the thought registered in her brain, it shocked her. She’d never had thoughts like that about a man. Not even Peter, and she’d been with him for over five years. She’d planned to marry him. But he’d left her.
“Come on,” Ren said as he rose and held his hand out for her. “I only live a block from here.”