He played his fingers through her hair, and though the thick, mahogany waves were beautiful, his mind kept circling back to the dark fall of silk he'd seen under the moon last night. "You're too good for me, Rosa."
A husky laugh. "Of course I am." She pressed a kiss to his jaw, her breasts brushing his chest as she shifted to face him. "I can feel your wolf tugging at the reins."
Hawke hated that he was being pushed into this by the physical needs of his changeling nature. But that had nothing to do with Rosalie. "I'm a bastard."
"That you are," she agreed, linking her arms around his neck.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Wow, talk about alpha. Makes me want to say ‘yes, please and again.' " Tracing his lips with her fingertip, she gave him a solemn look from those thickly lashed eyes of deepest green. "You know this, us, it's freely given? No strings."
Instead of lunging at the invitation as he'd half expected, Hawke's wolf sat sullen, though it was being torn apart by the most savage sexual need. "I know."
She tipped her head to the side, her hair cascading over her shoulder. "Then why aren't you ripping my clothes off?" There was no judgment in the words, only the concern of a friend.
Reaching up, he brushed his fingers over her cheekbone. The wolf found her sensual, beautiful, intelligent. The man agreed. There was just one problem. "Indigo was right"—a realization that tilted his world on its axis—"it won't satisfy my hunger." The need that ravaged him was hotly specific, targeted to only one woman.
"You mean," Rosalie said, hands on her hips, "you're blowing me off after getting me all hot and bothered?"
"You mad?" He nuzzled at her, because the wolf didn't want to hurt her.
Rosalie laughed, and it was a big, sensual sound from a woman who lived her life with a generosity of spirit that didn't allow her to hold grudges. "It's not exactly a surprise, sweetie." Still smiling, she kissed him full on the mouth. "I came to you because we're friends—you needed touch, and I figured you were too stubborn to go after her. I didn't realize it had gotten to this point between you two."
Hawke growled at the implied conclusion in her statement. "Just because I realize the need, doesn't mean I'm going to act on it."
"Let me make sure I have this right." Rosalie poked him in the chest. "You want her so bad I can all but taste your arousal—and damn, but it's sexy—but you're not hunting her down?"
Hawke thought of how young Sienna was, how untried.
I have no plans to die a virgin.
He was no lover for a virgin, especially now, with his control so ragged it was in fucking shreds. Hell, he'd probably scare her so bad she'd never want to have sex again. "It's complicated."
"Huh." Rosalie didn't sound convinced, but his sat phone rang before she could grill him any further.
Answering it, he was surprised to hear José's voice. "It's Luc's turn," he said curtly, in no mood to babysit packmates who should know better. If they got into shit tonight, he'd let them cool their heels in jail.
The bar owner blew out a breath. "I'm thinking you don't want another man handling your girl."
Hawke's claws sliced out. "Anyone touches her, they're dead."
"She's fine—if you don't count the amount of alcohol she's slugging back . . . or the cat keeping her warm."
Hawke's growl rolled up out of his chest to color the air. "Make damn sure she doesn't leave with him." Stabbing the End button, he looked up to find Rosalie grinning from ear to ear. "Quiet."
"Hey, I'm just an innocent bystander." She raised her hands. "Though you might want to take off your mean face before you go get her."
"She can bloody well deal with it." It was a snarl.
SIENNA surreptitiously passed "her" sixth shot to Kit.
He made a face. "Did you have to order this girly shit?"
"I am a girl, in case you failed to notice." The vodkas she'd ordered earlier had been easier to get rid of—the colorless liquid blended in with the empty or ice cube–filled glasses the wait staff cleared away on a regular basis. The shots, on the other hand, would stick out.
Shuddering, Kit made quick work of the butterscotch liqueur and slid the glass over before anyone was the wiser as to who had taken the actual shot.
"Dear God that was foul." He gulped his beer. "That's the last one I'm doing for you."