10. Rowan #2
Charity smiled. “Next time you’re on stage, be sure to let me know. Now, I won’t keep you from the ladies.” She gave Rowan a parting air-kiss and headed toward the private rooms, hips swaying.
“Drink?” Rowan asked Lane.
His gaze raked over Rowan, and Rowan told himself not to react. “Sure, why not?”
At the bar, Rowan ordered bourbon, and Lane grabbed a beer.
They settled at the tip rail, the dancer on stage pulling some impressive moves.
Lane threw money on stage, so did Rowan, but Lane couldn’t seem to keep his attention on the show.
He kept sneaking glances at Rowan, their gazes catching like magnets.
Once the show ended, Rowan returned to the bar for another drink, Lane at his side. His fixed attention was like a brand, and Rowan desperately wished he hated it. Instead, he basked in it.
Why did Lane find him so interesting while surrounded by gorgeous women wearing next to nothing?
“Are you uninterested in women?” Rowan asked, hopefully hitting the casual air he intended.
“What?” Lane glanced around as if their surroundings surprised him, his drink halting halfway to his lips. “I’m bi. I like women. Why? Do I seem uninterested?” His gaze landed on the stage, horrified. “Was I being rude?”
“No.” Lane’s distraction could have been easily missed. He’d tipped well, and surely no one was as attuned to his movements as Rowan.
“Phew.” Lane gave a lazy smile, fixing the full weight of his attention on Rowan. “You like women too, right?”
“Yes. I used to say gender didn’t matter to me, but in more modern terms, I’d say I’m bisexual rather than pansexual, since I experience attraction to a person’s gender expression.”
The urge to ask about non-modern times was written all over Lane’s face, but he didn’t say anything. He was awfully considerate, taking vampire customs seriously, for which Rowan was glad. If Lane asked too many questions, he feared he’d give in and answer.
One of the dancers approached and captured Lane’s attention, leaving Rowan to sip bourbon and observe his companion in peace.
Lane had a remarkably expressive face, as if it had never occurred to him to withhold his feelings.
He smiled at Star, the dancer, as they chatted, his gaze lingering appreciatively on her barely covered chest. He seemed to have an easier time not focusing on Rowan, but the second his gaze drifted Rowan’s way, the appreciative glint in his eye intensified.
Rowan’s insides went molten.
“I’d love a private dance,” Lane said to Star.
She beamed, quickly explaining the different options. “Will you be joining us, Rowan?”
All the dancers recognized him as the club’s owner, and some doubtless believed he headed a crime ring, but they all sang his praises for running one of the best clubs they’d ever worked at.
Making this a safe place to work was the least Rowan could do. The credit for running a good club was down to the management team and employees.
He was about to decline, but he didn’t think security would like him loitering outside the private rooms, owner or not. If they let him linger, they’d be fighting off customers trying to peek in on things they hadn’t paid to see, and Rowan wasn’t here to make anyone’s job more difficult.
“Do you mind?”
Lane chuckled. “No. In fact, I have to insist.”
Because of the curse. There was no other reason.
Rowan followed as Star led them to a private, curtained-off room and collected her money, tucking it in a glittering bag.
He settled on the bench seat a respectable distance from Lane, and his heart skipped.
Lane looked good in the low club lights, color flashing across his face, and Rowan fought not to remember Lane in another mood-lit room, years ago.
He focused on Star. He’d always been wary of asking anyone to dance for him, and hadn’t ever sat in a private room in his own club.
To her credit, Star appeared nonplussed as she asked Lane if there was anything in particular he wanted.
Knowing Rowan danced, and having seen him perform, probably helped.
Lane settled in his seat, his arms spread across the back of the bench, and watched Star. He didn’t glance Rowan’s way.
Rowan did a much worse job of focusing on the performance until Star began twerking on Lane’s lap, one leg flung onto the bench beside him.
Rowan ran a finger absently along the inside of his shirt collar, pulling the snug fabric away from his skin. Lane looked good when he was enjoying himself. It was too bad he hadn’t stayed for the rest of the night all those years ago, after Rowan had rebuffed him.
He’d have liked to watch Lane have sex. Would Lane have stayed in the main room with his partner or partners, seeking an audience, or retreated to privacy? Would he have enjoyed watching Rowan in turn?
Their eyes met, almost like Lane sensed Rowan’s thoughts, and his lips curled in a crooked smile. Rowan’s insides tightened.
A second later, Lane’s focus returned to where it should be. He shifted slightly, and the hand nearest Rowan brushed his shoulder. A brief, barely there touch.
Rowan ached to lean into it, but held himself more firmly than ever. He was being obvious. Dammit. Why else would Lane touch him? He had to get it together.
He watched Star display her considerable skill.
“You’re gorgeous,” Lane told her.
Rowan didn’t catch her response over the blood pounding in his ears. Do not imagine him saying that to you.
Lane seemed fully relaxed, enjoying himself and radiating confidence in a way he hadn’t since he’d shown up at Rowan’s door. This missing piece of Lane felt familiar, and it took Rowan a moment to figure out why.
He’d been the same at that damned Bite Night. Sexy. Alluring. Urging Rowan to take stupid risks.
But Rowan couldn’t indulge himself with Lane the same way he could with his other partners. The curse made it impossible. There was no way to have sex with Lane, say goodbye, and disappear into his normal life. They were stuck together.
Maintaining that separation was the only way Rowan conducted himself.
He didn’t date. He had play partners, but no romantic relationships.
Clear boundaries and defined scenes were his preference.
What made him feel safe. He gave his lovers vulnerability in a controlled context.
He never let himself depend on them in non-sexual ways, and never outside of their set time together.
Keeping distance between his life and his pleasure prevented him from becoming dependent and needy, and saved him from painful old habits.
And then there was Lane, calling to those habits like a damned siren, and Rowan hadn’t a clue what to do about it.
Rowan ascended the stairs of a house he hadn’t been inside in over a hundred years. Hadn’t it burned? No, that must have been a dream. Cris had finally called him to his side, and Rowan was eager to please him. Eager to be what Cris needed.
Maybe then he’d return Rowan’s love.
He pushed open the door to Cris’s study. Cris stood by the window, hands folded at his back as he gazed out. Rowan paused at the center of the room, not permitted any closer without a direct request.
For a long time, Cris remained silent. A test. When Rowan spoke first, Cris became angry, even though he knew Rowan hated silence.
“I heard you crying yesterday,” Cris said without feeling. “What was it this time?”
“Nothing.” Rowan’s gut twisted with shame.
“You weren’t lonely?” Even without seeing his face, the sneer was evident.
“No,” Rowan said with more determination than before.
“You’re such a liar. A pathetic little liar. Do you honestly need to be surrounded by people all the time? Never alone, even in your own house?”
Rowan trembled, glad Cris wasn’t looking at him for once. He didn’t bother pointing out that this was Cris’s house, not his. Or that he’d been alone for weeks and was going out of his mind.
He didn’t want to be abandoned again.
“I’m sorry,” he said instead.
“Why can’t you be what I want?” Cris turned then, disgust twisting features Rowan had once believed beautiful.
Rowan’s gut wrenched. “I’m trying.”
“And failing.”
Cris had turned Rowan into a vampire to be his companion, and Rowan thought that meant Cris would love him. Now he wondered if this torment had been Cris’s intent all along.
Why was he still desperately trying to please a monster?