[She groans softly as he says that. With a little whine she takes a step forward, pulling away from him, and reaches to tug her panties up and her skirt down. She turns, her nose wrinkled in something dangerously close to a pout, because no matter that it was at her prompting, she isn't pleased at having to lose his fingers.

Ah, well . . . Rosalind reaches for him, taking his hand. With a little hum she puts it to her lips, humming softly to taste herself on him. He can hardly walk her home with his hand so filthy, can he?

It's quick work. Her tongue flits over him, between his fingers, before she releases his hand and takes a few steps forward.]

I'd tell you to come along, Jamie, but I think there's little chance at all you won't follow.

[That's less impudent and more tongue in cheek as she glances back with a smile. They'll resume their game very soon, but there's something a little more ordinary in her tone as they head down the street.]

I can't believe you had the audacity to s-- to put your hand to me in the middle of a bloody bar.