Rogue Angel (The Rourkes, Book 10) Read online

  Rogue Angel

  Kylie Gilmore

  Copyright © 2020 by Kylie Gilmore

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Rogue Angel: © 2020 by Kylie Gilmore

  Excerpt from Rogue Devil © 2020 by Kylie Gilmore

  Digital edition 1.0

  Cover design by: Michele Catalano Creative

  Published by: Extra Fancy Books

  ISBN-13: 978-1-947379-25-1

  Rogue Angel

  Becca

  That one-night stand with Hot Builder Guy was not in the plan.

  Completely unlike me but, in a moment of weakness, I was drawn in by his piercing blue eyes, his charming smile, and his spectacularly muscled everything.

  It was a mistake.

  Only the next day he wants my number and I start thinking maybe this thing has potential. Maybe it wasn’t a mistake.

  And then I see him again in the worst possible place and realize this can never work. There are rules about this—for good reason—and I don’t dare cross the line.

  Connor Rourke is off-limits.

  I don’t know how much longer I can resist temptation.

  NEXT FROM KYLIE GILMORE

  Don’t miss Rogue Devil! There’s an excerpt at the back of this book.

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  Contents

  FREE DOWNLOAD

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Freebie

  Also by Kylie Gilmore

  About the Author

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  1

  Becca

  I have not been stood up. I take a quick glance around The Twisted Chord, my favorite bar in Brooklyn, for my date from eLoveMatch. No blond guys wearing a white sweater to be found. It’s not that big a place either, just the L-shaped bar and a row of high-top tables across from it. There’s a small space for a live band up front. The décor is funky with electric guitars on the walls and fairy lights along the ceiling.

  I glance at the empty barstool next to me. Apparently, I have a date with my cardigan. Ha-ha. My purse and white cardigan reserve the seat. Sigh.

  I check the time on my phone. Eight thirty. The band starts at nine. If he’s not here by then, I’ll leave. Must. Keep. Positive.

  I take a sip of cheap chardonnay, eavesdropping shamelessly on the three guys in their twenties sitting on the other side of my reserved seat. They’re similar looking—dark-haired, varying amounts of scruff, with muscular builds filling out T-shirts and faded jeans. I’m guessing they’re brothers or cousins. The guy closest to me is the quiet one, but when he speaks, the other two listen intently. He keeps saying they’re not going to talk business since it’s Friday night, but then he does anyway. He seems intensely into whatever project they’re working on, something on the waterfront. Sounds like they’re developers. He shifts suddenly, catching my eye, and my breath hitches. His eyes are a piercing blue. I get the strange feeling he can see through me on some deep soul level. My senses go on full alert, my pulse thrumming through my veins.

  I face front, embarrassed by my intense reaction to a stranger. It normally takes me a while to warm up to a guy. I’m more on the reserved side. I want to sneak another look at him but don’t dare. I don’t think I’ve seen him here before. I’d definitely remember those eyes.

  He goes back to his conversation, ignoring me sitting here all alone. I allow myself a quiet sigh of disappointment. Not over him, I assure myself. I’m disappointed that Bill is late. Obviously, I’m not here to pick up some random guy while I’m waiting for my date. I check my phone for a text, missed call, or private message on the dating app. Nothing. My gut does a slow roll.

  I square my shoulders and paste a pleasant expression on my face. It’s not a big deal to hang solo at a bar on a Friday night. And I may not be solo for long. I mean, yes, Bill is thirty minutes late for our meetup—and I was early, which makes the wait seem longer—but there’s still hope. He could’ve been delayed by work or stuck on the subway or hit by a car. My spirits lift, thinking he’s gravely injured somewhere, wishing he could’ve made it here to meet me. It’s not personal at all. He did not check me out and bail.

  I swear I look just like my dating profile pic—shoulder-length straight light blond hair, pale blue eyes, fair skin, high cheekbones, nose on the larger side. Not a huge nose, but not one of those narrow little things. Sure, I’m tall for a woman at five feet ten, but I don’t think that should turn Bill off unless he lied about his height. Some guys are so weird about that. Besides, I’ve been sitting this whole time and I’m wearing black ballet flats. No way he could tell how tall I am.

  I smooth my hair, a teensy worry buzzing through my mind. I’ve been told I have a cool regal aura (by polite people) and that I’m an ice queen by the not so polite. Which is ridiculous. First of all, I can’t help it if I’m a pale color that makes people think “frosty.” Second, I’m from a working-class neighborhood in Queens. My parents are both teachers. I’m down to earth and extremely practical. Which is why I know I have to kiss a lot of frogs to find the right partner. I’m twenty-nine and ready to settle down. That’s why I’ve been accepting one date per week for the past seven weeks from eLoveMatch, which has the reputation of being the premier service for people seeking serious relationships.

  I turn to the front door at the sound of voices, my hopes rising. Nope. It’s the band coming in to set up by the front. My shoulders slump, every limb suddenly heavy. I turn back to my wine and take a healthy swallow. Bill seemed so warm and flirty in his texts. I didn’t think he’d be a no-show. I’m really getting tired of all these disappointing guys. This is the first time I’ve been stood up (possibly), but not one single date has progressed to date two. I swear it’s not me. We’re just not clicking, and I can tell within the first hour. I’m not high maintenance either, despite what my ex claimed. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m chill—more of a type A go-getter—but I’m really trying to change that and mellow a bit for my own health.

  My ex, Oliver, is the one who completely freaked out, not me. I don’t think it should’ve been such a shock that I brought up marriage after a year of dating. It’s not like I proposed! I just mentioned that marriage was something I wanted in the near future and wondered if he felt the same way. His answer was to break up with
me. Did I mention it was New Year’s Eve? Great way to ring in the New Year. Not. I’d like to say I took it in stride, but honestly, it was the beginning of the end. I was already worn down from my management consulting job with its long hours and constant travel and, in my mistaken determination to get over him by putting work first, I spent the next six months sliding right into burnout. I quit at the end of June and gave myself four weeks to recover and find a new direction for my life. I have enough savings, fortunately, to do that. My former job paid extremely well, but it took a serious toll on my health. It’s tough to go from a full-throttle career traveling the world to where I am now, finding my way to a new mellower way of life. But I did it. I reprioritized, and everything is going according to plan. Almost.

  I peek at my phone, ever hopeful. Finding the right partner is the part of my new life plan that’s not working so well. I need to be patient. I’ll wait just a little bit longer in case Bill has a legitimate excuse. Anyway, it’s been nine months since Oliver and I broke up and I’m over it. Really. Moving on was made immensely easier by Oliver trying to get back together with me a few times “in a casual way.” Translation: convenient hookup. Yeah, no, thanks. Not saying it was easy to get over him exactly—my heart is tender—but definitely easier knowing it was a dead end.

  A heavy hand lands on my shoulder, jolting me. My date made it here after all! I turn with a bright smile that remains frozen in place as my stomach drops. It’s my ex looking tanned and relaxed, his light brown hair artfully mussed. What is Oliver doing here? He hated this place, called it a hole in the wall. He only likes hipster bars with fancy food. And he’s brought a woman with him. She’s beautiful. Dammit. Long dark brown wavy hair, dark eyes with long lashes, busting with curves, and clinging to his arm like he might make a getaway if she doesn’t. And me sitting here all alone. This would be a great time for a trapdoor to open and swallow them both. He’s got to be here to gloat. Oliver knows this is where I like to hang out. It has everything I need—drinks, good music, and is close to my apartment. Crap. I probably shouldn’t have posted a pic on Insta about my fave Friday night hangout last week while waiting for bummer date number six.

  Oliver smiles, but it doesn’t reach his brown eyes. “How are you, Becca?” His voice drops to a sympathetic tone. “Are you here alone?” He glances over my shoulder, where a couple of women are sitting, chatting animatedly. Why couldn’t I have a guy by my side when Oliver decides to make an appearance?

  I straighten my spine, determined to brazen this out. “What’re you doing here? It’s a bit of a hike from the city, isn’t it?” He lives in Manhattan. I have the sinking feeling he’s here just to show off Miss Curvy to me. I clench my jaw, every muscle tense. I’m not so abundant in the curve department, though they are there. I’m more long and lean. Oliver once asked me why I bother wearing a bra. Asshat.

  My gaze collides with piercing-blue-eyes guy, who’s just returned from the restroom. His brow furrows slightly like he’s trying to suss out the situation. I probably have panic written all over my face. I can’t let Oliver think I’m pathetically alone in a bar on a Friday night because I was stood up by a random guy from eLoveMatch. I just can’t.

  I remove my cardigan and purse from the stool next to me and smile at Mr. Blue Eyes, who’s now only a short distance away. “Saved your seat, honey,” I say cheerfully, desperately hoping he’ll get the message.

  The guys he’s been sitting with look at me strangely. Sweat trickles down my spine.

  Mr. Blue Eyes takes the offered seat—there is a God!—and turns to Oliver. “Hey, I’m Connor. And you are?”

  Oliver stiffens. “I’m Oliver, Becca’s ex. This is Rose.”

  Rose bares her teeth in a tight smile. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the guys Connor was sitting with watching us curiously. Please don’t give me away.

  “Nice to meet ya, Becca’s ex and Rose.” Connor slips an arm around my shoulders and kisses my temple. My skin flushes hot, my heart thumping hard. I don’t know if it’s Connor’s proximity or the bizarre situation. He smells wonderful, like the ocean and sexy man. He’s much bigger than me too—taller with wide shoulders—and I love that I actually feel petite. I’ve felt statuesque since sixth grade. (Old nickname Lady Liberty after the nearby Statue of Liberty. Kids can be so cruel.)

  I glance back at Oliver and say coolly, “Nice to run into you. Have a good night.”

  Oliver clears his throat. “I dropped by to let you know Rose and I are engaged. I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else. I thought it best to have the conversation face-to-face, given our history.”

  My eyes narrow. He did come here just to rub it in my face. We don’t have any friends in common, so it’s not like I would’ve heard it from someone else. Hmph. Back on that fateful New Year’s Eve, he first claimed he wasn’t ready for marriage, which I accepted, until he added that he couldn’t see living with someone like me forever. That’s when I got a little miffed and gave him a few farewell dick falling off wishes.

  “He just wanted to be up front with you, considering,” Rose adds unhelpfully.

  What did Oliver tell her? That I was the one who tried to get back together with him multiple times? He’s the one who kept texting me for a booty call! At least I thought that’s what he meant by getting together in a casual way. Did he just mean a not getting married but dating way? Did he miss me like I missed him? And I turned him down flat. Now his ego demands I see what I missed out on.

  The happy couple looks at me expectantly.

  I swallow hard. They dated for less time than Oliver and I did. I grab Connor’s hand and give it a good squeeze before pasting a smile on. “Congrats.” I nearly choke on the word. “Why don’t you take our seats? Connor and I are just on our way out.”

  Connor stands and helps me into my cardigan. I owe this guy big time. I grab my purse, thrilled to make my escape.

  Connor winks at Oliver. “She can’t wait to get me back to her place, as usual.”

  I laugh. I love that I sound like a fiery passionate woman, despite the fact that passion has proved elusive with my past boyfriends, including Oliver. “That’s right.”

  Connor takes my hand and we walk toward the door. I can feel Oliver’s eyes on me.

  “Con?” a deep voice calls out. I glance back. It’s one of the guys he came here with. My heart races. So close to the door. Please let me walk out of here with some dignity.

  “Yeah, later,” Connor says over his shoulder and walks me out the door.

  The moment we step outside, my knees go weak with relief. Did we really pull it off?

  “Where to?” he asks.

  “No idea. Just keep moving. Thank you, by the way.” We did it! I feel ultra-awake like I just ran a heart-pumping, hurdle-jumping race and won. Victory! And the crowd goes wild! Woo! I am pumped.

  “I could tell he was an ass from a mile away. Don’t let that guy ruin your night. There’s another bar I like two blocks over with a back garden. Sound good?”

  I suddenly realize I’m kinda having a date tonight after all. His hand is warm and calloused holding mine, his walk a slow amble like he’s the chill kind of laid-back I’ve been working so hard to achieve.

  “Sure,” I chirp nervously. I mean, I don’t even know the basics I’d normally get from a dating profile—three things he can’t live without, the thing he’s most passionate about, and the way his friends would describe him. I don’t feel right grilling him, though, after he rescued me.

  I sneak a sideways glance at him, and my mouth goes dry. He’s gorgeous. I was too caught up in panic before to fully appreciate his beauty. Thick dark brown hair that’s a little long on top, angular cheekbones, a square jaw with just the right amount of scruff. His navy blue T-shirt hugs wide rounded shoulders, a broad chest, and spectacularly formed biceps. A flutter in my belly and a low ache reminds me just how long it’s been since I’ve been with a guy. Too long, as in nine freaking months.

  I tear my gaze away, hopi
ng my ogling wasn’t too obvious. Insta-lust to this intense degree is new for me, but I’m not going to act on it. That’s just not me.

  We’re about to turn the corner when my eye catches on Oliver and his new fiancée driving off in his candy apple red Porsche. It’s ridiculous to have a car when you live in the city. I used to think that car was a sign of his success, but now all I see is another ego booster. Oliver and I were both obsessed with chasing success, and maybe that’s why we worked as a couple for a while. I’m glad I got off the success train because there’s just no stop where you feel like you’ve reached the satisfying end. It just keeps going round and round in an endless cycle of work, work, work.

  Connor stops me and pulls his phone from his back jeans pocket. “Just let me text my brothers. They’re probably wondering what the hell that was back there.”

  “Actually, my ex just left, so if you want to hang with them, I don’t mind. It sounded like you had a lot to talk about.”

  His intense blue eyes lock on mine as he says flatly, “I’m no longer useful to you.”

  Oh no, I’ve insulted him. I put a hand on his arm, immediately contrite. His arm is like warm marble, all sculpted muscle. I lick my lips and try to come up with something reassuring to keep him from taking offense. I need to stop touching him to think. “It’s not that at all. I so appreciate you coming to my rescue. My ex just wanted to rub his new fiancée in my face after breaking up with me over his inability to commit. I’d love to have a drink, but I don’t want you to feel obligated. You were already having your own evening.”