Rogue Devil Read online

  Rogue Devil

  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 Devil: © 2020 by Kylie Gilmore

  Excerpt from Rogue Beast © 2020 by Kylie Gilmore

  Digital Edition 1.0

  Cover design by: Michele Catalano Creative

  Published by: Extra Fancy Books

  ISBN-13: 978-1-947379-27-5

  Rogue Devil

  Chloe

  Friends with benefits isn’t a real thing. Nope. Once you cross the line, that friendship is over. Ask me how I know. So I’m keeping my head down, focused on getting into medical school and ultimately working to find the cure for cancer. I want my life to mean something, to give back something significant to the world. Guys are a distraction I can’t afford.

  * * *

  Brendan

  From the moment I met Chloe Travers, a protective streak I never knew I had took over. Despite my raging lust, I kept her at arm’s length. We have a family connection, which means casually hooking up is out. Too much potential fallout and awkward future encounters.

  And then she moves in next door for the summer. Awkward? More like the ultimate test of my willpower. We’re spending every spare moment together as friends, and it’s driving me insane. I want to cross that line, but what if I make a move and lose her?

  NEXT FROM KYLIE GILMORE

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

  Get all the latest news first in Kylie’s newsletter:

  https://www.kyliegilmore.com/newsletter

  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

  FREE DOWNLOAD

  Want a FREE romance?

  Sign up for my newsletter and get your free book delivered to your inbox. https://www.kyliegilmore.com/newsletter

  1

  Three days before Christmas, Villroy Island

  Chloe

  “Do you think you can be friends with a guy after you’ve slept with him?” I ask my older sister, Sara.

  “No.”

  I sigh and lean my head back on the cushy leather reclining chair in the living room of her suite at Amalie Palace. The palace is my home away from home ever since Sara married Prince Adrian Rourke. I can always count on her to be honest with me. Still, I don’t want it to be true.

  “But—” I start.

  “No.” She leans forward from the adjacent sofa and squeezes my hand. Her green eyes are direct. “Chloe, I know you think what you had with Michael was a friends-with-benefits arrangement, but what you actually had was a relationship.”

  I frown. It’s been three months since I turned down Michael’s proposal, which, by the way, was a complete shock. I had no idea he felt that way. He’s a palace guard I met while visiting Sara, here on Villroy Island just off the coast of southwestern France. I hope we can remain friends. I’ll be a regular visitor to Villroy since Sara lives here.

  Sara pushes her blond hair behind her ears and continues in her motherly way. She’s seven years older and raised me after our parents died. “You remember how I was before Adrian? I was so closed off, unwilling to take a chance on someone and let them into my heart. And you told me to go for it with him. Chloe, that was the best decision of my life. Look at me now, happy as I’ve ever been, married with a beautiful baby boy.”

  I swallow the lump of emotions lodged in my throat. I love that Sara is so happy. She deserves it. “I’m thrilled for you, you know that, but it’s not the same situation at all. Adrian was your childhood friend. It was like destiny or something. Michael is not my destiny.”

  “That may be true,” she says gently. “What I’m trying to say is that even though the external circumstances are different with our situations, on the inside you and I are very much the same. Because of what happened with Mom and—”

  I hold up a palm. “This has nothing to do with them.” I barely remember our parents because they died when I was only six. I secretly think I’m broken. I never cry. Even when my parents died, I didn’t. Sara says I went mute for three months instead. And I didn’t love Michael back, even though he’s a good guy.

  She sighs. “Okay. I just want to encourage you to open up a little. You tend to shut down.” Her brows draw together. “I’m afraid I set a bad example for you the way I didn’t connect with other people in a meaningful way for so long. I want better for you. You’re a caring person with a lot of love to give.”

  “I love Henry.” That’s my baby nephew, her son.

  She smiles. “I know you do, but he’s too little to contribute to your social life.”

  I laugh.

  She wags a finger, saying in a light tone, “Even serious students are allowed to have a boyfriend. It’s called work-life balance, and sometimes that means taking a risk when the right person comes along. No matter how scary it feels.”

  I straighten in my seat. I’m not scared. Sara didn’t go to college, so she doesn’t understand the pressure. I’m double majoring in biology and chemistry at Columbia University in New York City on an accelerated path to graduate in three years, and then I’m off to medical school. I always knew doing what I was born to do, ultimately becoming a medical researcher, would mean I had to make some sacrifices. Long hours and hard work are part of the deal. I just never wanted anyone else to get hurt because of it.

  The door to the suite opens. My brother-in-law, Adrian, strides in, holding my three-month-old nephew, Henry. Adrian is tall with dark brown hair, warm hazel eyes, and the classic Rourke angular cheekbones and square jaw. “He’s hungry,” he says to Sara.

  “Aww, hi, Henry!” I say. I met him the day after he was born, back in September, and now we’re reunited again. He pays no attention to me. He’s fussing in Adrian’s arms, screwing up his little face in preparation for a major cry session.

  Sara rapidly undoes the buttons on her blouse and holds her arms out to him. Adrian transfers the baby over to nurse. The three of them sit close together on the sofa. My throat tightens, taking in their loving family. I can’t help but feel like an outsider. It used to be just me and Sara against the world.

  I stand. “I’ll see you later.”

  Sara looks up. “Will you be returning to the ball? You look so pretty in that gown. The color is such a nice contrast with your hair and really brings out your eyes.” Sara and I look similar, blond hair and green eyes, except I recently dyed my hair red.
/>   “Thanks.” I glance down at the green empire-waist gown my sister-in-law had made for me. It’s a Regency-themed ball, so we all had to go in proper Regency-era attire. “I only went to the ball because Queen Anna wanted me there. I don’t enjoy dancing, and the dances they were doing looked complicated.” I wave my hand through the air like a snake. “Lines of dancers weaving in and out of each other, turning this way and that.”

  Sara smiles. “It sounds fun. I hope we do another Christmas ball next year. Then we can take Henry.” Adrian felt it was too soon for Henry to be exposed to so many germs.

  “I’ll make sure of it,” Adrian says, kissing her temple.

  They gaze into each other’s eyes, the love between them palpable.

  “Bye,” I mumble and see myself out, quietly shutting the door behind me.

  I head downstairs on heavy limbs to my guest room on the second floor. I plan to change and get back to studying for the MCAT. That’s the admissions test for medical school that I’m taking this spring. From now on, work will be my focus. Even friends with benefits is more than I can handle. Obviously, I’m terrible at relationships. I didn’t even know I was in one until he proposed. From here on out, I’m steering clear of relationships of any kind so no one gets hurt.

  It’s afternoon on Christmas Day, and I’m curled up in a plush chair in my room, reading the latest in The New England Journal of Medicine on my laptop. Except for the Christmas morning gift-giving festivities, I’ve mostly stayed in my room, reading medical journals and studying. Usually, reading is a relaxing break for me, but today I’m restless.

  I look over at my little troll doll, Kablooey, with his blue explosion of hair, perched on the end table. I picked him up at a flea market years ago, and he travels with me everywhere for good luck. “I’m thinking cookie time, how about you?”

  His wide smile remains in place.

  Looks like a yes to me.

  I set my laptop aside, stand, and stretch before making my way downstairs to the kitchen, where a couple of servants are cleaning up from brunch. “Hi, Eileen, do you still have those cookie cutters in the shape of music notes?”

  Eileen, a middle-aged woman with her hair in a brown bob, smiles. “Sure do, Miss Chloe. Would you like some for Christmas dessert? I’ll whip up a batch right now.”

  “Would it be okay if I made them?” I’ve done it before while visiting, so it’s not that unusual a request.

  She waves me forward. “Of course. Just be done by three because that’s when Chef comes back to start preparations for dinner.”

  I thank her and get to work. I could make sugar cookies in my sleep. These will be a friendly peace offering to musically inclined Michael.

  Once I finish, I borrow one of the old Renaults the servants drive around the island and head down the hill to Michael’s cottage. His car isn’t in the driveway. I text him to ask where he is, but there’s no reply. I call and it goes to voicemail. I’m not sure if he’s blocked my number or if he turned his phone off. The sun’s just starting to set, so I need to work quickly before I lose the light.

  Determined to see this through, I retrieve the large plastic container of cookies from where I carefully wedged it on the floor of the passenger seat and make my way to the music room on the side of the cottage. He goes in there every day, and I happen to know the window doesn’t latch properly. It’s broken and he never got around to getting a new one installed. I wiggle the metal frame and push it up as far as I can, which is not a lot. I’m short and need a little height to get it open the rest of the way. I was planning to set the cookies on the bookcase under the window, but they won’t fit through this small opening.

  I think for a moment about how to achieve my goal. I got it! I walk over to the front porch, set the cookies down, and grab a nearby terracotta planter with a miniature pine tree he put out for Christmas. I drag the planter over and set it under the window. There’s just enough room around the skinny tree for my feet. I go back for the cookies. Okay, I can do this. I hold the cookie container in one hand, use the other hand on the windowsill for balance, and step into the planter’s soil. Whoa. My feet just sank all the way to my ankles. My poor white Keds are now brown. He must’ve recently watered it.

  Okay, I can still make this work. I’ve got a little height now. I push the window open more and carefully slide the container through the opening onto the top of the bookcase. Then I pull my planned speech from my front jeans pocket and place it under the container. I came up with my speech while the cookies were baking, and wrote it down to be sure I got the words just right. I’m so glad I did because now it’s the perfect friendly note.

  I’m about to step out of the planter when a sudden bout of nerves has me frozen in place, staring at that note. I snatch it back, pull my phone from my back jeans pocket, and turn on the flashlight to read it, ignoring the damp leaching into my socks from the planter. My note is short and to the point: I never meant to hurt you. I hope we can be friends.

  I debate if I need to find a pen to add my name to it. Maybe there’s a pen in the glove compartment of the car. I didn’t go back to my room for my purse since I didn’t figure I’d need it. I glance over at the car just in time to see it rolling down the hill. Shit! I shove the note and phone back in my pockets and step out of the planter. One of my feet gets caught on the damn plant and the whole thing tips, tossing me to the ground. Oof.

  Okay, nothing broken. I jump up and race after the car.

  “Wait! Stop!” What am I saying? There’s no one driving it.

  I run, waving wildly for the car to stop. Like I have some magical power to reverse gravity. I must’ve forgot to put the emergency brake on. I’m not used to driving much, living in the city.

  Please don’t hit another cottage.

  The road curves to the left, but the car doesn’t. It keeps going, heading for a cliff. Oh no. No, no, no. I slap my hands over my mouth and watch in horror. Reverse! Reverse!

  The car grinds to a stop, halfway over the cliff, tangled in the native shrubbery. I blow out a breath of relief and catch up to it. At least no people or cottages are in danger. It’s just beach down below.

  I take in all the angles, considering if there’s any way for me to get the car safely back up or down. Nope. It needs a tow. I sigh, my shoulders slumping.

  I turn and trudge back uphill to his cottage. At least I can deliver my note.

  I right the planter, and then I have to use my hands to scoop the soil back into it and compact it enough for me to have a sturdy surface to climb back in. Okay, once more with feeling. I wipe my hands clean on my jeans, haul myself back to the window ledge, and slide the note under the cookie container.

  I swallow over the lump in my throat, shut the window, carefully step out of the planter, and drag it back to the front porch.

  I take one last look at the cottage—my warm and happy oasis once upon a time—and turn away. The palace is at the top of a long, winding road. I consider calling for a ride, but I don’t want this getting back to Sara. She’ll fuss and then she’ll scold. It’s tough when your big sister is also your mom.

  I trudge up the road back to the palace, my feet squishing with every step.

  And then an icy rain begins, pelting my face.

  By the time I reach the palace courtyard by the front door, my feet are numb, my calves are screaming from the steep uphill climb, and my face hurts. I peel off my muddy shoes and socks before entering the great hall, where a servant, an older man named Pierre, immediately appears to assist me. I explain about the car, and he assures me it’ll be taken care of right away. No questions asked, thank goodness. Then he takes my wet hat, coat, shoes, and socks to be laundered, stopping to talk to a guard about the car.

  Welp, looks like that will be getting back to Michael sooner rather than later. The other guards are like brothers to him. In hindsight, walking uphill in the freezing rain wasn’t my smartest move—I should’ve called for a ride—but I’m just emotional enough not to be thin
king clearly.

  Pierre stops and turns to me. “Would you like a maid to assist you in returning to your room, Miss Chloe?”

  “No, thank you.”

  He bows his head, turns, and leaves. He’s kind enough not to say a word about my appearance. I must look like a stray dog and feel as low.

  I’m halfway upstairs when I hear baby Henry’s cry down below. Sara must be on her way back to her room. I can’t let her see me like this. I’m too exhausted to deal with any more drama today.

  I race upstairs, my tight calves protesting the movement. The sound of Henry fussing gets closer and closer. I’ll never make it to my room at the end of the long hallway before she spots me. I try the first door on my right. Locked. Second door. Yes!

  I dash inside, quietly shut the door behind me, and turn, my lips parting in surprise. A half-dressed Rourke is standing there. The men in the Rourke family could’ve been stamped from the same mold. Who leaves their door unlocked while they’re getting dressed?

  My gaze lifts from his broad chest to his gorgeous face with sparkling blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a neatly trimmed beard. It’s not just any Rourke. It’s the one I spotted across the ballroom, drawn in by his wide smile. He looked like a good time waiting to happen—my complete opposite—and I longed to see what that would feel like. I was right too. When I asked Sara about him, she said he’s known to love to party. I don’t even enjoy the party scene. What is it about him? I missed my chance to meet him at the ball, after my misguided attempt to make amends with Michael that night (he was on guard duty and brushed me off), and now here he is. Half naked.