Rogue Rascal (The Rourkes, Book 9) Page 2

“Riley,” I say under my breath and before I can get out my demand to know what brought Sam to her door, I’m interrupted by more furious pounding.

  She winces before whispering furiously, “When Alison left the bachelorette party early with Sam, she told me to text her that I got into my room safely. Which I did. Unfortunately, in my drunken loosey-goosey state, I texted a little too much information.” Alison is Sam’s fiancée.

  “What exactly did you say?”

  Bam! Bam! “Riley! Open up!”

  It’s definitely Sam.

  I search for my shoes in a cold sweat. I need to pull myself together quick. Make this look as innocent as it really was. I spot my sneakers under the desk, with my socks in them. Did she undress me? I never tuck my socks in my shoes. Focus! Sam is about to kill you!

  I get my socks and shoes on and finger comb my hair. “Okay, what’re we gonna tell him?”

  “The truth.” She worries her lower lip. “It’s just that he’s so protective. You know, big brother.” She rolls her eyes. “I don’t want him to go all ape on you. I’m going to start with how everything is just fine. No harm done.” She crosses to my side and puts her hand on my cheek. “You’re too pretty to have your nose broken.”

  Her touch feels surprisingly good, and I can’t even believe I notice that in the midst of the worst disaster of my life. “Maybe I deserve to have my nose broken.”

  “Riley, answer the door!” Sam barks.

  She rushes to answer it and only opens the door halfway. “Hi, Sam! I’m fine. Everything’s good.”

  He pushes her out of the way and steps into the room, facing off with me. He’s slight, shorter than me, but I don’t underestimate what rage can do to a guy. His dark brown hair is neatly parted to the side, his brown eyes wide and a little wild. “What the hell is going on here?”

  Riley pipes up in a rush of words. “We were all having fun at that club last night, remember?”

  Sam speaks through his teeth. “Alison says Jack brought you safely back to your bed last night.” He narrows his eyes at her and then me. “And he’s still here.”

  In that moment, I realize he’ll never believe that nothing happened here last night. He knows my rep, which is exactly why he told me from the beginning to stay away from his little sister. I’m the good-time guy, the one-night-stand guy, the guy you pal around with but don’t let near your sister.

  I cross to Riley and take her hand, giving it a squeeze before lying through my teeth. “We’ve been in a relationship for more than a month.” Sam’s been too busy with wedding planning stuff to know anything about my dating life.

  Sam stares at me blankly for a moment and then turns to his sister. I glance over at Riley, and her dark eyes search my face. I give her my most confident look that says you’re my girlfriend and, also, please go along with it. It’s the only way to save my friendship with Sam. You don’t break the bro code.

  Sam’s brows furrow in confusion. “But you never mentioned it.”

  “Haven’t seen you much,” I say lightly. He basically dumped his guy friends the moment he got engaged. So whipped.

  Dead silence. He stares at me, and I hold his gaze while sweat trickles down my spine. I hate lying.

  “And we didn’t want to upset you,” Riley puts in, interrupting our staredown. “I mean, I know you’re protective, and Jack’s not usually a relationship guy, which is why you told me to steer clear. But our time together, well, it’s been really nice.”

  He glares at me, his nostrils flaring. Shit. He doesn’t buy that we’re in a relationship. Probably because I’ve never had a serious relationship before. Or maybe he does buy it and he’s not cool with it. Either way, he’s about to flip his lid.

  “Sam—” I start.

  He gets in my face. “Listen closely because I’m only going to say this once. You break her heart, I’ll rearrange your face.”

  I jerk my chin. “Understood.”

  He turns to Riley, opens his mouth and closes it. Then he turns and stalks to the door.

  “We’ll see you at dinner tonight,” Riley says to him, her voice rising at the end like a question. She wants to know if we’re still welcome at the dinner with the rest of the bridal party, if he can accept us as a couple.

  He stops with his hand on the doorknob, his shoulders tense and halfway to his ears. “Yeah,” he mutters before striding out the door.

  I stare at the closed door for a long moment. It could’ve gone worse. Right? We’re still included in dinner tonight.

  Riley worries her lower lip. “Why did you tell him we were in a serious relationship?”

  “He wouldn’t have believed the truth,” I say flatly.

  Her gaze searches my face. “Now we have to fake a relationship for a decent amount of time, or Sam will think this was just a hookup. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Yup, that’s the price you pay for a wild stupid night in Vegas. Damn, I got the short end of the stick. Pretending to be in a relationship with no sex, married with no sex. Because that’s part of the deal. No consummation equals annulment. I don’t want a divorce on the records. I want this to be like it never happened. I never want this to get back to my family. My parents take marriage very seriously. My father gave up a kingdom to marry the woman he loved. Yup, I have royal blood. Not that you can tell. I’m more blue collar than blue blood. Still, I can’t be the screwup of the family, can’t hurt them that way. Then I realize another way a divorce could hurt my family. I’m co-owner with my five brothers of our construction and real estate development company. A divorce could end up with me losing half my stake in the company to Riley. And don’t ninety-nine percent of quickie weddings in Vegas normally end in divorce? I don’t know the odds, but I’m sure they’re not good.

  Annulment is the way to go. After we fake a relationship long enough to satisfy Sam. This is so fucked up.

  “Jack?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll do it.”

  Her brows furrow in concentration; then her expression clears. “We just have to pretend until his wedding on Saturday. Then he’ll go on his honeymoon to Aruba, blissfully ignorant. We’ll quietly get an annulment after that. One week isn’t too bad for a fake relationship. By the time he gets back from his honeymoon, we’ll just say we broke up, and everything will go back to normal. He won’t be mad at you. By then, we would’ve dated for about two months, which is long enough to know if two people are compatible.”

  I nod once, my head protesting the movement. I’ve got bigger problems right now than a hangover—I’ve got a wife I can’t touch and a best friend who’ll be watching me like a hawk while I attempt to fake my way through my first serious relationship ever. What could go wrong?

  She gives me a small smile. “You handled that pretty well, actually. I didn’t want to upset Sam before his wedding. You know he and Alison have been so stressed with the wedding planning.”

  I do know. It’s been a whole year of wedding planning. Ridiculous, but that’s how they roll. If Riley and I call it off right away, Sam’s going to be pissed at me for holing up in a hotel room with her and for letting him think it was an actual relationship. The last thing I want is for him to be upset before his big day.

  I turn to Riley and exhale sharply. “Okay, one week. For Sam.” It’s not like we’ll see each other much. We just have dinner tonight with the bridal party, and then I’ll see her at Sam’s wedding. Of course, the wedding won’t be easy. There’s the rehearsal dinner, the ceremony, and the reception to get through without a slipup.

  She smiles, her dark eyes twinkling with good humor. “This could be fun.”

  “Yeah, fun,” I mutter. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but I’m not so sure it’ll be fun to be in a relationship without any sex.

  And isn’t that the ultimate payback for a player like me?

  2

  Riley

  I’m in my little black dress for dinner at a nice Italian restaurant in the Venetian hotel, where the bachelor part
y is staying. Us women booked rooms over at the Bellagio down the road. The thing is—the ridiculously sappy, romantic thing—Alison didn’t want to be far from Sam, but still wanted to give him some space to enjoy his bachelor party. They’re attached at the hip, so that’s how we ended up having the bachelor and bachelorette parties at the same time in the same place. I’m happy for them, even if I’ve never felt anything close to that for any of my boyfriends. Not even my two-year relationship with Charlie.

  I’m early, waiting just outside the restaurant for a quick chat with Jack before we go in. I texted him to arrange it ahead of time. (He programmed his number in my phone last night.) We need to have a familiarity with each other to make it seem like this is a real relationship. Truth? I’ve had a crush on Jack from the moment we met. I was newly graduated from high school at the time. He was twenty-two and looked like a model from a Levi’s ad—casually rugged in a simple white T-shirt and faded jeans. Dark hair in a tousled mop, sharp blue eyes that didn’t miss a thing, and a ready smile, even for me, his friend’s little sister. When Sam introduced us back then, Jack politely shook my hand and said it was nice to meet me in a warm tone. I flushed hot head to toe.

  Later, I pestered Sam for more info on Jack. He told me Jack worked in construction in his family’s company. Then he told me to not even think about getting with Jack because he was never serious about anything, especially not women. He was fun to hang with, Sam said, but not right for me. And, okay, I’m more on the serious side. I’ve always been driven and focused, and that hasn’t left a lot of room for fun. I knew I wanted to be a CPA going into college, and I knew exactly what it took to get there. My mother is a CPA, and I shadowed her enough to know it was a good fit for me too. I like the order and symmetry of numbers that balance out. It’s satisfying. So I let Jack go (not that he was ever interested in me). I went to Columbia University, where I met many other serious accounting types; some became compatible boyfriends.

  Funny thing about compatibility. It gets boring. I had a serious two-year relationship with Charlie in grad school, also at Columbia, which ended when he got a job offer in Chicago. I already had a great job lined up in New York City. I wasn’t all that broken up about it, and I really should’ve been. I should’ve been so crazy about him that I felt something deep. Lightbulb moment. Now I’m looking for someone different from my usual type. Someone outside my circle of conservative accountants, someone who makes me feel some excitement. I’ve been single for a couple of years now, figuring out what works (and doesn’t) for me. Enter Jack. We connected last night. He’s spontaneous and fun, and I’m drawn to that even more now. It’s something I don’t have going on naturally, but I want to enjoy.

  Still, I don’t kid myself about him. Last night got out of hand. In the sober cold light of day, I know Jack is not marriage material. I know he doesn’t do relationships, and I witnessed his freak-out over being married this morning. Poor guy looked like he’d been hit over the head with an anvil—cartoon style—all dazed and confused. I could almost see little cartoon birdies and stars circling his head. He even told me flat out that he wasn’t committed-relationship material. I plan on enjoying my week with him, understanding it’s a temporary thing. He’s just so much fun, and I finally have the chance to spend time with him with Sam’s blessing. Sort of.

  I’ll keep it light and casual. It’s the smart way to protect my heart. Besides, it’s only for a week.

  Oh! There he is! My pulse thrums through my veins as Jack approaches, looking much more sure of himself than this morning. He’s in his usual T-shirt and faded jeans with sneakers. He’s filled out more in the chest and shoulders now than when we first met, the result of years of physical labor. I saw all his muscular beauty for the first time last night when he stripped in my hotel room. If only he’d stayed conscious.

  He stops short in front of me, a polite distance away, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” I figure we’ll connect better if I speak his language.

  “Feel like I’m underdressed.”

  “There’s no dress code. And you wear it well.”

  He scans the restaurant behind me. “They’re not here yet. Good.” He meets my eyes, looking more serious than I’ve ever seen him. “So what did ya wanna talk about? Getting our stories straight?” He’s got an awesome Brooklyn accent. I’m from the suburbs of New Jersey and just talk regular.

  I step closer. “We need to look comfortable with each other, so I thought we should talk about it ahead of time. What’s acceptable. Like, holding hands and occasional, you know, affectionate touches.” I squeeze his bicep and meet hard muscle. Oh, how I wish I could’ve felt this last night, savoring the heat of him, tasting. Stop! This is temporary. I did the right thing last night, tucking him into bed. I hoped the morning would bring the opportunity for some exploring. Instead I got a chicken with his head cut off, running around the room in a daze. Sigh.

  I risk a look up at him after my bicep squeeze. His jaw is tight. “Okay?”

  “Yeah, sure, you can touch.”

  I smile. “You can touch me too.”

  He dips his head, his deep voice rumbling in my ear. “What about the annulment? No hookups.”

  I flush. “I didn’t say hookup. Just normal couple-in-public stuff.” Then it occurs to me he’s fun and spontaneous, which means maybe he does have public hookups. “Do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Hook up in public?”

  He looks around before turning back to me. “Let’s just say, we’re not doing that.”

  I press my lips together, trying to hide my disappointment. I know he wants the never-happened marriage by annulment, but now that I know he has done public hookups, but doesn’t want to with me, I feel like I’m missing out on something. It could be exciting. Maybe he just doesn’t find me appealing. I’ve been told I’ve got a dependable girl-next-door vibe going on. Probably why I got so many babysitting jobs in high school and not so many dates. I know I’m not a knockout beauty like he’s probably used to.

  I decide to be bold and put myself out there. Lust will do that to a woman, especially when I only have a week to experience some of the spontaneous fun he’s known for. “We could divorce,” I say. “Then the hookup part doesn’t matter.”

  “No way. We’re not divorcing, and we’re definitely not hooking up.”

  I swallow hard, stung. I guess I’m only appealing through a tequila haze. Then a thought occurs that makes me feel a little better. “Do you want the annulment because you’re Catholic?” Why did I mention the possibility of an annulment since the marriage wasn’t consummated? Stupid sensible me. He’s from an Irish Catholic family. Mine is Irish-Italian Catholic. I know a decent amount about him through Sam, but not the fun stuff, the naughty stuff. I just scratched the surface last night.

  He stares at me. “You’re Catholic too.”

  “I lapsed.”

  “Yeah, so did I.”

  A small spark of hope rises in me. “So?”

  “I still want the annulment.” He glances around, probably looking for my brother. “What’s our story?”

  “How about we ran into each other at a bar in the city and you asked me for my number?”

  “I don’t usually go to bars in the city. There’s plenty in Brooklyn. I’d go to a club there.”

  “No, I don’t usually go to clubs. How about we say I went to Williamsburg for drinks with a friend and we ran into each other?” Jack and Sam live in the Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn.

  “Tazi. That’s where I usually go.”

  “Oh, that’s a good one. I’ve been there before.”

  “I guess it makes more sense to say, after that, I mostly went to the city to see you for the past month, instead of you visiting me in Brooklyn. Sam would’ve noticed you hanging around my apartment since he lives across the hall. So would Rick.” That’s Sam’s roommate.

  “Good point. The thing is, I have two roommates, so it wo
uldn’t have been all that easy to have you over.”

  He inclines his head. “We were taking it slow, mostly just going out for dates, innocent goodnight-kiss kind of stuff. That shows I’m serious about you. I usually just meet someone, have a few drinks, and, ya know, have fun.”

  I knew that. It was the reason Sam warned me away, and the reason I’m keeping things light. I elbow him. “So last night in my hotel room was our first time?”

  He glances around, pink creeping up his neck. “I guess. Not like we have to share that part.”

  I bite back a smile. “Just getting our history straight in a way that makes sense. So we could say we went out in the city for dinner, a few movies, and—” I pause for a moment, trying to think of a romantic thing to do in the city “—a horse-drawn carriage ride around Central Park.”

  He makes a face. “Too far. No one would ever believe I took a touristy carriage ride.”

  “But it’s romantic.”

  “And I’m not.”

  “Well, you have to pretend for my sake.”

  He blows out a long breath and rubs the back of his neck. “Can we just try to keep it within the realm of possibility?”

  I twist my lips to the side. “What would you do with someone you were serious about?”

  “I don’t know! I’ve never been serious about anyone.”

  “Then we should go with my version.”

  He looks to the ceiling. “Fine. Whatever you say.”

  I give his arm a squeeze. “See, you’re already getting the hang of the relationship thing.”

  “Let the woman have her way?”

  “Exactly.”

  He narrows his eyes. “I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

  I bite back a smile. “I get the privilege of training you the right way. Then if you ever do decide to settle down in the next decade or so, some future woman will thank me for it.”

  He barks out a laugh, his blue eyes sparkling with good humor. Finally, he’s relaxing around me. I smile back. Our gazes lock for a charged moment before he looks away, scanning the area, probably checking if anyone we know is heading our way.