Rogue Angel (The Rourkes, Book 10)

by Kylie Gilmore

  “So he taught you what you already taught him about the case study on coffee.”

  “Yes.”

  “For an hour.”

  “Well, that’s how long I’m supposed to be there, but then he wanted to continue the conversation about coffee over coffee. A little too enthusiastic.”

  He tilts his head. “Is that usual to ask a professor to coffee?”

  I adjust the strap of my messenger bag as we head downstairs, and consider the question. “I don’t know. I never have as a student, but I guess it happens. It’s not really an issue if you’re just talking about class.”

  “Hmm…”

  “What? You think he’s interested in me?”

  “Maybe. I’ll keep an eye on him. And I’ll be there for office hours.”

  “No, don’t do that. It’ll give the wrong impression. I’ll explain later.” The last thing I want is for Connor to look like an overprotective boyfriend in front of Mike or any of my students. That will be a conversation for once we’ve left the university campus. “Anyway, I wanted to be sure you know it’s important you speak up in class. Participation is half the grade.”

  “But I don’t get a grade. Think of me like the wallpaper. Just there to look good.”

  I laugh. “Still, it’s important to be part of the discussion. Particularly when we break into small groups to discuss the cases. You were the only one who didn’t offer an opinion on your case.”

  “Maybe I didn’t have an opinion.”

  We arrive on the first floor, and I lean close to say quietly, “I don’t want you to miss out on the benefit of class because of me. I know I asked you to sit in back and not look at me, but that doesn’t mean you have to disappear. Please speak up, let the class know your thoughts. It’s okay if you ask questions too. Here’s a revision to my previous statement: when we’re in class, you may look at me and talk to me, but we’ll keep strictly to teacher-student boundaries, and that will make it all go smoothly.”

  His gaze smolders into mine, his voice husky. “A revision, huh? Now I may look at you.” His voice drops to a near whisper. “Talk to you.” His words are like a caress. My body hums, sparks firing over my skin.

  “Yes,” I say softly.

  “Good morning, Rebecca,” a masculine voice booms.

  I jump back from Con and turn to the dean of the business school, my boss. “Good morning, Dean Sears.” He’s in his fifties with thinning brown hair, wearing his usual brightly colored bow tie—today it’s yellow with red polka dots—along with a white dress shirt and dark gray trousers.

  “Please call me Robert.” He offers Con his hand. “Dr. Robert Sears.”

  Con shakes his hand. “Connor Rourke, nice to meet you.”

  Dean Sears smiles and turns to me. “There’s a faculty reception for the business school next Saturday I hope you’ll be able to attend. You can bring a date.” He nods at Connor.

  My stomach lurches. Dean Sears assumes we’re a couple with the invite. “He’s not my date,” I blurt. “We’re just talking. I just met him. He had a question. I’m single.” Shut up!

  Dean Sears looks at me strangely before saying, “Okay.”

  “I’d love to go to the faculty reception,” I say. “Just me.”

  “Nothing fancy,” Dean Sears says. “Cocktail reception in the lounge.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I say enthusiastically, sweat running down my spine.

  “Great. See you then.” He heads across the lobby to greet another professor.

  I walk on stiff legs toward the exit. This is bad. I shouldn’t be seen with Connor too much. Dean Sears could pop into my class at any time and see him sitting there. He’ll put two and two together. It’s just too risky that something could slip, exposing us.

  I glance up at him, and he gives me an understanding look. “I know.”

  I sigh in relief. He gets it, and he’s not hurt that I totally denied all knowledge of him.

  I wait until we’re safely down the block, heading toward a coffee shop, before saying, “We can’t be seen too much together on campus.”

  “Your workplace, your call,” he says. “Can I touch you yet?”

  I glance around just in case there’s any lingering students. My breath catches as I see Mike watching us from just outside the coffee shop. Did he know I went to this same one last week after class?

  “No touching,” I say under my breath. “Let’s skip coffee.” I turn and head toward the subway stop across the street.

  Con keeps up with me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just want to get back.”

  “Are you freaking out because your boss assumed we were together, and now you think everyone else probably made the same assumption?”

  “Not freaking out, but of course it crossed my mind. Do you think everyone assumes we’re a couple?”

  “I dunno.”

  I cross the street, frantically trying to remember how many times my gaze caught on his in class today. At least three times. I felt overheated for most of my lecture, my nerves raw and exposed. Did I cover it up as well as I thought?

  He goes on. “There’s chemistry. Sometimes it’s obvious to other people.” He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s possible no one noticed.”

  “And it’s possible they did.”

  He exhales sharply. We stop talking while we work our way around some people and reunite on the sidewalk.

  “Please don’t make me set up another fake blind date just to see you again,” he says. “Whether or not you agree to keep seeing me, our chemistry isn’t going anywhere. We just have to hide it as best we can in class, that’s all.”

  I want to bang my head against the wall because there’s just no easy solution. I can pretend all I want, but the chemistry is a crackling thing between us, even across an entire classroom. Two nights of wild passionate sex has made it impossible for me to keep cool around him. My body will always remember the multiple-orgasm wonderland that is a night with Connor Rourke.

  “It’s hopeless,” I say.

  “That’s the spirit,” he says with a grin.

  Once we get on the train, I take an open seat on the long row of seats facing outward, and he drops into the seat next to me.

  “You want to do something tonight?” he asks.

  My mind immediately turns to dirty thoughts. See? It’s just too easy to get wrapped up in him if we’re constantly tangled in the sheets. Someone’s going to get burned. Me. Besides, I actually do have plans tonight.

  “Can’t,” I say. “I’m going out with my best friend for her birthday.” Simone is having a huge birthday bash at a club in the city to celebrate turning thirty, but I leave that out because I don’t want him there. I need to talk to her about this whole Connor situation and get her take on it. We’ve been best friends since kindergarten, and she doesn’t hold back when I need her opinion. I desperately need some perspective from someone on the outside. I don’t like this constant feeling of wanting to be close to him and needing to keep my distance. It’s making me crazy.

  “Another time,” he says, closing his eyes.

  A stab of irritation has me sitting straighter. Okay, I get it. He’s tired from last night, and I made us skip coffee to avoid Mike, so now Con wants to nap on the subway ride. It just feels like he’s purposely ignoring me because I told him no for tonight. See how crazy this man makes me? I’m never this sensitive.

  He takes my hand, entwining our fingers together, and I sigh, leaning my head against his shoulder and closing my eyes. I don’t think I can ever resist him. Everything with Connor is so complicated. Why am I torturing myself like this?

  10

  Becca

  That night I check in with the young brunette woman wearing a headset outside the club for Simone’s birthday party bash. “Hi, I’m Becca Edwards.”

  She checks the list, finds my name, and speaks into the headset before smiling at me. “Go on in.”

  I follow the red carpet runner to the glass front do
or, which a bulky-with-muscles bouncer opens for me. I step into the club to a thumping bass beat that vibrates the floor. Another man in a suit with an earpiece greets me, taking my coat and directing me upstairs. A couple of tough-looking guys also wearing earpieces stand nearby. Why all the security? My best friend is Simone Rivera, internationally famous pop star. To me she’ll always be the girl I found crying in the coat closet in kindergarten because her shirt had a hole in it and the other girls were calling her holy Simone. She was poor and even at that age was aware of the fact that her clothes were from the thrift store. I told her we could be twins, which meant we could wear each other’s clothes. I don’t know where I got that from. I’m blond with light blue eyes and pale skin; she’s brunette with deep brown eyes and golden tan skin. I’m tall; she’s average height. Obviously no one would mistake us for twins. But she happily wore some of the shirts and dresses that I’d outgrown. They were still in great shape because it was just me at home—no siblings—and I wasn’t hard on my clothes. Anyway, we bonded and now, twenty-five years later, we’re still close. I just don’t get to see her as much as I’d like. It used to be hard to meet up because of all the travel involved with my job, but in the past two years, it’s been because of her job. She finally made it big like I always knew she would.

  Upstairs, there’s a packed dance floor and people lounging around the edges of it on cushioned red cubes. I check around for her and notice a few private booths off to the left. I bet she’s there.

  I head over and there she is, tucked into a booth with a bunch of people I don’t know. As soon as she spots me, she screams and throws her hands in the air. “Becca! My twin!” Her long dark brown hair is up in a cute high ponytail. She gestures for some of the other people in the booth to shift out of her way, and hurries over to me, as much as she can hurry in a skintight silver sequined minidress with knee-high white platform boots. My little black dress with black pumps is so blah in comparison.

  She grabs me in a monster hug and kisses my cheek. She pulls back to look at me, her hands still on my shoulders, and grins. “How’s it feel to be thirty?”

  I smile and say in a teasing voice, “I wouldn’t know. I’ve still got seven months left in my twenties.”

  “Impossible. We’re twins!”

  “Happy birthday, twin.” I give her the gift bag. She’s tough to buy for because she basically has everything she could possibly want with the gobs of money she’s raking in.

  She leads me to a small roped-off area in the corner with a square table and four chairs. “I saved this spot for us so we could catch up. I haven’t seen you in forever.” She takes a seat, drags another chair right next to hers for me, and then peeks inside her gift bag, pulling out a pack of cherry Twizzlers. “Oh, I miss these. Not on my healthy tour diet.”

  I nudge her shoulder and say in a singsong voice, “Well, if you don’t want them, I know someone who does.” It’s a favorite quote of ours from The Simpsons when Homer gives Marge the gift he really wants—a bowling ball with his name on it.

  She laughs, rips open the package and offers me a Twizzler before biting down on her own. She pulls the next gift out of the bag—a small box—and holds it up. “Mmph.” She hands me her half-eaten licorice stick so she can use both hands to open the box. “I love it!” She puts on her new bracelet, beaming at it.

  It’s a silver bracelet with three interlocking rings of dull gray, silver, and gold. “It’s supposed to represent the past, present, and future. The gray is past, silver in the middle is the present, and gold is the future. It’s a reminder to live in the present and plan for the future, no looking back to the gray past. Seemed appropriate with the wave you’ve been riding. I hope you’re soaking up everything that’s great about the now.”

  Her eyes shine with unshed tears. “Oh, Bec. This couldn’t have come at a better time. I’ve been worried about the next album, whether I can explore something new and still please fans, and this is a great reminder.” She strokes the silver ring of the bracelet. “I really do want to live in the moment and not worry so much about the future.”

  A waiter stops by, and Simone orders us some champagne.

  “Okay, tell me everything,” she says after the waiter leaves. “How’s teaching going? Do you love it as much as you thought you would?”

  “I like it, but…” I take a deep breath. “Something very weird and entirely inappropriate has popped up, and I just don’t know what to do about it.”

  Her brows shoot up. “You, inappropriate.”

  “Yes.”

  She smacks my shoulder. “Tell me!”

  I fill her in on meeting Connor and my unusual one-night stand with him, which turned out to be more.

  “Get it, girl,” she says, nodding. “Didn’t I tell you to have some fun after Oliver Dullard?” My ex’s last name is Bullard, but Simone called him Dullard for obvious reasons. She called him that even before we broke up, and I probably should’ve taken her assessment more seriously.

  She smiles brightly. “So what’s wrong with having fun with this guy?”

  I shake my head, embarrassed over the situation I’m in. I know it’s wrong, yet I keep seeing him. She’d be shocked at the way I’ve compromised my ethical integrity all because of my out-of-control lust. It’s really not like me at all. Okay, it’s not just lust. I like him. A lot. He’s so warm. I love the way his eyes crinkle with his smile and his laid-back acceptance of just about anything I say. I don’t think he’d ever call me an ice queen just because I’m not smiling. And I feel comfortable with him, really relaxed, which doesn’t always happen easily for me. It’s only been a little over a week, but I can already feel myself falling for him. Stupid tender heart.

  I sigh. “I’m veering too far from my life plan.”

  “Hey, you know I don’t knock the life plan. It’s smart and that kind of thinking—Becca thinking—is how I got where I am today.”

  I sit a little straighter, proud that my planning skills were so successful for her.

  She goes on. “But sometimes you just gotta let loose. Speaking of…” She beams at the waiter who just arrived with our champagne. He removes the cork with a pop, and Simone claps.

  After we each have a glass of champagne in hand, we clink glasses and sip.

  “Okay, so let me see if I understand this correctly,” she says. “You feel like you did something weird and inappropriate by having a one-night stand?” She smacks my arm. “And why wasn’t I notified immediately?”

  “Ow.” I rub my arm and shoot her a dark look. “It got complicated fast and I was too embarrassed.”

  Her eyes widen. “Did he turn out to be your cousin or something?”

  “No!” I stare at the table. “He’s my student.”

  She squeaks, and I face her. Her hand is over her mouth, her eyes huge. See, I knew it was bad.

  “I know,” I say miserably. “It’s awful. I didn’t know he was my student until he showed up in my classroom the morning after.”

  She drops her hand. “How old is he?”

  “He’s got to be late twenties at least. It’s grad school, and he’s all man, filled out with muscle, little crinkles by his eyes when he smiles, a confident take-charge attitude.”

  “Oh my God, Bec! You’re really into this guy!” Her voice carries loud enough for the entire club to hear, probably the entire city block.

  I attempt to cool my full-body blush by tossing back my champagne and then cough as the bubbles go down the wrong way.

  Simone slaps me on the back a few times. “How do you not know his age? Don’t you research your guys before you decide to be with them?”

  I wipe at the corners of my eyes. “I did Google him. Somehow I got so caught up in the fact that he’s a prince I missed his age.”

  “He’s a prince too?” she whisper-shouts.

  I lower my palm in a gesture for her to keep it down. “Yes, and a builder.”

  She wiggles the fingers of both hands toward herself. It’s her
major announcement gesture, her tell me everything gesture, her look closely at my face before I smack you gesture. It’s all encompassing and so her. “So you’re telling me you basically met your fantasy times two.”

  “Yes!” I’m glad she gets it, even if I am doing the wrong thing. There’s some sound logical fantasy impulses at play here. Is that where the passion comes from? Con’s words come back to me. Becca, here's the facts. We have insane chemistry. That means it’s a two-way street, and I don’t think he has a teacher fantasy. Wait, does he? Gah. What is this thing between us and why? I feel like if I could just understand it better without all my confusing emotions, then I wouldn’t be so worked up all the time.

  “A royal and a builder,” Simone says with a smile. “It’s like you dreamed him up.”

  “I know. A royal renovator. It’s perfect.” I frown. “Except for the teacher-student part. What should I do? I really want this job, and I don’t want to be accused of anything inappropriate. I might never get a job in academia again. Even worse, my dad is good friends with my boss, Dean Sears. They were friends in college.”

  She pours me another glass of champagne. “Wow. That is a pickle.”

  A couple of guys approach to ask her to dance. “Later, promise!” she says with a smile. “I’m catching up with my twin.”

  They give me a strange look before heading over to the dance floor. No one ever believes we’re twins.

  My mind goes back to Connor, as it always does in a moment of quiet. Is it wrong to keep seeing him?

  How can I resist him? My track record in that regard is a total fail.

  Simone leans close, lowering her voice. “How’s the sex?”

  I’ve had enough champagne to admit it. Plus, it’s Simone. “Best I’ve ever had.”

  She puts her arm around me. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Keep seeing this guy, keep having the best sex of your life, and keep it all secret. It’ll make it even hotter. Your secret royal renovator lover.”

  I smile at first, but then it wavers. “I don’t know. It still feels like there’s too much risk for me.”