I may have had doubts about much of what I’d just told him, but I needed him to be willing to walk away. I also wanted to hurt him as little as possible, which I already felt like I was failing miserably at. Truth was, I recognized something in Rory that I could associate with. I could associate with it, curl up next to it, and just rest. I could rest peacefully. It made little sense. I barely knew him, had only spent one drunkenly stupid night with him. But broken recognizes broken, and when it does, it wants mirrored repair. Whether it’s logical or plausible is of little consequence. Those thoughts alone are what have kept me up every night the past week. That and the haunting impression of his lips fluttering against mine.
And his smile. . . his scent. . .
“Look,” Lukas responded, rising from his chair, leaving his coffee untouched, “I’ll give you whatever space you need, Frankie. You go out, explore whatever the fuck it is you think you have going on with Reckless Endangerment. And don’t try to tell me that’s not what this is. I know better.”
“Then you know me well enough to know that I’m in no hunt for a relationship.”
“Not with me,” he said with a cool smile. “I always knew that, and I’m not upset with your sudden urge to explore. I’m pissed with your honesty about it.”
“Lukas—”
“Nope, I’m not even listening to anymore right now. I love you more than I ever should have allowed myself to love you. And because of that, I will always be here. When you finish with this, or if he hurts you, I’m still here. After I fuck him up.”
Lukas left me in stunned silence. Had I the opportunity to respond, I would have explained to him that I did this just as equally for him as I did it for myself. He was a wonderful man, and he needed the opportunity to find someone to reciprocate everything he has to offer. If he didn’t, one day he’d wake up forty and alone; meeting up with me for quickies a few times a month. If he were lucky, we’d enjoy an occasional movie together for shits and giggles. Fuck that noise. He deserved more than that.
Maybe I was starting to believe I did too.
**
I went to her.
I walked into that tasting room, the scent of her violets socking me in the gut, the sound of her voice reaching me from the kitchen, and I almost walked back out. All I’d wanted for two months was to see her, speak to her, taste her. And as I stood so close to all of those things, anxiety threatened to steal it all away.
I stared into the fire, warmed my hands, and remembered them running along the smooth skin of her thighs. My ears rang with the sound of her voice rasping my name as I made her climax over and over again, her nails biting into the back of my arms. I felt whole and alive while I lay next to her. I hadn’t needed any pills for that. Frankie was a drug herself.
She trembled. As I stood there, devouring her with my gaze, my lips itching to touch her, she trembled with the need to do the same to me. Francesca Winters and I had something in common—something that made us gravitate to one another. Now that I knew that, I would never stop pursuing her. Not until she accepted me.
That’s why I sat in the parking lot, my balls dangerously close to becoming frost bitten, working up the nerve to go back inside and approach her again. I knew she felt something that night, I could see it in the way she looked at me, and the way her lips twitched and body trembled. But just like the night I met her, she was being obstinate. Maybe she’d been hurt in the past, had major trust issues? Whatever the reason, she’d continue to shoot me down. I had to wear her down.
Today started like any other day—visions of Ryan, of his suicide flashing vividly through my mind—me chasing them away with a few sips of whiskey. I passed on the pills. I knew today would be the day I returned to her, and I needed to be as clear as possible. That thought alone was enough to keep my hands from shaking and my feet from moving me blindly to my drawer of wonders in the kitchen.
The slamming of the car door jarred me from memories as much as the cold wind and snow whipping at my skin. I looked up at the stone façade of the building, knowing with blissful anticipation what waited within. The snow and salt crunched beneath the weight of my heavy boots as I made my way across the half-empty parking lot. I wiped my sweat-covered palms on my jeans, let out a breath, and opened the door.
My eyes found her chestnut waves the moment I walked in, even with her back to me. She stood behind the bar, talking with a short, blond, pixie of a girl. The girl looked serious as she stared up at Francesca, listening to every word she said. The sound of the bells that announced my entrance caused a pause in conversations, Blondie only glancing over momentarily.
“Welcome to Winter’s Night,” she called. “Sit wherever you’d like, and I’ll be right with you.”
I took a seat at the table closest to the wood burning stove, facing the bar. I sat and grabbed a menu as I waited and listened.
“I can’t believe he was actually pissed,” Blondie said, leaning back against the counter.
“Really, Karls? Have you not met your brother?” Francesca asked.
“Lukas can be a real boner sometimes, but he should understand your reasoning for walking away from your asinine arrangement.”
“I love you like crazy, but you can’t possibly understand what was going on with the two of us. It was more than friendship, more than sex.”
I was overcome with the urge to purge and punch. I also wished I’d sat the fuck in the car a little longer. This was a conversation I could have done without. I was content with the thought that Francesca had been a virgin until the night I lit her up. However illogical that train of thought was.
“While I appreciate you giving me the horrific visual of my brother humping, I’d like to remind you of the multitude of reasons why you ended said agreement,” Blondie commented. I liked her instantly. “He deserves to find the love of his life someday. You deserve the same thing.”
“I don’t believe in that bullshit—”
“Shut it, Franks,” Blondie interrupted. “You also have Mr. SexyPants calling and you have to find out what that will bring. He rocked your fucking socks off. Let him do it again.”
“Yes, Karleigh. I really would love for you to announce to all of our customers just how royally screwed up my life is. As well as how I’ve had my ‘socks rocked off’ by a virtual stranger.”
My lips twisted into a wicked grin before I could stop it. I was right. I love being right.
“At least I don’t hear you denying it happened,” Blondie retorted before walking away. I only had a few seconds to school my features before she reached the side of the table. “Good evening, I’m Karleigh. Have you had a chance to review the menu?”
“I have,” I replied, looking up to meet her hazel gaze. “I’ll take the Francesca Reserve.”
The smile that graced her delicate face slipped momentarily before she schooled it back into place. I matched it watt for watt.
“And one of those fruit and cheese plates to pair with, please.”
“Ah, sure,” she managed, walking away swiftly.
I shouldered out of my coat, slipped it on the back of the chair, and watched her work as I waited. She looked up at me every few seconds, and I could practically see the wheels turning in her mind. Just how much did she know about me? How much did she know about Francesca’s feelings toward me? Or her wants for that matter?
Karleigh approached the table hesitantly with my order, setting it in front of me, placing her palms on the tabletop. I looked past her, searching for the object of my obsession. She’d walked into the kitchen the moment Karleigh had approached my table, never once looking behind her. She had yet to realize I’d returned to her. My body burned to go to her, pull her into me, kiss her until she begged me to take her right on the metal counter.
“Thank you, Karleigh.”
“She was right,” she snapped. “Your voice is like silk and sex.”
I laughed silently, enjoying that not only did Francesca think my voice sounded like silky sex, but that
she shared that with her friend.
“Don’t you sit there and laugh about it, Joker.”
“Joker?”
“What is your game with her?” she asked, leaning closer. She may have been small, but she was frighteningly fierce.
“I have no game, little one.”
“Don’t call me that, Joker!” she seethed. “And bullshit you have no game. You get her triple tanked on tequila, sweep her off to your hotel room, don’t bother even looking for her for two months, and then you search for her and tell her you are going to keep coming for her. That’s a game if ever I’ve heard one.”
I sat back in the chair, eyeing her carefully, crossing my arms over my chest. And I thought Francesca was going to be a challenge.
“She had my number, she was more than capable of calling me, but didn’t. And need I remind you that she’s the one that ran out on me in the morning, not the other way around? I’d also like to bring to your attention that I was the one that came for her.”
She narrowed her eyes, removed her palms from the table and mirrored my closed posture, crossing her arms over her chest. She worked her jaw as she chose her words carefully.
“She is delicate and more fragile than you will ever be able to understand. However, for some totes unbelievable reason, I think you might be good for her. But I’m telling you what, Joker, you hurt her, I’ll fuck up your entire world. And then, when I’m finished, my brother will pick up where I left off.”
“Totes?” I asked. “Don’t you have to be out of high school to serve alcohol?”
She scoffed at my rebuttal. “Heed my warning, Joker.”
“The warning that you will ‘fuck up my entire world’ as well as your brother—who happens to be the man she used to fuck?”
Karleigh’s eyes widened for half a second before she responded.
“That’s right. So imagine how much he cares for her wellbeing as well as how much he’d want to rip off the nads of the man that breaks her. Don’t fuck up, Joker.”
She turned to walk away, and I reached out to grab her wrist. She looked down at it before meeting my stare once more.
“Name’s Rory, and it’s smashing to meet you, Karleigh.”
“It will be smashing—ball smashing—if you break her. I swear to God, Rory.”
“Ten-four, I hear you loud and clear.”
Chapter 11
“How you feeling tonight?” Karleigh asked as she approached me in the kitchen. I stood at the counter, knife in hand, slicing fruits for the pairing plates.
“Same as usual. Why?” I countered, giving her a furrowed brow.
“That joker is here.”
“What joker?”
“Rory.”
“Rory-fucking-O’Neill is here?” I asked as my mind slipped into super colossal freak out mode.
“Yeppers.”
I allowed the knife to clang on the metal counter as my arms went up into the air. My hands formed into tight fists as I began to think of all the ways it was a really bad thing that Rory was back within the walls of my winery.
“Oh hell,” I huffed, my arms still raised above my head. “Why is he here?”
“Are you dense?” Karleigh asked, plucking an apple slice from the counter. She took a bite before speaking again. “One would begin to think that you’re the blond one in this pairing.”
“Karleigh Pope, this is so not the time to be witty.”
“It’s always the right time for sharp wit.”
I rolled my eyes, stepping around the counter to peek into the tasting room. There he sat, taking a large gulp of red wine. He wore a deep cobalt sweater that made his eyes shine in the dimly lit room; his hair was wild around his head—as if he’d just been romping around in the back of his car. I studied him as he plucked a grape from the plate and popped it into his mouth.
His mouth is so gorgeous. I shook my head, attempted to empty it of all the naughty thoughts that were assaulting me. It didn’t work.
“Listen,” Karleigh said, pulling me back into the kitchen, “you can’t hide in here all evening. Go out there, talk to him, and find out what he’s looking for. What could it hurt?”
“Me. It could hurt me.”
That was the best and most honest answer I could offer. I’d hoped for more time to evaluate my choices where Mr. O’Neill was concerned. I hadn’t expected his return so soon, nor was I equipped for it. My insides felt like molten goo. And I hadn’t even gone to talk to him yet.
“Or it could be the best thing to ever happen to you.”
“This isn’t a tale of Disney Princess meets her Prince Charming! This is mentally ill meets. . . chronically charmed. Or male prostitute!”
“Ooh, like Pretty Woman, the male version. But you’re not anywhere near as wealthy as Richard Gere’s character.”
“Karleigh—”
“And I really don’t think he’s in escort services—”
“Karleigh—”
“And he could so not pull off thigh highs.”
“Karleigh!” I shouted, slamming a fist onto the counter.
“What?!”
“What do I do?”
“You walk in the bathroom, wipe the mascara from under your eyes, and you walk out there and flirt it up with the man,” she replied, pushing me toward the bathroom. “And this time, instead of getting liquored up and hopping right into the sack, make him work for it. Get to know him a little.”
“But what if I don’t really want to get to know him?” I asked, staring at my reflection.
“You just want another rendezvous in a random hotel?
“No! I just don’t know that I want to know him.”
“Do it anyway, Franks. I’m your new, temporary life coach. For now, I’m coaching you to get to know the shit out of that man.”
“Get to know the shit out of him. . .”
“Right on.”
I used the pad of my thumb to wipe away the mascara that had run under my eyes before fluffing my waves and adjusting the Kelly green bow holding them back. Karleigh handed me a wand of gloss that I glared at briefly before shoving back toward her.
“He can take or leave what I have to offer,” I grumbled, shuffling past her.
“My guess is,” she called after me, “he’ll take it all. And then some.”
“Or not,” I replied, taking a cleansing breath.
“He’ll take it, and do naughty things to it—” I held a hand up to halt her as she began grunting and humping the air.
“Ugh. . .”
I felt Rory’s eyes on me the moment I stepped into the tasting room. I avoided meeting his gaze as long as possible, stopping at every table along the way. I chatted up each and every patron, made certain they’d had all they needed until he was my last table. I thought twenty different times about turning around and running back into the kitchen. I had an office with a lock. I could easily hide.
“Bubbles,” Rory greeted with a lopsided grin. “You have those sneakers in every color of the rainbow?”
He nodded toward the floor. I glanced down at the green Chuck’s and shrugged before meeting his amused stare.
“Should I be concerned?” I asked, ignoring his questions. It just so happened I did have every color of the rainbow, and tie-dye, and animal print.
“Concerned?” he questioned.
“You keep showing up here—”
“You need not fear me, Francesca. I did promise I’d be back.”
“Right,” I replied. “But I thought I’d have time to prepare. Not a few days before you barged back in.”
“I would hardly call what I did ‘barging,’” he smiled.
I returned his smile, it was hard not to. But my smile wasn’t meant to be a friendly or flirtatious one. It was meant to be disconcerting.
“Save the charm, Mr. O’Neill. That happens to my least favorite quality of yours.”
“Mr. O’Neill?” he asked. “Ouch, I thought we were well past formalities.”
“You thin
k because you’ve seen my bare tits, you’re entitled to show up to my business and harass me? Do you also think that means that we need to be playing it fast and loose with the first names?”
“I did much more than see those beautiful tits, Francesca,” he soothed, lifting his glass to his lips, pausing. “I remember in explicit detail just how smooth they felt and delicious they tasted.”
I sat at the seat across from him, leaning closely over the top. Rory met me halfway, his nose a half a breath away from brushing mine. The scent of wine billowed around me, mixing with the fresh fruit.
“You shut your stupid mouth—”
“And those barbells. You are full of surprises.”
“You listen to me, Mr. O’Neill, I was very intoxicated. I make extremely poor decisions when intoxicated. You, sir, were nothing but a poor decision,” I growled. “And now you are haunting me—”
“Oh Bubbles, I was haunting you long before I stepped foot in your winery.”
“I want to slap that knowing and cocky grin from your mouth.”
“Why not wipe it away with those sinful lips?”
His eyes glittered in the candlelight and a dimple flashed in his cheek as his smile widened. My skin tingled and my heart raced. I wanted to close the distance and kiss him as he suggested, but pride kept me from that. Pride, arrogance, and self-preservation.
“What do you want from me, O’Neill?”
Rory released a heavy sigh, leaning back in the chair. He studied me carefully, as if he were attempting to solve a puzzle. He could try for the rest of his life; I was one jigsaw he’d never be able to solve.
“To date you,” he replied simply, and I belted out a laugh.
“Why?” I asked, continuing without allowing for an answer. “You are the type that goes on dates to get the prize at the end. You got the prize, buddy. You didn’t even have to work for it. If you are coming back because you think I’m a big skank-bank and you can get a withdrawal whenever you want, you’ve got the wrong girl.”
It was his turn to laugh. It was an erotic sound that put my already frayed nerves on a higher, more precarious edge than they had been. I followed his posture and leaned back, but instead of holding my stomach in gut busting laughter, I crossed my arms over my chest.
Madness Page 8