Despite all that, Gavin had never questioned his friendship with Jackson. He knew he had been looking for some way to self-destruct and didn’t particularly hold Jackson responsible for how it all came to pass. So he had no reservations about them all going to Jackson’s magnificent River Thames-view penthouse that evening for the party he was throwing for no particular reason.
When Gavin, Conor, and Felicity got to Jackson’s the party was in full swing. The music was loud and the lights were low, making the city lights and the gleam of the river viewed through the expanse of the floor to ceiling windows pop even more. They were immediately plied with drinks by a roving server wearing a platinum blonde wig, day-glow bikini top, and hotpants. Before long, Gavin wandered away to greet some people he recognized.
The penthouse was everything one would expect from a bachelor movie star. It occupied the top floor of a twenty-six-floor building and was completely glass-walled. Dramatically high ceilings were split only for the upstairs bedrooms at the rear of the floor. All of the interior furniture was either white or glass and the floors were wide plank dark wood. Statement rugs were the only purposeful pops of color but they were currently overwhelmed by the overflowing guest count. The living area held a sectional sofa large enough for twenty people to comfortably watch the retractable 120-inch screen that was currently projecting images in silhouette of go-go dancers timed to the house music reverberating through strategically placed speakers. There was a large terrace with a meticulously manicured garden, now occupied by a half-dozen smokers.
After Conor gave Felicity a quick tour, they claimed a spot near the windows to take in the spectacular view.
“Have you ever been on it?” Felicity asked, gesturing to the London Eye, visible in the distance thanks to the clear night.
The giant Ferris wheel’s individual pods were illuminated by their own lights as it slowly went round, offering its occupants unparalleled panoramic views of one of the greatest cities in the world.
“That? Nah. It’s a tourist trap, isn’t it?”
She looked up at him. “Don’t be such a cynic, Conor Quinn. I’ve never been on it, but not by choice. It looks brilliant to me.”
“Ah, living in Canada has softened you up. Where’s the tough Dublin girl I used to know?” he asked playfully.
“We’ve all changed over the years, haven’t we?”
He let that sink in for a moment. “You were there, for what, twelve years?”
“Thirteen.”
The uncomfortable feeling of her having had a whole lifetime that he didn’t share with her hit him again. It somehow didn’t feel right that they should have lived such a long period apart.
Instead of vocalizing this, he asked, “You ever going to tell me what went on with your husband?”
“Ex-husband. And, I’m certainly not going to talk about it here.”
“Understood. But I have to say, he’s an idiot for letting you go, honey.”
They were interrupted before she had a chance to react as their host, Jackson, approached them. He was of average height with thick wavy sandy hair and pale blue eyes, but he used his innate charm to great effect. He was the most popular romantic comedy lead in the world, with his signature being the particular way the camera could pick up his look of being utterly charmed by a woman. He was also an avowed playboy, having publicly declared that he would only marry once the right girl presented herself. This tactic was a bit of clever personal public relations as it ensured he had his pick of a slew of girls especially eager to please.
“Conor, good to see you, mate.”
“Hey, Jack,” Conor said and they loosely shook hands and did that peculiarly male thing, the half-hug with one shoulder bumping the other.
Jackson made a show of looking around expectantly. “Where’s Colette? Slipped away . . . again?”
“You’re an arsehole,” Conor said and added a grin to lighten the venom in his voice. “She couldn’t make it. Let me introduce you to one of my best friends from way back. This is Felicity McAllister. She’s doing our media for the album and tour. Felicity, this is the arrogant prick I was telling you about, Jackson Armstrong.”
“A pleasure,” Jackson told Felicity with a slight bow. “But don’t believe a word this bastard says.”
“Lucky for you I’m in the habit of making up my own mind,” Felicity said with a wink.
“Well aren’t you cute as a button,” he said, eyeing her up and down.
“Does a line like that really work?” she asked. “Or are you at the point where you don’t have to try anymore?”
“Oh, I like a girl who wants to be wooed.”
“That’s better.”
Jackson smiled at her and then looked at Conor who had watched this interaction uncomfortably. “I’m charmed, dare I say it.”
“Don’t even start. She’s not available to you,” Conor said instinctively. His voice had been light but his eyes were hard.
As the two men stared at each other, a thin blonde woman slid up to them with eyes hungrily trained on Conor. “Jackson, who is this?” she asked.
Jackson glanced at the woman. “Don’t even start, sweetheart. He’s not available to you.”
“Yes, it’s true,” Conor told her. “I’m engaged to be married to Colette Devereaux.”
She was visibly disappointed but didn’t protest. “You’re a lucky girl,” she told Felicity and then excused herself before anyone had the chance to correct her.
“Listen,” Jackson said, “drink up and have a good time. We okay?”
Conor nodded dismissively. “Yeah, we’re cool.”
“It was nice to meet you, Felicity. I do hope I get to see more of you at another time,” Jackson said and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“What was all that about?” Felicity asked when they were alone again.
“Nothing. Let’s get another drink.”
~
Though they succeeded in getting their drinks refreshed, they were unable to maintain any kind of conversation as the other guests—especially the female guests—saw fit to interrupt and insert themselves between them.
“It’s quite something to see how hounded by groupies you are,” Felicity shouted to him over the throbbing beat of a techno song blaring from hidden speakers.
“It used to be a good thing,” he replied. “Now, it’s annoying.”
Now that he has Colette, it’s annoying, she mused to herself.
Colette and Sophie were away for their own work and unable to join them on this excursion. Felicity wondered what the dynamic would have been like if the women had been there. She hadn’t seen them all together since Conor’s party and wasn’t exactly anxious to experience a repeat of the drama.
The music transitioned into a remixed dance version of Rogue’s “I Can’t Stay Here” and the room spontaneously cheered. The track was artfully done, with a driving electronic beat woven seamlessly into the original, enhancing the song rather than overwhelming it.
Felicity found herself moving to the throbbing beat as she watched Conor look for Gavin. He found him in a likely position, holding court in a seating area across the large room with a group of rapt listeners. But he looked up then and met Conor’s eyes. Holding up his bottle of beer, he toasted him silently and Conor nodded.
“Where did this remix come from?” Felicity asked.
She didn’t know if she had had too much to drink or if the music was that intoxicating, but she kept moving her hips subtly in rhythm to the beat. When Conor didn’t answer her right away, she looked up at him and saw him watching her with the barest trace of an appreciative smile. She wore the body-hugging, sleeveless and low-cut black leather dress Sophie had convinced her to buy when they were out on a shopping trip not long ago. At the time, she hadn’t been able to foresee where she would wear such a thing, but Sophie assured her the opportunity would arise. And she’d also insisted on gifting her with black Louboutin heels to go with the dress. Piecing the outfit together, she had fe
lt sexy and confident. Sophie’s argument that a well-designed dress was worth the cost was true. But it wasn’t long before her feet ached in the four-inch heels.
That look on Conor’s face lingered and she could see the raw sexual desire in it. In that moment, she realized how easy it must be for him to seduce women. All he needed was that gorgeous face and that ghost of a smile. It was definitely working on her.
“Jackson was wrong,” he said, leaning toward her to be heard.
“About what?”
“You’re cuter than any fucking button I’ve ever seen.”
Felicity laughed, glad that he had voluntarily seen fit to break the spell between them with the joke.
“Amazing, song, Conor!” A brunette in a short skirt and a small top wrapped her arm around Conor’s neck as if they were old friends.
Conor disentangled himself from the young lady. “Thanks very much. We were just leaving. Enjoy yourself,” he told her and grabbed Felicity’s hand.
“We were?”
He pulled her through the penthouse, making their way to the front door and then to the private elevator that would take them straight to the lobby.
“Do you mind? I guess I’m not in the mood for all that right now.”
“No, it’s fine. I got a good enough sense of it all.”
While Felicity sat in the plush lobby chairs to relieve her pained feet, Conor went to the concierge to make his taxi request.
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. Quinn,” the seasoned concierge told him. “Is there anything else I can do to be of assistance?”
Conor began his automatic “no thanks” and then thought better of it. It occurred to him that he had in front of him someone who was capable of helping him with something quite unusual. And so he did then something he was usually loath to do: he traded on his celebrity for a few favors.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Felicity didn’t immediately notice the taxi hadn’t made the right turns to get them back to their hotel. It had been so long since she had visited London that her sense of direction of the city was useless. It was only when the taxi drew close to the London Eye that she realized they were making some sort of detour.
It was after midnight and the area was deserted except for two men in jackets emblazoned with the EDF Energy London Eye logo.
“What’s going on?” she asked warily.
The car stopped and Conor quickly thanked the driver and paid him. “Let’s go, Fee,” he said and opened the door.
She followed him out and stared up at the huge structure. Its lights were slowly turning from blue to green to orange and red. And the wheel itself was moving almost imperceptibly.
“How long do we have, gents?” Conor asked the two men.
“Bloody hell, I didn’t know it was you pulling these strings!” the younger of the two men said, his face blushing bright red.
“I do appreciate your help, guys. Thanks so much for this.” Conor unpeeled several large notes from his money clip and pressed a wad into each of their hands.
“This is amazing. Wait ‘til I tell my mates down at the pub,” the kid said, still awe-struck.
His associate was older and unimpressed. “Who are you, anyway?”
Conor smiled. “Just a guitarist pulling strings. Thanks again, fellas.”
He pulled Felicity by the hand toward the rotating pods as she stared upwards, dumbfounded.
“Wait,” the younger man said and ran to catch up to them. “I have to set up the champagne for you when you get on.”
“Give us the bottle and glasses and we’re good,” Conor replied.
Moments later, they were moving skyward in their own pod. Felicity stood close to the glass and watched the glow of the city spread out before her as if it were her own private show. She recognized Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, of course, as well as some other city markers. But it was the way the city was lit beneath them that took her breath away. She had been to London only twice before and had enjoyed the visits but had come away thinking the city a busy and almost hostile place. She never imagined it could be this beautiful, still, and vibrant until she saw it from this vantage point.
Conor handed her a flute of champagne and they sipped together in silence for a long while.
“You’re right. This is a brilliant thing to do,” he said at length.
She leaned into him and he put his arm around her, holding her close. They stayed that way for several minutes and she shifted from one foot to another trying to find some relief. Finally, she forced herself to move away from him. She sat on the built-in wooden bench in the middle of the pod and emptied her glass.
Straddling the bench, he refilled both of their glasses and then set his aside. He leaned down and smoothly eased the heels from her feet.
“What—”
“Just relax,” he murmured. He guided her so she twisted her torso toward him, allowing him to take her feet into his hands and rub each one in turn.
As his strong fingers massaged the little knots forming in the soles of her feet, she leaned back on one hand and drank her champagne with the other, watching the glow of the city lights. Though she hadn’t once complained about the heels hurting her feet, he had obviously paid attention to the discomfort she had tried to hide.
She had never experienced anything like the sheer romance of this moment. She gave herself permission to enjoy it unreservedly for a time, but bit her lip to keep from moaning at the pleasure of his touch. He kept his head tilted down as he worked and she stared at his thick dark eyelashes. He was both beautiful and masculine, and she felt an intense urge to have the heat of his mouth on hers—both because of her physical attraction to him and because of how well he was caring for her.
Instead, she pulled free of his touch and straightened, swinging her feet to rest on the floor.
“Better, then?” he asked.
“Oh, Con,” she said softly. “You can’t romance me this way.”
“I can if I like,” he said with a smile.
“No, you can’t.” She took a deep breath. “I mean, this is lovely. This is amazing, really. You’ve done something incredible for me and I can’t thank you enough. But this is something you should do for Colette. And you know that.”
“Fee, it was a spur of the moment thing. And it makes me happy to see you happy. So, here we are.”
She looked at him and felt her heart ache because she knew that she was falling for him. And it was wrong on so many levels. But mostly, at this moment, she felt too vulnerable to endure any more of his attention. He didn’t appear to have the ability to show self-control when they were together. That, or he didn’t know how to have a real, committed relationship—one where he didn’t indulge in wildly romantic escapades with other women. It seemed to her the only way he might understand he shouldn’t toy with her was to tell him about her ex-husband.
“You’ve said before you want to know what happened with my ex-husband, right?”
“I, em . . . I guess.”
She had obviously thrown him with this subject matter. “You’ve told me all about Colette and all about Sophie. I should tell you about Richard, don’t you think?”
“Em—”
“It was truly one of those love at first sight scenarios,” she started, interrupting him to tell her story. To tell him about the one who had captured her heart for so many years and had let her down so hard in the end. “He was the professor’s assistant in my third-year French Literature class at University of Toronto. Oh, he was gorgeous, too. Sandy blonde hair and brown eyes. Quite fit. We had this chemistry that was electric.”
“You can skip all this part,” Conor said, with an attempt at levity in his voice.
The sweet memories were so vivid and warm that she barely heard him and instead smiled. She told him that their first date had lasted three days and that they had moved in together not long after.
Richard was unlike anyone she had ever met. He came from a wealthy family, the youngest of five childre
n and the only boy. He had drive and knew his life’s plan. After graduation he was going to go on to business school and then follow his father into the financial sector. He was the embodiment of the stability she had craved after having lost a meaningful relationship with her own father at a young age.
As serious as Richard was about school and his plans, he also had the capacity to fully embrace and enjoy his off time with her. They had a slew of friends that she only realized much later were really his friends. But at the time she had been welcomed into the group and enjoyed the rituals they had of skiing or hiking excursions. They would trade off at one another’s homes for meals and movies or games. It had felt like a grown up lifestyle.
Making a life together came so naturally that marriage was practically a foregone conclusion. Richard’s four sisters were her bridesmaids and his friends filled in on his side. It all fell into place so easily.
“I was so in love,” she said. “Oh, that man had me completely wrapped up in him. And what a pair we were, too. I mean, we fit together so well. He built me up and was my biggest fan. I was his. We laughed a lot and never spent more than a day or two at a time apart the whole while we were together.”
~
Conor watched Felicity as she spoke. Her eyes were directed away from him, to the slowly revolving city beneath them and she had a far off look on her face. He wanted to stop her from speaking, to end this reverie of hers. She appeared to relive the emotions as she walked him through her history and the thought of her having had this love with another man was unsettling. He had only ever known her as his version of her—first as schoolmates and lovers and then most recently as a friend he could flirt with as easily as he could bare his heart to. She had had this whole other world without him and it didn’t sit right.
But he didn’t stop her. Despite not wanting to know more, he knew she needed to share more.
“Then it came time for us to try to get pregnant,” she continued. “We started late, I’ll admit, because both of us were ambitious in our careers. We kept waiting to feel we’d made it to the level fit for children. But it turned out we waited too long.”
Playing At Love: A Rogue Series Novel Page 21