Problematic Love (Rogue Series Book 8)

by Lara Ward Cosio

  “Yeah, that’s what it is,” he says with a wisp of a smile. “I’ll be lost without you.”

  “I’ll take good care of him, Danny Boy,” Jessica says, as she wraps her arm around Shay’s neck.

  “I know you will.” She and I smile at each other for a moment. It’s been good to have had a true chance to get to know her during these past weeks. She’s the sweetheart Shay needs. And deserves.

  “And,” Shay says, looking at Amelia, “I trust you’ll take care of our Danny Boy.”

  His tone leaves it open to interpretation as to whether he meant it as a statement or a question.

  Amelia looks at me, warmth in her lovely blue eyes. “I’ll do my best. As long as he does the same for me in return.”

  I’m momentarily shocked by the thought that I’d be considered capable of doing such a thing. But then she squeezes my leg again, reminding me of how things have changed. Of how I’ve changed. And I relax.

  25

  Dublin

  * * *

  Amelia

  * * *

  Despite my suggestion that he have some time to relax and recover from the long flight, Daniel has insisted I meet him at Shay’s house in Dublin the minute he arrives from San Francisco. He even calls me from the car service ride in from the airport to be sure I’ve got the timing right and that I will be there within minutes of his expected arrival.

  His enthusiasm makes the anticipation of our reunion feel all the more exciting. Granted, it’s only been two days since we’ve seen each other, but without his irrepressible presence, I’ve felt empty. There’s something about his energy that I feed off. He is uniquely his own man, never one to do what is expected, and yet somehow, I’m charmed by his nonconformity. Me, the woman who has spent her life trying to fall in line and follow what everyone agrees is the natural order.

  I’ve had time to visit with my sister and when I confessed all of this to her, she accused me of being smitten. I couldn’t deny that much.

  Where we go from here is the unanswered question, however. Moira has implored me to focus only on having a good time. Though I know myself well enough to say that is a near impossibility, I still prepare for this reunion as if a good time is all I’m after.

  I’ve shown up to the address Daniel gave me freshly Brazilian waxed, my hair blown out, makeup subtly but artfully done, and wearing one of his favorite pencil skirts along with a low-cut top to give a hint of the hot pink lingerie I’ve got underneath.

  I see Daniel speaking with the driver who has just delivered him and Roscoe to Shay’s impressive home. I’m only a dozen feet away when Roscoe spots me before Daniel does. He strains against his service animal harness and lead before breaking loose and greeting me with licks. Leaning over, I pat Roscoe as he wags his tail so hard his whole body sways comically from side to side. It’s a relief to know that Roscoe has not only accepted me but seems to truly like me.

  I hear a low whistle and look up, thinking it’s Daniel calling Roscoe back to him. But the look on his face, the way his eyes are fixed on the view of my cleavage as I lean over tells the true story. Smiling, I slowly straighten up and close the distance between us, my heart beating furiously.

  Daniel wastes no time, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me to him. He bends me back slightly and presses his hungry mouth to mine. He tastes of Jack and Coke and smells like travel, but I don’t mind. I grab the lapels of his leather jacket and commit to the kiss.

  “We’d better go inside,” he murmurs when, after several minutes, our passionate kisses escalate to shameless groping. “Or the posh neighbors might call the cops on us.”

  I laugh and let him pull me by the hand toward the front door, even as a part of me recalls that I used to be a much more modest person. What has this man done to me? I’ve willingly, gleefully, lost any sense of prudishness with him.

  “Truth is, though,” he continues, “us fucking on the sidewalk would surely be the most exciting thing to happen to these boring sods in maybe all their lives.”

  “Daniel,” I gently admonish.

  “Next time.” He turns to kiss me once more before getting to the door where his bags have already been deposited.

  Inside, I survey the tidy, well-designed decor. It smells fresh, not like it hasn’t been lived in for over a month. There’s no stack of mail having gone untouched in too long. There’s no dust on the coffee table or side tables. The sofa pillows are precisely placed at angles. There are flowers, both in pots and in vases, placed discreetly around the main living area. There was even water and food in Roscoe’s dishes in the foyer.

  “Does someone else live here?” I ask, confused by all the signs of a lived-in home.

  “What? Besides me?” he asks with a laugh. “No, no secret live-in girlfriend if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  I smile. “I didn’t think so. But the place looks . . . well taken care of.”

  “Oh, that. Yeah, Shay has someone to look after the place when I’m not around. They even stock the fridge, which will help us since I’m going to keep you very busy here.”

  I place my hand on his chest as he advances toward me. “So, he doesn’t actually need you to house-sit?”

  “What?”

  “You always told me you were house-sitting for him, taking care of his property.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, well, that’s the game we play. Me saying I’m contributing and him allowing me to say that.”

  “Oh.” I’m stuck for a moment on rejiggering my understanding of his place here in Shay’s house.

  “Baby, he’s a fucking millionaire. He has people to do just about everything for him. Lovely, discreet, people who would wipe his arse if he wanted it.”

  I nod absently as I look again at the furnishings. Upon first glance, I had pegged them as well coordinated and nice enough. But now that I examine it all anew, I can see the money invested in everything from the lamps to the rugs. It reminds me of Gavin and Sophie’s home in a way. Both exude comfort and quality. Conor’s home is more austere, more about showcasing modern style.

  “Now, I assume the proper thing would be to offer you a tour,” he says, pulling me to him again, “but first I’d really much rather pull your clothes off and fuck you.”

  The way he squeezes me around the waist hits right at my tickle spot and I laugh. He looks taken aback for a moment as if I had laughed at his assertion of what he wanted to do to me. But then he quickly realizes why I laughed and grabs me again.

  “Stop,” I plead and try to pull away.

  “Oh, I do love the sound of your laugh.”

  He tickles me again and again until I’m able to break free and move away from him, breathless from laughing. When he moves toward me, I retreat.

  “This should be interesting,” he says with a playful growl.

  “Don’t. I can’t take any more,” I tell him, but I’m all smiles.

  In a flash, he’s coming after me and I’m running through the house without any idea where I’m headed. Roscoe follows along with us, barking, clearly up for the game playing. I know he’s purposely letting me evade his touch just to make me laugh and scream. After circling the whole main floor, I run up the stairs. As I rush through, I can just make out that the second floor has open doors leading to bedrooms, bathrooms, and a media room. At the far end of the floor I find a room that has been converted into a dance studio.

  I stop and stare at the wall of mirrors with the barre. Daniel nearly knocks me over when he finally grabs me.

  “Got ya,” he says, and nuzzles my neck.

  “This is Jessica’s space?”

  “What?” He looks up and sees me taking it all in.

  The floors are a blond wood and there’s a small drum kit in one corner along with a stereo system.

  “Eh, yeah.” He releases me. “I never really go in here, but she used to be in here all the time from what I can gather.”

  “Shay put this in for her,” I say softly, musing to myself.

  W
alking toward the mirrors, I let my hand fall across the barre, imagining the positions and routines she must have done here. I’ve looked her up on YouTube, seen how elegant yet powerful her form is. She was striking, always standing out amongst the others in the corps de ballet, and not just because of her complexion.

  “I loved ballet as a girl,” I say.

  “Did you?”

  “I did. It’s so ethereal. So romantic. But it takes so much work to make it look that way. There’s a certain magic about it because of that.”

  “You took classes?”

  I glance at him. He’s still standing in the center of the room, watching me. I feel the urge to tell him I’m proud of the way he’s engaging with me. I know it doesn’t always come easily to him.

  Instead, I laugh and tell him the brutal truth. “I did. My sister and I both did. Until our instructor told our parents that only one of us had the body type suited to ballet. One guess who she was saying was too much of a chunky monkey.”

  “Who had the fucking nerve to put you off your dream? I’ll take her out,” he says, only half-joking as he comes over to me.

  “It’s okay. She was probably right. I was never going to be one of those girls who could either eat everything and never have it show or eat nothing and be happy about it.”

  “You’re gorgeous as you are. Every bit of you, baby.”

  “You really think so?” I’m not usually insecure. I’m probably only ten or twelve pounds past where I should be, and it’s never bothered me before. It doesn’t bother me now, actually. But I know that he’ll respond with something to make my toes curl. I love how direct he is in saying how and why he wants me.

  He backs me up against the barre, his hands on the mirror on either side of my head, his body pressed against mine.

  “I know so. In fact, I’ve been thinking about that luscious body of yours for two days straight.” He leans even closer, his lips grazing my ear and making me shiver. “I’m so fucking hungry to taste you again.”

  I close my eyes and force myself to keep from whimpering in pleasure at his words.

  “Let’s relieve you of these things,” he says, pulling at the zipper of my skirt.

  Putting my hand on his to stop him, I say, “Here?”

  He glances around. “Mirrors are a wonderful thing, trust me.”

  “I do,” I tell him pointedly. I can see in his expressive gray eyes that he understands that I mean more than the obvious. I’m telling him that I may have taken a chance on him, but it was a worthwhile risk. I trust him from here on out.

  In fact, I trust him so much, that I remove my skirt and top and drop to my knees.

  26

  Danny Boy

  * * *

  Being back in Dublin has never felt so good. Though, to be honest, I haven’t left the house much, so I could very well be anywhere. I’ve got Amelia occupying my every moment, which is all I need. For almost a week straight, we keep up the pattern of lots of sex, take away food, and brief periods where she runs back to her place to check on her cat. We pass the time in the easiest of ways: talking, watching tele, fucking. It’s fantastic and makes me hesitate when Gavin rings to ask us—both of us—to Sunday dinner.

  At the same time, I’m eager to bring Amelia into the fold of this group of friends I have, so I accept without even consulting her. Turns out that wasn’t my brightest move, as she tells me I should have checked with her.

  “Well, we don’t seem to have a lot on our calendars at the moment to keep us away, do we?” I ask. We’ve just now gotten around to having breakfast at two in the afternoon, having occupied ourselves with each other’s bodies until this point.

  “That’s not the point.”

  “What is the point?”

  She hesitates and then says, “That I might be uncomfortable meeting them and want more say so over it.”

  I laugh. “Why would you be uncomfortable?”

  Exasperation colors her face. “Because Sophie is Felicity’s best friend. Don’t you think she might have an agenda in bringing me over?”

  “Oh, baby. You don’t know Sophie. She’s the kindest, sweetest woman alive.” That earns me a cocked eyebrow. “Except for you, of course,” I add with another laugh. “No, honestly, she’d never play games. You’re safe, I promise. And if not, I’ll make sure it all goes well.”

  “Okay, then,” she says reluctantly.

  My reassurances don’t do all that much since Amelia is visibly nervous when we get to Gavin’s for our dinner date.

  Sophie answers the door with Hale in one arm and Daisy clinging to her leg. It might be the scene of a stressed and overwhelmed mother if it weren’t Sophie. As usual, she looks gorgeous. Her long blonde hair is down, falling sleekly past her shoulders. Her eyes have gone an intense shade of emerald, drawn out by the green accents in her white blouse. She wears white jeans as if Dublin was actually enjoying the late summer weather of her native California.

  “Come in,” she says with a smile. “You know we always have the door unlocked, Daniel.”

  “Uncle Danny!” Daisy says. “Doggy!”

  The greeting of both me and Roscoe makes us all laugh. I scoop up Daisy and swing her around, making her scream.

  “There’s my pal,” I tell her, gently touching her nose.

  “And you must be Amelia,” Sophie says, offering her hand. “I’m Sophie. That’s Daisy. And this is Hale. It’s good to meet you.”

  As I place Daisy back on her feet, I watch as Amelia takes Sophie’s free hand. She’s stiff but Sophie doesn’t seem to notice. Or if she does, she’s gracious in not reacting.

  “Very nice to meet you as well. Thanks so much for having me,” Amelia says.

  “Of course. Come on through. I’d be happy to give you a little tour of the house if you’d like?”

  “Eh, sure. Yes, that would be nice,” Amelia replies.

  “Can you take the baby? Gavin’s in the kitchen,” Sophie says, holding Hale out toward me. She always calls him “the baby,” even though he’s nine months old now.

  “Got him.” I cradle him in my arm and against my hip, take Daisy’s tiny hand in mine and turn to go toward the living area.

  As Sophie starts off, I look back and catch Amelia’s eye. She doesn’t look all that excited to be one-on-one with Sophie. I give her a little shake of my head, trying to tell her she has nothing to worry about. I can’t tell if it’s done what I intended because she’s soon following our hostess as she goes down the hallway.

  “Come on, Daze, let’s see where your daddy is,” I say, and she nods in that overly aggressive way little kids are so good at.

  We come upon the man just where Sophie said he’d be. Barefoot and wearing jeans so faded and worn they look like they might disintegrate at any moment, along with an ancient Rogue tee shirt, Gavin is peering into a saucepan skeptically.

  “Useless, aren’t you?” I say by way of greeting.

  Gavin looks up at me with a scowl.

  “Here I am managing your kids while you’re making faces at a pot.”

  “And what have you done for humanity lately, Daniel?”

  Despite my insults, he comes to me and gives me a quick hug hello.

  “I’ve kept from fucking with it for a minute,” I reply. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “Fucking,” Daisy says in her sweet little voice.

  We both look down at her. She’s busy grabbing fistfuls of Roscoe’s short-haired flesh. As usual, my patient boy is suffering in silence.

  “You fucking idiot,” Gavin tells me. “Look what you’ve fucking done.”

  “I didn’t fucking teach her how to say fucking, I can tell you that.”

  “Try fucking telling Sophie that.”

  When I look back at him, he’s smiling, our F-bomb banter clearly amusing him as much as it did me. Despite the fact that I don’t have his ability to turn emotion into famous and beloved songs, we do seem to share and enjoy an unspoken kinship.

  “It’s good to be ba
ck on with the Sunday dinners,” he says.

  “Yeah, it is. Thanks for having Amelia over as well.”

  He nods before returning to the stove, so he can attend to whatever is in the pot. “How’s your brother doing?”

  “Why ask me? Thought you two had all kinds of gabfests on the phone.”

  “Talking on the phone doesn’t always say as much as seeing someone in person.”

  “Oh.” I shift Hale to the other hip. He’s the most docile kid. His demeanor seems to be the exact opposite of his more gregarious sister, who I hear gave her parents all kinds of hell when she was younger with sleeping issues. In any case, he’s a dream to hold. He actually reminds me of Shay as a baby. He would watch everything but make very little noise. I laugh to myself, thinking that’s basically how Shay still is. When he’s not making a beautiful racket with his drums, that is.

  “Well?”

  “Eh, he’s fine. Over the moon to be a father, of course.”

  Gavin looks over at me sharply. “A father?”

  I wince. “Yeah. I’m guessing that reaction means he hasn’t told you?”

  He smiles broadly. “No, he hasn’t. I won’t let on that you said anything. But that’s really great. Very happy for them.”

  “Better him than me, is what I told him.”

  “Better him what?” Amelia asks, as she comes up behind me.

  I’d had my back to the living area and am surprised by her sudden presence. “Oh, just better him—Shay—having a kid than me,” I say.

  Before I can register the odd expression on Amelia’s face, Sophie lets out a squeal.

  “Jessica is pregnant?” she asks, beaming. “I can’t believe she hasn’t told me yet!”

  “I think I might have jumped the gun,” I say. “I’m sure they have plans to tell you.”

  “I promised Daniel we’ll keep it quiet until Seamus is ready to tell us,” Gavin says.

  “Oh, I’ll just about burst from trying to hold back, though,” Sophie says.