CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Outside, a cool breeze blew across the Bay. Shay placed his flight jacket on Jessica’s shoulders without asking whether she needed it, and it was a welcome reminder of how well he once cared for her. Jessica inhaled the scent clinging to his jacket—a mix of his natural masculine aroma and the barest trace of tobacco.
Seeing him in the restaurant had sent her heart beating in a way it hadn’t in a long time. He was lean, fit, and gorgeous, just as she remembered him. His hair had grown longer on top, and with the sides and back short, the cut gave him an even sexier edge. She'd felt their deep connection rekindled the moment he smiled at her. Despite having walked away from their relationship, it felt good to know that connection that hadn't died.
She had been broken for months after returning to the States, at first in New York and then here in San Francisco. Then Anton reached out to her, seducing her with promises of how he’d changed and that together they could take his ballet school to the next level. It had seemed like perfect timing, returning to her old boyfriend and ballet. Shay’s reaction to the bruise brought home what the relationship with Anton had amounted to. It had been—mostly—an accident, though it was born out of Anton's increasing possessiveness. The text sent him into a jealous rage, and he'd started insisting on always knowing where she was and who she spent time with. The irony was that he had been the one who cheated the first time they were together. But wasn’t that what they said the guilty partner often did—project their own sins onto another?
All this ran through her mind as Shay silently led her down the street, helping her avoid a group of skateboarding boys, a weaving homeless woman, and a couple more interested in kissing each other than watching where they were going. It was a less than ten-minute walk to his hotel. The shock of realizing their meeting would make news combined with the gin on an empty stomach led her to follow him without question to his top floor suite.
The space was what she expected for him—elegant, understated, yet spectacular at the same time. The view made the biggest impact, of course.
“You do have a good view,” she said. She recognized sadness in her voice and cleared her throat. The view reminded her of his Empire State Building hotel room—exactly as he had mentioned earlier on the phone. They spent time there when they were falling in love, when only good things seemed possible. She wanted to say something to relive the memories, if only for a moment, but he spoke first.
“Jess, please tell me you’re not living with this guy.”
“No. I learned my lesson about going too fast with you.”
He laughed, surprised. “Nothing but bad memories for you, then?”
That came out wrong. She could see the hurt on his face. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Nodding, he went to the mini bar and pulled out a Sam Adams. “Do you want something?”
“Water?”
He handed her a bottle of Fiji and gestured for her to take a seat. The suite had a combined living and dining area separate from the bedroom in addition to a small terrace. She sat in the well-made but stiff gray armchair and he took a seat on the matching sofa.
They sat in silence for several minutes. She wasn’t sure what to say, but it felt good just to be in his company. He had a calming presence, and despite their time apart, she felt comfortable with him.
“I have to say, I didn’t expect to find you like this,” Shay said.
“I know it looks bad, but it’s not. Really.” She didn’t want him trying to come to her rescue. Things may not have turned out exactly like she’d hoped, but she was going to make it work. She couldn’t afford to start over again.
“You’ll have to pardon my skepticism, love. Do me the favor of telling me exactly what all you’ve gotten yourself into.”
She took a deep breath and wondered what she was even doing here, in his hotel room. Through the double doors, she could see his bedroom. The bed was tightly made and she briefly considered how they might change that. Though, he didn’t seem the least bit interested in getting her into bed. He was much more intent on fact finding than finding his way into her panties.
“I don’t know where to begin,” she told him.
“Tell me everything. Tell me what happened after you left me.”
That characterization irritated her, and with a liquid courage boost, she replied, “You mean after you made it clear I wasn’t important enough to you to fight for?”
CHAPTER FIFTY
“Is that what you really think? That you weren’t important to me?” Shay asked. That insinuation pierced his skin and muscle and penetrated his heart.
“You’re going to tell me that isn’t what it all amounted to?”
“You had decided before I even entered our room that night that you were leaving. That was clear enough.”
“So, I’m right. There was nothing worth fighting for. Because isn’t that what you do for someone you love?”
Fuck. His sinking feeling that she’d felt he’d given up on them too easily had been correct. But he didn’t want to get into that when her larger point was more insulting to him.
“Now you’re telling me I didn’t love you?” he asked, incredulous. He reached inside his jacket pocket for his cigarettes but realized he wasn’t wearing his jacket. She was.
She realized it, too, and shrugged it off. “I should go,” she said softly.
“Jess, let’s just back up a sec.” Shay leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and rubbed the back of his head roughly. Everything was out of order and messy. They should be dealing with the most pressing issue first—that bruise on her face. “Can we put aside our stuff for the time being? I need you to tell me what’s going on with this fellow you’re with now.”
“Anton is his name. I told you about him before.”
He looked up at her in confusion.
“He’s the one I was with before you.”
Shay remembered. She hadn’t told him very much, only that he was older, a choreographer and instructor at San Francisco City Ballet where she took classes, and one other thing.
“He’s the one that cheated on you. Out of loneliness, he claimed,” Shay said flatly.
“Which he won’t do ever again. He was devastated by what he had done. He never stopped wanting me back when I was with you.”
“What does that mean? Were you in touch then?”
“Now you sound like him,” she said, bristling at his inquiry.
“Do not compare me to a man that would hit a woman.”
She started to object, to claim that she hadn’t been hit on purpose. But she stopped and sat back on the sofa. “No, I wasn’t in touch with him when we were together. I wanted nothing to do with him, and it seemed he felt the same way because I didn’t hear a single thing from him until after I moved back here.”
That set Shay’s mind at ease, if only slightly. He retrieved his pack of Lucky Strikes and pulled out a cigarette.
“What will it take for you to quit?” she asked with a small smile.
He ignored that. “So, you went back to the guy who had cheated on you. And now it’s escalated to him leaving you bruised?”
“No, I told you what happened. It was an accident.”
This was bullshit, but she wasn’t going to back down. She didn’t want him to interfere. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—walk away from this.
“But you’re not living together. That’s one good thing.”
“We have a business together.”
“What? What business?”
“Well, it’s his ballet school, really. But it wasn’t doing so well and so I invested some money to keep it afloat. And now I own forty percent. And I get to dance every day. For my job.”
Her manner changed as she told him that last part. The happiness, joy even, in this declaration was unmistakable. And it was at that moment that Shay realized she had left him, at least in part, to fulfill this need. Dance and ballet wasn’t something she could pursue in Dublin in
the same way she could in a city like San Francisco. He had known he was holding her back but he hadn’t realized in what ways exactly. She had claimed dance was a part of her life she had given up on. He had taken her at her word. But he should have known better. He should have seen what it was she really needed to be happy. Instead, he had selfishly contained her to his world, feeling magnanimous by making her a dance studio in his home and assuming that would be enough.
“We have some great kids. Like, I mean, really talented,” she continued. “Seeing their passion and love of dance is so inspiring. I wake up every day and fly out of my apartment so that I can spend twelve hours or more a day at the school.”
“And you love this Anton, do you?” he asked.
The light drained from her eyes at his abrupt turn in direction and he realized that he had repeated what she must have seen as a pattern of him not giving dance its proper attention.
“He’s my boyfriend,” she said cagily.
“Well, I’d like to beat the shit out of him for what he did to you. I don’t suppose that would help matters with you and him, would it?”
In a rush, she remembered that they were likely to have become tabloid news fodder and grimaced. She grabbed her phone and started scrolling through Twitter. He watched as she found the posts she was looking for. He was surprised by the shock on her face, then a pained look of remorse.
“What is it?” he asked.
“They, um, they have a video of you looking angry at the restaurant. They’re saying you’re the one that did this,” she said, touching her eye.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Shay felt like he had backed into a Danny Boy-esque fuckup. It would give Conor another reason to be pissed at him. They hadn’t spoken since that night on stage in France when his brother screwed everything up. Shay had tried to call, but only got Conor's voicemail. Giving Conor some breathing room seemed best, but this wasn't something he could put off.
The cold realization hit him that this just might get him kicked out of the band. That Gavin vouching for him might not be enough, Conor could insist.
“Shay, I’m really sorry,” Jessica said softly.
“No need,” he said absently. He was stuck on the notion of being ousted from the best thing he had ever known. Being in Rogue had defined who he was, what his life was. He didn’t know what he would become without it.
“What can I do?”
“Em, nothing, I don’t think.” He blinked to focus on her. She looked concerned, seeming to have pieced things together in the same way he had. Or at least she understood that accusations of physical abuse upon a woman, no matter how legitimately denied, were something that would always haunt him now. “I’ll get you a car service, will I?”
“I can find my way.”
“Please. I want to be sure you get home safely.”
She nodded and he went to the phone to call the concierge. But before could pick up the handset, it rang. He hesitated a moment before answering.
“Mr. Donnelly, this is the hotel manager,” the voice started.
“Yes?”
“I thought I’d better advise you that we seem to have a crowd of paparazzi out front. They’re here for you and your, uh, lady friend.”
“Paparazzi out front,” he repeated for Jessica’s benefit. “I see.” This had blown up faster that he would have thought. But then again, he’d never been the focus of paparazzi before. That was Gavin’s specialty. He was expert at finding ways to manipulate his way back into people’s good graces by using the media. With a charming interview and a well-placed nugget of misdirection in the form of a “controversial” remark about another band, the media dutifully followed his lead, eager to help him redeem himself. Shay couldn’t imagine pulling off such a thing.
“We’ll keep them at bay, of course,” the hotel manager continued. “I just wanted to be sure you were informed of the situation. If you do want to go out, can you please give me a call? I’ll coordinate with our security team to assist you.”
“I appreciate that. Thanks.”
Just as he hung up, Jessica’s cell phone rang.
“It’s Anton,” she said.
“Fantastic,” he muttered. “I’ll just step out.” He grabbed his cigarettes and opened the door to the small patio. He stared blankly at the Ferry Building and the water beyond as he savored the tobacco. The clock tower rising over two hundred feet from the center of the building was aglow against the dark sky. This view could have given him an incredibly romantic opportunity to woo Jessica, but his desire to revisit their past had now left him. There was too much to worry about, including his future with the band.
~
Jessica watched Anton’s call go to voicemail before shutting off her phone. She didn’t know what she would say to him. How could she explain being in her ex-boyfriend’s hotel room, hiding out from an accidental scandal?
Not that Anton deserved explanations from her, not after what he had done. They should have never gotten back together. Anton wasn’t the one for her—and she knew that from the start. Returning to him had been a misguided attempt to get over Shay. The only good thing Anton brought her was being a part of the ballet school. Teaching kids was her true calling. But that could all be coming to an end.
If she had worried about Anton's jealousy before, there was no telling how he’d react to all this. Tears rushed to her eyes at the thought that she had nothing in writing about the money she’d invested in the school. Their arrangement had been built on a trust they never really shared. Desperate to create something for herself, she had disregarded all caution. Now she was going to pay for it.
To make matters worse, now she had dragged Shay into her mess. He was a good man who had loved her well, even if he didn't know what dance meant to her, he had loved her well. Sure, Shay's situation with Danny Boy was an issue, but the minute she got on the plane back to New York she regretted ever making it seem like he had to choose between them. If the situation was reversed, she would have chosen her brother too. That family bond couldn't be negotiated.
Watching Shay standing at the railing, she felt a strong urge to go back in time. To make a different choice. She regretted telling him she had to choose herself over feeling second to Danny Boy. She wished she had instead told him that she needed him to understand what she was missing, that she had given up too soon on dance, and that she felt incapable of filling the hole of that loss. But the truth was, she had been confused, unsure of how to express her needs—to herself and to Shay.
Longing for what could have been, she opened the patio door and joined him. When he didn’t turn to look at her, she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face to his shoulder. He reflexively placed his good hand over her forearm and she was surprised by how comforting that gesture felt. His body was strong and familiar, and she wanted nothing more than to hold him and forget all that had happened.
“Jess,” he said.
“Shay, I’m so sorry.” She moved onto her toes and kissed the back of his neck.
He turned around to face her, cupping her cheek in his hand. She couldn’t look away from his gaze but he soon dropped his eyes to her mouth. When he traced her bottom lip with his thumb she almost moaned at the pleasure of it. His obsession with her lips hadn’t gone away. Maybe he did still want her.
Any question she had about that was definitively answered when he pushed her backward against the glass patio door and kissed her. Their lips met open, wasting no time as their tongues tangled in a desperate rhythm. This kind of desire was dangerous, she knew. It was the kind that left no room for turning back. She ran her hands through his hair, kissing him deeper. She didn’t want to retreat from this, from him. But then he broke away and she worried that he was regretting this.
“I want you,” he breathed into her neck. “Fuck, I need you.”
She shivered in pleasure as his mouth found the small grouping of freckles on her neck. He kissed and nibbled her skin as he pressed his body to hers. He w
as hard and insistent against her. She could feel he didn’t regret this.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Conor cast aside the book he had been reading—Richard Flannagan’s The Narrow Road to the Deep North—and took one of Felicity’s bare feet into his hands and began rubbing it. It was their last full day in Formentera and they were continuing the theme of their vacation: pure laziness. They lounged at opposite ends of the double hammock on a lower deck of the villa, wearing nothing but bathing suits. The warm sun broke through an old-growth fig tree, allowing dapples of light to filter through the shade.
Felicity moaned as he pressed on a pressure point in the arch of her foot and he smiled, remembering how she had withheld such reactions when he rubbed her feet that time on a midnight ride of the London Eye Ferris Wheel.
In the distance, one of their cell phones rang. Neither moved.
“Con?” Felicity said. Her eyes were closed.
“Yes, Fee?” He took her other foot into his hands.
“How do you . . . manage the groupies these days?”
He laughed. “I don’t manage them, honey. I don’t do anything at all with them.”
“I saw the way they are. Jesus, one of them offered you her tea bagging ‘services’ right in front of me!”
That had happened at the start of the tour. The groupies and other girls who got access backstage and at after parties were especially aggressive, as if to make up for lost time when Rogue had been on hiatus. He had been openly and graphically propositioned by a slew of women during this opening leg of the tour but he had no problem sidestepping them.
Felicity, as pretty as she was, didn’t conform to Conor’s usual actress or model type. She was average height, slim, and stylish without being a knockout. The girls who had eyes for him ignored her presence, even though he said she was more beautiful than anyone he had been with.
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