Rogue Beast (The Rourkes, Book 12)

by Kylie Gilmore

  “I’d love that,” Harper says. “Thank you, Mrs. Rourke.”

  “You can call me Mom if you’d like, or Tara.”

  “Thank you, Mom.”

  “Aww!” She hugs Harper again and kisses her cheek. “What a wonderful way to start the new year! A new daughter! Gosh, I never thought I’d get one.” She heads to the basement.

  In no time there’s a full house. All of my brothers are here with their wives, even Brendan, who lives up in Massachusetts. He stuck around for the holidays. My dad’s back with the Bianchis—our neighbors and Dylan’s in-laws—since he married the girl next door.

  Josie and Harper are talking excitedly about our new house right across the street from them in Park Slope. Sean let us know it was going on the market, so we put in a pre-emptive bid yesterday, and we found out it was ours today. We’re thrilled. The baby can get to know their aunt and uncle right across the street, and we’ll watch each other’s places when someone has to be away for work. Everything’s falling into place in my life. A new house, a wife, a baby. I’m going to be a husband and dad, something I’ve always wanted, with the most amazing woman.

  I join them, wrapping an arm around my future wife.

  She smiles up at me. “Josie says there’s a lot of new moms in the neighborhood.”

  “That’s great. Our kid will have cousins and neighborhood friends to play with.”

  “I’m so excited for you both,” Josie says. “I just knew right from the beginning that you two were a match.” She calls over to the kitchen. “Didn’t I say that, Sean?”

  “What’s that?” he asks.

  “I said they were a match,” she says.

  He nods. “True. She desperately wanted Harper in the family.”

  Josie wags her finger at him. “That’s not the only reason. I thought they were perfect for each other.”

  He laughs. “Glad to have you guys across the street.”

  “Thanks, bro,” I say. “Can we count on you for babysitting?”

  “We’d love to,” Josie answers for him excitedly.

  “We get first dibs,” my mom pipes up.

  “I’m here whenever you need me,” Mrs. Bianchi says. And she’s not even a grandmom to our kid!

  “Thanks, Mrs. Bianchi. We really appreciate that.”

  She beams, walks over and pats my cheek. “We’re family. Besides, I know a thing or two about raising strong daughters.”

  My mom joins us. “And I know about raising strong sons.”

  They lock eyes and then burst out laughing.

  “You sure do, Tara,” Mrs. Bianchi says.

  “Oh, you too, Donna, you too,” my mom says. “I’m so thankful to have Ariana in our lives. And you too, of course.”

  They hug and then break apart, smiling.

  “Any other takers on the babysitting gig?” I ask jokingly.

  A chorus of enthusiastic replies goes around the room. Wow, I didn’t expect so many offers, even Jack and Riley with their two-month-old son, Aiden, chime in. Everyone except for Dylan.

  “No?” I ask him, pretending offense.

  He shrugs. “We’ve got three kids under two. We were kinda hoping you’d help us out.”

  “We’d love to,” Harper says. “Olivia is darling, and I’m sure the twins will be just as wonderful.”

  Just then the twins burst into wails, waking from their naps in their infant car seats.

  Olivia slaps her hands over her ears. “Take them back! Take them back!”

  Dylan shakes his head as Ariana and Mrs. Bianchi go to pick the twins up from their car seats. “Olivia keeps asking us to return them to the store. Says they’re too noisy.”

  “C’mere, Olivia,” my mom says. “I’ve got a special job for you.”

  Olivia runs over, and my mom puts her on her hip, talking to her as she gathers napkins from a cabinet.

  Harper turns to me. “Having a baby is going to be some ride. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  “Bring it on.”

  She winces. “My new sisters-in-law gave me some straight talk about the birth. Not pretty. I’m trying not to freak out.”

  I put an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, if I can stand watching it, you can stand doing it.”

  She laughs. “The good news is, they said they’d give me any baby gear they were done with.” She goes up on tiptoe to whisper, “They must know I can afford to buy gear, but they’re being so generous.”

  “Ya know, I’m starting to see what Josie was talking about with you being like Marian the librarian, emerging as the trusting happier person in the end.”

  “I am happy.” She throws her arms around my neck and kisses me. “So, so happy.”

  “Eww,” a little voice says. “Mommy and daddy kissing.”

  I look down at Olivia. She thrusts a napkin at me, clutched in her fist. “That’s right. It means we’re happy just like your mommy and daddy.”

  She sticks her tongue out like blech and skips away.

  “Now where were we?” I say, pulling Harper close.

  She smiles against my lips. “Mommy and daddy kissing. Eww.”

  “That’s right.” I kiss her again and smile.

  We join my family gathered in the kitchen once more to celebrate. I look around at all my brothers with their wives, my nieces and nephew, and it hits me how lucky our child will be. Our baby will grow up with lots of uncles, aunts, and cousins, two fantastic grandparents, honorary grandparents (thanks, Mrs. Bianchi!), a one-of-a-kind great-grandmother, and us, two loving parents. I was the last born, last for everything, but I’m the one who brings the most important piece of the puzzle. With me and Harper getting married, the Rourke family is now complete.

  And it all started when this beast finally met his beauty in a case of mistaken identity that turned out to be fate.

  Would you like to read more about Garrett’s friend, billionaire Wyatt Winters? How about struggling restaurant owner Sydney Robinson? They’ll meet in Fetching! Get ready for Unleashed Romance, a new steamy romantic comedy series, where dogs are part of the family!

  Preorder Fetching now!

  Fetching

  Wyatt

  I’m a self-made billionaire with a soft spot for damsels in distress, so when I move to the quirky lakeside community of Summerdale, I immediately zero in on the woman I most want to…ahem, rescue. Only the stubborn woman refuses to cooperate.

  Sydney

  When Satan moves to town, aka Wyatt Winters, I do my best to be welcoming as the owner of the historic restaurant and bar that he won’t stop showing up at, despite criticizing nearly everything about it. Deep breath. I might’ve lost my cool and made a rude gesture in his direction. And told him off. How was I to know he was considering investing in my place?

  Did I mention I’m in debt up to my eyeballs and every bank has turned me down?

  Still, there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell I’d ever work with him. Or admit he fires me up in every way.

  And then a snowstorm traps us together and—

  I’m melting.

  Excerpt

  Sydney

  Satan walks into a bar and crooks his finger at me.

  I pretend not to see. Wyatt Winters can flag down someone else to serve him. I don’t care if tonight is make-or-break time for The Horseman Inn, the historic restaurant and bar I own, and this New Year’s Eve fundraiser party is my last hope. I will not consort with the devil.

  He’s handsome all right with his thick wavy dark brown hair, sensual lips, trimmed beard, and a body that looks like he spends too much time at the gym. But that is all cancelled out by his smug attitude. Wyatt moved to town a month ago, buying the abandoned house on the top of the hill with a landlocked lighthouse. It was originally owned by an eccentric recluse, who died before I was born. People say it’s haunted. I hope the ghosts keep him up at night.

  Seriously, why does Wyatt keep coming in here? Over the last month, he’s ordered every beer I have on tap and criticize
d the quality at length, as well as complained about the chill in the room and, of all things, the name of the place. It’s historic! The Horseman Inn dates from 1788 when it used to be a stagecoach stop.

  I slip behind the bar and fill another round of drink orders for the table of middle-aged women excitedly anticipating our guest of honor, my famous actress friend, Harper Ellis. She’s the only reason we have a crowd tonight. My younger brother provides chill background music on his acoustic guitar. The bar is packed, the back room is half full, and people are helping themselves to appetizers in the front dining room and bidding on the silent auction items. It’s early yet, so I’m thrilled with the crowd.

  Harper and I grew up together here in Summerdale, New York, a lakeside community about an hour and a half outside of New York City. It’s a unique place, originally founded by hippies as a kind of utopia. Crime is low and quality of life is high—our unofficial motto. Actual motto: Peace for all sheltered within. Anyway, it’s an awesome community for those of us not about to go bankrupt. Harper offered to help me out, but I’m not going there. She’s a good friend. Money would muddy the waters.

  I hope she gets here soon. I scan the back room quickly and catch the eye of the one man who sets me on edge like no other. No beer for you. I take the tray of wine and two dirty martinis to the women sitting at a long rectangular table across from the man I refuse to acknowledge. I serve the women their drinks, keeping my back to the irritating man.

  “When does Harper get here?” Tammy, a brunette in her fifties, asks.

  Her four friends look to me eagerly.

  “Any minute, I’m sure. She’s probably caught in city traffic.”

  “I’m the current high bid on the lunch with her,” Tammy says. “Fingers crossed!”

  I smile. It was nice of Harper to throw that lunch in there, considering she’s such a private shy person in real life.

  Tammy’s friends chime in with their hopes for winning an autographed picture of Harper or some of the other items she donated from her old TV show. She was so generous in her contributions, but I need her here in person.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as she arrives,” I say.

  I wave to my two best friends, Jenna and Audrey, mingling in the front room. They’re opposites physically—Jenna is tall and lean with blond hair that barely touches her bare shoulders; Audrey is short and curvy with long black hair. The four of us—me, Harper, Jenna, and Audrey—used to spend all our time together as kids. Then Harper left for Hollywood, and life happened for the rest of us. Jenna and I recently moved back to town. Audrey never left.

  I send them a questioning look. They’re looking out for Harper.

  Jenna shakes her head. I suppress a sigh and turn to head back to the bar.

  “Cindy, over here,” a deep baritone voice calls out.

  I stiffen and slowly turn to Wyatt. “It’s Sydney,” I say through my teeth.

  He cups a hand by his ear. “What?”

  I exhale sharply and cross to his corner table tucked in the back. He’s around my age (I’m twenty-eight), wearing a black and white checked button-down shirt with a tan sport coat and jeans. His long legs are stretched out under the table, crossed at the ankle. Dark brown leather shoes instead of sneakers. It occurs to me he dressed nice for the party, only to sit alone here on New Year’s Eve. I summon patience and all the good will I can muster. He’s new in town and I should try to make him feel welcome.

  “Hi, Wyatt.” I flash a quick smile. “It’s Sydney, not Cindy.” As I’ve told you before. “I know you’re new in town. I could introduce you to my brothers. That’s Eli on guitar. He’s a cop.” I point him out, and Eli jerks his chin at us. “Over at the bar, the guy in the white T-shirt with the scowl is my oldest brother Drew. There’s also Adam and Caleb, but they’re not here yet.”

  Wyatt cocks his head. “No sisters?”

  “No, why?”

  “Only girl, huh? Interesting.”

  I hear an insult lurking in his tone. “Why is that interesting?” I’m not a girly girl, but that doesn’t mean I’m not feminine. I’m wearing lipstick, and I even put on a skirt tonight. It’s black leather to match my knee-length black leather boots. My black T-shirt says The Horseman Inn, our staff uniform.

  “Just interesting,” he says blithely. “I’ve met Adam. He’s going to do some work at my place.”

  “Oh.” Adam is a master carpenter. I didn’t know he took a job for Satan.

  He taps the dark wood table. “What I really want to know is what does a guy have to do to get a decent beer around here?”

  Patience. Goodwill. I can’t be alienating customers in my line of work. I paste on a smile and rattle off every beer we offer both on tap and in bottles.

  He rubs his dark beard. “Do you have one that doesn’t taste like it’s been watered down to disguise the fact that its gone skunk?”

  “All of our beers are fresh, I assure you. Now what can I get you?” I am Miss Hospitality.

  He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand, and smiles wolfishly. My pulse shoots up. “Surprise me.”

  Cheap lite beer with a shot of spit in it, coming right up! Ooh, I am so tempted. No, I can be professional. Why is my pulse still racing? “You got it. Our best IPA coming up.” I turn to go.

  “I’ve had your best IPA,” he says. “An ale would be an improvement. I hope.”

  I turn back. “No problem.”

  “Also, my table is wobbly.” He gives it a shake.

  I let out a breath. “Then don’t shake it.”

  He peers under the table. “Actually, I’m not sure if it’s the table or the wavy hardwood floor.”

  “Part of our charm, original eighteenth-century flooring.”

  He arches a brow.

  “One ale coming up.” I make a beeline to the bar, my patience running out. No one could keep up pleasant conversation with a man like that for long. Always looking for flaws. This place has all the historic charm with all the modern headaches—sloping floors, low ceilings, draftiness. I’m proud to say we still have the original post and beam ceilings and large stone hearth in the front dining room. If he doesn’t like it, he can go someplace else. Although we are the only bar around for miles. He’d have to cross the state line into Clover Park, Connecticut, about a half hour drive from here, to find another bar. Maybe I’ll suggest it. No, I can’t do that. He’s a newcomer. Must be welcoming.

  My brother, Drew, grabs my upper arm as I swing by him at the bar, halting me. “That guy bothering you?” he asks in a low voice, his gaze narrowing on Wyatt. Drew is five years older than me and a certified badass—former Army Ranger with a blackbelt. He runs his own dojo in town. He’ll kick ass on my behalf, but I’m no damsel in distress. Besides, I grew up with four brothers—two older, two younger—I know how to handle men.

  “He’s just annoying,” I say. “No problem.”

  He releases my arm. “Say the word.”

  I give him an exaggerated smacking kiss on his cheek, which always throws him.

  He rubs the spot. “Syd! Come on. Is there pink on my cheek?”

  I sail behind the bar. “So much pink,” I lie. “Better head to the men’s room to get properly manly again.” It’s actually coral, a darker shade of pink to go with my auburn hair, but try explaining lipstick shade to a grumpy alpha male.

  He checks himself with his phone’s camera and huffs, tucking the phone back in his jeans’ pocket. “Smartass.”

  I pour Wyatt’s ale and then check on a few customers at the bar and fill their drinks too, mostly as a stalling tactic so I don’t have to deal with Mr. Big City Snark yet. I heard Wyatt moved here from Manhattan. Why? Why couldn’t he have stayed in the city?

  I flag down one of our servers and pass Wyatt’s drink to her. It’s self preservation. The less I interact with him, the better the chance I don’t dump a drink on his head. That wouldn’t be very hospitable of me.

  After I check on things in the kitchen for the upcoming b
uffet dinner, I take another tour through the restaurant, making sure everyone’s enjoying drinks and appetizers, and reminding them of the fab silent auction items. I work hard to sound upbeat about the auction instead of desperate. My father left this place in such debt before his passing, no bank will give me a loan. Nasty surprise, that debt. He hid his financial troubles from me and my brothers out of some misguided need to protect us. He was a great dad, though, and really stepped up after my mom passed when I was twelve.

  Wyatt catches my eye. “Appetizers are good.”

  Pleased that he finally said something positive about my place, I close the distance, stopping at his table. “Glad you’re enjoying them.”

  He leans back in his chair. “Have you ever thought of upgrading the dinner menu?”

  My temper flares but I manage to keep a civil tone. “No. We’ve had the same menu for decades. Locals love it.”

  “Not saying it’s bad just unoriginal. I mean, every meal comes with either French fries or baked potato. A new chef might bring some life to the place. Isn’t that what tonight’s fundraiser’s all about? Keeping this place open?” He taps the table. “With the right management, a better chef, this place has potential.”

  I manage this place, and the chef is a family friend. I bare my teeth. “Seems you know a lot about the restaurant business.”

  “Not at all. I just appreciate a good one.”

  I jam my hands on my hips and glare at him. Obviously he thinks we’re a bad one! I’m so furious I can’t even speak.

  He cocks his head. “Cindy, are you cross with me?”

  Preorder Fetching now!

  NOTE: A portion of Fetching’s first month’s preorders and sales will go to Pets for Vets, a nonprofit that trains shelter dogs to be therapy companions for military veterans with PTSD. Pets for Vets is the inspiration for Harper’s favorite charity Best Friends Care.

  Freebie