One corner of his mouth curves up. My fingers tingle with the sudden urge to touch his scruffy jaw. “So let’s go back to The Twisted Chord for a drink.”
I smile. “Sure. I like the live music.”
He’s quiet as we walk back, and that just makes me feel the need to fill the silence.
“Thanks again for coming to my rescue,” I say.
“Happy to. I wanted to meet you, but I thought you were waiting for a date since you saved a seat with your stuff.”
My cheeks flame. So much for making a good impression. First, it’s obvious from my ex that I have terrible taste in men, and second, it’s clear I was stood up.
“My friend got held up at work,” I lie. “No date.”
He inclines his head.
“I haven’t seen you at The Twisted Chord before,” I say.
“Yeah, I usually go to a bar in my old neighborhood, but this is my new place since I moved.”
“Oh. So that means I’ll probably see you there regularly.” A surge of adrenaline goes through me at the thought, my pulse racing, all of my senses heightened. Be cool! I’ve never had this intense a reaction to a guy I just met. I can’t let it show.
“Depends. I’m not into the bar scene so much anymore. I went more for my brothers.”
I want to ask what he’s into and how he meets people. Maybe he uses a dating app like I do. That all feels too personal, so I keep my mouth shut.
We arrive at The Twisted Chord’s entrance and Connor opens the door for me. A simple gesture that makes every nerve ending tingle to awareness, the butterflies dancing in my belly. I kinda have a thing for good manners.
He smiles down at me as I brush by him, and I’m so enthralled with his sexy clean scent and the way his smile lights up his face that I can’t look away.
Bam! I fall sideways through the doorway, dropping like a rock to the tile floor. Ow, ow, ow. I forgot about the step. The bar gets quiet, every eye in the place on me. I just lie there on my side for a moment, my face hot, my hip stinging. Mostly it’s my ego that’s bruised. Would it be so terrible for me to actually look good in front of this guy?
Connor leans over me. “Break anything?”
“No.” I start to get up when he scoops me off the floor, cradled in his arms, and carries me to a cozy table for two in the back corner.
I still feel every eye in the place on me, but my eyes are only for my hero. Connor last name unknown. A prince among men.
2
Connor
I take in the pink-cheeked flustered woman sitting across from me. Becca is strikingly beautiful. Her red lips in contrast to her fair looks caught my eye earlier. She’s tall for a woman with slim long legs. She’s also having a helluva night that I hope I can salvage. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this drawn to a woman before. “I’m gonna get us some drinks and let my brothers know what’s up. Don’t fall out of your chair while I’m gone.”
She scowls, pursing her lush red lips. “I’m not normally clumsy. I took ballet for years.” She doesn’t sound like she’s from Brooklyn. I can’t tell where she’s from. She has no recognizable accent at all.
In any case, I’m not sure what ballet has to do with falling through an open doorway, so I let that slide. “More white wine?” See how I noticed what you were drinking earlier?
Her brows lift. “Yes. Chardonnay, please.”
I head back to the bar and place the order before shifting over to my brothers, Brendan and Garrett. Funny, Garrett recently shaved and Brendan’s beard needs a trim. Together they’d have the perfect level of scruff like me. We’re like the three bears—too furry, too spare, just right. Proof being Goldilocks chose me. Ha.
I stick to the most important thing. “I met someone, so I’ll see ya later. We’ll talk shop on the drive to the waterfront Monday morning.”
“Yup, saw ya come to her rescue in the ol’ fake-boyfriend maneuver,” Brendan says, taking a pull on his beer and casually glancing around the bar, probably looking for a woman. He favors redheads on some wacky theory that they’re more fiery.
Garrett leans around Brendan, offering me a fist bump, his aquamarine eyes twinkling with his smile. “She looks like she stepped out of an ad for a luxury car. Real classy.” He’s the only one of us who got our dad’s eye color, which is supposed to indicate a true ruler of Villroy since the Rourke eye color matches the sea there. Not that the youngest son of the exiled family could ever be king. Did I mention we’re descended from royalty? The rest of us got our mom’s blue eyes, showing our commoner blood.
I incline my head at Garrett. We call him Beast on account of his huge muscles. He’s right. Becca does look classy. She’s in a crisp white blouse with black trousers, perfectly made up, not a hair out of place, even after her tumble through the doorway. She dresses and sounds like a corporate professional yet she’s hanging in a funky neighborhood bar in Brooklyn. I would’ve pegged her for a Manhattan high-end cocktail lounge kind of person, sipping on a thirty-buck martini. The drinks here are cheap. The contradictions in her intrigue me. Maybe because my whole life has been a bizarre contradiction too—I’m a prince raised in Brooklyn with none of the wealth or privilege that goes with the title. It would’ve been easier not to know what I was missing out on, but Dad never let us forget we had royal blood. Not that I’m bitter. I like my life here in Brooklyn, and our family is tight.
Brendan jerks his chin at me. “A classy woman likes you? What’d you say to her?” We always give each other shit—Rourke brother credo—but we also have each other’s backs, so it balances out.
I smirk. “So you admit you need pickup advice from your big brother.” I’m only two years older, but I’ve got to claim authority.
He socks me on the shoulder. “Please. I’ve got zero problem picking up women. I’ll pick one up tonight.”
The band starts playing a loud cover of Aerosmith’s “Walk this Way.” Just as well I can’t hear Brendan’s impassioned defense of his “sophisticated” moves. Not my concern.
I glance over to the table and catch Becca staring at me. She’s into me. And I’m glad she was stood up tonight. Yeah, I could tell she was lying. I can read people, and with her it’s not hard at all. Watching her at the bar earlier, she went from nervous to anxious to resigned over the course of the forty-five minutes I saw her. Then she was agitated with her ex, and then when she tripped, embarrassed, and now? Well, now she looks like she’s anticipating something exciting, and that something is me.
A few minutes later, I return to the table with the drinks. She gives me a small smile and pitches her voice over the music. “Thanks! Do you like live music?”
I drag my chair to the side of the table so we’re close enough to hear each other. “Yeah, it’s okay.”
Her cheeks flush bright pink. “I love it mumble, mumble.” She’s on the shy side. I don’t mind that. I’m not a big talker and I find chatty people tiring.
I lean close, tilting my ear toward her. “Say again.”
“I said my dad is a music teacher, so I grew up with music.”
“Cool.” I take a pull on my beer. “My dad worked in accounting for my uncle’s construction company. Now he’s in real estate, so you could say I grew up with buildings.”
She laughs, a musical sound I want to hear more of. I smile. So far, so good. I leave out that my dad abdicated the throne to Villroy to marry my mom. It’s a complicated history between the current ruling family and mine. I don’t like that we’re considered the riffraff of the family by many of the older generation. Though, according to my brothers, I should really be playing the prince card more. Apparently, a lot of women have a prince fantasy.
She leans close to speak directly in my ear, and I breathe in the delicious scent of citrus, spice, and something uniquely her. My mouth actually waters. “Is your dad involved in waterfront real estate?”
I shift to meet her eyes, and we’re suddenly extremely close. Her pale blue eyes dilate, her red lips parting. “You were
listening to our conversation earlier?”
She looks away, pink tingeing her cheeks. “I couldn’t help but hear.”
“What?” I say, cupping my hand by my ear. Mostly because I want her close again.
She obliges. “Sorry. I couldn’t help but overhear. Before the band started playing, it was so quiet in here.”
“Who were you supposed to meet up with?”
She doesn’t reply, leaning back and sipping her wine.
I lean in. “You must’ve been waiting on a date.”
Her eyes widen. “Why do you say that?”
I gesture to her outfit. “You’re dressed too nice for this place.”
She glances down at herself. “This is casual.” She holds up her wrist. “See, I even accessorized with a simple bracelet. Plus I’m wearing ballet flats.”
“Ah.” I imagine she would normally wear a formal dress if this is casual to her.
“What?” she asks, looking suddenly self-conscious.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
The band launches into another rock song, this one unrecognizable. Maybe one of their own.
I lean close and whisper in her ear, “I was just asking about your date to find out if you’re single. Were you waiting on a guy?”
She looks away, biting her lower lip like maybe she’s trying to decide how to play this. I just want her to be straight with me. Maybe I misread the situation, and she sees me more as a rescuer from her asshole ex and not actually the kind of guy she’s interested in. “No hard feelings either way. Just tell me.”
She leans in and whispers, “I was supposed to meet someone here, someone new, not a boyfriend. Anyway, he was a no-show, which is a really crappy thing to do.”
She’s single. I’m in.
“That sucks,” I say. For that guy.
She smiles sorta forlornly. “I waited too long for him. I should've just went home, made some popcorn, and watched the Home Improvement channel. I like when they take a dud house and renovate it.”
I smile. “Sounds like the perfect night.”
She smiles back, her pale blue eyes sparkling. “This is better.”
I lean close. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She sips her wine, trying to look casual, but still looking pink and flustered. “Do you like the Home Improvement channel?”
“I'm the guy you watch on the Home Improvement channel.”
She sets her drink down, her eyes wide. “You're on TV?”
“Ha! No. I build and renovate, commercial and residential. I work for my family's construction business.”
Her gaze drops to my bicep and then roams over my chest. “No wonder you're so, uh, fit.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I hide a smile by taking a sip of beer. “Where’re you from?”
“Originally?”
“Yeah, originally. You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”
She leans in, whispering, “I hope this doesn’t sound like I’m down on local accents—yours is clearly from Brooklyn—but I worked with a voice coach to lose my Queens accent. It’s just that at work people associated it with being uneducated, even though it has nothing to do with education. It’s just perception, and I needed to be taken seriously at my job.”
I stare at her. “Get out. You’re from Queens?”
“I sawr it with my own eyes! It was right heyah!” she exclaims, throwing an extra R into “saw” like God intended. She left the R out of “here,” naturally. Some people make fun of the New Yawk accent, but I think it’s awesome. I know a native New Yorker anywhere, Becca being the exception with her fancy voice coach.
I grin. “Sounds perfectly normal to me. Bit shriller than us laid-back Brooklynites.”
“Hey, I’m a Brooklynite too. I’ve lived here six years now, though mostly I traveled for work.”
“What do you do?”
“I used to do consulting. Now I’m recalibrating.”
I lean close. God, she smells good. “And what’s that, recalibrating?”
“You know, having a do-over.”
“Not sure what you mean, but okay.”
She exhales sharply. “Basically, I stayed up all night questioning every single part of my life and what the hell I wanted, and came up with a plan to rejigger everything.”
“Like a life renovation.”
“Exactly!”
“How’s it going so far?”
She stares at my mouth. “Better by the moment.”
I slowly move in, wanting a kiss but not sure if it’s too forward. I hover close for a hot second and glance at her eyes. They’re closed. That’s a go. And then she surprises me, kissing me first. A rush of lust hits me hard.
She pulls back, staring deeply into my eyes. She felt it too. I hold her gaze, the air rife with tension. It’s been a long time since a simple kiss made me feel like this—awake, alive, eager for more. I see the moment she decides to go for it, her lashes fluttering down as she kisses me again. Her lips are soft and pliant under mine. I’m about to deepen the kiss when I hear a masculine voice next to us.
“Hey, I’m Brendan.” My idiot brother. Dammit.
I turn and glare at him, but he’s too busy giving Becca his most charming smile to notice. Garrett stands behind him, looking toward the front door like he didn’t want to come over here. He’s got better survival instincts.
“What?” I bark.
Brendan gestures toward my mouth. “That color complements your skin tone.” I must have Becca’s red lipstick on me.
I wipe with a napkin and crumple it up. I debate insults over his untrimmed beard. Are you trying to go full Viking? Did a ferret die on your face? But then he moves closer to Becca, and I go on alert.
He pitches his voice to be heard over the music. “We’re on our way out, but I wanted to put in a good word for Con here. I’m his brother, so I know the real deal.”
Becca’s eyes dance with amusement as she looks between me and my irritating brother. “And the real deal is what?”
“Get outta here, man,” I say, giving him a shove.
He laughs. “He actually has women friends.”
I shake my head. “I have one woman friend.” I turn to Becca. “We grew up together. Now she's married with twin girls, living out on Long Island.”
Brendan leans down between us. “It still counts.”
Becca’s brows lift. “What exactly does it mean to have a woman friend on Long Island?”
I shrug. It means my brother is making a nuisance of himself.
Brendan smiles widely. He’s either about to do me a huge favor and actually make me look good or kill my chances with Becca entirely. “It means he's capable of relating to women on a nonphysical level. That's a plus, right? It means he's evolved.”
He’s going to get me stuck in the friend zone with that comment! I don’t want Becca on a nonphysical level.
“Or it could mean you're still a Neanderthal,” I growl.
He feigns indignation, his blue eyes wide. “Hey, no need to bring me into it.” He grins at Becca. “Are ya into the Neanderthal thing?”
She laughs.
“You can leave now,” I tell him.
He lifts his palms. “I will, I will.” He leans toward Becca. “Seriously, though, just because he never lasted more than a couple of months in a relationship doesn't mean he couldn’t. He’s got real potential.”
Becca looks like she’s trying not to laugh. This is so embarrassing.
I groan and scrub a hand over my face. “Seriously, you're not helping.”
He shoots me an aggrieved look. “I am so helping. She looks like a relationship kind of girl.”
“Shut up,” I snap. It’s like he’s trying to ruin everything before I’ve gotten anywhere with her. He’s pouring cement around my feet in the friend zone—nonphysical, has women friends, could stick around. He’s the guy friend you always wanted.
“He's not wrong,” Becca says.
I glare at Brendan. “He’s wrong
just by being here.”
He musses my hair, and I smack his hand away. “Am I cramping your style?” He grins at me and turns to Becca. “Kidding. He's got no game.”
Fuck you, I do have game. I keep the words to myself because I’m not sure Becca would like hearing how my game helps me pick up women easily whenever I want. Instead, I glare my best I’m gonna kick your ass glare at him. “I swear—”
“Alright, I'm going.” He backs away. “Come on, Beast.”
Garrett lifts a hand to us before following Brendan out the door. They’re roommates now. I recently got my own place after living with Brendan for a while. Garrett used to be with a bunch of guys in a condo owned by one of his friends’ parents. That place got sold and they scattered.
“Beast?” Becca asks once they’re out the door.
“He works out too much, overly muscled beast.” I take a pull on my beer, trying to calm down. I know my brothers and I give each other shit, but this is not the time.
She gives me a small sweet smile. “He did fill out his T-shirt nicely. I think his boobs are bigger than mine though.”
We crack up.
“I’m sure yours are more fun,” I say.
“Wanna find out?”
I’m about to say sure when she slaps a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.
She drops her hand. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
I wink. “I don’t mind.”
“Let’s just listen to the music.”
So we do. I play it cool, occasionally talking to her about music she likes while touching her arm and then her hand. I need to touch her. She’s part shy, part confident, all sexy woman.
The band finishes at eleven, and it’s weirdly quiet with just the conversation of the people at the bar and a few of the tables.
She gives me a bright smile for no reason, which makes me think she’s about to say goodbye. I brace myself. I don’t want to say goodbye just yet, but I’m not going to push where I’m not wanted. “Well, Connor, this has been a very nice evening.”
She sounds formal, too polite. We’re past that after all our close conversation and that amazing kiss. I take her hand and brush my thumb over the inside of her wrist. I meet her eyes and lower my voice to the husky tone women love. At least they do if they’re into me. “I had a good time too.”
Rogue Angel (The Rourkes, Book 10) Page 2
