Rogue Angel (The Rourkes, Book 10)

by Kylie Gilmore

  He takes my hand between his two large, surprisingly soft hands. “Becca, so nice to meet a fan. Which season is your favorite?”

  Clint Owens is touching me. I can’t move, can’t look away. His full lips are so sensual, even stretched into a smile. Clint Owens is smiling at me.

  “I’m pretty sure she likes all of them,” Simone answers for me.

  “I like all of them,” I echo in a breathy voice.

  “Well, that’s great to hear,” he says, smiling in his winning, Clint Owens way.

  He likes what I’m saying, so I say more as if in a trance, caught up in the phenomenal aura of the charming host and sexy builder who’s seen me through many a lonely, sex-deprived night. “I’ve watched all five seasons, but I think it’s the more recent ones where you’ve taken on more of the work solo that’ve really been incredibly awesome.” Because you’re shirtless.

  Simone pipes up. “I’m so glad Becca finally got a chance to meet you and let you know how much she likes your show.”

  He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it, his eyes burning into mine. My breath catches, my brain floating away on a dream. I’m having an out-of-body experience. It’s magic. Reno Magic.

  “Come with me,” Simone says, looping her arm through his. “I’ve got some other people I’d like you to meet.”

  “Later,” he tells Simone, and then he turns to me with a charming, sexy host smile. “Becca, would you like to dance?”

  “Dance,” I echo blankly, reality rushing in. We don’t dance in my fantasies. I blink and look around. Where’s Con? I was dancing with him.

  He chuckles. “Yes, dance.” And then Clint Owens puts a hand on the small of my back and leads me to the dance floor. He’s not as tall as I thought he was on TV. I’m a little bigger than him in my heels.

  I don’t want to be rude, so I decide one dance won’t hurt. I keep my eye out for Con and finally spot him at the private table in the corner, where we were before. I wave him over. He stands and walks toward me, his expression stormy. Uh-oh.

  Suddenly Clint pulls me close, his eyes heavy-lidded, locked on mine.

  Clint Owens wants to hammer me.

  Mind blown.

  “Can I cut in?” a deep voice barks.

  I whirl. “Con! Hi! I was hoping you’d join me.”

  His jaw is tight, his shoulders somehow wider like he’s in battle stance. “Hi.”

  Ooh, this is bad. I gesture toward my fantasy man, who’s backed away from me. “Con, this is Clint Owens from Reno Magic. Simone told him I’m a fan, so he asked me to dance.”

  Con shakes his hand brusquely before saying in a voice that brooks no argument, “She’s with me.”

  Clint jerks his chin and shifts to another part of the dance floor. He’s immediately surrounded by young, beautiful writhing women. Goodbye, Clint Owens. Until we meet again on TV.

  Con takes my hand and guides me away from the dance floor toward a private booth that’s empty since everyone flocked to the dance floor to be near Clint Owens. I think Simone is on the dance floor too. Obviously he’s the bigger draw with the women.

  I settle on the cushioned banquette, my eyes drifting back toward Clint Owens—it’s so hard to believe he’s here in real life—when Con suddenly hauls me all the way to the center of the seat right up against him, thigh to thigh.

  I turn to him, still enthralled with the turn of events. “Can you believe Clint Owens from Reno Magic is here?”

  His eyes narrow. “Why do you say it like he’s magic?”

  I tilt my head. “Are you jealous?”

  He looks over my shoulder. Probably shooting jealous laser beams of death at poor unsuspecting Clint Owens. “Why would I be jealous?”

  I glance back at the dance floor, and Con cups my jaw and turns me back to him. He kisses me roughly, his fingers gripping my hair. Lust spears through me like lightning. I go damp between the legs, my nipples in aching points, all of me dying for more of his touch. I moan deep in my throat, and then I’m lost in the overwhelming pleasure of a man who wants to claim me as his own, thoroughly, completely his.

  When he finally lets me up for air, we’re both breathing hard. He shifts, dropping his hold on me.

  “Tell me why I’d be jealous,” he says quietly.

  I’m so turned on I want to climb on top of him and grind away. I need, I need—

  “Bec.”

  I meet his intense blue eyes. He wants me to be his, only his. That means something. “You don’t need to be jealous. I’m here with you.”

  “You sure looked excited to be with him.”

  I bite my lower lip. “Okay, I get why you’re jealous. I have a thing for builders. You’re a builder, he’s a builder. And I might’ve gone fangirl over meeting my—him in person.”

  “Your what? You were about to say my what?”

  “Nothing.” I move to kiss him, but he pulls back.

  “I could only see you partly in profile, but what I did see looked like you were about to kiss him. Is that accurate?”

  My cheeks flame. “Kiss him? I wasn’t about to kiss him.”

  “You were very close on the dance floor, and he was looking at you with clear lust in his eyes. What am I supposed to think?”

  “It’s not like that. We just met.”

  “Uh-huh. Is he the reason I got a late invitation? You were hoping to meet up with him?”

  “No! We really did just meet. I’m, uh, a big fan of the show. I had no idea he’d be here. Simone invited him and—” I stare at the table, tracing a scar in the wood “—and you, and now it’s just weird.”

  Lusty worlds colliding.

  Though only one of them is real. Obviously I prefer a real man in my life to a fantasy one on TV! It’s not like I’m going to sleep with Clint Owens, even if I do fantasize about it.

  He cups my jaw, lifting my face to his before kissing me in his thorough drugging way. I’m so glad he’s kissing me again.

  He breaks the kiss. “Tell me why it’s weird.” His kisses turn me into a puddle of need. I suspect he knows that because he does it again.

  “Con.”

  He kisses me longer this time. “Tell me.”

  My hand goes to his chest, clutching his shirt to keep him close. “More, please.”

  He kisses along the line of my jaw and gives my earlobe a tug between his teeth. His words run hot over my skin. “Have you been with him?”

  “No, I swear, he’s just a fantasy.”

  He meets my eyes, studying me for a long moment. “A fantasy?”

  I look away. It’s kinda embarrassing to talk about my fantasy man when he’s right there. Especially to my real man.

  “Bec?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Look at me.”

  I meet his eyes, praying he won’t ask exactly what I do in my fantasy with Clint Owens. That’s private.

  His brows knit together. “Before, you invited me back to your place to watch Reno Magic so you could watch your fantasy man. Is that right?”

  “Uh, not exactly.”

  “Exactly how was it?”

  I go on the defensive. “You invited yourself back to my place, remember? I just happened to have the latest show recorded and thought you might enjoy it too from a builder’s perspective.”

  “While you enjoyed it as a way to get off?”

  “Shh!” I glance around, but no one is nearby. The dance floor is packed with the two celebrities, who are now dancing with each other. Simone and Clint Owens. Wow, they’d make beautiful babies.

  “Do you still watch him to get off?”

  I put a hand over his mouth and hiss, “Stop saying get off.”

  He pulls my hand away. “It’s embarrassing when you meet your fantasy man while your real man is around.”

  Wow, really nailed that one.

  “He’s just here,” I say lamely. Can I help it if my mind immediately went into Clint Owens fantasy mode, as it’s been trained to do for the past several years? There’s a we
ll-worn neural pathway from Clint Owens to orgasm.

  “I’m going to talk to him.” He slides out of the booth, and I hurry to follow him as best I can, but my dress keeps sticking to the velvet cushioning. He mostly lifted me when I first sat in the center of the long seat.

  I catch up to him and grab his arm. “Con, wait. Just stay with me.”

  “I wanna get to know the competition.”

  “There’s no competition, I swear.”

  His jaw is tight. “Then come with me and let me see how you are with him up close.”

  “You’re just trying to embarrass me. Forget it. Do what you want. I’m going to dance with Simone.”

  He stalks off and I stand there, frozen in place, watching as he says something to Clint Owens that has him leaving the dance floor. They go off to the side to talk.

  I hurry over toward Simone, waving my hands above the circle of dancers surrounding her. “Twin!” Luckily, I’m tall and she spots me, dragging me into the center with her.

  “Bad news,” I tell her.

  “What? Speak up!”

  “Bad news! Con went to talk to Clint Owens!”

  “Leave the men to alpha it out.” She grabs my hand and spins me around. “Dance with the birthday girl. You only turn thirty once.”

  “What if they fight?” I ask as she twirls me around again.

  “There’s security. Stop worrying so much. You’ll probably have sweaty makeup sex!”

  I flush and shift to spy on the two men. They’re in a small overlook jutting out from the dance floor. Con looks serious as he talks. They’re sort of squared off, legs spread shoulder-width apart. Clint Owens is glossy and styled. Con is rugged and real. Also, taller by a few inches. I’m dying to know what Con’s saying. What if he’s informing Clint Owens that he’s my fantasy man? How can I ever live it down?

  Simone yanks me toward her and dances in a circle around me. Oh, fine. I’ll dance with the birthday girl.

  Approximately three exhausting dances later, Con appears on the dance floor and jerks his chin for me to follow. I do, and we end up back at Simone’s reserved table in the corner since the private booths are filled again.

  He sits next to me and drops an arm over my shoulders. “Turns out Clint isn’t a contractor. He’s an actor. That’s why he’s only recently been doing more of the renovation work. He has a coach on set who tells him what to do.” He sounds smug.

  “So that was your goal? Ruin my fantasy man for me?”

  “Nah. I just wanted to find out what he was about. Now we know.”

  I’m mad, but also kinda happy that he cares enough to be so worked up over my celebrity crush. I think Simone’s right—Con’s really into me.

  I turn to him. “That’s worse than jealous. It’s petty.”

  “I’ll admit to jealous. Not petty. If I were petty, I would’ve broken his nose for kissing your hand.”

  “Con!”

  “Okay, fine. I wouldn’t punch him, but I definitely wouldn’t have been polite.”

  I lift my chin. “Just because I went fangirl over my fantasy come to life doesn’t mean you need to go caveman. Nothing was going to happen.”

  His hand wraps around the back of my neck, stroking the sensitive skin with his thumb. “Just know this, I’m now your fantasy builder man.”

  Ooh, this is even better. I can actually act out my longtime fantasies. I rub his chest, enjoying the warmth of his hard muscles. “My fantasy builder man takes off his shirt and does real reno work.”

  He nips my lower lip. “And where do you come in?”

  “I help.”

  He laughs. “You help?”

  “Yes, why is that funny? I help with my hammer.”

  His eyes dance with amusement, and he kisses me again. “Then what?”

  “Then things progress from there.”

  He cups my face in both his hands. “You’re adorable when you’re blushing. Show me later.”

  “Only if you pass the builder test. It has to look authentic to fulfill the fantasy.”

  “Oh, it’ll be authentic.”

  “Con?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’d like to go now. I need to know if you can pass the builder test. Otherwise…” I tilt my head toward the dance floor as though Clint Owens is a real possibility.

  Con plucks me right out of my seat, and I squeak in surprise. “Time to prove myself.” He hauls me against him and kisses me passionately.

  Time for sweaty makeup sex. With tools!

  He breaks the kiss, grinning. “We’d better go to my place, where there’s actual tools.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I breathe.

  He chuckles, takes my hand, and guides me out. We stop to say goodbye to Simone, and she hugs both of us, which means he’s got the Simone stamp of approval. She’s not a big hugger despite all her loud enthusiastic friendliness.

  “I expect to see you again, Connor!” she says.

  “Sounds good,” he says.

  I feel Clint Owens’s eyes on me and catch Con giving him a jaunty salute. My former fantasy man turns away, pretending not to notice. The salute is like the polite-guy version of fuck off. Con being the polite guy.

  “Simone likes you,” I say when we reach the sidewalk outside.

  “Best-friend stamp of approval,” he says, taking my hand as we walk to the subway stop. “Glad I passed the test.”

  “It wasn’t a test.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “Okay, a little bit. I was conflicted, but…”

  He glances over at me. “But…”

  “But I want to be with you, so if we keep it a secret, it should be okay.”

  “So that’s what she meant about secrets.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, but that’s the only secret, got it? Anything you want to tell me about?”

  “No, I don’t have any secrets.”

  “Me either. So now we can get back to this builder fantasy starring me, a guy who actually knows how to use tools because I’m a real builder.”

  “I can’t wait!”

  He chuckles and hugs me tight. And, for one shining moment, I forget every doubt and worry I have about us.

  12

  Connor

  I take Becca back to my place for the first time. Compared to hers, it’s extremely sparse, so I’m thinking she’s not going to be too impressed. I’ve only lived here a month. There’s a black leather sofa with a coffee table, end table, and flat-screen TV in the living room, and a king-sized bed, dresser, and a couple of nightstands in the bedroom. That’s it.

  She takes a quick look around my living room. “Where do you keep your tools?”

  I stifle a laugh. “Bathroom closet.”

  I go to get my toolbox, and she follows me. How did I find the one woman turned on by everything about me? It’s not like working in construction or being part of the outcast royal family has ever played in my favor before. And definitely not the combination of those things. I’m just a regular guy.

  I set the toolbox on the dresser in my bedroom. I figure I’ll hang that full-length mirror I’ve been meaning to put up. It’s late and I don’t want to disturb the neighbors. One nail in the wall and Becca’s all mine.

  “What’re you going to build?” she asks.

  Gotta love her enthusiasm. If she actually wanted to see me build, she’d have to show up at my work. I’ve got to be creative to make this fantasy happen tonight after I got a little worked up over her and Clint. But I read the lust in his eyes for her, and Becca was acting very strange, the way she kept swaying toward him. She’s usually much more reserved and, well, upright.

  I open the toolbox, and she peers inside. “I’m renting, so I can’t go crazy renovating, but I did want to put up a mirror in here.”

  “Okay, I’ll watch.”

  “Is this how your fantasy usually works?”

  “Well…” She twirls a lock of her hair. “Since there’s no secrets between us…promise not to laugh.”


  I wrap my arms around her waist. “I won’t laugh.”

  She meets my eyes and licks her lips. “You do your hammering work, shirtless, and then I show up to help.” She rests her hands on my chest.

  “So you can admire my muscles, I assume.” Or Clint Owens’s muscles. I can never watch Reno Magic again.

  She strokes my chest, her eyes glued to it. “Yes, but then when we get close to each other, it’s so hot that my help doesn’t matter.”

  I bite back a smile. “That’s convenient since you don’t know how to use tools.” She told me that. She’s a fan of those skills but doesn’t have them herself.

  She scowls, her hands stilling. “I can hammer a nail.”

  “Okay. Then what?”

  She meets my eyes. “And then you hammer me against the wall.”

  I keep a straight face. “Hammered means drunk. You mean nail you? Screw you?”

  She does some hip thrusts right up against me. “Hammer, Con.”

  I can’t resist her. I spear my fingers through her hair and kiss her roughly. She likes that as much as I do. Her hands roam all over me and she makes these needy sounds in the back of her throat. I start backing her up toward the bed when she breaks the kiss.

  “You said you’d be my fantasy man,” she says softly. “Let me see you at work.”

  How am I supposed to hang a stupid mirror when all I can think about is driving deep inside her? Nail, screw, hammer, doesn’t matter what she calls it, I need it bad.

  “Please,” she says.

  With every ounce of willpower I have, I pull away from her. I snag a condom from the nightstand and stick it in my pocket, knowing I’m not going to be able to resist her for long.

  She sits on the bed, watching my every move.

  I get to work, pulling the hammer out, along with a single nail and a stud finder. There’s already a wire attached to the back of the full-length mirror. I’ll stick it on the wall next to the dresser. I pull the mirror out of the closet.

  “Hot Builder Guy, could you take off your shirt while you work?”

  Hot Builder Guy? That’s a new one. I turn to face her, and she gestures for me to get started. I slowly undo the buttons of my shirt while her eyes eat me up. I’m turned on just seeing her turned on.