Rogue Nights (The Rogue Series Book 6)

by Talia Hibbert

  “Don’t think about that,” he cut in. “Don’t think about any of it. And don’t look at that shit anymore.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped, the words a reflex fuelled by fear.

  If she’d meant to push him away, it didn’t work. The opposite, in fact. Sweet-edged shock ripped through her as his hand cupped her cheek, the callouses on his palm rasping against her skin. He turned her face until they were eye to eye. “Nina. Love. Please don’t look.”

  His familiar voice, low and rich and raw, felt like comfort. So did his touch. But he’d felt like comfort before, only to tear the connection away moments later. So she set her jaw and did the same, jerking away from his hold. “Alright. Fine. Whatever.”

  “Are you okay?”

  God, why did he have to care about her? And why did she have to love him? Her voice hard, she clipped out, “Obviously.”

  “You want a hug?”

  “I would honestly rather die.”

  “You’re safe with me,” he said, ignoring her completely. “You know I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  It was absolutely ridiculous, but it was also true.

  God, she was a mess. She felt like she might fall apart at any moment. She wanted to fall apart, and James was the one person she could do it around, but not right now. Not with everything that lay between them.

  He studied her for a moment, his gaze warm and soft and sweet as hot chocolate. Then his hand caught hers. When she tried to pull away, he held on tight and shook his head. “We need to talk, Cupcake. Maybe now isn’t the greatest time, but I already left things too long.”

  Oh, Christ. She felt as if her breath was too hot for her lungs. Embarrassment prickled across her skin. “James. Don’t—”

  “Nina. Please. Please let me try to fix this, because…” He broke off, swallowing hard. “I can’t lose you. And I feel like, if this hadn’t happened, I might have.”

  She stared down at their joined hands, his fingers longer and thicker than hers, her skin darker and softer than his. She catalogued the little nicks and burns scattered across his knuckles and tried not to freak out. Tried not to hate him for speaking like this, speaking as if she meant the world to him, when things between them would never be the way she wanted.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. His thumb swept slow, rhythmic circles over the back of her hand, the action easing her tension even as his words ratcheted it up. “I fucked up. Massively. Enormously. Worse than whoever invented pop-up ads.”

  A smile crept onto her face without permission. “Continue.”

  He let out a little chuckle, shaking his head. Then his expression softened, becoming almost… vulnerable. “Nina, when I was touching you—I couldn’t think. I just couldn’t. Which is ridiculous, and doesn’t excuse my being irresponsible, but it’s the truth. Then as soon as we were done, I just felt so guilty, and everything was flooding back into my brain at once, and it made me… Well, I was thoughtless. I shouldn’t have treated you like that. I’m sorry.”

  She nodded slowly. Parts of that speech soothed the jagged wound inside her, but others seemed to tear it open further. She wanted to sort sensibly through the two sensations, wanted to approach their issues in a calm, reasoned, mature way—but she wasn’t calm, reasonable, or mature, so in the end she blurted out, “What the fuck, James?”

  He blinked, running a hand over his jaw. “What?”

  “I mean, okay, thank you. For the apology. But… how were you irresponsible? What, exactly, did you feel guilty about?”

  He opened and shut his mouth like a fish. A very handsome fish. A very annoying fish. Finally, he said, “I told you. I shouldn’t have done it.”

  She jerked back as if he’d hit her. “You mean you shouldn’t have done me.”

  “That’s not how I would put it, but… No. I shouldn’t have. We can’t—Nina, you’re twenty-three years old.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind that when you had your tongue between my legs.”

  He grimaced, letting go of her hand. “Sweetheart. Could you not—”

  “What? Remind you of how awful it all was?”

  “You know it wasn’t awful.” He stood, beginning to pace the room. Kind of annoying how the action that helped him focus made her want to throw something. “I hope I didn’t… Did it seem…?” He hesitated, turning to frown at her. “Did I act like it was awful?”

  She set her jaw, drawing her knees up to her chest and wishing, more than ever before, that she could just fucking disappear. “I mean, you threw me out 0.5 seconds after finishing the job, so—”

  “I did not throw you out,” he said, his usually even tone suddenly fierce. “I would never do that. You left.”

  “Okay, yeah. But you wanted me to leave.”

  “No I fucking didn’t.” He was speaking through gritted teeth now, his scowl ferocious. “I wanted to take back the whole thing—”

  “Great! Fucking great!”

  “But I never wanted you to leave.”

  “What’s the bloody difference?!”

  “The difference is that no matter what happens between us, I always want you around. Always. Because you’re way more important to me than sex or any of that bullshit. I mean, come on, Nina.” He threw up his hands. “I know I said things all wrong, but I was right then and I’m right now. What are we going to do? Fuck each other and act like nothing happened? You want me to be like—” He broke off with a curse, turning away from her, and she knew he hadn’t meant to say so much. Sometimes—very rarely—his temper got away from him. He hated it when that happened.

  But, even though she knew his mind must be a hurricane, she was too angry not to push. “Like what?” she demanded, rising to her feet. “Like me?”

  “No,” he said immediately, turning to look at her. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

  She almost wanted to disbelieve him—to take his cut-off words as an insult, as a comment on her semi-notorious sex life. Some people in this city called her a man-eater. She truly did not give a fuck.

  But if James had tried to hurt her like that, he’d have succeeded. And yet, she knew he hadn’t, and never would.

  “What, then?” she asked, wrapping her arms around herself. Tight. Tight enough to hurt, to push at her own ribcage.

  “Stop that,” he muttered, the words automatic, his tone distracted. He strode over and took hold of her wrists, tugging open her arms and sliding into the space he’d created. And now they were hugging, her cheek pressed to his shirt, his heartbeat strong under her ear, her tense muscles melting even as she told them, very sternly, not to bow to the enemy. She and James were having an argument, for fuck’s sake. She should not be inhaling his scent like it was oxygen.

  Still, she had the presence of mind to push. “James?”

  His hand came to rest at her nape, fingers sliding carefully into her hair. “Shh. I’m working up to something.”

  “To what?!” She scowled—she hated mystery—and tried to look at him, but he held her close.

  “I’m putting my shit on the line here, Cupcake,” he said wryly. “Give me a second.”

  “Stop calling me ‘Cupcake’.”

  “No. Mark and I swore a solemn vow to irritate you wherever possible and I refuse to abandon my brother-in-arms.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Why, when I was born with only one older brother, have I been cursed with two?”

  Abruptly, he pushed her back until their eyes met. His gaze was steady, even more serious than usual. “I’m not your brother, Nina. In any way. Trust me.”

  She felt an uncharacteristic blush heat her cheeks. “I know that. I—”

  “I don’t want you to think of me as a quick fuck,” he said suddenly, the words cutting into the space between them. “That’s why I stopped things, before. That’s why I shouldn’t have done it. You’re young, and you’re you, and I love you for it, but I can’t be like these little boys you take to bed.”

  Oh. Oh. Understanding was like a fist
to the gut. It actually stole her breath, realising what had been going through his head. Did he really think she’d treat him like everyone else, treat him like those guys she ran through to take the edge off? She studied his face, one she knew as well as her own, and accepted that the answer was yes. He did.

  He really had no idea what he meant to her. At all.

  But what was she supposed to do? Tell him? Just… admit her deepest, darkest secret, something that could blow up everything between them, from this fragile peace to the deepest foundations of their friendship? Fear clogged her throat at the thought. What would happen if she told him the truth? If she said, I don’t want to end our friendship, and I don’t want to fuck you and act like nothing happened. I want you to be mine.

  Maybe he’d fall into her arms and confess his undying love. But, realistically, that wasn’t the most likely outcome.

  She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t. Even if she’d wanted to, her mouth wouldn’t form the words. Everything was awful right now—monumentally awful—and he was her only haven. She couldn’t risk it.

  Not now. Not ever.

  So Nina took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face. Nothing too huge, because that wouldn’t be believable. Just a tiny, wry twist of the lips, as if she were reluctantly agreeing with him. “Fair enough,” she said softly. “You were right. We shouldn’t have crossed the line.”

  His shoulders sagged. He gave a sigh that might have been relief. “Exactly. But we won’t do it again.”

  Christ, did he have to sound so bloody emphatic? “No,” she agreed.

  He gave her a tentative smile. “So… are you sure you’re not hungry?”

  “Actually,” she murmured, “I’m starving.”

  3

  “We’ve created an incident, Ms. Chapman,” the strawberry-blonde copper droned. His expression was as impassive as it had been for the last hour, while he asked Nina pointless questions that verged on rude and scribbled down her answers with a sceptical air. “Someone will be in touch about any further developments.”

  James had kept his mouth shut throughout the whole, infuriating morning, but he wasn’t a fucking saint. He couldn’t let a complete dismissal slide. “Any further developments?” he frowned. “This is an active threat. She was doxed yesterday, regardless of the fact that they got the wrong address. She’s receiving hate right now.”

  The officer arched one pale brow, as if James had spoken nonsense instead of laying out facts. “Ms. Chapman has made it clear that, upon investigation, the address shared as hers was incorrect. Therefore, she was not doxed. We can’t just click our fingers and stop online harassment. There are procedures to be followed. In the meantime, have you tried blocking the perpetrators?”

  James stared. “Have we tried. Blocking. The people. Who send. Death threats?”

  Nina’s hand came to rest on his arm. “James—”

  “Are you serious? That’s a question you’re seriously asking?”

  The policeman’s expression—Airey, his name was—hardened. “Please mind your tone when you speak to me, sir.”

  James gritted his teeth and ignored the sly inflection. “A young woman comes in here fearing for her life, and you talk to her like a robot. No reassurances, no concern for her safety, nothing but taking notes and handing out incident numbers. And you want to talk about my tone?”

  “James, that’s enough.” Nina shot to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor with a sound that rattled through the station. “I’m sorry, PC Airey. Thank you very much for your time.”

  James looked up, confused—until he saw the sweat beading along Nina’s brow and the tremor in her hand as she reached for him. She was anxious. Of course, she would be. He ground his teeth together, squashed his outrage, and took her hand. Together they hurried out of the station, hard eyes following them, the tension palpable. As soon as they broke out into the fresh air, Nina spun to face him.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” she demanded.

  “I—”

  “Not here.” She caught his hand again and dragged him off down the street, until they came to the area’s little green. Plonking herself down on a bench, she glared at him again. “James Foster. Would you like to explain why you just recklessly put yourself at risk over my feelings?”

  Because your feelings mean the world. He sighed and sat down beside her, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “I didn’t think.”

  “Clearly fucking not. Do you see yourself? Better yet, do you know how they see you?”

  “Yes.”

  “As a threat,” she snapped, as if he hadn’t spoken.

  He turned to face her. “Do you really think I don’t know that?”

  Her harsh expression sagged. Then she shook her head and said flatly, “I’m sorry. I’m being—I let my fear get the better of me.”

  Nina always hid behind a wall of emotionless detachment when, really, she was the most caring person he knew. Which made her fragile. She was the one who’d been worried about going in the first place, and she was the one who needed help. He shouldn’t have lost his temper. He knew that, had known it all along, but now the reality was really hitting home.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. Come here.”

  She let him pull her closer—maybe a little too close, with her thigh pressed against his and his arm around her shoulders, but fuck it. Now they were sitting like this, he could feel her shaking. She needed him.

  He needed her, too.

  “We’ll try again,” he said. “Later. There’ll be different people—”

  “You want to play Russian Roulette today, James?”

  He swept a thumb over the furrow in her brow, smoothing it away. “I want to exercise my rights as a citizen, whether they like it or not. You don’t have to come with me.”

  “I do. It’s about me. They won’t speak to you alone.”

  He sighed. She was right, of course. “I’m sorry, Cupcake. But you know it has to be done.”

  “They opened the incident,” she said stubbornly. “It’s already done. And anyway, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

  Something in her voice caught his attention, had him arching a brow and fighting a smile. He knew the smug determination in her tone. “What are you up to?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  He wanted to ask more, to make sure she wasn’t being reckless—but playing big brother to Nina hadn’t fit for a while, and not just because his feelings towards her were far from brotherly. She wasn’t a kid anymore. She was a woman, she was powerful, she was sensible, and she knew her shit.

  He trusted her.

  James sat back against the bench, pulling her impossibly closer, and watched the birds hop across the dewy grass. When she snuggled into him, her hand resting against his belly, he told himself that she was seeking shelter from the crisp autumn air.

  It didn’t work. He couldn’t help but remember the fact that not so long ago, she’d touched him in a different way. They’d established last night that they shouldn’t act on the attraction between them, but James still hadn’t let himself think about the attraction itself—not really. Not unless mentally replaying the sounds of her moans while he stroked himself counted as thinking.

  All he knew was that he wanted her, had for far too long, and never would’ve acted on it if she hadn’t kissed him. Because Nina was young, and she was the epitome of emotionally unavailable, and he could never be what she wanted. He’d had a moment of wild hope last night, when he’d thought that she might hear the subtext in his awkward speech and tell him that it was okay, that things between them were different, that being with him had meant something.

  But she hadn’t said any of those things, because she wasn’t a liar.

  * * *

  Two days after their visit to the station, Nina got a call.

  James was with her when the phone rang; or rather, she was with him, sitting in the old Volvo he was working on, tapping away at her laptop
. He was supposed to be concentrating, but he’d spent most of his morning watching her. When the phone’s tinny ringtone sounded, she jumped as if she’d just been hit by lightning. He watched her squint at the screen… and then, unexpectedly, her anti-social glare melted into excitement.

  Their eyes met through the windscreen, and he arched a brow. Mouthed, “Police?”

  She shook her head, set her laptop aside, and took the call. He could hear her half of the conversation loud and clear, but that wasn’t enough to tell him what was going on. “Yes, this is she. That’s correct. Oh, of course. Yes. Thank you.” There was a slight pause, and then she began again. “Hello! Antonina Chapman. Charmed.”

  Charmed? Her phone voice was in full effect.

  “No, absolutely. I completely understand. Only… well.” She hesitated, then spoke again, her voice wavering slightly. “Obviously, it’s a little emotional.”

  James dropped his torque wrench, the vulnerability in her voice calling him like a dog whistle. Nina’s upset. Fix it. But then she looked up, caught his eye, raised a hand palm-first in the universal sign for Stop.

  And winked.

  He hesitated, baffled.

  She kept speaking in that wispy, stuttering voice. “It all started with my analysis of the recent Brexit scandal, when the Leave campaign was proven to have made false claims and promises. I truly believe in disseminating information, making it accessible to all—that’s why I so admire you and what you do. I feel that we have the same aims, sharing genuine facts with normal people. Yes. Yes, exactly. So, I shared the article, but…” She sobbed gently. The sound stabbed at James’s heart, even though he was beginning to suspect that this whole thing was an act. “I suppose it gained the wrong sort of attention. You know what Brexit does to people. And now…”

  Nina launched into a stilted explanation of the last few weeks, her words dripping with more emotion and vulnerability than she typically displayed in a month. And she was, apparently, talking to a stranger. Knowing her the way he did, James was certain that she must be painfully uncomfortable. Mortified. Which also meant that whatever she was up to, she had a damned good reason for it.