Felicity Found (Rogue Series Book 6)

by Lara Ward Cosio

  “I’ve got my own flat now,” Lizzy says. “I left those childish things behind.”

  “Childish? Surely you haven’t left your love of Rogue behind. Don’t we rate as your top band?”

  “I have a theory about a girl’s first band, actually.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “I’m intrigued.”

  “It’s that even when you sort of grow out of the music, it’ll always be a part of your heart.” She places her hand on her chest, drawing my eyes. Her hand isn’t quite where her heart is, but lower, on the upper swell of her breast.

  I stare longer than I should, my imagination quickly constructing a fantasy in which she starts with a slow caress of her breasts and escalates to letting me watch as she masturbates. Of course, she won’t want to do it alone. She’ll beg for my touch. But I’ll stay still, enjoying the show. Enjoying the excruciating tease of not being able to run my hands over her body. Not being able to explore her with my fingers and tongue.

  “So, what do you think?”

  I drag my eyes to hers and find she’s breathing a little quicker than she should be, maybe because she can see my desire. I am so fucking sexually frustrated. I’d love nothing more than to pull Lizzy to me, to feel her eager body pressed against mine as I ravage her. It would just be lust and a release on my part. Not some kind of affair.

  “I think,” I say, making up my mind, “that you’re probably right.”

  “Am I?” There’s hope in her voice. She takes a step closer to me.

  I can smell her perfume. Her need. I bet she likes to play submissive. She’d probably call me daddy at some point and ruin it all.

  “About a girl’s first band being a part of her forever,” I continue. “I think that happens with the lads, too. Happened with me, that’s for sure.”

  Her posture sags and I realize I’ve been a little cruel by toying with her. Then again, she may be young, but she knew what game she was playing with me. She’ll have to take the rejection along with the bit of fun.

  Taking a deep breath, she nods to herself and steps back. “Right, well, I’d better go. My boyfriend is at the stadium.”

  So, she does have a boyfriend. And yet, that hasn’t stopped her clear signals of wanting me.

  “Don’t keep him waiting on account of me,” I say.

  “Oh, he’s definitely not waiting on me.”

  “No?”

  “He’s a footballer. A forward, in fact.”

  There’s a bit of defiance in the way she reveals this. Her chin is tilted up as if she wants to get the point across that she was never really interested in me, not when she’s got her man running the ball over at Brandywell Stadium. I give her a small smile, the one I know has an effect on women, because she and I both know that though her boyfriend may be a minor celebrity, he and I are not remotely on the same level. I could have her with the snap of my fingers.

  “I’m sure you’ll be his good luck charm tonight,” I say, making it clear our moment is over.

  “Right. I, em, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Have a good night, Lizzy.”

  She nods, gathers her coat and bag and heads out.

  * * *

  I pour myself a healthy tumbler of Knob Creek 25th Anniversary bourbon, put Bon Iver’s self-titled album on the living room stereo system, and sit by myself on the sofa with the dual baby monitors on the coffee table. Taking a sip, I close my eyes and savor the rich flavors. It’s cinnamon and charred oak and even hints of leather and sweet vanilla. It leaves me wanting more and I take taste after taste until I’m ready for a refill.

  But I don’t pour another bourbon even though I’d love to get drowned in it. Because I don’t ever get drunk. Or, at least, I can count on one hand—maybe one and a half hands—the times I’ve been well and truly pissed. I don’t like the lack of control of being drunk, so I just tend not to go there. I take pride in my willpower.

  This willpower was put to good use earlier with Lizzy. But honestly, there’s a less than zero chance that I’ll ever do more than fantasize about her. I admit that I’ve not always understood my motives in matters of love and lust, but I do understand I’m drawn to her both because I’m fucking horny as hell and because I’m looking for an escape.

  Not an escape from my marriage, exactly, but from all the other things going bad in and around my life. That list includes the shaky mental state of my wife. I wish I had a clear answer of what was happening with her. I wish she was willing to seek traditional treatment for her problems. The uncertainty of her stability weighs heavily on me. And that’s on top of the news about my father.

  My father. He’s part of the reason I lingered so long upstairs after Felicity left. First, I called Gavin to let him know I wouldn’t be going back to the studio tonight. Then, I called to check in on my father.

  My parents are good people. They had me late in life and always gave me every opportunity they could. My father even bought me my first guitar. Whereas my mother made it clear she thought I was wasting my classical music talent by turning to rock ‘n’ roll, he was Rogue’s biggest fan from the very beginning. I think he’s enjoyed a bit of a vicarious thrill with it all, including his imaginings of my wild bachelor days. Whenever I try to downplay his notions, he dismisses it.

  “Let me have my ideas, Son,” he says. “It keeps things interesting for us.” This type of comment is usually said in conjunction with a wink at my mother and makes me cringe. He loves to tease my mother and horrify me by saying things like this.

  Then there are his oft-repeated boasts about his own bachelor days, which always start with him asking, “Did I ever tell you that I was my own version of a rockstar with the ladies at the school way back when?"

  He had been the principal of a public school that I, thankfully, didn’t attend. To hear him tell it, he had a field day with the mothers who would come in with any random excuse just so they could flirt with him.

  We share the same features, including good height, dark hair, bright blue eyes, and high cheekbones. And the love of flirting, apparently.

  Even with that, he’s been happily married to my mother for ages. That happiness seems to, at least in part, come from the way they indulge each other. She indulges him in his flirting, and he indulges her by taking her dancing.

  Those dancing days may be numbered now, though, since he’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.

  I’m happy to be distracted from these thoughts by Felicity returning home. Looking at my watch, I see it’s already almost eleven. The music I’d put on had ceased long ago and the babies haven’t stirred. I’ve occupied myself for hours in the silence of this house with just my thoughts.

  “There you are,” Felicity says with a lazy smile.

  It’s a smile that matches her unfocused eyes. She’s drunk.

  I laugh and stand to greet her. “Had a few, yeah?”

  She throws one arm around my neck dramatically, and then the other as she teeters in her heels. “Let me tell you, a few goes a loooong way when you haven’t had any in so many months.”

  “I bet.” I lean down to kiss her because even in her high heels, she’s petite. “You didn’t drive, did you?

  “Sophie gave me a ride.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You got the ride from your girlfriend, did you?”

  “You dirty-minded boy, you,” she says with a scoff. But she’s still smiling and holding onto me.

  “A boy has fantasies, is all.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you do. Lizzy get you set up, then?”

  That switch to asking about Lizzy seems deliberate and makes me rethink whether anything piques her jealousy.

  “Yes, didn’t take much. They’ve been sleeping well since you left. Easy, really.”

  “Easy,” she repeats and pulls away from me. “Of course.”

  I can see that didn’t come off the way I intended. She’s somehow taking it as a judgement against her own difficulties managing the babies. “Lucky, I should say. I got lucky tonight.”r />
  She eyes me for a moment, clearly struggling to let this go.

  “And I’m going to get even luckier, amn’t I?” I ask with a wink before reaching for her.

  But she steps backward, out of my grasp. “I need to pump. Since I had a few drinks.”

  “Okay, I can wait.”

  “It’ll be about twenty minutes or so.”

  “I’ve waited a lot longer than that, honey. I’ll be only delighted to wait twenty minutes. After all, you’re worth every bit of it.”

  This gets me a smile and when I reach for her this time she lets me pull her to me for a deep kiss. It doesn’t take long to reignite the passion we had before she left as I soon feel the pressure of her hand on my cock. The friction as she rubs me over my jeans is so intense I feel like a teenager again, barely able to contain myself.

  “Fuck,” I hiss in between kisses. I reach for her breasts and that’s when she pulls away once more.

  “Twenty minutes,” she says, her sexy smile a promise of more to come. “Come up in twenty minutes.”

  “Hurry,” I tell her.

  I watch the time go slowly by for the next eighteen minutes before grabbing the baby monitors and following her up the stairs to our master suite. The door is partially open, and the lights have been dimmed. She’s put Sade on the sound system. I like where this is headed and start to pull off my shirt.

  I stop when what I find is not Felicity lying naked on the bed, ready and waiting for me to do all manner of naughty things to her, but rather curled up on one of the arm chairs in the sitting area of the room, wearing a ratty terry cloth robe and fast asleep.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, unable to stop myself.

  I get it. She was out drinking with her mate. She’s got no tolerance for alcohol. She’s been through a roller coaster of taxing emotions lately. But still. Can I get a break here?

  Letting the door shut a little louder than I normally would, I then kick off my boots and let them drop with a thud on the hardwood floor. The noise doesn’t even make Felicity flinch, let alone wake. Without much hope, I go to her and firmly nudge her shoulder. She. Does. Not. Move.

  Once again, I’m left to take matters in my own hands. I decide a shower is in order if I’m to get any kind of release tonight.

  19

  Felicity

  I’m early to the donut shop, eager to make sure Amelia and I have a table. Once again, the place is full of university students. They come in groups of twos or threes, laughing and joking with each other, seemingly with no obligation in the world other than the present one of getting a sugar fix. Their youth and freedom are intoxicating.

  I used to be one of them. I used to be fearless. That was back in my school days, when I boldly made my friends-with-benefits arrangement with Conor, when I would run with the boys all over Dublin late into the night, when I made a plan to escape from my mother’s dependence on me. And I did escape. I went all the way to Canada to be on my own, convinced the distance would give me everything I need.

  I was right for a while. The freedom was magnificent. I had no one but myself to consider for the first time in more years than I could count. Every decision was based on what I wanted and what I needed. It was a heady time of friends and parties and explorations of Toronto life. Before long, I met Richard and he quickly became my world. Before I realized it, I had once more taken a back seat in my own life, much like I had done with my mother.

  Have I repeated that pattern once more with Conor? I know he hasn’t forced me away from myself. But have I willingly given up on who I am?

  “You look deep in thought this morning,” Amelia says as she joins me.

  I hadn’t seen her come in, but I’m delighted that she’s here. I realize that I’ve been looking forward to this visit. It’s been several days since the last time we met and I’m keen to share with her the recent happenings in my life.

  “Will you want your lemon meringue, then?” I ask.

  She waves for me to sit back down. “I’ll get this one. Coffee? Anything else?”

  I request just coffee and she moves away to get our order. Watching her at the counter, I see her present the same positive, pleasant manner I encountered with her at our first therapy session. She’s obviously at ease chatting with anyone she comes across, including the young pierced and tattooed woman behind the register.

  It occurs to me that it would be a good idea for Conor to meet her. That way, he could see that she’s becoming a real friend, not my therapist. He could see that that’s all I need and stop worrying about me.

  There’s no ring on her finger, but I wonder if she has a partner. Perhaps we could attempt a double-date sometime.

  “No lemon meringue today,” she says as she sits down with me. “So, I’m trying a s’mores.”

  I’m so caught up in my own thoughts that I ignore her cheerful explanation of the donut du jour and launch instead into my own agenda.

  “Would you ever want to have dinner with me and my husband?” I ask. “You and your boyfriend, if you have one?”

  “I, em,” she says with a patient smile, “I don’t have a boyfriend, but it’s a lovely thought.”

  “Ah, well, you don’t have to have someone to join us. I just think it might be nice. I’m sure Conor would love to meet you.”

  “You’ve said he’s very busy in the studio, right?”

  “He is, but he’d make time for a dinner. So, you’re not seeing anyone? Maybe I know someone I can fix you up with.”

  She’s laughs. “No, please don’t.”

  “You never know. It could be just the match. And not everyone I know is associated with the music world, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “No, I’m not worried about that. It’s just, I am sort of attached to someone at the moment. I’ve been trying to get over it, actually. So, until I do, there’s no use in trying to push it.”

  “Oh, this is interesting,” I say. “What’s the story? I hope he didn’t break your heart.”

  I had said this with what I thought was the conspiratorial tone of girlfriends, but she seems to withdraw into herself, dropping her eyes to her hands. I should take this cue and retreat. Instead, I say the first thing that comes to mind.

  “Was that him who called when we were here last? You know, when you grabbed your phone so quickly?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she nods.

  “So, you’re still in touch?”

  “In a way.” She tears at her donut and takes a small bite. “He leaves me messages. Voice messages. They’re these long, rambling calls where he’s just filling me in on his life and asking me about mine.”

  “And do you return the calls?”

  “No. Never. But he’s kept at it for months.”

  I can see in her expression that she isn’t bothered by this. This isn’t some case of an ex stalking her. She enjoys the connection, despite it being so uneven.

  “But it must make it hard for you to let go,” I say gently.

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  She shrugs and smiles, making it clear that she doesn’t really want to let go.

  “Tell me about him.”

  “I don’t know. I shouldn’t really get into all that.”

  “Shouldn’t?”

  She opens her mouth to speak and then stops, trying to formulate her response. “Well, like you said, it makes it hard to let go.”

  “Perhaps there’s a reason for that. Maybe you aren’t meant to let go?”

  Again, she picks at her donut and this time we share a moment of silence. Finally, she takes a deep breath and smiles at me. “Tell me how you’ve been.”

  This time, I follow her lead and change the conversation. “I’ve been very well. I’ve been getting good rest—well, it’s still interrupted at night, but I get naps because of Lizzy. And I realized after our last visit here that I deserved more time just for myself, so I actually went out with my friend Sophie for dinner and drinks.”

  “
That’s great. And how are things with Conor?”

  Now, I can’t help but hesitate. “He and I, we’re okay.”

  She nods but is silent. I watch some kids come stumbling in through the front door. They’re trying to trip each other.

  “I mean,” I continue, suddenly feeling the need to unburden myself, “there is this whole subtext with us, this stuff we don’t really talk about. And we’ve had these disastrous attempts to have sex.”

  “Disastrous?” she asks with a wry smile.

  I laugh. “It’s ridiculous, really. I told you, didn’t I, that I’ve had zero sex drive since I got pregnant? Well, it’s been a lot to ask to have Conor waiting so unsatisfied. I mean, any man would get anxious, right? But, he’s not just any man. You obviously know what he looks like—”

  “Obviously?”

  I’m stumped by the question. “Because he’s Conor Quinn. He’s one of the most famous guitarists in the world. Everyone knows—”

  “Ah, yes, I see what you meant. Yes, I know what he looks like.”

  “So, I’m just saying he’s not only a famous guitarist but he’s drop-dead gorgeous. Women are constantly throwing themselves at him. And I’m not exaggerating about that. It’s quite a thing to be around. Anyway, he has all these options, all these temptations, at the same time that I’ve put our own sex life on hold.”

  “I’m sure he understands the nature of your . . . disinterest.”

  “He does. He’s wonderfully patient. But, the worst thing is, I had this amazing rush of desire the other night. It felt like how it used to. But we got interrupted and had to push it back to later in the night. And then I ended up falling asleep before we could get back to it.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “He didn’t wake you?”

  “He tried but I was so out of it there was no use.”