Playing At Love: A Rogue Series Novel

by Lara Ward Cosio

  “I wasn’t saying—”

  “I have been trying. But I know I’ve slipped. I promised you in Sydney and Paris that I could move forward and I am going to live up to that. I’m finding my way through.”

  “Baby, I understand that it’s not easy. I guess I just want to remind you where I’m coming from. You’re all I’ve ever really wanted since I was sixteen. You still give me butterflies,” she said and he smiled. “I’m so excited that we get to experience this together. You’re going to be such a good dad.”

  “Come here,” he said and pulled her up and into his arms. He stroked the bare skin of her flat belly. “I can’t believe we have another chance at this. Are you nervous?”

  Her miscarriage had been the result of an ectopic pregnancy that had led to more than a liter of internal bleeding. After passing out on the street prior to a meeting, she had been rushed to UCLA Medical Center where she underwent emergency surgery. The shock and trauma of the loss was greater, her doctor assured her, than the long-term physical effects.

  She nodded. “But I don’t want to dwell on that. The doctor had said as long as I was monitored early, everything should be fine. I’ll get an appointment for later today. I want to be as positive as I can and enjoy every little thing along the way.”

  He kissed her temple and held her tighter. “I love you, darlin’. You’re my girl.”

  “I’ll always be your girl,” she said, and she could feel the anxiety slowly slip away from him at last.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  The airport was busy with its usual early evening mix and hustle of those returning from holiday and business trips alike. Conor leaned against the wall, watching the walkway of arrivals through mirrored aviator Ray Bans.

  He spotted Felicity and let her walk his way without saying anything, taking her in. Her hair was pulled back and she wore no makeup other than lip gloss. She wasn’t striking like Sophie or Colette, but there was a purity to her beauty. Her body didn’t cry out for attention but was soft and feminine, nonetheless.

  “Were you going to just stare at me, then?” she asked as she approached.

  He smiled and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “Welcome back, honey.”

  Taking her bag, he led her out toward the car park and they were soon navigating the way out of the airport maze.

  “So, are you going to tell me what went on with this impromptu trip to Toronto?” he asked once they were on the open road of M1.

  Felicity kept her eyes focused on the scenery out her window and was slow to respond. It was still just bright enough to take in the blue skies dotted with puffy white clouds. The air felt soft, though, with the promise of rain sure to come.

  “Fee?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  He looked her way but she didn’t meet his eyes. “What do you mean why do I want to know? You’re my friend. I’m concerned for you.”

  It took a moment, but she finally relaxed, slumping against the seat and looking at him. “Oh, Con. I guess it was . . . closure.”

  He saw her eyes darken with sadness but they didn’t tear up. He took her hand and held it in his until they got to her house.

  ~

  The drive didn’t take long and soon he was carrying her bag inside her house. Her empty house. There were boxes scattered around the living area, variously marked for charity, storage, or movers.

  “What’s happened? The house sold?” he asked.

  “Finally. I think I got a decent price.”

  “And where will you go?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” she said with a shrug. “I actually haven’t had the time to find a new place.”

  “When do you have to be out?”

  “Next week.”

  “That’s soon.”

  “About that . . . would you mind terribly if I didn’t come to the wedding? It’s just, I need to get my things in order.”

  “Yes, I suppose you do.”

  She heard the coldness in his voice and it irritated her. She didn’t have much more patience after everything she had been through with her ex-husband.

  “Thanks for the ride, Conor. I told you it wasn’t necessary.” She moved toward the front door to encourage him to do the same but he didn’t follow her lead. “I’m tired. Can we talk later?”

  “So, you don’t have time to come to my wedding?” he asked. “But you have the time to run off to Toronto on a whim?”

  Felicity tried her best not to laugh at the absurdity of his upset. He was jealous of her having spent time with Richard, and at the same time wanted her at his wedding?

  “Dear boy,” she said, moving back toward him, “what is it that you want from me?”

  “For starters, don’t fucking call me dear boy. How about that?”

  Now she laughed out of pure frustration. “Go home, Conor. Just go.”

  “What happened with him?”

  “With who? Jackson? Richard?” she asked, goading him.

  “Now that you mention it, yeah.”

  She shook her head and walked past him and into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, she wasn’t surprised to find a paltry offering. A molding container of coleslaw, condiments, a single bottled water, and a half-empty bottle of white wine. She took out the water.

  “Did you sleep with Jackson?”

  Conor was standing before her as she closed the refrigerator door. He had, as usual, dressed carefully to exude put-together casualness. He wore navy blue corduroys with a blue and white plaid shirt mostly unbuttoned over a long-sleeve gray undershirt. His ubiquitous silver chain snaked its way from his front belt loop and into his pocket. His face was cleanly shaven and his hair recently trimmed into a shorter style. She knew it wasn’t a good sign that she was so physically attracted to him at the same time that she was so angry with him. It was clear to her that he was a boy playing at love. But the game had gotten old.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I didn’t,” she told him. She saw the look of relief flood his face and it annoyed her that he was still pretending to have a claim on her. “Don’t look so bloody happy about it. Why should you be so happy?”

  “I told you how I feel about that guy.”

  “Oh, okay. It’s about Jackson.” She watched him for a moment. “Do you want to know whether I fucked Richard, then?”

  Now he looked stricken at the thought.

  “I did. And it was fantastic. And then we said goodbye for good. So, now you know. Now you know what my closure looks like.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment. “I don’t believe you.”

  How could he know her that well? Though Richard had suggested they go to bed together for “old time’s sake” she had rebuffed him. She wanted her closure with him to be clear cut. They had talked through the end of their marriage and he had taken complete responsibility for being cruel and immature, but had at the same time held firm to the notion that he had done the right thing. And then he had told her he was engaged to be married. She was a secretary in his office. The implication had been that she was young and fertile.

  Felicity had felt stung at first by this revelation. But after hearing the way he blithely spoke about how good “Kimmy” was at organizing their social life, she knew he was mirroring the pattern his own father had set with a marriage that was primarily for show. It confirmed that she had spent years little by little changing into the kind of wife he and his family intimated he needed. She would have likely kept on losing bits of herself along the way had her infertility not put an end to it all. Despite the painful and abrupt way things had come to pass, she realized as she saw her ex-husband with some distance, that she was better off.

  She met Conor’s eyes now and saw the need there. But she felt drained and wanted to be done with this conversation.

  “Go now,” she said softly. “Just go. Get married. Have babies. You’ll be fine. You’ll be happy.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Oh, come on! Conor, I�
�m not here to fix you. You play these games with your heart—keeping real love at arm’s distance all these years by wanting Sophie and when you finally let her go you involve me. But here’s the thing: I don’t want to be a part of you finding reasons not to commit to Colette. Either you love her and want a life with her or you don’t. But don’t keep drawing me into all this.”

  “Because you don’t feel for me, is that it?”

  She nearly screamed in response to his obstinate lack of self-awareness. Instead, she slammed the bottle of water on the countertop and said, “Okay, then. You want to have a go? Will that help clear your head of all this rubbish?” She moved closer to him and pulled on his belt. “Let’s have it then, love.”

  “What are you doing?” he asked, grabbing her hands.

  “Let’s have a right shag and get it out of the way. Then you can go ahead and get married, knowing we played our game to the end.”

  “Fuck’s sake, Felicity, you think all I want from you is that?”

  “Let’s see,” she said and stood on her toes to kiss him.

  “Stop. That isn’t it, honey.”

  She cupped his crotch with her hand and felt him react immediately to her touch. “Sure it is,” she said, her breath hot against his neck as she kissed him there. His skin smelled faintly of soap and the barest trace of cologne.

  “Fee,” he protested weakly.

  She had started this as a way to taunt him into action one way or the other but now she didn’t want to stop. She didn’t want to be the one with the will power and strength to do the right thing. Let him make the decision to be good for once, she thought.

  “Tell me you don’t want me,” she whispered, and this got the response she wanted out of him.

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her without restraint, sensually leading her into a rhythm that made her lose thought of anything else. They traded a series of eager kisses before he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up onto the kitchen counter, slipping between her legs to get closer to her.

  She closed her eyes as the tender, erotic touch of his lips trailed over the skin of her jawline. “What do you want from me, Conor?” she asked as he pressed his mouth to the hollow of her neck.

  Instead of answering her, he pulled her shirt up and she helped him remove it quickly before he kissed and bit at her lips once more. She wore a lace trimmed pink tank top with no bra and he hungrily moved his fingers over her breasts until her nipples hardened and pressed against the fabric. When she moaned, he leaned down and teased her with alternating gentle and firm bites on her nipples. The pressure sent waves of heated desire through her body.

  “Tell me,” she said again. She slid her fingers through his hair, her own breath quickening as he expertly aroused her. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I want you to be mine,” he murmured and kissed her hard on the mouth.

  She pulled away forcefully and looked into his eyes. “I am yours. Right now, I’m yours.”

  That was all he needed to send him over the edge in this moment.

  “Ah, fuck me,” he said with gratitude at the way she was giving herself to him without any pretense.

  “That’s the idea,” she said, pulling at his belt successfully this time.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  An hour later, sated but wide awake, Conor watched Felicity as she dozed naked next to him in bed. The sex had been incredible, at once familiar and completely new. Shades of their teenage explorations colored the way they touched each other as a kind of sense memory guided their movements.

  But unlike when she was young, Felicity was now free and unselfconscious with him, unafraid to ask for what she wanted or to alter their position to heighten her pleasure. He had watched her intently as she came, wanting to see her experience this ultimate release and be the cause of it as well.

  She had held on to his biceps tightly as she returned his gaze through half-opened eyes, letting that intense wave of ecstasy engulf her. Then she had focused on rocking her hips against him, urging him along until he too had shuddered and all the tension left his body. He kissed her, lingering in the sweet aftermath and the warm connection of their bodies. And when they separated, he held her as she settled comfortably into the crook of his arm.

  Now she was sleeping next to him, her breath rhythmic and quiet while his mind raced.

  He carefully slipped out of bed and pulled on his boxer briefs and pants. Grabbing his keys, he let himself out of the house, walking shirtless and barefoot through the biting cold to his car where he unlocked the trunk. He always kept an acoustic guitar in his car. In case of a guitar emergency, of course. And this qualified as one. He took the Brock Model OM in its case with him back into the house and tried to shake off the cold before making his way to the kitchen. He figured this would be far enough away from the back bedroom not to wake Felicity. Switching on the stovetop vent bulb, he had enough soft light to make himself comfortable at the small kitchen table.

  Playing the guitar had always been his greatest joy. It was also his greatest means of escape when he was in need. And he was in need at this moment. He played with the tuning for a minute before free styling. His random plucking turned into an attempt at the classical piece “Capricho Arabe,” composed by Francisco Tarrega. It was a showpiece as well as a standard challenge often attempted by students of guitar wanting to master the fast descending passages and lengthy barre notes among other complexities. As he found his way through it, he felt his stresses fall away. The frantic racing of his mind slowed and a broader sense of understanding washed over him.

  Sophie came to mind—not in a longing way as had been the case in the past, but rather the particular armchair-psychologist way she had of diagnosing him. She had once suggested he was attracted to her as a defense mechanism to keep from getting close to anyone else. Her theory was that even as he worked so hard to appear to be the epitome of cool and control, he really operated out of fear. It was fear of letting others close to him, though she couldn’t claim to understand the genesis of this. He had scoffed at this at the time.

  As his fingers quickly worked over the strings, he realized now that she was right. His need for control and keeping intimacy at arm’s length came out of the awful episode at age seven when he thought his good friend Gavin had been killed in a car accident. He and Gavin had become as close as brothers, and he had invested so much in their friendship, including rejecting his classical music talent and inviting disapproval from his parents because of it. The incident of perceived loss taught him the depths of his feelings could turn on him and that it was better not to allow them any power.

  Falling for Sophie was a safe way to keep his heart tied up, as he knew she would never really choose him. The Sophie “strategy”—if he could call it that—went wrong in two ways: he fell well and truly hard for her and not only got hurt in the process but also hurt Gavin; he also rationalized the whole thing to turn it into musical inspiration, placing misguided importance on it as the key to the band’s success.

  It turned out that he was much more like Gavin than he had ever realized. They both had strong emotions, passions. Gavin never cared about the consequences of acting on his desires, always wearing them openly and being rewarded more often than not for it. But Conor had always feared giving over to his passions would lead to his undoing. Jesus, and he had given Felicity such hassle over her walls. He wasn’t any different.

  And yet, hadn’t he let down his guard with her? Felicity more than anyone, even Sophie? They had become friends again over the past year, and he had been drawn to her not just out of attraction but due to the fact that there simply was no fear with her. He wanted to be close with her, wanted to embrace the risk that came with that leap of faith. She might end up hurting him, but he would damn well know the pleasure of being with her before it came to that.

  The clarity of finally knowing the right thing was an immense relief.

  And with the final notes, he wished he could always live in the
peaceful mind frame that playing gave him.

  “That was amazing.”

  Conor looked toward the doorway and saw Felicity standing there in his shirt. It was only half-buttoned and fell large on her, but he loved the look of it. Her legs were bare and her hair a bit wild. He smiled, thinking she looked like she had been properly fucked.

  “You mustn’t have been able to hear all the mistakes I was making,” he said, though in truth he had played it without error.

  “Play it again?” She moved closer and leaned against the counter.

  He did so, enjoying this concert-for-one of the Spanish-infused piece. Whenever he played the guitar around Colette she treated it as background music, not letting it stop the other things she had to do.

  “Where did you learn this?” she asked when he had concluded all over again.

  “After I gave up on classical music and focused on guitar, my Ma insisted I take lessons. All I wanted was to be a rock star and I hated the lessons for a time. But then I started to really learn the beauty of what I could do on the other side of things. Turns out it did me some good after all.”

  “It certainly did,” she said, the admiration clear in her face.

  “Sit with me.” He pushed the chair opposite his out with his foot.

  She joined him and rested her elbows on the table, cradling her chin in the palms of her hands. She watched him with a small, playful smile.

  “I can never tell what you’re thinking,” he said, returning her gaze.

  “I was just taking you in. I feel like I want to capture this moment and keep it somewhere for safekeeping.”

  That made him smile. He gently placed the expensive guitar on the table and patted his thigh. “Come here.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and found the camera option.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she went to him and he pulled her onto his lap, wrapping one arm around her and raising the other to take a photograph. After the camera clicked, she kissed his cheek and he took several more shots while he kissed her on the mouth.