Problematic Love (Rogue Series Book 8)
Page 1
Problematic Love
A Rogue Series Extra
Lara Ward Cosio
Rogue Publications
Copyright © 2019 by Lara Ward Cosio
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Contents
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Lara Ward Cosio
Preface
This book should be read *after* reading Looking For Trouble and Felicity Found. The other books in the series (including the Christmas novella) do not have to be read to enjoy this one, but it would definitely enhance the experience!
* * *
Problematic Love begins at the place where Looking For Trouble (Danny Boy’s perspective) and Felicity Found (Amelia’s perspective) ends.
1
San Francisco
* * *
Danny Boy
* * *
I’ve got Ms. Patterson in my arms. Her body is soft. Her hair smells sweet and clean.
This is what I’ve wanted. This is what I’ve obsessed over for so long.
She’s come all the way from Ireland to see me. It’s a big leap of faith. I should be delighted. Dazzled, even.
So, why does it suddenly feel so awkward?
The thing is, I am happy to see her. That’s not the problem. It’s that when I pulled her to me, something about us felt . . . off.
I try to gloss over this, talking a mile a minute, suggesting things we can do in San Francisco together, ways we can fulfill the entreaty I made of her to come here to play tourist with me.
She cuts me off with a kiss.
Yes. This is what I need to shake that uneasiness I’d felt. I pull her closer to me and kiss her back, taking control, and conjuring up passion as an easy reflex. God knows I’m attracted to her. My Ms. Patterson is beautiful. She’s got a heart-shaped face, lovely long brown hair, and a womanly body. I feel her relax against me and I know there’s no problem with our physical connection. Months ago, I had fantasized about awakening what I imagined was her buried sexuality. Recalling that, a series of increasingly explicit possibilities runs through my mind. I pull away before I lose all control.
“Better than I even imagined it, Amelia,” I say. The kiss was good, but I’ve said this to try to fulfill the romantic ideal she must have had in mind when she decided to come here unannounced. And because I feel the need to create some sort of connection.
Luckily, it works, because she quickly agrees with my declaration, beaming at me.
But then I’m at a loss. My words run dry. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.
This—getting what I want—is wholly unknown to me. As is connecting with someone, even the person I had felt so connected with when we had our client-therapist relationship.
In an instant, the joyous expression drains from her face. She can see the struggle I’m having.
“This was too much,” she says, and looks away. Her cheeks are red. She’s embarrassed. I’ve made her feel this way.
“No, that’s not true,” I say. I try for eye contact, but she keeps her gaze firmly fixed on the deep blue water of the Bay just outside the windows. “Ms. Patt—Amelia, look at me. Please look at me.”
After a very long moment, she does as I ask. I see hurt and regret in her eyes. “It was my mistake, Daniel. This, coming here on a whim was completely out of character for me. I should have known better.”
“But, I—”
“I’ll just get my bag. I think Jessica put it in a closet?” She gestures to the hallway off the kitchen.
“Where will you go?”
“I have a hotel, of course,” she says. “I’ll just be out of your way.”
“Fuck,” I groan. “Please don’t go. Not like this.”
She closes her eyes for a beat and I can tell now she’s struggling with herself. Struggling to make a decision.
“Listen, I am thrilled you’re here,” I say. “Truly, I am. It’s been my dream for months to see you again. I’m sorry I’ve fucked this up. I honestly didn’t mean to. The second I saw you, I told myself I’d do everything in my power to make this—us—work.”
“But then?”
I nod. “But then, everything went cockeyed. Not because of you or anything you did,” I say quickly. “But because of me. Because even though you are what I want, I suddenly realized I have no idea what to do. I have no idea how to make this work. How to make a lovely person such as yourself happy. Because, for fuck’s sake, I may be sober, but I just don’t know what to do next with this situation.”
It takes her a moment, but finally, she nods. “Maybe we should start as friends and see how that goes?”
“I don’t want to be friends. I want to fuck you senseless.”
Not the most charming thing to say, but it is the truth.
“Daniel,” she says, using her therapist’s reproachful voice. But underneath it, I see something in her eyes. Something that says she’s titillated by what I said.
I take this as a good sign and move closer to her. Fuck the restraint I showed earlier. Deciding that the way out of this awkward reunion is physical, I reach for her, pulling her to me by her waist before she can move away. I lean down to her to kiss her.
But she turns away.
2
Amelia
* * *
This is wrong. It’s all wrong.
I’m wrong.
I should never have come here. I should have listened to my better judgment and kept up the distance we’d had.
What was I thinking?
Oh, I want to sink into the floor and disappear. Or better yet, rush right over to that gorgeous Golden Gate Bridge and get lost in the sea of tourists.
But I have Daniel to sort out.
In this short reunion, I’ve belatedly realized that the feelings he’d claimed to
have for me were all part of his big talk. He’d always been one to run off at the mouth, only vaguely aware of his intentions. And it’s clear all his rambling voicemails and declarations of missing and needing me were a part of that. I’m mortified.
The one bit of comfort I can take is knowing that I did the right thing in shutting down my business. I cannot see clearly. I have no professional objectivity.
I feel a warm pressure on my shoulder and blink furiously at the tears that had been forming in my eyes. Daniel’s got his hand on me and I can sense his body close behind me. He’d tried to distract me from the uncomfortable realization that this was all wrong by focusing on our physical attraction. I have to admit, his crude declaration of what he wanted—to fuck me senseless—sent a thrill through me. I had to force myself to admonish him, much the way I used to when we had some semblance of boundaries in our relationship.
The fact is, the reaction I had to his words is a reminder of why I’m drawn to him.
He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known.
He makes me want to be something I’ve never been: reckless.
He’s dangerous.
I should step away, force his hand to slip from me, put some distance between our bodies.
Instead, I close my eyes . . . and fall.
I let my body fall back against his and in response, he wraps his arms around my shoulders and waist, pressing hard against me as he leans down and kisses my neck. These aren’t tender kisses. This isn’t some gesture meant to make me swoon. He’s hungrily tearing at my skin with his lips and teeth.
I had imagined he’d be rough. Demanding and aggressive. Maybe even selfish. That expectation of how he’d be with me had—perhaps inexplicably—fueled my fantasies. I didn’t like to admit to myself that I could be turned on by such thoughts, even as at the same time I used them while pressing my hand between my legs late at night. Because the idea that I wanted him to be that way meant I was looking for trouble. At least, that was, in bed. I’d never been reckless and free with sex. I’d certainly never taken up with some random stranger, as he had suggested I do during the same session when he told me how he’d spontaneously gone home from the park with Jules for the sole purpose of sex. That was the kind of desire he exposed me to. It frightened me. Because it excited me.
And now he’s doing what I had wanted, taking control and setting my body ablaze. I can feel him hard against me and long for him to do more than kiss my neck, though the raw sensation on my skin from his touch has my entire body tingling.
Instead of progressing to more, however, he abruptly stops. His lips fall away from me and his grip loosens before he retreats entirely. The sudden coldness in the new space between us makes me gasp.
“Ms. Patt—Amelia,” he says, “I want nothing more than to fuck you so hard you’ll see stars.”
Yes. Do it.
“But I think this is one of those things I need to steer clear of, right? To break my old patterns? Wouldn’t you say?”
Would I? Yes, I suppose the therapist in me would tell him that he’s using a physical attraction as a crutch. That jumping right to sex would not be a healthy way for a recovering addict such as himself to develop a relationship.
I’m still facing away from him and it gives me a moment to try to collect myself. Closing my eyes, I do my best to reset. To cast off the needy, wild thoughts I’d had for his touch.
As I turn to him, I apply a benign smile to my face. “Of course, you’re right,” I say. Though, it’s not what I want. I want to throw all caution to the wind and be in the heat of the moment with him, to live life as he usually would, without care or worry of consequence.
What has become of me? Where is the good girl who always made the sensible decisions? She feels so far gone that she’s almost a stranger to me. Which is ridiculous. How could the very essence of who I am have disappeared so quickly?
It occurs to me that maybe the change in me hasn’t actually been a sudden one. Maybe it’s what’s been happening since that first day I met Daniel. Since that first session where I knew he was this . . . delicious danger to me. It was only when I met him that I began to lose my professional boundaries.
“You’ll stay in San Francisco, yes?”
The question throws me. Then I realize I’d said I’d get out of his way. Did he think I was ready to hop right back on a plane and run away? I spent a considerable portion of my savings on this trip. No matter what happens with him, I am going to enjoy my first visit to America.
“Yes, I’m booked through the end of next week.”
He looks disappointed with my answer and I struggle not to mirror the expression. And I’m confused again by his changing reaction to me. The first impression had been wonderful. When he recognized me sitting in his brother’s kitchen, he was clearly so happy he could barely contain himself. But once I was in his arms, I could feel something shift. I didn’t want to acknowledge it, but was forced to when he stared at me, conflicted. When I did the sensible thing and offered to retreat from this grand and clearly overwhelming gesture of coming to him, he begged me not to. Then he held me and kissed me with such possessiveness I wanted to give into it then and there, oblivious to the fact that Shay and Jessica were somewhere nearby. Now, he’s back to acting like I’ve made a mistake in coming and that staying as long as I am is too much.
I rub my eyes, trying to think. Not long ago, I thought I knew him so well. When we sat opposite each other in my office, I could see his motives a mile away. But now, I can’t read him at all.
“Is there any chance you can extend your trip?” he asks, and I look at him. “Do you have someone taking care of your cat? Maybe they can go longer? Because I want time—real time—with you, my dear Amelia.”
“Oh,” I say hoarsely, unwilling to commit to more. He’s said what I’d have wanted, even remembers that I have a cat, but I’m now so unsure of what this is with us that I don’t want to assume anything.
“But I can understand that you’d want to see how things go, so I won’t push.”
He’s being excruciatingly considerate. When all I want is for him to be himself. To be the man who both amused and scared me with his impulsivity. I know that man is still there. I know that from the way he’s now told me twice how he wants to fuck me. He’s scared, though, that he doesn’t know how he should behave with me. It’s like he told me, he simply doesn’t know what to do.
Realizing it’s best for us to both go back to basics, I tell him, “Why don’t you take me for that drink you’re always promising me?”
When he relaxes into a smile, I’m relieved.
“I know just the place,” he says.
3
Danny Boy
* * *
The steam is thick enough to fog the glass shower and give me a measure of privacy. I don’t really care about that, but I’m guessing it makes Shay feel better about the fact that he’s sitting on a bench in the bathroom with me.
I’ve forced him to come in here so I can talk to him about Amelia, knowing the time I have to do so is limited.
After she suggested I take her for that drink, we’d agreed to separate to different bathrooms to clean up. I’m a mess from running around with Roscoe at the beach and she was eager to wash off some of the jet-lag. The plan is to shower, dress, and meet back in the living room in twenty minutes. And then I’m going to—at long last—take my Ms. Patterson out for a proper drink.
As much as I’ve wanted this, however, I’ve still got nagging reservations about being up to the task of figuring out just how this thing will work with her. Which is why I’ve got my little brother in here for his own steam treatment while I lather up my bits.
“Why am I here, again, Danny Boy?” he asks when his legendary patience finally wears out.
I’ve uncharacteristically kept quiet, reneging on the very purpose of having him here.
“You’re here because I need to ask you for some advice, kid,” I say. He can’t see it, but I close my eyes and shake
my head at this admission. He’s my little brother. I shouldn’t need him like this. I should be the one he goes to for advice.
I’ve leaned so heavily on him over the years, caused him a whole lot of trouble, in fact. But he’s never turned me away. And so, I keep on taking. Not in the malicious way that I did for so much of our lives. No, those were desperate times. Times when all I cared about was my next fix. But now I’ve been clean of heroin for coming up on two years and have different priorities. I’ve been doing the live-one-day-at-a-time thing and it’s been working well. I’m employed by the Rogue organization for lighting when they tour, and I got a taste of what sound engineering is all about when they were in studio. I live in Shay’s house in Dublin with my dog Roscoe. The other guys of the band have welcomed me into their circle. I’ve established a normal life.
Or as Jules would call it, a boring life.
What would she think of today’s turn of events?