Quickly, in a few steps, I reach out and snag the notebook, close it, and toss it on the floor off to the side. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
He stands, abandoning his spot on the bed and starts to walk toward me, as my pulse picks up to a marathon pace.
“Sutton, what was that?”
“Nothing of your concern.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Lie to you?” I say, my voice growing louder. “Like you have room to talk. You want to speak the truth, why don’t you start?”
“Fine,” he says with finality in his voice as he closes the space between us. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry that for a short period of time, I wasn’t the man you needed. I’m sorry I made you doubt the importance of what we had with each other.” He pins me against the door. “And I’m sorry it took me this long to pull my head out of my arse and realize despite everything I do wrong, you’re the one right in my life.” He cups my cheek as tears stream down my cheek, tears of true happiness. “I love you, Sutton, and I don’t want you to ever doubt that again.” These words. They’re the most beautiful words in the world, and I have so needed to hear them. He loves me. Wants me.
I press my face into his hand and close my eyes, enjoying the feel of him again, touching me, loving me.
When I open my eyes, I say, “I love you too, Roark.”
A smirk crosses his face. “So that little box you checked on your list, that was for me?”
I nod. “It was, but when I checked it, I never thought I’d be nursing a broken heart at the same time.”
“I’m sorry, lass,” he whispers, pulling me into his chest and wrapping his arms around me. One of his hands cradles the back of my head and he presses his lips into my hair. “I’m so goddamn sorry. I wasn’t in a good place. I’ve barely resurrected myself from the self-imposed state of hatred I’ve put myself through. I planned on waiting until I felt like I was whole enough for you but realized, I really wouldn’t be whole until you were back in my life again.”
“You don’t have to try to be perfect for me, Roark.” I lift my head and look him in the eyes. “I love you because you’re not perfect, because you’re rough around the edges. I love you because you’re the one person who makes me feel at home. When I’m in your arms, wrapped in your warmth, everything feels right, and I never want to lose that again.”
“You won’t.” He kisses my head again, pulling me into another hug. “You’re not going to lose me again, Sutton Grace.”
I smile into his chest. “Is that a promise?”
“Do I need to use asterisks to emphasize it?”
“I think so.” I chuckle, moving my hand up his chest to the buttons of his shirt. “Now tell me what happened to your handsome face.”
“It’s not important, because all that matters right now is that we’re both fully clothed.” He slips his hand down the front of my shirt, takes the hem, and lifts it up and over my head. When he looks down, his brow furrows. “A bra, since when did you start wearing a bra with your pajamas?”
Chuckling, I say, “Since I walk outside in them.”
“Kind of lost all will to be classy, huh?”
I stroke my fingers over his rough stubble. “When you take away the one thing I love most, yeah, I might lose a bit of class for a while.”
He brings me to the bed where he lays me down gently. He shuts my computer and puts it on the nightstand then loses his jacket and shirt. I run my fingers over his strong pecs, and the short chest hair he’s let grow out. Sexy.
“Don’t worry, lass, I’m not going anywhere. You can stop wearing pajamas in general now.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Do you know what’s ridiculous? That you’re not naked yet.”
“Then do something about it,” I say, running my finger over his nipple.
His eyes narrow and before I know it, his mouth is at my neck and his hands are gliding all over my body, stripping me down to nothing. As he presses sweet kisses up and down my neck, I feel grateful that even in the hard times, love has a way of healing open wounds. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know what true love is, the beautiful and the ugly.
* * *
“Looking good, hot stuff,” I whistle while leaning back on the blanket I spread on the lawn of Central Park.
“Don’t miss that piece over there,” Maddie heckles as we both watch Roark finish up the last of his mandated community service while checking off another resolution on my list: spend the entire day in Central Park. I just so happened to schedule it when Roark had to do trash duty in the park. Worked out perfectly, because once he finishes up these two hours, he’ll be joining us.
Lifting his glance from the ground, he peers at the service coordinator and looks back at us where he flips us the middle finger. Maddie and I both chuckle, while he shakes his head and laughs as well.
“How much time does he have left?” Maddie asks, popping a grape in her mouth.
“Five minutes.”
“Wow, that went by fast.”
“When you have nice eye candy to stare at, time flies.” I take a slice of cheese and nibble on it, still staring at Roark, mainly that perfect ass wrapped in dark jeans.
“He is quite good-looking,” Maddie looks him up and down. “When did he get that tattoo?”
“He’s had that since I’ve known him.”
“Huh.” She eats another grape. “I guess I’ve never seen him without sleeves, but then again we just survived the wintery tundra of the East Coast. Does he only have the forearm tattoo? Nothing on his ass?”
“No.” I laugh. “Just the one. I remember the moment I saw it for the first time—talk about a huge turn-on. I wasn’t expecting it, then all of a sudden, he had this dark ink wrapped around his right forearm. It did all sorts of things to me.”
“I can imagine. It’s doing all sorts of things for me now.”
“Hey.” I playfully swat at her. “Stop ogling my boyfriend.”
“I have to ogle something.” She sighs. “Think Roark wants to hook me up with someone?”
“That’s really not my kind of thing,” his voice booms above us. When did he get there? I swear he was just over by that tree.
He takes a seat next to me, pulls me between his legs and wraps his arms around my midriff.
“Hey,” I say over my shoulder as he presses a kiss to my cheek.
“Hey you.” He nuzzles the side of my ear before saying, “All that heckling got you into some serious trouble.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to find out what kind.”
“Ahem,” Maddie clears her throat. “Can you not do that while I’m right here? Also, why won’t you set me up with someone?”
“Rath is single.”
Roark shakes his head. “Rath is not single. Technically, he might not be with someone right now, but he’s completely wrapped up in his ex. That would be doing a disservice to Maddie.”
“Damn.” She snaps her fingers in disappointment. “I heard he has these penetrating eyes that cut right down to your very soul.”
“You said that to her?” Roark asks, pulling away to look at me.
I smile shyly. “I mean, he’s hot and intimidating, kind of a lethal combination.”
“And what am I?”
I snuggle into him. “A giant Irish cuddle bear.”
“Christ,” he mutters behind me, as I laugh.
“Seriously though, don’t you have any single athletes you work with?” Maddie asks. “I like sports.”
“Not going to happen.”
Her eyes light up. “So, you do have some single clients. Who are they? Let’s plan out a meet-cute.”
“It’s not really a meet-cute if you plan it,” I say.
She waves her hand at me. “He doesn’t need to know that. Come on, Roark.” She nudges his foot. “Introduce me. I’m drama free, love a good laugh, and appreciate muscles. I make my own money, so no need to be worried about a gold digger, and I’m very bendy and open to
things”—she wiggles her eyebrows—“if you know what I mean.”
“Unfortunately, I do.” He scratches the side of his beard, giving her idea some thought. “Still not going to happen.”
“Ugh,” she groans but then makes eye contact with me, an evil glint in her eye. “We’ll see about that.”
“I don’t like the look in her eye,” Roark says to me. “Should I be worried?”
“Very.”
* * *
“How do your balls not hurt?” Roark asks my father as they ride side by side on their respective horses. Roark has found an attachment to Grammy, even though she still bucks him off every time he first gets on her. He’s become accustomed to a proper dismount.
“They get used to it over the years.”
Roark shifts. “I’m afraid I’m never going to be able to give you grandkids if you keep forcing me to take these rides along the property.”
“Planning on kids already?” Dad asks as I lean in an ear, wanting to hear Roark’s answer.
He glances in my direction and then back at my dad. “Yeah, I’d like six.”
“Six?” I shout, startling my horse that I quickly calm down. “You want six kids?” My poor uterus.
“Why not. The more the merrier, right, Foster?”
“Six sounds like a great number.”
Of course both the men would think six is a great number. They’re not the one carrying them for nine months and then pushing them out.
“What about two?”
“Four,” Roark counters.
“How about a ring first?” my dad cuts in.
Roark laughs and says, “All in good time, old man. How about we get through your last season first and see where I am with that girl over there. Who knows, things might change.”
“What?” I ask at the same time as my father, causing Roark to roar with laughter.
“You two, swear to God, like two peas in a pod.”
“Uh, what happened to you’re mine forever, Sutton?” I ask, getting my horse to catch up to Roark.
He turns in my direction and his eyes soften as he says, “You are mine, forever. I’m glad you haven’t forgotten.”
We reach the barn after a good half hour walk around the property and Roark hops down first before helping me down. He insists even though I can do it myself. I think he wants to do it just because he saw Josh help me down that one time. Hand in mine, he says, “Can I take this girl away for a bit?”
“Have at it. I’m going to go see how Whitney is doing. This pregnancy has taken a toll on her. The only reason I went on the ride was because she wanted to get some sleep after throwing up all morning.”
“Do you need us to pick anything up for her?” I ask, concerned for my stepmom.
“I think we’re good, thank you, sweetie.” Dad places a quick kiss on the top of my head and then turns toward the house with a quick jog. They married about a month ago. It was small and private, just Roark and I were invited, and then they spent two weeks in Tahiti. Dad has a couple weeks before he has to be back on the field, so he’s trying to soak up as much private time with Whitney as possible.
The sun starts to set, casting an orange glow over the land, making it a beautiful night on the ranch. As Roark leads me to the fire pit, I lean in to him, loving that I can be natural with him around my dad. The last time we were on the ranch together, I had to hide my feelings not only from my dad, but from Roark as well, that was until the one fateful night by the fire pit when he finally succumbed to his feelings.
Roark takes a seat on a wide Adirondack chair around the perimeter of the already lit fire pit. He pulls me down on his lap so I’m sitting sideways. I lean in to him, cuddling closer to his side as he links our hands and entwines our fingers.
“It really is beautiful here. I don’t think I was able to appreciate it last time because I was so distracted by you, and hungover for what felt like the first few days.”
“You did not look good when you fell out of that car. It was hard to not run to your side.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” he says, his voice soft. “I had to learn to stand on my own two feet before I was able to truly take you as mine.”
“And now that you have me?”
“I’m wondering how serious you are about marriage.”
My heart skips a beat. “Serious about marriage?”
“Yeah.” His thumb rubs over the back of my knuckles and casually plays with my ring finger. “I want to know what you really think about it. If it’s something you can see yourself doing . . . with me.”
I lift my hand to cup his cheek and force him to look me in the eyes. “I only want you and I want everything. The marriage, the house, the kids. I want it all.”
“Even with this old man?”
I chuckle. “Especially with this old man.” I press a kiss against his lips and marvel in the way he casually runs his hand up my back, sending goosebumps across my skin.
“Thank fuck your dad was a good man and gave us the guest house.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m going to have a lot of fun fucking my future wife tonight.”
“I’m going to need a ring before you can call me that,” I say, my forehead pressed against his, our lips inches apart.
“It will come, lass. Patience.”
“So there’s nothing hiding in that pocket of yours right now?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Nah, I have to ask your dad for permission first then find the perfect ring. That’s going to take time.”
“I don’t need the perfect ring. I just need you.”
“And that’s why I love you, and why I want the perfect ring.”
I sigh and lean my head into the crook of his neck, letting him stroke my hair as we enjoy the different colors in the sky.
“But you are going to propose?”
“I am, because there’s no way in hell I’m ever letting you go again.”
Little does he know, even if he tried, I wouldn’t let him.
Epilogue
Dear Diary,
We’ve been through a lot, name after name, after name, and what it comes down to is . . . I’m going to act like a besotted teenager with heart beams spewing from her hormonal eyes.
I’ve learned a lot over the course of this year, but one of the most important things is that I have worth. Not because of the millions in my bank, not the woman by my side. Me. My ma hasn’t given up chasing me for money yet, but I’ve stood strong and not relented once. Her comments don’t have the same damaging effect any more, which is grand. A sign of healing, I’ve been told.
This might come as a shock to you, after everything I’ve written, but guess what? I proposed to Sutton, my girl. And do you know what she said?
She said yes!
Talk about instant pride filling a man’s chest. It might be an odd thing to say, but I’ve never been more proud of myself than when the girl of my dreams looked down at me with tear-filled eyes, hands clasped over her mouth as she nodded her head, agreeing to marry me.
Me.
The fuck-up from Killarney with no future.
The frat boy from Yale with no hope.
The biggest whiskey-slugging, Guinness-guzzling eejit in New York City with no substance.
She said yes to me. I still don’t know how I was able to convince her to date me in the first place, let alone marry me, but I know one thing’s for sure: it has to be the luck of the Irish.
Roark
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Diary of a Bad Boy Page 33
