Rogue Beast (The Rourkes, Book 12)

by Kylie Gilmore

  He laughs.

  I grip the phone tighter. “Didn’t you hear what a horrible date I’ll be? I’m going to be stressed the whole night about my speech, which will be boring. When I can speak, that is, after coughing and choking on my own spit.”

  “You’re funny.”

  I sit straighter. “I’m dead serious.”

  “Alright. But you know what I got out of this conversation? I heard a woman who’s brave enough to face her fear of public speaking for a greater good. That’s the kind of person I’d like to spend time with. And it’s a good cause, like you said.”

  My heart thumps harder. “It’s black tie.” Last chance to bail! I can take it. Really.

  I can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll rent a tux.”

  A surge of warmth goes through me. “Thank you. I really appreciate this. I’ll have my driver pick you up. And let me know if I can return the favor in some way.”

  “Next time I have a black-tie event, where I need to make a boring speech, you’re the first number I’ll call.”

  I laugh. “Okay.”

  A loud buzz saw goes off in the background on his end.

  “I should get back to work,” he says. “But I wanted to ask you a question. Hold on.”

  I tense again, not sure I want to answer any personal questions. It gets quiet in the background, and I wonder if he walked outside to continue our conversation.

  “Does Sean still work with you there?” I ask. I’m curious because I see him on set a lot.

  “Sometimes. He spends more time on the philanthropic side now, working remotely so he can be with Josie.”

  Wow. That is so sweet. “I’m going to his fundraiser at the Met.”

  “Cool,” he says. “Need a date for that too?”

  I smile. Maybe he doesn’t see me as that woman who keeps putting him through stuff. “You’re willing to commit to two dates in a row with me? What if you have a terrible time on Saturday, and then you’re stuck with me the next Saturday?”

  “What if I have a great time?”

  My stomach does a topsy-turvy flip. “What if.”

  “So my question is, do I need to pretend we have a relationship for the press?”

  Easy question. “If you wouldn’t mind, it would make everything a little easier. It’s up to you, though. Only if you’re okay with it. We can say we’re just friends. It’s true anyway.”

  “I’m fine with the fake relationship thing. Anything I should know?”

  I let out a breath of relief. His agreement means less explaining to reporters, which is always a good thing. “I’ll come up with a story and fill you in on the way there. Thanks again, Garrett.”

  “You should call me Beast. Everyone does.”

  “Because you’re a beast of a man with your bulky muscles?” I cringe. I can’t believe I just said that.

  “Nailed it,” he says with a laugh.

  “And what will you call me?”

  “Beauty.”

  My breath stutters out. Beauty and the Beast. So romantic. And the thing is, I always saw myself as Belle with her love of books. I might harbor secret princess fantasies. Not something the general who raised me would’ve tolerated. I love my grandmother, but she’s a difficult woman. Joan Ellis spits nails for breakfast. I indulged my princess fantasies by watching movies at friends’ houses.

  “Thank you, Beast.”

  “See ya Saturday, Beauty.”

  5

  Harper

  I ride the elevator of my apartment building down with Joe, my new shadow, to the car that’ll take us to the gala tonight. I’m tense about my speech and desperately trying to take it down a notch. I did warn Garrett I’d be a mess. The driver already picked him up, and he’s waiting in the back seat. I’m still a little surprised he agreed to go. Most guys are in an event like this for the PR, and—dirty little secret here—when I don’t have a boyfriend, the date is often a setup between our publicists. Garrett has nothing to gain by being seen with me. In fact, he’s doing me a favor, helping me save face with a fake relationship. Maybe Josie sang my praises, who knows; I’m just glad to have a drama-free date. I’m stressed enough about my speech. I’ve rewritten it five times. I’m worried I’ll say the wrong version or Frankenstein them together in a way that doesn’t make sense.

  When I reach the sidewalk, the driver, Michael, steps out to open the door to the back seat for me. I only hire a car service in the city since it’s such a hassle to park. I drive myself around in LA. Joe sticks close behind me.

  A woman passing by on the sidewalk turns to the guy she’s with and says loudly, “Is that Amanda Boxer?”

  “I think it is!” he says. “What’s her real name?” He calls out to me, “Hi! Harper Ellis, right?”

  I give a little wave before carefully slipping into the back seat of the car, managing the layers of toile on my pink Caroline Herrera dress and being extra careful not to knock my head. I don’t mind being recognized. I just don’t want to be accosted.

  Joe gets in the front seat, greeting Garrett in the back before facing front. The car pulls into traffic, heading for the hotel where they’re holding the gala.

  I turn to Garrett, and my breath stutters out. Wow. He was made for formal wear. His wide shoulders and broad chest fill out his tux jacket perfectly. The black material and white shirt contrast with his stunning aquamarine eyes. He’s clean-shaven, the sharp angles of his jaw prominent.

  “Hi,” I say breathlessly.

  He flashes a smile. “Hi. You look beautiful.” He touches one of my teardrop diamond earrings. “Are these real?”

  “Yes. They’re on loan from an up-and-coming jeweler who wanted the exposure.” My hair is swept into an updo to draw attention to them. Everything is carefully orchestrated for an event like this. The earrings are beautiful, an intricate design of white gold and diamonds.

  “Funny how people who can afford nice jewelry get to wear it for free.”

  “All part of the PR machine. Anyway, you look great. The tux suits you.”

  He shoots out a jacket sleeve, snapping it tight. “I’m told I clean up nice.” He winks. “I should probably buy a tux. I’ve had to wear them for four of my brothers’ weddings. One of them had a courthouse ceremony, so I got a pass for his. Plus, I’ll need one for next Saturday’s Rourke fundraiser.” He searches my expression.

  It hits me that he’s asking. He wants a second date already. I can’t get sucked in. It’s too soon. I swore I’d take some time before I got involved with anyone again. Besides, I’m sure he won’t have much fun at these kinds of events. I never do. I only go to help causes I believe in.

  “Tonight’s going to feel long for you,” I say. “It’s more like work than a party.”

  “Will I be swinging a hammer?”

  I laugh. “No, not that kind of work.” I relax a little. He’s a construction worker. There’s nothing he could possibly gain from a connection with me. I have to remember that so I don’t shut down and make tonight more difficult than it needs to be.

  “How’re ya doing? Nervous?”

  How strange. I was so caught up in him I forgot to be nervous about my speech for a few minutes. “I’m worried I’m going to blurt out different versions of my speech. I rewrote it and memorized it five times.”

  “Just bring it with you to the podium. If you start to feel off, no one would mind if you check it.”

  I take a deep breath, nerves racing through me as I imagine myself trembling at the podium. “I have this fantasy of me moving freely onstage like I’m in a TED talk, you know? All confident, owning the space.”

  “You could play the part of a TED talk speaker. Turn it into a performance.”

  “I can’t. The words are from the heart.”

  He shifts, leaning closer for what suddenly feels like an intimate conversation. “So this cause means something important to you. Not just something you do for PR.”

  “Yes.” I tell him about my uncle’s PTSD, and how I wi
sh he could’ve benefited from a therapy dog. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to.

  He gives my arm a squeeze. “It’s amazing the effect the unconditional love of a dog can have on a person. Do you have a dog?”

  “I don’t. I move around a lot and work long hours. I just feel like it wouldn’t be fair for the dog to be left alone so much. One day I will. I’ve always wanted a golden retriever.”

  “Sweet dog.”

  “Yeah, my friend had one growing up.” My breath hitches as our gazes lock, warmth spreading through me. I blink and look away. “So I should fill you in. When we arrive, there’s a red carpet we’ll walk down on our way in. Lots of cameras and flashes going off. Just stick close to me. I’ll do all the talking. Though it would be great if you could chime in that you also support this organization. People want to see who I’m with, and our job is to use that spotlight and turn it to Best Friends Care.”

  “Got it.”

  I risk a glance at him. Still stunningly gorgeous in his tux, and he smells wonderful, like fresh soap and man. Be strong, Harp. Friendly not flirty. “Don’t answer any questions about our relationship. I’ll handle that, but just so you know, the story is that Colton and I agreed to take a break a month ago. You and I met three weeks ago through Josie.”

  “Easy enough. Are we exclusive?”

  I consider that. “We’re exclusively dating because that’s what I do.” And what my boyfriends agree to as well, though few have remained faithful. Men suck.

  “I always think it’s kinder to end it before moving on to the next person.”

  My lips part. A man who believes in monogamy as basic human decency. Outstanding.

  His lips curve up, his eyes sparkling with good humor. “Why do you look so surprised? Did you think I was a player?”

  I open my mouth and close it again, not wanting to admit my current low opinion of men. “I don’t know you well enough to make any judgments. I was just surprised at how openly you express yourself.”

  “Score one for the Beast.”

  “Oh, you’re way too nice to be a beast,” I blurt.

  He smiles, his eyes warm on mine. “Thank you.”

  Heat rushes through me; butterflies dance in my stomach, every nerve ending alive. It’s just like when we first met, except it’s beyond lust now. Be smart. Protect yourself.

  His gaze drops to my neck and then to my bare shoulder and back to my eyes. My skin heats everywhere he looks. Imagine if he actually touched me. “People would probably say this is just a rebound relationship. They’d know it wasn’t serious.”

  I face front, needing to put some distance between us. “I’m not responsible for what people say. We stay on message, and that’s all we can do.”

  “Do you usually only date actors?”

  I turn back to him. “Usually that’s all I meet. I briefly dated a cameraman when I was twenty. He tried to sue me for emotional distress when we broke up. Now my dates are vetted first by my publicist.”

  “I was vetted?”

  “In a way. After I mentioned you to that reporter, my publicist looked into you. She shared about your royal connection, but that’s not why I asked you. I needed a date to the gala, that’s all.” I grimace because that sounds like I’m using him as a quick substitute for my cheating ex, which I kinda am, but I really do like him. He’s so much nicer than most guys I meet. “In my mind you’re here because of the Josie connection. And I enjoy talking to you.”

  “I’m glad she connected us. Feel free to call or text whenever.”

  My heart kicks harder. It sounds like he wants to get to know me. Not just the trappings around me, or even how fast he can get under my dress like most men. Am I being foolish hoping he’s different, or is he the real deal?

  “Thank you,” I say softly. “That’s sweet.”

  “Okay if I hold your hand?”

  I blink, stunned that he asked. I’m not shy about getting physical once that ball’s rolling. In fact, I find it hard to stop myself, and then my emotions get all tangled up in the sex, and next thing you know, I’m nursing a broken heart. Suddenly holding hands feels like a slippery slope.

  He offers me his palm. His hand is large and calloused from his work. What would those hands feel like on my bare skin? My boyfriends usually have soft hands. Some of them even get manicures. “I figure we’ve been dating for three weeks, so we should get comfortable with each other.”

  Slippery slope! Defensive walls up!

  I place my hand in his, and he closes his hand around it in a warm clasp. A hot shiver races down my spine. It’s not nerves. I’m excited. From something as innocent as holding hands.

  He leans close, his deep voice rumbling in my ear, drawing another shiver. “I’ll hold your hand like this as we walk the red carpet. Unless you prefer my arm around you.”

  Pure lust floods my body. I can’t think straight between his heat, his nearness, and his intoxicating scent that makes me want to bury my face in his neck and breathe deep.

  He draws away, studying me for a moment. “Or we could do the gentleman arm.” He releases my hand and offers his arm.

  “Let’s play it by ear,” I say, boggled by the insane effect he has on me. We’re just holding hands!

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Tell me more about you,” I say, dying of curiosity. “Just in case it comes up. I should know.”

  He shares freely. It’s clear he loves his family as he describes them, telling me about his parents’ great love and his five older brothers. He’s just started telling me about how proud he is of his family business when the car pulls up to the hotel for the gala. I’m unbelievably disappointed. I love hearing about his world. It must’ve been wonderful to grow up the youngest with all those people looking out for you and loving you. I spent my childhood trying to grow a thicker skin to earn General Joan’s approval. It’s impossible to change your nature like that, but I sure can play the part. Acting started at an early age for me.

  Actually, I became an emancipated minor to pursue my profession at fifteen. My grandmother gave me the “freedom to fall on my face,” and here I am. Hmm…maybe I should thank her for that. She gave me what I needed to survive in this tough business.

  The car door opens, and the gathered paparazzi and reporters buzz with excitement. The driver helps me out while Joe stands guard. Garrett appears at my side. I paste on my happy-to-be-here expression, take Garrett’s offered arm, and start down the red carpet leading to the hotel entrance. Joe follows behind.

  I stop several feet from the drop-off area, where the bulk of camera-toting people wait, strike a pose, and smile.

  “Is that Garrett Rourke?” a reporter asks.

  “Sure is,” Garrett replies with his panty-melting smile.

  The cameras click furiously, zooming in on him. His shoulders draw back, seeming to enjoy the attention. He turns to me, still smiling, his eyes warm on mine. The crowd falls away. All I can focus on is that beautiful smile and the warmth in his eyes as though he really enjoys being with me. Just regular me, on the inside.

  “Over here! Over here!” someone yells, gesturing us farther down the carpet.

  I continue our walk, feeling Garrett’s eyes on me. Is he checking if I’m okay? I’ve done this tons of times. It’s the speech I have to give later that’s the hard part.

  We stop again to talk with reporters holding out microphones from local channels, as well as a few entertainment channels. Dana told me to talk to everyone.

  They yell questions at me, mostly about what happened with Colton, and is it serious with Garrett?

  I smile and take control of the conversation. “We’re so happy to be here tonight in honor of Best Friends Care. Service dogs for anyone with a disability, whether that shows on the outside or the inside, can be life changing. I’m a longtime supporter.”

  “Great cause,” Garrett chimes in. “The unconditional love of a dog is like nothing else in the world. Beyond emotional support, these dogs can fill
in gaps in abilities, helping people lead a fuller life. Who wouldn’t want that?”

  I mask my surprise. That was a great speech, and I didn’t tell him to say that either. He’s a natural in front of the cameras.

  The reporters go crazy for Garrett, coaxing him closer for pictures, peppering him with questions ranging from his favorite kind of dog to what he’s appeared in and what he thinks of Amanda Boxer. It’s insane. They assume he’s an actor since that’s mostly who I date. Garrett’s relaxed as he good-naturedly fields questions. He even says he has great respect for the character of Amanda Boxer and greater respect for the woman who played her.

  I’m melting.

  “Amanda!” a man yells as he wedges himself in between reporters. “Why’re you such a bitch? I’ll teach you better.”

  I go ice cold. Joe moves quickly to deal with him.

  Garrett glares at the man, his voice deadly calm. “Step away, man.”

  The guy throws up his middle finger, notices Joe at his side, and takes off.

  I give Garrett’s arm a tug, letting him know we’re done here. I’m queasy with the reminder that, even with a guard and a big guy like Garrett on my arm, there’s always going to be some men who try to get to me.

  Garrett gives me a nod before saying to the reporters, “It’s a great cause, guys. Donate any way you can, no amount is too small. Or too large.”

  “You’re large!” a woman reporter says. “Looking good filling out that tux.”

  I narrow my eyes at her.

  Garrett takes it in stride, saying with a wink, “They call me Beast.”

  No-o-o. That’s the headline right there—Beast. They’re going to be all over that.

  I give his arm another tug, and he follows me inside the hotel. We’re quickly escorted through the lobby to a private side door and down a long hallway leading to the ballroom. Joe’s right behind us.

  I speak under my breath, “You shouldn’t have told them your nickname.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it gives them too much fodder. That’s going to blow up instead of the cause.”