Rogue Rascal
Kylie Gilmore
Copyright © 2020 by Kylie Gilmore
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, places, brands, media, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Rogue Rascal: © 2020 by Kylie Gilmore
Excerpt from Rogue Angel © 2020 by Kylie Gilmore
Digital edition 1.1
Cover design by: Michele Catalano Creative
Published by: Extra Fancy Books
ISBN-13: 978-1-947379-22-0
Rogue Rascal
I’m the good-time guy, so when my best friend asked me to be in charge of his bachelor party, you’d better believe we’re heading to Vegas. After our wild night, I wake up in a strange hotel room, wearing a gold band on my finger. Worse, there’s a bridal veil on the nightstand.
Then I relax. Ha-ha. Very funny, guys. I’m the king of pranks, and my friends are getting me back.
But then my bride appears, and the real nightmare begins. It’s Riley, my best friend’s little sister, looking all grown up and—gulp—married. To me. My best friend forbade me even looking at her on account of my rep for one-nighters.
This has to end right away.
Only somehow I get more and more tangled up in her life, trying to do damage control, and a funny thing happens on the way to ending this marriage—
I’m having second thoughts.
NEXT FROM KYLIE GILMORE
Don’t miss Rogue Angel! There’s an excerpt at the back of this book.
Get all the latest news first in Kylie’s newsletter:
https://www.kyliegilmore.com/newsletter
Contents
FREE DOWNLOAD
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
Epilogue
Freebie
Also by Kylie Gilmore
About the Author
FREE DOWNLOAD
Want a FREE romance?
Sign up for my newsletter and get your free book delivered to your inbox. https://www.kyliegilmore.com/newsletter
1
Jack
Where am I? I blink a few times as the hotel room comes into focus in the bright light of a Las Vegas morning. This is not my room. I’m parched, and my head is killing me. Must’ve been a wild bachelor party last night. Of course it was; as best man I was in charge of it. I did it right too. The guys and I flew out from New York to Vegas for the works—gambling, drinking, strip club. Gotta do it up before my best friend is chained for life. Poor guy. I roll to my side and see the most alarming thing a die-hard bachelor like me could see—
A wedding veil on the nightstand.
I prop up on my elbows and spy a white sequined dress draped over a chair. A wedding dress? Wait. I remember that dress. There was a bachelorette party at one of the clubs, and I danced with a woman wearing that sexy white dress. My mind is fuzzy on the details after that. Crap. Did I steal someone’s bride? She wasn’t even my type—all wholesome and innocent, blushing while she flirted. This is bad.
I scan the room and spot a pair of red stilettos in the corner. No sign of the bride. There’s no purse or suitcase that I can see. My own clothes are on the floor. I peek under the covers. Okay, I’m still wearing my boxer briefs. Maybe I just wanted to get comfortable for sleep last night. Right? I didn’t actually hook up with someone else’s bride. That would be a really shitty thing to do. I might be the one egging everyone else on for a wild night, but I’m not reckless, and I’d never break up a couple.
I lift my left hand. Gulp. Gold wedding band. No, no, no. What the hell happened last night?
I stare at the veil on the nightstand and realize there’s something under it. Maybe it’s a clue to what happened last night. I lift the veil to find a brochure with a picture of a smiling bride and in big pink letters at the top it says Love Struck Wedding Chapel. A blue ribbon proclaims Best of Nevada! At the bottom it says Affordable wedding packages! So cheesy.
I relax, lying back in bed. Obvious planted clues and no bride in sight? I know what’s going on here. The guys played the mother of all pranks on me, setting me up to look like I got married in Vegas. Ha-ha. They really had me going for a minute there. If I wasn’t so hungover, I would’ve put it together right away.
I blow out a breath. Geez, I’m really glad I didn’t accidentally steal someone’s bride in my drunken state. Okay, I admit I deserve this prank after all the pranks I’ve played on my friends. It’s kinda my thing. My very first prank was the day I was born. I was supposed to be born on April first—April Fools’ Day—but I took extra long and didn’t show up until April second. April Fools, Mom! My parents always mention it, calling me a rascal. They thought since I was the third born, I’d be an easier labor. Always causing trouble. That’s me.
I hear a toilet flush and jackknife upright, a move I instantly regret as the room swims before my eyes. Someone’s in the bathroom. It takes a few moments to bring the room back into focus. The water is running. How did I not notice the bathroom door is closed? Is it the bride? Maybe it’s one of the guys about to step out here in a big fluffy wedding gown as a joke. That would be just like Sam to pull something like that. He’s the groom, my best friend, and the one I prank the most. You only prank the ones you love.
“Hello?” I croak. I need water.
I pull back the covers and snag my jeans from the floor, yanking them on. I check my wallet; emergency condom is still there. What if it is the bride in there? Shit, shit, shit. This could be potentially disastrous. Why can’t I remember last night? I’m never blackout drunk. Was I drugged? I can’t believe my friends would do that, even in the name of a good prank. Sam, Rick, Mike and I have been friends for eight years now, ever since Sam moved in across the hall. No, they wouldn’t do that. Which can only mean one thing—I’m about to meet my bride.
I stare at the bathroom door, frozen in place. Think! I remember a strip club, drinking, a dance club, more drinking. We ran into a bachelorette party with that cute wholesome woman—hold on. It’s coming back to me now. The bachelorette party was for Sam’s fiancée. He wasn’t supposed to see her before the wedding because of some old-school tradition, which made no sense to me since their wedding isn’t until next week. We crashed it anyway because he had to see her. I was caught up with the rest of the bridal party—flirting, drinking, dancing. Sam went off with his fiancée, sucking face in a dark corner. I was dancing with a group of women; then it was just the woman in the sexy white sequined dress. That dress, the way it clung to her incredible body. She was dancing behind me, rubbing against me in a sexy grind, and I didn’t know who it was at first. Oh fuck. I didn’t—I couldn’t have. Not with her. She’s the one person Sam warned me to stay away from—his little sister. She’s not so little, that
’s just how Sam sees her. It can’t be her.
Please don’t let it be her.
I stare at the white sequined dress draped over the chair and tell myself this is all a prank. One of the guys set this whole thing up. They saw us dancing and thought it would be a riot. Right? It’s got to be that.
Alright, guys, fun is over.
I slowly make my way to the bathroom door, take a deep breath, and knock.
The door pops open. No-o-o-o-o!
Riley Walsh looks up at me with an almost shy smile. She’s twenty-six now, I think. I’ve known her since she was eighteen, and carefully kept my distance all these years on her brother’s orders. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair looks like shiny silk, bare minimum of makeup, and she’s wearing a white blouse with black trousers and black flats. Even for Vegas she dresses like the professional corporate accountant she is. The blouse covers her up to her neck, goes past her elbows, and hangs loosely on her past her waist. Unlike that dress last night, which clung to an hourglass figure I never knew existed before. No wonder I got confused with wholesome Riley in a dress like that. Drunk me must’ve followed her home. This must be her room, but she’s neat and doesn’t leave anything tossed around the room like I do.
I stare at her as she walks toward me. Please tell me nothing happened in bed last night. Please tell me we’re not married. I can’t seem to find my voice; my tongue feels too thick. Did my mind block out our wedding because it’s the biggest mistake of my life and Sam will kill me?
“Nothing to say to your bride?” she asks, holding up her left hand to show me the gold band.
My gut churns horrifically. Oh God.
“I’m gonna be sick,” I manage, racing past her. I slam the bathroom door behind me and puke up my guts. At least I made it to the toilet.
Feeling slightly better, I flush, wash my hands, and splash cold water on my face. I stare at myself in the mirror. What did you do? My dark brown hair is wild, the longish top that I usually tame with styling gel looks like I pulled it repeatedly. Or she did. I close my eyes. Please tell me I didn’t have unprotected sex with the one woman I was never supposed to touch. What if she’s pregnant? I break out into a cold sweat, the room swimming before my eyes. I splash more cold water on my face. I am losing it. Calm down. Talk to her and find out the situation.
I grab a towel and dry my face. Then I grab the clean water glass on the bathroom counter, rip off the paper top, and fill it with water. I guzzle that glass down, then a second and a third. I swish water around my mouth, spit, and spy a small bottle of mouthwash. Looks like she already used it, but there’s enough. I use some too.
I scrub my hands over my trimmed beard and prepare myself for the worst. My gut churns. If I had anything left in me, I’d probably be running back to the toilet, but I’m empty. And freaking out again.
I open the door quickly and step into the room. She made the bed—all neat hospital corners of course—and she’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, her legs crossed primly. She’s a CPA, always in suits, working hard at her corporate accounting job in the city. She had a nerdy accountant boyfriend for a long while there. I thought for sure they’d get married. I’m a construction worker at my family’s construction business. Why would she even want to marry me? We have nothing in common besides Sam. Her brother and I just clicked. He works at a tech company, but he’s not geeky. He’s salt of the earth, like a brother to me. What have I done? He’ll never forgive me.
“Hi,” she says. “Feeling better now?”
“No.” I close the distance and stand in front of her. “So we’re married.”
She presses her lips together. “Looks that way.”
I stare at her for a long moment. The unused emergency condom in my wallet flashes through my mind. I can’t believe I’d forget both the wedding and hooking up with her. I have to know. “Did we, uh, hook up?”
She gives me a rueful smile. “You passed out the moment I pulled back the covers.”
I slowly sink to the mattress next to her. “Good. That’s good.” I smile weakly. “My emergency condom is still in my wallet.”
One corner of her mouth lifts. “We bought a box of condoms in anticipation of our honeymoon.” She pulls her purse from the bottom shelf of the nightstand and opens it to show me. I take out the box of condoms, and it’s still sealed. I guess I did pass out after having the foresight to prepare for the honeymoon. It’s the only bright spot in this nightmare situation, and I cling to that in an effort not to run screaming from the room.
I lean my elbows on my knees and grip my hands together. “I’m not clear on last night.”
“You don’t remember when we played never have I ever doing tequila shots? You’ve done a lot of stuff, Jack.”
I drop my throbbing head in my hands. She probably had one shot at the most. She’s straitlaced—power suit and spreadsheets. My gaze falls on her sexy ankles. How am I even noticing her ankles? What hell is this?
I lift my head. “Sam told me you were off-limits. I’m not committed-relationship material, see?”
“Yeah, I know. He told me the same.”
My head throbs in time to my worst sin—bro code, bro code, bro code. I broke the code, and he’ll never forgive me. How did this happen? Then I realize she broke the sister code. Sam told her to stay away from me too.
“Why did we get married?” I ask.
“We were joking about getting married in Vegas. We both had too much to drink. I started long before you arrived.” Her brows furrow. “Somehow it went from joking to shopping for rings and a veil, and then looking for the cheesiest wedding chapel we could find.”
A flash of memory returns. “I remember double-dog daring each other to do it.”
She laughs. “Yes! And I insisted on having a ring on my finger and a proper veil.”
“Right,” I say slowly. Bits and pieces of last night return. Riley smiling and laughing, me wanting to keep that going. We were having so much fun. Still, married?
I hold up my hand, staring at my shiny gold wedding band. The neon red sign for the wedding chapel appears in my mind. The O in Love Struck was a heart with an arrow through it. Definitely the cheesiest wedding chapel around. I stifle a groan.
I turn to her. “But you always seemed so sensible.”
She presses her lips together. “The truth is, I’ve been wanting to break out of that mold. You know, have a little more fun, take a few risks. My life is all work, no play, and it’s been that way for a long time. I worked my ass off in college, then grad school, and now trying to work my way up the corporate ladder. Not to mention all the studying to pass the CPA exam.” She sighs. “Vegas seemed like the perfect time to be a different version of me, the kind of person who just lets go for a good time. Like you.”
I groan.
She lifts her palms. “I guess in our drunken state we thought a wedding would be a fun Vegas experience.”
“You’re saying we got married just for Vegas fun?” My voice gets loud at the end, and I wince at my throbbing headache. Marriage is serious business.
“Let’s take care of that hangover. Hold on.” She grabs the phone and calls room service for coffee, fruit, and the breakfast basket. Whatever that is. Then she gets me a glass of water and some ibuprofen from her purse.
“Thanks,” I mumble before tossing back the pills.
She sets the glass on the nightstand for me. “Now, where’s your shirt?” She starts searching the room for it.
“Riley, we need to reverse this marriage thing. Like right away.”
“Aha!” She holds up my black T-shirt triumphantly from the corner closest to the door and tosses it to me. “We can get an annulment, no problem. It’ll be like it never happened. As long as it’s not consummated—” she smiles slyly “—which it wasn’t, you bad boy, passing out on me after all those naughty things you told me you did.”
I let out a breath, so relieved I’m nearly dizzy. Yes, an annulment is perfect. My family would kill me
if they thought they missed my wedding. I feel like I missed my wedding. Okay, breathe. This will all go away soon.
I pull my shirt on. “Are you sure about the annulment thing?”
She sits next to me again, her brown eyes direct. “Yes, my friend got an annulment, and the fact that it wasn’t consummated was a valid reason for dissolving the marriage. At least it is in New York. It’s all very nice and neat. Don’t worry.”
Well, we both live in New York. I’m in Brooklyn, and she’s in Manhattan. I’m glad she knows about this stuff. That’s Riley for you. So sensible, so practical. I wake up married and puke up my guts. She’s already figured out the next steps.
“How much did I have to drink last night?” I ask.
“I think six shots of tequila, but I’m not sure because I was laughing so much and not paying attention.” She nudges my arm. “You’re so fun.”
“I wish I could remember more of last night.”
“You slept like the dead. You did mention you’ve been sleep deprived because of the upstairs neighbor’s dog. That plus the alcohol really put you out cold. Is it a puppy?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter absently while my mind grasps for more details of last night. “It’s a little white thing.”
Bam! Bam! Bam! Someone is pounding on Riley’s door. We both go utterly still.
She whispers close to my ear, “It might be Sam.”
Sweat forms on my forehead. “What’s he doing here?”
“Shit,” she mutters, staring at the door.
Rogue Rascal (The Rourkes, Book 9) Page 1
