Rogue Devil (The Rourkes #11) - Kylie Gilmore Page 0,5

angel wings. She looks like an angel too. Her red hair falls in a soft wave to her shoulders, her green eyes gleam with intelligence, her features delicate—fine cheekbones, thin nose, a bow in her top lip. A sharp pang of lust hits. Not now. I need to know if she’s okay.

“Chloe?”

She presses her lips tightly together. “Truth?”

“Absofuckinglutely.”

Her lips twitch. “I accidentally got into a relationship with a friend.”

“Hate when that happens.” I have some experience in this area. Women are always falling for me after I tell them I’m not looking for serious. It’s like I’m a challenge or something.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “He doesn’t want to see me anymore, even though I tried to make amends. I made sugar cookies. It’s stupid.” She looks away, her lips pinched tightly together. I have the urge to pull her into my arms, and then, once she’s okay, I want to punch the guy who hurt her. She took the time to make sugar cookies. Geez, he could’ve at least showed some appreciation. I never had a woman bake anything for me. That takes real effort. I clench my jaw.

She continues. “Turns out we were never really friends.” She blinks rapidly, crosses her arms, and stares at my chest. “It’s just hard because this is my home when I’m not at college, and he was my only friend here.”

And then the one thing I never thought I’d say to a woman I’m attracted to pops out of my mouth. “I’ll be your friend while you’re here.” What am I doing? Putting myself in the friend zone!

Her brows lift over wide green eyes. “Oh, thanks. Are you here a lot?”

“I’m one of the Brooklyn Rourkes.” The riffraff. That’s what some of the older generation calls us since my dad abdicated the throne to marry my mom, a commoner. He was banished for it. “We recently reunited with the Villroy Rourkes, so it looks like I’ll probably be here for holidays and family stuff.”

“My sister married Adrian Rourke.”

I know. The queen gave me the scoop. “Cool. That’s my cousin.”

It hits me like a smack upside the head. Forget lust at first sight. With our family connection, a casual hookup is out. There’d be too much potential fallout and awkward future encounters. Dammit. I’ve learned to be careful where women are concerned, making sure they don’t expect anything more than casual from me. Obviously, that wouldn’t work with someone connected to my family. Never mix family and flings. Or something like that.

Any misstep on my part will immediately fire through the family network. And, while the Villroy and Brooklyn Rourkes are on speaking terms right now, it’s still new. You can’t just undo decades of banishment with a few visits. I’m certainly not going to be the reason my dad loses his kingdom for a second time. It means a lot to him to be welcome in his ancestral land.

Guess the friend zone was a smart move. Ah, hell.

She wiggles her fingers. “Bye. I’ll get your clothes back to you after they’re cleaned.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I won’t. A servant will.” She crinkles her nose. “Isn’t it strange to have servants?”

“I wouldn’t object to a full-time chef back home.”

“Right?” She smiles and I smile back, our gazes locking for a charged moment before she looks away. Attraction is definitely not one-sided. “I’ll just grab my clothes from the bathroom. I wrapped them in a towel to minimize the mess.”

“I’ll get them.”

“No, I got it.”

She turns and walks away. My jogging pants slip past her hips, and she clutches them with one hand. My shirt hangs past her ass, so I didn’t get a peek at anything interesting. Nope, not going there. I tear my gaze away, telling myself it’s for the best. Chloe is my friend. A woman friend. Now that’s a first.

I’m sitting in the formal dining room for Christmas dinner and can’t help but notice Chloe isn’t here. I hope she’s okay. We’re having drinks to start, a dry champagne. King Gabriel sits at the head of the table with his wife, Queen Anna, on one side and his mother, the former queen, on his other side. It’s pretty old-school traditional here, though from what I can tell, the king and queen rule together as equals. Their two-year-old daughter, Mila, sits on my dad’s lap, talking in excited tones to him. Something about her secret fairy garden.

I purposely sat at the far end of the table, where there were still empty