Irresistible Rogue, page 1
IRRESISTIBLE ROGUE
JAINE DIAMOND
Irresistible Rogue
Jaine Diamond
Copyright © 2023 Jaine Diamond
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, uploaded or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in book reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons is coincidental.
Published by DreamWarp Publishing Ltd.
www.jainediamond.com
Cover Design: DreamWarp Publishing Ltd.
Cover Photo: Wander Aguiar Photography
Cover Model: Lucas Loyola
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Irresistible Rogue
Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue
Books by Jaine Diamond
Note to Readers / Acknowledgments
Playlist
About the Author
villain
noun
A mischievous or uncouth person; a rogue.
Prologue
Jolie
“Ugh. Where am I?” I clawed the wet hair from my eyes and peered out between the dripping curls. I’d stumbled out of the rain into the refuge of what appeared to be an upscale restaurant lounge. Dark floors, thick slabs of wood and stone everywhere, massive plants and subdued lighting.
The storm blew the door shut behind me and the Instagram model at the hostess stand actually gasped at the sight of me.
“Uh, welcome to Black Bear Grille,” she said dubiously. She had a pretty Australian accent. A lot of the staff here in Whistler were Aussies; they came for the Canadian mountains during ski season. I was born just over an hour away in West Vancouver but I could’ve been an alien the way this Aussie was eying me. “Perhaps you’re looking for Filthy Joe’s?” she provided helpfully.
“And Filthy Joe’s would be…?”
“The burger truck parked in the lot at the end of the block,” she said, straight-faced.
I dabbed under my eyes. Did I look that bad? I’d just come from a beauty salon. “My mascara is running down my face, isn’t it.”
“Oh, it’s much worse than that, hon.”
Okay, I was gonna go ahead and believe her. About a minute ago, I was shuffling along the sidewalk in my spa slippers and the sky had ripped open, a torrential rain crashing down on me out of nowhere, because that was how my day was going. A dead car battery on the highway, an hour in a tow truck with an obnoxious tow truck driver, a soul sucking evening of forced “salon pampering,” my mother, and now this.
The door opened, wind and rain gusting in as someone stepped in behind me. The hostess stood up straighter, lifting her boobs in the direction of whoever it was.
“Good evening, sir,” she said breathily. “Welcome to Black Bear Grille.”
“I’ll just take a seat at the bar,” I told her when her eyes remained glued to “sir” behind me. “To wait out the storm. Should I seat myself?”
She almost gasped again as her eyes darted back to me. “Not like that.”
“You have a powder room, I assume? I’ll clean up.”
Her eyes raked down my Prince When Doves Cry T-shirt and wide-leg sweatpants. “We have a dress code.”
“But it’s pouring rain out there, and—”
“Darling,” a man rumbled behind me. “Aren’t you going to say hello?” His voice was as sultry and playful as it was rough.
I turned to find this guy looking at me. I made a squelched squeaking sound in my throat as I did a whiplash double take. Holy fucking hell.
Was he talking to me?
I was never prepared to cross paths with an attractive man, especially without any warning. And this fucker was tall, dark and handsome. He wore a sleek but simple black blazer, black T-shirt and jeans, effortlessly beauti-fucking-ful. Everything about him screamed: expensive. And also: will fuck you in every sense of the word.
That last part was due to his luscious full lips, stunning pale-greenish eyes and thick whorls of dark “please grab on and let’s go for a ride” hair.
And the bruises. He had three of them on his face. Forehead, jaw, and a dark one that followed the curve of his left cheekbone.
He also had what looked like either a doozy of a hickey cluster or strangulation marks on his neck.
He held my eyes for way too long to be an accident.
Yup. He was talking to me.
I laughed nervously and turned hot pink. “Um. Hello?”
As his eyes slid down my body, the hot pink crept down from my face and sizzled across my senses like wildfire. He looked at my mushy, wet, dirty slippers and the bits of Kleenex that were stuffed between my toes to keep them spread apart while the turquoise nail polish dried.
That was what set Mom off at the salon: the nail polish color I chose. After that, it all spiraled downhill.
I turned back to the gaping hostess who was apparently dumbfounded that I might be seen in public with that man while looking like this. Which made two of us. I gathered my scattered brain cells to speak when his low, sultry voice said, “We’ll take your best table.”
The hostess appeared as speechless as I was, but she recovered quicker. “Of course. Right this way.” She turned and headed into the lounge.
Wow. Somehow this hot Nascar driver or whatever he was had so much currency with her that it totally negated my lack thereof. I wondered, as I shuffled along behind her in my slippers, if it was his looks or his money that had her so agreeable.
Both.
“How is this?” she said sweetly, presenting us with a table in the middle of the lounge and gazing at the man behind me like I wasn’t there.
“We’ll take that one,” said Mr. Gorgeous and Bossy.
“Of course.” She rushed to escort us over to the one he’d pointed out in a dark corner. She pulled out our chairs while avoiding looking at me, left us with a menu and elegantly disappeared.
I glanced at him. He seemed to be waiting for me to sit down before he took his seat. How far was he planning to take this hero thing?
“Uh, thank you. But I’d never expect a hot race car driver like yourself to sit with me. Especially looking like… this.”
“Why not?” He smirked faintly. “I mean, you do have a little something, right here…” He made a little circle in the air in front of his gorgeous face with his finger.
Okay, I was way too flustered to deal with his level of hotness right now. I wouldn’t know how to exchange witty banter with this guy if someone handed me a script. If he asked me to sit on his face instead of the chair, I’d seriously consider it. And something about him said that he might, just to see what I’d do.
Dangerous.
I broke eye contact, because I was way out-matched here. “Thank you. But obviously I need to clean up. Have a nice night. Um, thanks.”
Stop thanking him. You sound desperate.
Then I shuffled off in my soggy slippers in search of the ladies’ room, floored that the last five minutes of my life had actually happened.
Thanks, Mom. Thanks a lot.
I pushed through the door into the beautiful washroom, shuffled to a mirror and exhaled. I’d never been so mad at my mother in my life. We’d made such a stupid scene, arguing in the salon in front of all the staff. I’d stormed out like I was the difficult one, and now look at me.
The lashing rain and my hair whipping around me had somehow scribbled mascara and lipstick all over my face. I looked like I’d been graffitied. I was a grown woman, and I’d let the makeup artist Mom hired slather on way more makeup than I’d ever wear. As I set about peeling off the false eyelashes and washing off as much of it as I could, I tried to ignore the other women who came and went, hoping they’d just ignore me too. I didn’t really want to talk to anyone right now.
Shit, I couldn’t believe I’d talked to that smoldering hottie looking like this. He had like, dewy, sexy rain drops in his hair and on his sharp blazer. And I looked like I’d been swallowed by a hurricane and spit back out. The hair stylist hadn’t even finished curling my hair, so the left side was twisted up in clips that were now falling out. Jesus. I looked like a nutcase. W
This weirdo.
It was official. My mother had driven me insane.
Congratulations, Margot. You finally did it.
I plucked the clips out, stuffing them into my purse and tussling my hair so maybe the whole thing would look intentionally messy-cute? Nope. Just looked crazy. I hadn’t cut my blondish hair in a while, so Mom had paid for the cut that she’d insisted on today. It was too short, cut above my shoulders, shorter in the back and longer in the front. It wasn’t me.
I tried to tuck it behind my ears and smooth it down a bit. Sort of helped.
But I still didn’t look like I belonged in this upscale bar. More like in my hotel room eating Cheetos out of the bag. Dare to dream. Probably what I should’ve just done tonight.
I sighed and tackled the slipper issue, plucking the soggy wads of tissue from between my toes and trashing them. Then I took off each slipper and dried it with the hand dryer. They were nice and warm when I slipped my feet back into them and I actually felt one percent better.
Then I remembered where I was. And where I was supposed to be.
I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my cousin, Danica. Where are you guys?? I need backup! Margot is already going bridezilla and they haven’t even set a wedding date yet! I really couldn’t handle my mom’s mile-high expectations and her snooty fancy engagement party tonight without my wingladies.
And a few stiff drinks.
According to my phone, Mom had already tried calling me twice since I left the salon.
Well, I’d be coming to her party when I was ready, looking however I wanted to look. Maybe I’d make her sweat just a bit.
Served her right for being so goddamn overbearing.
When I headed back out into the bar, I could see through the front windows that the storm was still raging. I saw Mr. Gorgeous at his table in the corner. He was alone, he had a drink in front of him, and he was looking at his phone. He’d taken off his blazer and he did not look worse with less clothes on. His arms in that snug black T-shirt appeared to have been sculpted by horny demons.
I tore my eyes away before he could catch me staring. I’d already embarrassed myself enough.
Most of the seats in the lounge and a few along the bar were taken. The vibe was west coast chill, the music cool and subdued, and the dress code was more lax than the hostess’s attitude had suggested.
I went up to the bar, where I sat myself on a stool and waited for the bartender to notice me. He was busy at the other end, lining up drinks at the servers’ station for the sleek cocktail waitresses to pick up.
It hit me that I’d never actually sat at a bar all alone before.
I usually had my girls with me in a bar, and I’d really only been going to bars—legally—for a couple of months. While I waited, I decided to snap a few discreet photos of the beautiful wood bar for my aunt Madeleine, an interior designer and my employer. Then a text popped up from Danica. Epic storm on the highway! We had to pull over. Will keep you posted. Love you!
Then a text from her twin sister, Daniella, popped up. Do not let Margot’s bitch factor run rampant. And do not let her cut your hair.
Yeah; too late.
Shit, I really needed my girls here. Maybe I’d just wait here until they came. Or at least until I ran out of beer money and maybe the rain let up and I could make it back to my hotel without getting washed away.
I texted them back. Okay, be safe.
I looked up as the bartender approached; he set a drink on a coaster in front of me. “From the gentleman in the corner.” I watched him walk away without taking my order, then my eyes dropped to the drink in front of me.
It stood in a tall, curvy glass that was somehow reminiscent of a woman’s figure. The liquid, on ice, was a perfect ombre of deep pink at the bottom fading up to blush, and it had an edible flower perched on top. It looked like a piece of art and probably cost thirty bucks. And while I would’ve loved to drink it, what the fuck.
I looked like shit. Why was this guy hitting on me?
I looked into the corner where he sat. He looked over at that exact second and I looked away.
Damn. I wanted this drink. Did I send it back and order up whatever cheap beer I could afford? Or just drink it and play his game?
Was this guy actually looking for a hookup?
With me?
I wasn’t exactly here for a hookup. Plus, I had a party to go to.
I was wearing decent panties, though.
Really could’ve shaved the bikini line this morning…
“Hello again.”
I startled as he leaned in casually next to me. He’d brought his drink over with him. And his blazer. My mouth drifted open as he joined me at the bar without asking, but two seats down, draping his blazer on the empty stool between us. Confident, but not too pushy.
I stashed my phone away. My brain was already rapidly calculating the odds that I’d let this stranger in my pants tonight. No, because he was a stranger. Yes, because he was insanely hot and I hadn’t had sex since… January?
I wondered if he’d change his mind about wanting in my pants after I started saying weird, nervous shit and he realized that I had no game, and I wasn’t the cutely flustered coed he thought he’d romantically crossed paths with on a stormy night but a total disaster who hadn’t been laid in like six months.
“Hi.” I stared at the pink drink in front of me. Fuck, it looked delicious.
When I made no move to touch it, he said, “Taste it.”
Whoa.
His words gripped me unexpectedly, in a deeply intimate place. Not just the sound of his voice—low, sexy, almost taunting—but the way he said the words. It was a command, and it made my guts twist in an amazing, euphoric way.
Not good.
I looked at him again.
How old was he? The luscious lips made him look young. But the dark stubble combined with his eyes made him look much older. He really could’ve been anything from some college athlete in his early twenties who just upscaled very nicely, to a businessman in his early thirties.
He didn’t seem that much older than me, but he also did.
“Why?” I pushed back. I didn’t want this guy to know how flustered he was making me.
“Because I want you to.”
I looked away. I could not keep contact with those wolfish eyes. They were so light against his tan skin. And so… hungry. Yet he leaned casually on the bar, so relaxed.
I slid the drink closer to myself, leaned in and took a sip through the straw. He watched me do it and my cheeks burned.
I swallowed. It was delicious. I tried to focus on that instead of on the strange sensation of knowing that I’d just done what he told me to do because he wanted me to and we were both hyperaware of it. It was unsettling and electric.
What the fuck is happening right now?
I needed to call a friend. Use a lifeline. Something.
But I didn’t move.
“You’re not a football player,” I said tentatively. I searched for the right words, glancing at him. “You don’t look… bulky enough for that. But you definitely play soccer or hockey or baseball. Or lacrosse. I don’t know.”
“You’re trying to guess my profession, is that it?”
“You’re an athlete for sure. Or a very athletic claims adjuster.”
He chuckled softly, and it felt like flower petals dusting my skin. “You think I’m in insurance?” Damn, his voice was sexy. He was so… manly.
