Hitting That Sweet Spot (Rogue Series Book 3)
HITTING THAT
SWEET SPOT
Lara Ward Cosio
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Copyright © 2017 Lara Ward Cosio
All rights reserved.
ASIN: B06VTJC8LX
For my family with gratitude for their unending support.
~
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Also by Lara Ward Cosio:
Tangled Up In You: A Rogue Series Novel
Playing At Love: A Rogue Series Novel
rogue
pronunciation: /rōɡ/
noun
1. A dishonest or unprincipled man.
1.2 A person whose behavior one disapproves of but one who is nonetheless likable or attractive
(often used as a playful term of reproof)
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
It was a million dollar indulgence. An extravagance in the form of a 900 horsepower hybrid, in fact. But damn if the metallic silver 918 Spyder Porsche didn’t drive like it was stolen. For a moment, Shay Donnelly flashed back to the days when he and his friend Gavin McManus actually did steal cars and race them to the outskirts of Dublin.
Shay had been driving for hours, starting at dusk to attract less attention, if that was even possible with a showpiece automobile like this. As the drummer for Rogue, the biggest band out of Ireland in the last twenty years he was well known for his love of sports cars. The tabloids just as often derided him as applauded him for his pursuit of the ridiculously priced things.
It was dark with just the Porsche’s headlights guiding the way on the N67 from the Cliffs of Moher heading north through the Burren towards Galway. Driving at night meant the spectacular view was lost, but Shay was more concerned with feeling the power of the engine and the way the tires hugged the road along the switchback curves. As such an expensive automobile should, it responded exceptionally well to taking the turns at high speed and he became one with the smooth movements, zoning out.
Shay punched the accelerator as he came into a straight stretch and the engine switched into gas-fired operation as he tested the promise of getting from zero mph to sixty in three seconds. The car performed as expected and filled the interior with an exhilarating 7000 rpm-powered roar. The vibrations filled his body in an all-consuming and satisfying way. This other state of being was cut short as a stationary figure became visible on the road ahead.
The brakes did their job with screeching and burned rubber smoke rising off the asphalt as the car stopped just short of the deer staring wide-eyed at him. The sudden quiet with the engine reverting to electric mode allowed him to hear the thud of his heart. He imagined the beat matched the deer’s.
As if released from an invisible hold, the deer looked away and trotted gracefully across the road. It took Shay a moment longer to recover as his mind was fixed on the drum rhythm he had concocted as a result of his quick heartbeat. Music. Music was always relief when he needed it.
~
Not much further on, Shay saw a sign for Gregans Castle Hotel. He followed it on a whim and found the two-story country hotel lit up in the night. He pulled the Porsche to a stop in front. The amount of other cars meant the venue was busy with travelers and that would have normally put him off, but the desire for a calming drink took precedence.
The distinctive aroma of a peat fire was a pleasant welcome as Shay entered the hotel and found his way to the Corkscrew bar. He removed his black flight jacket and set it on the stool next to him as he took a seat at the counter. The barman greeted him warmly.
“Pint of the black stuff,” Shay said.
“Right away,” the bartender replied and set about the first half-pour of Guinness. He would let it rest before topping it off to ensure the head was minimized.
Shay took in the small, comfortable room. An elderly man was slumped in a chair in a far corner, mouth open and head lolled to the side as he slept. His companion was a house cat curled up in the chair beside him.
“What’s on, then, mate?” Shay asked. The number of cars parked out front meant the guests had to all be somewhere together.
“The Kennedy wedding. You’re not here with that?”
“I’m not, no.”
“Quick holiday from the tour?” he asked casually, smoothly indicating he recognized Shay.
“Something like that.”
The bartender set the full pint of Guinness before Shay and read his mood adeptly, leaving him to drink alone.
Shay wasn’t a big drinker in normal circumstances, usually finding little interest in anything more than a light buzz. Drumming and driving were his addictions, where he sought a high. The break in Rogue’s tour had afforded him the opportunity to acquire and test the Porsche.
Rogue had been supporting their most recent album, Ache & Swell, to sold-out crowds for almost six months. They had a three-week “break” that was intended as a rest but would also have them playing several large-scale festivals across Europe.
The album had been a phenomenal success, selling close to fourteen million copies. The band’s renewed popularity came by way of both a strong album and a separate stand-alone hit that had gone from viral internet sensation to Hollywood blockbuster status when it had been featured in a Chris Pratt romantic comedy. The music industry rarely saw such numbers anymore, and Shay had used this to justify his extravagant purchase of the Porsche. Didn’t he deserve to reward himself, after all?
But he had to admit that tonight’s drive wasn’t about rewarding himself. It was about losing himself.
The trill of laughter disrupted his thoughts and he turned to see a couple walking arm in arm into the bar. The woman was as Irish as they come with a head of red curls, sparkling blue eyes, and smooth, fair skin. She had tried to cover her freckles with makeup, and Shay thought that was a shame. The ruby red cocktail dress she wore clung to her curves in a very pleasant way. The man accompanying her had light brown hair and pale brown eyes, and seemed dull in comparison to the woman’s lively presence.
“Perfect, thanks so much,” the woman told the man. “That’s all I needed.”
Shay was surprised by her flat American accent. He turned his eyes to his pint but kept listening.
“You’re sure you’re all right?” the man asked. He was also American.
“Absolutely. I just needed to escape. You go back to that girl you were eyeing. It’s all right. I’m off to bed soon.”
“Give a holler if you need anything else.”
She winked at him. “Have fun, Jason.”
Shay sensed the woman hesitate before finally seating herself at the small bar with him, the stool between them occupied by his jacket.
“What can I get for you, Miss?” the bartender asked.
“I suppose I should order something like Guinness or an aged Irish whiskey. But what I really want is tequila,” she replied with an unapologetic smile.
“Right away.”
Shay took a long pull on his pint and considered ordering another.
“Do you have any of those little slices of lime?”
With a glance, Shay saw that the woman had been served a shot of tequila and was waiting for the lime.
“I know, I must seem like an obnoxious American with an order like this,” she said.
It took a moment for Shay to realize she was looking at him. The bartender had supplied her with the requested fruit and moved away.
“Ah, no—”
“It’s just the one drink that hits that sweet spot, you know?”
Shay saw that this wasn’t a throw-away line for her. She was really expecting an answer from him. He was always surprised when women flirted with him. It was easier to assume it came in response to his fame than to accept that he was someone people not only noticed but found attractive. His build was compact and he wore his receding strawberry blond hair buzzed, but his gray eyes were intelligent and his prominent Irish cheekbones gave his face an engaging sense of character.
The woman was watching him expectantly. He thought about brushing her off, finishing his drink, and leaving. That’s what he would normally do. His instinct was to keep his head down. But then he remembered that he’d come out tonight to get lost. Why not seize the opportunity to do that with someone else?
Only thing was, he was a terrible flirt. To conjure up something that might send her the right message of his interest in return, he imagined what his renowned playboy bandmate Conor Quinn would say.
Meeting her eyes, he replied, “Tell me about that sweet spot.”
And it worked like a charm.
CHAPTER TWO
Bar banter and drinks evolved first into heated kissing in the hallway on the way to her room and then the kind of uninhibited sex generated between two people who knew they would never see each other again. Amanda was a warm comfort for the night, and never once gave any indication she knew who he was.
Being the introverted drummer for a hugely famous band meant he was all too often accosted by people who presumed to think they knew him. Men tended clap him on the back familiarly, mention some random bit of trivia they knew about him, and act as if they were lifelong pals. Women usually approached him with an odd mixture of motherly caretaking and seduction. But the women he was attracted to were not the ones who wanted to mind him like a child.
Jessica had understood that. Though she was six years younger than him and just sorting out her life’s path when they met, they’d formed a quick connection. She’d been charmed by his fumbling attempts at flirting, his lack of rock star pretense, and his concern for a friend who had been in need. He’d been drawn to the way she made him feel seen, her ability to bring him out of himself, and the passion—and heartbreak—she had for dancing. They’d been together for almost two years until she quit her job with the band’s organization, moved out of their house, and left him after one too many ugly incidents with Danny Boy. The band went on tour soon after and Shay tried to use the distraction of all that went with it to ignore his fractured heart.
But it wasn’t long before he was consumed with thoughts of her. Memories of their courtship and ensuing relationship came to him at the oddest times. He’d wake in the night thinking of her. He’d see her silhouette in the crowd at their concerts. He’d ache to get lost in the dimples of her smile. Rather than question why he was so forcefully retracing their relationship in his mind, he welcomed and dwelled in it. It was an escape, but one he knew was harmless. Well, as harmless as torturing your own heart with thoughts of having let your one true love walk away was.
Now it had been months since he had seen or spoken with her. Instead, he was in this lovely stranger’s bed as dawn was breaking. Clearly, the fact that another woman was intruding upon his thoughts at this moment meant once more that his attempts to distract himself weren’t working.
Amanda was curled on her side, facing him but fast asleep. She was plump but wore it well and without insecurity. With other one night stands, be it a groupie or not, he left as quietly and quickly as possible. In the plush bedding of this elegant suite, though, he lingered. Not because he thought Amanda was something more than a one-time thing, but because he needed to think about what had sent him driving off into the night.
The chirping of birds outside got louder as it got brighter. Shay bunched his pillow under his head and fixated on the tree branches stretching across the window as he thought of his brother Danny Boy.
Though he had been christened with the name Daniel, he’d been called Danny Boy since birth. His parents called him that. His friends called him that. Even his teachers called him that. He was born with uncommon charisma. Everyone was drawn to Danny Boy for his quick wit and likability. Shay had always revered him, for the obvious brotherly reasons and for the way he looked after him when they were young. Their parents had never latched onto the idea of being “present.” Kids were just other people in the house doing their own thing rather than ones that needed nurturing and attention. Their detached attitude meant the children were left to raise themselves. Danny was five years older than Shay and had taken it upon himself to care for his brother. It was only with Danny that Shay felt safe. All that changed when Danny fell in with a crowd that introduced him to heroin.
Amanda stirred, throwing her arm sleepily over her head as she stretched onto her back. Shay gladly strayed from his thoughts as he looked at the way her exposed breasts rose and fell with her steady breaths. Her breasts were large and tipped with soft pink nipples. He leaned to her and took one nipple into his mouth, coaxing it rigid with his teeth and tongue. She woke with a gasp.
“Seamus, you are the best thing I’ve found in all of Ireland,” she said softly, a smile in her voice as she ran a lazy hand through his short hair.
He had introduced himself as Seamus, the full name his parents hadn’t bothered to put on his birth certificate. Instead, they had registered the nickname of Shay. The only person in his life to call him Seamus was Gavin, the friend and bandmate he had come to rely on and look up to in replacement of the brother who had eventually become a sporadic presence in his life.
“High praise,” he murmured, “since you only just got here yesterday.”
Her giggle trailed off as he moved in between her legs. She met his eyes and touched his face. “Who are you, anyway? You’re familiar somehow.”
He arched an eyebrow at her, feigning an incredulous expression. He had emphasized his words, aware of how an Irish brogue could charm Americans. “Do you not remember meeting me last night?”
She smiled. “I didn’t remember you being funny.”
He kissed her slowly and hoped he was right in thinking they had one more condom left. After things had progressed the night before, she’d made a hasty call to Jason, the cousin who had escorted her to the bar. He’d been a lifesaver, dropping by the room with a handful of what they needed.
“Will your wife and kids be missing you about now?” she asked as he kissed her neck.
“No, love. I’m after an escape, same as you, but not from that.”
She had confessed the night before to being reluctantly in the country for a cousin’s wedding. The cousin was of Irish descent, two generations removed, and Amanda described her as being an Hibernophile. It wasn’t a word he had ever heard but he was soon educated to the fact that it meant a person who is fond of Irish culture, Irish language, and Ireland in general. She didn’t care much for her cousin—not because of her obsession with all things Irish, but because she’d bullied her mercilessly when they were kids. Amanda had only come to the wedding out of familial obligation. Once the ceremony gave way to the reception, Amanda had slipped away to the bar.
“Good. I don’t want to regret this,” she said.
“Why would you?” he asked. “It hits that sweet spot, doesn’t it?”
She laughed and pulled him to her.
~
Though Amanda invited him to stay for breakfast with the wedding party, Shay declined and left her comfortably in the bed they had shared. She had made a game at trying to guess what he did for a living after examining the callouses on his hands and the strength in his forearms and biceps. Construction worker? Mechanic? Truck driver?
&
nbsp; He had demurred while she kept the questions coming even as he’d dressed. Finally, he leaned over her as she lay against the pillows and kissed her sweetly.
“Your cousin probably knows me,” he told her as he pulled away.
Her eyebrows came together in confusion.
“I’m the drummer for a band called Rogue, love.”
Recognition flooded her eyes in an instant, and she was more embarrassed for not having figured it out sooner than star struck. He watched as she fell into laughter over the revelation.
It was still early when he pushed the start button on the Porsche. Moving slowly down the lane in electric mode, he saw the hotel with its lovely gardens in his rearview mirror and smiled. He pressed the accelerator down, clicking into gas-fired operation and the sports car jumped to life with a robust rumble.
He chose the slightly longer route home toward Dublin so he could enjoy the view of the glacier carved limestone hills of the Burren and the dramatic Cliffs of Moher this time. And to delay the inevitable of dealing with Danny Boy whom he had left at his house the night before after their row.
CHAPTER THREE
The sign on the N67 read “Dangerous Corners Ahead.” The winding road was recently repaved and surrounded by green fields dotted with centuries-old whitewashed cottages and enclosed by low hand-built stone walls.
Shay raced around the corners, feeling the power of the Porsche with each minor adjustment of the accelerator and steering wheel. The “dangerous” path only lasted one kilometer, but the rush of it lingered. When he passed through the town of Lisdoonvarna, he knew he should find his way to Kilfenora Road and then onto R460 toward home, but instead he turned onto the R478, following the signpost for the Cliffs of Moher. The road ran along the coastline with a view of the Aran Islands on the right side.