Recklessly Rogue (Royals Gone Rogue #4)

6. Ruby

Chapter 6

Ruby

“ I thought we agreed to ignore each other for the rest of our lives.”

“We did.” Henry Dean plants his fine ass on the stool in the middle of the bar, directly across from where I’m standing.

I try very hard not to catalog the way the dark gray button-down shirt pulls across his broad shoulders and thick biceps or how the sleeves rolled up to the elbows reveal the tattoos on his right forearm. Even though he’s wearing his usual dress pants and shoes—both in black—he looks hot. Like rich-asshole-CEO hot. He stands out so obviously in the rundown small-town bar that it should be laughable, but if anything, he looks bored. Maybe mildly irritated. Not at all uncomfortable.

I’ve never seen Henry look uncomfortable, and I can’t imagine the situation that would make him feel that way.

And don’t even get me started on the accent. He’s British, and he sounds even better than Henry Cavill.

It’s not fair.

I just saw him yesterday…or maybe it was the day before—the time difference between here and Cara throws me off—but I still notice that his beard has grown in a little more, and there are dark smudges under his gorgeous blue eyes.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Emerald is my hometown now, too.”

That statement makes my breath lodge in my chest.

Hearing it out loud from him like that makes it really real.

I’ve been trying very hard not to think about Henry at all, because it hurts so much when I do. And it makes me all itchy and jumpy because I don’t know when I’m going to see him again. Or how to act when I do.

But I did expect to have notice before he just showed up. I figured Scarlett would let me know when she was coming home. Which would be when Henry would be coming to Emerald, since he’s practically a conjoined twin with her new husband.

I clear my throat. “You came back early? Without them?”

“Your sister tells me you have a houseguest.”

I sigh. And study the man who, even when he is thousands of miles away with an ocean between us, can make my panties wet. But with only a beat-up slab of wood separating us, I’m tempted to both launch myself into his arms and punch him in the jaw.

Henry Dean is a huge pain in my ass.

Things were pretty good in my life before he showed up.

And really, if I hadn’t fallen in love with him, things would be going great .

Ignoring him for as long as Scarlett and Cian stay married—yes, fine, forever—was never going to be easy , but I figured it would only be select holidays and things like Mariah’s birthday and graduation. Once I leave Emerald, he and I won’t run into each other much.

Stomping into my place of employment, inserting himself into a conversation, and throwing a customer out, was definitely not how I pictured things going.

Even if that was pretty hot.

“My houseguest is not in need of butler services,” I say. “I have no idea why you would think your presence is required.”

He gives me a look that clearly says he doesn’t like my attitude or my sass. Too fucking bad.

“Scarlett informed me that your houseguest has a husband who is not very pleased with the fact she’s staying with you.” He arches a brow and glances toward the door where he just escorted Jeff out into the night. “Jeff confirmed a few things as well.”

“No, Chris isn’t very happy.” I cross my arms. “But I didn’t order a bodyguard.”

“Perk of being an in-law to the royal family,” he says with a shrug.

“Cian sent you?”

“I volunteered.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I was calling to inform Scarlett, not ask for help. I’ve known Chris Duncan since high school. He’s definitely a jerk and has a terrible temper, but I’m not afraid of him.”

“Scarlett was about to get on a plane to come herself. She’s on her honeymoon with my best friend. I’m here so that she stays there .”

I shake my head. Of course, Scarlett was going to come home. She knows Chris, too. Plus, she’s probably feeling as weird as I am about this time and distance between us.

My sister and I haven’t spent a lot of time apart, literally, since we were conceived. As identical twins, we’ve always been in each other’s personal space. The only time we really had any physical or emotional distance was when she went to live with our biological father in high school. It was a very emotional time for both of us. Time neither of us wants to repeat. Obviously, her being happily married and on her honeymoon is a whole different situation. That doesn’t mean that her first instinct to come home and be with me was any different, though.

“If you think I’m going to let you face down some abusive asshole ex of your friend by yourself, you don’t know me very well,” Henry says.

The problem is, I know Henry very well. We are very much alike.

“I am actually shocked that you can be this far away from Cian without breaking out in hives.”

“Who says I don’t have hives?” he asks.

Good point. I blow out a breath and focus on his muscular, corded forearm. “They haven’t spread to your wrists yet,” I comment.

“It’s only been a few hours,” he says.

Dammit. His self-deprecating humor and self-awareness about how codependent he and Cian are is one of my favorite things about him.

I know that Henry was hired as Cian’s bodyguard when Cian abdicated the throne and came to the United States at seventeen. Henry posed as his college roommate and almost literally hasn’t left his side in over a decade. They’ve traveled the world, had numerous adventures—and a few misadventures—and become more like brothers than boss-employee or even friends.

It’s not another woman or a romantic relationship I have to be jealous of. His heart is already spoken for by the Royal family, and specifically Cian O’Grady.

And ironically, it’s one of the things I love best about him. I am not interested in breaking him and Cian up.

“So what’s the plan here?” I ask him. “You’re going to tell Chris to leave us alone? His friends?” I glance toward the door where he escorted Jeff out as well.

“I’m staying until your friend's situation stabilizes.”

I frown. “Can you be more specific?”

“Why don’t you be specific,” he tells me, his tone firm yet frustrated. “What’s going on? She’s staying with you. For how long? What is her plan? What is your plan? Let me guess, just whatever this woman needs for as long as she thinks she needs it.”

I glance around the bar to be sure that no one needs anything, almost wishing that some of these guys were a little more difficult. But everyone here tonight is a regular, and they’ve been here long enough to be settled into either the game they’re watching on television or their conversation.

“It just happened today,” I tell him, keeping my voice low. “So no we don’t have a whole big elaborate plan. Yet . But we will.”

“But you’re not in a hurry,” he says.

I frown. “What does that mean?”

He shakes his head. “You act like I don’t know that the reason this woman and her kid are living with you, less than seventy-two hours after your sister got married, is because Scarlett now has someone else taking care of her, and you’re feeling a little unneeded.”

I widen my eyes. I know him very well. And he knows me very well. “You act like I don’t know that you’re only here because the guy you take care of now has a new babysitter and you’re feeling a little unneeded.”

He just looks at me for a long moment. But he doesn’t argue.

Yeah, not only are we a lot alike, but we both acknowledge it.

“Scarlett told me you went to high school with the asshole husband, but not April. And she’s got a little boy who’s four.”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Tell me more.”

Fine. He’s here. He’s not going to leave, I know that. And I wish I was madder about seeing him. But I’m not. We’re just going to need some rules.

I take a breath. “April moved here a few years ago. She covers the day shift here at the bar. That’s how I met her. Chris is ten years older than she is. They were dating, things got a little serious, then she wanted to break it off, but found out she was pregnant. So she agreed to marry him. Their little guy, Elliot, is four. Chris has never been a great husband or father. At first, it was verbal and emotional abuse. Then financial. He’s always been very controlling. But more recently, it’s become physical. I’ve only known her for about a year since we moved back, but I’ve been encouraging her to leave since we met. Chris knows that, and he’s been pissed at me. He’s come in here and yelled at me a couple of times. But anyway, when I got home today, I got a phone call from her. She was crying and said she was finally ready. So I said come over right now.” I shrug. “They’re staying at our house. I don’t know what else you need to know.”

Henry’s jaw clenches. “How long is she staying?”

I narrow my eyes and give him the answer I know he’s expecting. “As long as she needs to.”

“Dammit, Ruby. There needs to be a plan. Is she filing for divorce? Is she wanting to leave town? Does she have any money? Does she have anywhere to go?”

He’s almost yelling. I mean, not really. Not by normal standards. But by always-in-control-of-every-damned-thing Henry standards, definitely.

How interesting.

I give him a slow blink I know will drive him nuts. “I’ve barely seen her. I gave her my keys when I came in tonight, and she was going to pick Elliot up and go straight to my house.”

He blows out a breath. “ We need to go to your house.”

I roll my eyes. “I plan to. After I’m done working .”

It’s not like Henry doesn’t have a job. I mean, his gig is twenty-four-seven-three-sixty-five. But how he makes a living is very, very different from what I—and most of the world—means by “work”.

He doesn’t say anything to that. Instead, he pulls his phone out, taps in a number and lifts it to his ear.

I lean onto the bar, propping my chin on my hand to watch. I can’t help it. He’s interesting. And amusing. In an I-want-to-strangle-you-and-fuck-you-so-bad-I-almost-can’t-stand-it way.

“Is this Dan?” he asks a moment later.

I frown. Dan? That’s the name of the bar owner. My boss.

“This is Henry Dean. I’m a friend of Ruby’s. She needs to leave early tonight and I was wondering how much you think you’d typically bring in the rest of the night?”

He pauses, obviously listening to whatever Dan is saying.

I roll my eyes. Seriously, I don’t think Henry Dean or Cian O’Grady—or any of the other royals, as far as I can tell—have ever learned the meaning of the word audacity.

But they live it. Out loud.

“Okay, I’m going to double that amount,” Henry says a moment later. “If you give me your account information, I’ll wire it right now. Then we’re going to close the bar down, and I’m going to take Ruby home.”

He pauses again, then holds his hand out to me. I lift a brow.

Instead of using his words, he leans in, plucks out the pen I have tucked behind my ear, and writes a number on a napkin.

Oh my God, Dan just gave a total stranger his bank account number over the phone. I’m going to have to have a talk with my boss, the sixty-eight-year-old man who has lived in the same town all his life and lets people run tabs for months at a time. He named the bar Big Dick’s when he and his best friend, Kevin, started it. Not because of their names or because of any body parts, but because they both were well-known, well, jerks.

Dan has mellowed, though, in the three years since Kevin died. Not completely, but definitely some.

Still, just handing his banking info out? Come on, Dan .

“Thanks, Dan. Sending that in the next five minutes. I’ll text you when it’s gone through,” Henry says.

Is it the accent? I wonder, watching this transpire right before my eyes. The British accent does make him sound… I don’t know. Sexy as fuck, to me, but that’s probably not what’s working on Dan. Maybe posh? Serious? Sophisticated?

The accent is sometimes more obvious than at other times. He can turn it up or down depending on the situation and his mood. I noted that when we first got to know each other. He explained that he often adopts an American accent, as does Cian, and as a bodyguard trying to blend into the background, over the past decade-plus, he’s dropped a lot of British words and slang from his vocabulary. Both he and Cian have Americanized their speech.

Once in a while a word or term will sneak in. Bloody is common when he’s worked up. French fries are chips. And he can not call pants pants. They’re trousers. He also sometimes calls panties ‘knickers’ but it always makes me giggle for some reason. It’s a funny-sounding word, what can I say?

Henry disconnects the call but then starts swiping over his phone screen. Presumably, transferring some stupid amount of money—though it’s a Tuesday night in Emerald, Ohio, and it’s already near eleven p.m. It’s not like Dan brings in half a million dollars a night and certainly not in the three hours left before we close up—to Dan’s account.

“You just always do whatever you want, don’t you?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“I do,” Henry confirms without looking up.

He hits a final button, then pivots on his stool. “Last call, guys!” he tells the mostly empty room. “And this final round is on the house since we’re closing up early.”

Everyone perks up at that, but I frown. “We?”

“I’m going to buy the bar tomorrow,” he says, turning back to face me.

I straighten. “ What ?”

“That’s just easier than calling Dan and paying him every time I need you to be available. If I’m your boss, I can decide when, and if, you work.”

I stare at him. He doesn’t say that in a sexy, flirty way. If he’d made that into a hot when I’m your boss kind of way, I might have smiled and gone along with it.

As it is, I plant a hand on my hip. “You’re insane.”

“Actually no. I have a full physical and mental exam every year. Perfectly fit in every way.”

That calm tone of voice and the way he watches me with an impossible-to-read expression makes me feel very much like slapping him. Which would not be the most composed, in-control thing to do.

Which infuriates me.

“Let’s put aside for a moment that you wanting to control when and if I work is a bright cherry red fucking flag,” I say, pretty sure I sound calm-ish. “I need this job. If I don’t work, I don’t get paid. If I don’t get paid, I don’t have things like food and electricity.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course, you’ll have food and electricity. I’m not going to not pay you.”

“Even when I don’t work?”

“Yes. How much do you want? I’ll just transfer money to your account now, too.”

And he would. Cian is the prince with…I have no idea how much money, but lots probably covers it. But Henry also has plenty. He’s paid well, I’m sure, and he has no expenses. He lives where Cian lives, eats what Cian eats, travels with Cian. I suppose he maybe buys his own clothes—though I don’t know that for sure, and he has very expensive taste—and, I don’t know, toothpaste? But he doesn’t really have to worry about things like rent and heating bills.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I tell him, moving down the bar to give the ten bar patrons their free final drinks.

I’m grateful for the space and distraction. Henry Dean is too hard to dislike even when he’s being a pompous, controlling, bossy ass.

You really like his controlling, bossy ass sometimes.

That inner voice that insists on reminding me about Past Henry is not helpful.

Past Henry is the Henry who I met eight months ago, happily flirted with, enthusiastically kissed, greedily fucked, and stupidly fell in love with.

Present Henry is, well, the bane of my existence.

After all the drinks are passed out, I start cleaning up. I guess I’m closing early. It’s not like I mind that. I work at the bar because the hours work well for my home-life balance with Scarlett and Mariah, and I’m a good bartender—I’ve been doing it long enough—and it’s pretty low-key. Dan’s a rough-around-the-edges guy, but he’s easy to work for. And most of the regulars are okay. I grew up here, so I know everyone, or at least know of them, and that helps.

Small towns are like that, I guess. Bartending and dancing in New Orleans was different. There were good things about dealing with strangers and new faces every night. People who hadn’t known me since the cradle. But there are definite benefits to having a history in town too.

People here know who I am. They know I’m not a bitch unless I need to be, but I’m also not a pushover. They know my friends, and don’t really want me to tell the loan officer at the bank they might need to talk to one day, the high school football coach who coaches their kids, or the local contractor they might need to hire, what assholes they are. None of my friends would let that affect how they do their jobs, but it can make relationships tense and people do care about reputations and how people look at them and talk about them in small towns.

Within forty minutes, everyone has finished their drinks and left—which is about thirty minutes longer than Henry seems to think it should have taken them. Henry is picking up their bottles and glasses the second they set them down and wishing them a goodnight while their asses are still in their seats.

No one seems to want to argue with him.

None of them know who he is. Not really. They don’t know he’s a trained bodyguard or that he’s probably got a gun tucked somewhere. He doesn’t need them to know that. He’s just got this don’t-fuck-with-me air about him.

He moves behind the bar with the final empty bottles, dumping them in the bin, then grabbing a rag without a word and heading out into the main room to wipe down tables.

At least he’s helping me clean up.

He actually seems at ease tipping chairs upside down on tables and even grabbing a broom, and I wonder about his life. He’s so obviously comfortable in suits and drinking expensive liquor and looked completely at ease in the palace in Cara. But here tonight, he’s as comfortable sitting in this bar as any of the small-town guys I know.

I finish balancing the register and pull off my apron, tucking it in the laundry basket with the dirty towels.

When I turn, he’s right there. In my space, close enough I can feel his body heat and smell his cologne. Something that reminds me of a library full of old books and leather chairs. I’m sure it’s expensive. I used to think that I liked the smell of just regular guys. Outdoorsy smells like pine or sandalwood or some shit like that.

But no.

Expensive scents like freaking jasmine or musk or bourbon or whatever the hell Henry Dean smells like makes my pussy clench, and my nipples tighten, and dammit…he hasn’t even touched me.

But I remember every time he has .

Because Henry Dean’s touch is never accidental or casual. At least not with me.

And it’s very freaking memorable.

“Here’s another,” he says, holding up a towel.

His voice is husky and I feel like my gaze is actually caught on his. I can’t look away.

“Ruby.”

The word rolls over me.

“Huh?”

“Gem…”

Oh, fuck. That nickname does me in. Short for ‘gemstone’, taken of course, from Ruby, he started calling me that after he kissed me that first time. He only uses it when we’re alone, close, intimate. When he also says things like I’m precious, priceless, his treasure.

“Dammit, Henry,” I mutter, as I grip the front of his shirt and pull him down, pressing my lips to his.

His hand cups the back of my head, his fingers gripping my hair, holding me in place as he immediately deepens the kiss.

His tongue boldly strokes mine as he tips my head, allowing a fuller fit of our mouths.

I moan, and he walks me back until my ass hits the counter behind me.

Then he presses into me.

And so much for ignoring each other.