Rogue Nights (The Rogue Series Book 6) Read online

  But all James needed was Nina.

  Thank You

  Thank you for reading Resisting Desire. If you enjoyed this story, perhaps you’ll consider signing up to my mailing list for a couple more free romances. If you’re into black heroines being adored, frequent sarcasm, and passionate love scenes, I’ve got something for you.

  Talia xx

  Also By Talia Hibbert

  A GIRL LIKE HER – RAVENSWOOD BOOK 1

  Everyone has secrets. He wants all of hers.

  Meet the man next door.

  THE PRINCESS TRAP – DIRTY BRITISH ROMANCE BOOK 1

  He’s reckless, dominant, and deliciously dirty. This prince is no fairytale.

  BAD FOR THE BOSS – JUST FOR HIM BOOK 1

  Nobody tells him no. Until her.

  MATING THE HUNTRESS

  This Halloween, love bites back… hard.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Annabeth Albert, Robin Covington and Rebecca Crowley for helping me make James and Nina the truest version of themselves. Thank you to Ellen Baier, Adina Taylor, Rosa Giles and Jhenelle Jacas for giving me the breathing room to create things like this. Thank you, always, to the readers who’ve stuck by me through every wild idea.

  About the Author

  Talia Hibbert lives in a bedroom full of books. Supposedly, there is a world beyond that room — but she has yet to drum up enough interest to investigate.

  Website – taliahibbert.com

  Dropped Stitches

  Annabeth Albert

  When activist knitter Bea goes to vote, the last person she expects to run into is her high school crush. The two women forge an unlikely election day connection, but can they see a future beyond the victory party?

  To the magic of a ball of yarn and two sticks. Knitting has played a huge role in my adulthood. It has gotten me through health issues, been there through life changes, friendships, dark days and celebrations. It lets me blanket my family in love and soothes my soul. I wouldn’t be who I am without yarn at the heart of me.

  1

  Most people probably don’t obsess over what knitting project to bring to vote. I’m not most people.

  As I circled the block, looking for a spot to park at the civic center, I took stock of the line outside my polling place. It looked long with the after-work crowd, and my shoulders released some tension. A high turnout meant good things for Simone, the candidate for representative I’d been working for. Earlier in the day I’d spent an extra few minutes setting up a lightweight scarf to be my waiting-in-line knitting project.

  If Simone won, the scarf would make a nice celebratory gift, and if she lost—not that I was dwelling on the possibility—well, everyone could use an extra scarf and I could gift it to her along with chocolate and wine. But she wasn’t going to lose. We’d worked too hard for too long to fail. Sure, the polls were tight, but I refused to worry yet. I’d save that for our watch party.

  But first, I needed to vote. After parking, I joined the line outside and immediately pulled out the scarf. Luckily, the lighting outside the building was more than adequate for my purposes. The yarn was a fun, self-striping worsted, and I popped my earbuds in to further distract me. To say I was bad at waiting would be a vast understatement, but the music and the scarf’s intriguing rib pattern helped me retreat into my own happy bubble. In fact, I was so into the project that I didn’t notice at first when the line moved. The gap in front of me finally registered, and I shuffled forward on autopilot, still looking down at the scarf. And then I promptly crashed into the person ahead of me.

  “Oops. Sorry.” I still didn’t look up, but I tried to make the apology as sincere as possible.

  “Really? Maybe if you watched the line, you could keep up.” There was something familiar about the feminine, critical voice, and that, combined with the complaint, had me tugging one earbud free.

  “Sorry. Trust me, you don’t want to see what happens if I don’t knit.” I kept my tone light, trying to defuse the situation.

  “At least the yarn is pretty.”

  Kira Watts. I did know that voice.

  Hell, I was pretty sure I’d heard her voice in every stress dream I’d ever had about high school, all cultured tones judging some screwup of mine. Sometimes I’d been late to class. Sometimes I’d failed a test. And sometimes I’d forgotten pants. But almost always there had been Kira Watts, looking down at me.

  My head tilted as I took her in. Same gorgeous dark curls, deep brown eyes with lashes worthy of a hundred-dollar mascara, and the sort of coat I’d expect her to wear—an expensive-looking trench in rich, dark wool.

  The flannel pants with coffee cups printed on them and clogs that might double as slippers were not as expected. And she wasn’t wearing her trademark berry lipstick.

  Huh. It had been years since I’d seen her, but the Kira Watts I’d once known had never gone anywhere looking anything less than a polished movie star.

  “Kira? I thought I’d heard that you’d moved back.” I tried to keep my voice casual, not like I’d been keeping tabs, because I hadn’t.

  However, I was still in contact with enough people from high school that a few news tidbits had popped up in my social media feed here and there. And my mom, former PTA president and volunteer for a zillion charities, had gossip about everyone we’d ever possibly known, especially kids like Kira. She’d been a stand-out star—valedictorian, president of the Black Student Union and the National Honor Society, and a pile of awards at graduation.

  “Beatrice?” As always, Kira managed to say my name with a vaguely annoyed lilt. She was one of, like, three people on the planet who called me Beatrice and not Bea. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you at first.”

  I smiled at that. She probably didn’t mean it as a compliment, but I’d take it as one. I’d worked hard to leave high school behind. If I bore little resemblance to the freckled, frizzy-haired girl who’d had an unfortunate love of clashing colors, then that was good.

  “It’s okay. Nice to see you again.” I tried to show some manners, further evidence that I’d changed.

  “Same. I would have figured you’d be first in line to vote this morning. I heard that you’ve been volunteering with one of the candidates.”

  “I had work.” I hated the defensive note to my voice. “And I’m not a morning person.”

  “Oh, I remember that.”

  Her comment took me straight back to our first-period geography class. I’d sat in the back row, chugging coffee I wasn’t supposed to have from my Thermos. And I’d watched Kira with her band of friends, each one of them more sunny than I could ever hope to be. Kira, with the perfectly applied lipstick and neatly stacked homework, had been blindingly bright in looks and smarts. I’d held back many sighs as I’d watched the way her lips moved when she’d talked.

  And yup, that was still the case as she spoke to me in the present, and I had to force myself to pay attention to her next question. “Where do you work?”

  “I’m a receptionist at a law firm.” More defensiveness. I had no business caring if she knew that I’d burnt out at my three tries at college. She didn’t need to know that I was waiting for the right-paying job in grassroots organizing to open up. And I tried to play it like I didn’t know she’d graduated from her daddy’s alma matter summa cum laude, gotten into her mother’s medical school, and graduated a few months ago, top of her class from the East Coast Ivy. “And you?”

  “I’ve got a job at a clinic in East Saint Louis.”

  “Wow. Would have figured you’d have some sort of surgical residency or something like that.” I never would have expected her to end up working in an inner-city neighborhood for what had to be a modest salary.

  “You and my parents both.” She sighed before doing a decent imitation of her father’s bass voice. “‘Kira, there’s no future in family medicine.’”

  “No future?” I laughed. “You’re a freaking doctor. That should be spectacular enough for them.”

/>   “You’d think. Line’s moving.”

  I shuffled forward. As I did so, my eyes drifted back to her legs and her unusual choice of attire.

  “Don’t stare so hard. You’ll give yourself a migraine. Yes, I’m in pajamas. Yes, I almost forgot today was election day. Yes, I ran out to vote without changing because I was afraid the lines would be too long if I waited any later.”

  “It’s okay.” I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to reassure her. Kira had never once needed reassuring back in school.

  “No, it’s really not. I broke up with my girlfriend last week. The days have kind of…blurred together. Tuesdays and Wednesdays are my scheduled days off, and I might have slept in. A lot.”

  “Hold up. Girlfriend?” Forget staring, my eyeballs were in serious risk of falling out onto the sidewalk.

  “Yes, Beatrice. Girlfriend.”

  “You have a girlfriend?” I tried to reconcile that piece of information with everything I knew about her, everything she’d been once upon a time.

  “Had. And yes. You can close your jaw now. I’m sorry that not all of us had ourselves figured out in junior high like you did. Sorry if I’m not fitting whatever little box you had for me.”

  “Wait. What? You think I’m judging you?” That was rich as I’d spent the last ten years or so trying to distance myself from the high school “in” crowd and the boxes they’d shoved me in. “Why would I do that?”

  I’d been out since early high school when the LGBTQ alliance at our school started up, but most people had probably guessed sooner. And everyone knew that I leaned so far left that it was a wonder I could walk upright. I preached tolerance and inclusivity, always had. How was I supposed to be the judgey one?

  “Come on. I know you never liked me. And now here I am, life falling apart…” Her voice caught, and her face did this wavery thing that made my insides lurch.

  “Hey.” I grabbed her arm, trying to reassure her. I wasn’t very good with big emotions like crying. I’d always been a woman of action, not an emotional support human like my bestie, Amy, who always knew exactly what to say or do. She’d have tissues, not stitch counters, in her purse, and she’d probably say anything other than the bald truth. “I didn’t hate you. I wanted to be like you.”

  “Me? You wanted to be like me?” Kira blinked at me. She was looking at me like I’d sprouted an extra arm, but I’d take it as a win as it wasn’t tears. “Why?”

  The line inched forward again, and the November evening wind whipped at us, making her curls dance. And maybe it was the cold that made me continue down the honesty path. It was too chilly for summery platitudes.

  “Why? Because you had the perfect life. Valedictorian. Homecoming court. Board member of more clubs than I can name. All the friends. The wardrobe—”

  “The wardrobe?” Her face twisted up as if she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or get mad. “Guess today’s ensemble must be a bitter disappointment, then.”

  “It’s surprising,” I allowed. “But you’re entitled to wallow in…whatever. My last breakup involved a re-watch of Supernatural and the same yoga pants for three days. Back then, though, you were the only girl I knew who wore dry-clean-only dresses. Dresses that you never wrinkled. And your shoes….”

  “I would have traded all my heels—all of them—for your family. You wanted my clothes? I wanted parents who brought a cheering section when I had a bit part in a play. Big brothers who stood up for me. Little sisters who were always around. All that. You think I had it good?” She shook her head almost like she pitied my ignorance. “You try bringing home an A-minus in my house.”

  I had to swallow hard. “I’m sorry, Kira. Really. I never knew…” I trailed off, not sure how to make this right.

  Despite the cool temperatures, sweat gathered on my lower back. She was right. I was the judgmental one. I’d just always assumed she liked her life, never dreamed she might have looked at mine with anything other than scorn or mockery. It was true, I did have a large family, and it was also true that Dale and Jeff had once threatened to start a brawl over someone calling me homophobic names. But most of the time, my family drove me nuts. I’d spent way too much time envying small families, daydreaming about being an only kid. Now, however, I was an adult. And I should have known better than to make assumption about Kira. Shouldn’t have gotten myself sucked back into high school insecurities.

  “I wish I’d known,” I said lamely. “I would have let you have Dale, at least, or borrow Alice.” My little sister was a charmer, and she always had been far more popular than any of the rest of us.

  “Alice might have been worth it.” Kira’s laugh had a shaky edge to it, like she hadn’t laughed in a while.

  “Alice is in nursing school now, you know. And I probably would have broken my neck in those shoes you used to wear, but I could have…” I had to lick my lips, take a deep breath. “I could have tried harder. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s—”

  “You guys voting or what?” An older male polling place worker looked up at us with bored eyes. Damn it. We’d reached the front of the line.

  “Of course.” Kira turned toward me. “Take care.”

  “Wait! Don’t go!”

  Both her eyebrows went up at that. “We need to vote. We’re holding up the line.”

  “Look for me afterward. Please?” I wasn’t ready to end things like this, not with her having such a bad day, and me being an idiot of epic proportions. But then she was gone, into the building, leaving me with the irritated poll worker and a murmuring line behind me.

  2

  I voted. Simone, and the issues I cared about, needed my full attention in the voting booth. Issues, I was great with. People? Apparently not so much.

  As I got my I Voted sticker, I looked around, trying to find Kira. She wasn’t in the hallway, and I couldn’t exactly hang around the civic center indefinitely, what with several election workers giving me pointed looks. The last thing I needed was for someone to think I was trying to disrupt the electoral process. But as I left the building, I spotted her walking down the sidewalk as regally as if she had on four-inch heels and an evening dress.

  “Kira!” I ran to catch up with her, my knitting bag flapping behind me, my coat bunching up weirdly over my thighs. Running was not a strong suit of mine, and I was undoubtedly red in the face when I reached her.

  “Beatrice?” She sounded more than a little wary, and I supposed she had that right as I almost barreled into her for a second time in the space of an hour.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice came out all weird and breathy, so I tried again. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking when I spoke earlier. Of course, I have no idea what it’s like to be you. I think when we were kids, I was totally unaware of my own privilege, but as an adult, I do try to do better.”

  “Thank you.” She tugged her coat around herself more tightly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s cold and I need to walk—”

  “You walked? I can give you a ride.”

  “It’s not that far. I figured parking here was going to be more hassle than it was worth.”

  “Still. Let me give you a ride.” I pointed to my hybrid which was parked on the street a few cars away. “That’s me.”

  A small smile teased at the edges of her lush mouth. “The ‘Must Knit Faster’ bumper sticker would have given you away if you hadn’t pointed it out. Also, the four campaign stickers, two rainbows, and…what the heck is that horse doing?”

  “It’s a unicorn. And it’s knitting. It was a gift. From my ex.” As I unlocked the car, I tried to tell her with my eyes that I knew a thing or two about nasty breakups and broken hearts. I loved the idea of something stable and permanent, but the realities of dating hadn’t yielded that yet for me. “Come on. Let me take you.”

  “It’s on Meramec.” Apparently resigned, she slid into my passenger seat. I got in too, but I was too late to help her move the two knitting bags at her feet to the backseat. “By the Metrolink station. I told
my parents I planned to live on this side of the river and take the train into work, and next thing I knew, I had a condo less than a mile from them.” She mentioned the name of a very nice building I recognized.

  I started the car and pulled onto the street, keeping any remarks about the very swank building she mentioned from escaping my lips. Nice as it would be to live in a condo like that, I was sure the place hadn’t come string free. Her earlier outburst about her family had made me realize there was plenty about her lifestyle I didn’t know about.

  “I’m close by on South Central. Surprised I haven’t run into you before this, actually.” My setup was a studio in an older brick building close enough to my job that I could walk. It had taken me until just recently to be able to afford a place without roommates. But Kira didn’t need to know all that.

  “I spent a lot of time with my girlfriend at her place in The Grove. My place still doesn’t feel like home to me.” She sounded so wistful that my chest pinched.

  “I feel you on liking someone else’s place more. And the only reason I drove to vote tonight was that I’m headed to the watch party for Simone’s campaign, and I didn’t want to have to walk home at God knows what hour.” As I rattled on, an idea hit me, and I smiled. “You should come.”

  “I should what?”

  “Come. You need to get out. Trust me. I’ve been there. I crawled into a blanket fort for weeks with my last breakup. But getting out helps. And this will be fun—lots of food and some drinking and everyone will be watching the TVs so no need to be more social than you feel like being.”