Rogue Passion (The Rogue Series Book 5) Read online

  “Wait,” he says, humor seeping into his voice. “The whole reason I came here was because I though you had a magical vagina. Time to go.”

  He pretends to get up and I grab his wrist. He laughs and falls on top of me, kissing my neck in a way I know will lead to trouble. But I sink into the feeling because it’s been so long since I’ve connected without someone like this.

  The last place I thought I’d find it is at my work of all places.

  “What are you going to do tomorrow, Rory?” I ask, trying to ground us. Bring us down from this cloud of sex we’ve created.

  He lies back and stares at the lights that twinkle above us. “I don’t think I’m brave enough to do my job. But I know if I don’t do it someone else will. I’m replaceable.”

  I look into the clear green of his eyes. “I don’t think that’s true. I think we matter. Even if it takes a while to see it.”

  “I want to see you, Sofia,” he says.

  “You’re seeing me now.”

  “I mean, more than tonight. Maybe we can keep helping each other.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t have the answer just yet. But I know I walked into that bar for a reason. I think—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Fine, but I think you know what I mean.”

  Meant to meet. Meant to sleep together. Meant to be. I don’t know if I believe in all that. At least, the girl I am right now doesn’t. But I once did.

  Rory Donovan is a tiny spark, a firefly of emotion in my heart, pulsing inside me. I press my palm on his chest and wonder if it’s the same for him.

  That maybe this is just the beginning of fixing and healing and mending our messy lives.

  I never knew it could start with strangers who kiss on a train.

  Thank you!

  The Hispanic Federation is a Latinx nonprofit organization that was founded in in 1990. It helps to support Latinx and Hispanic families, communities, and specifically organizes campaigns to send aid when natural disasters occur in Latin America such as Hurricane Maria devastating Puerto Rico and the recent volcano eruption in Guatemala.

  https://hispanicfederation.org/donate/

  Also by Zoey Castile

  The Happy Endings Series

  Stripped

  The On the Verge Series (writing as Zoraida Córdova)

  Luck on the Line

  Love on the Ledge

  Life on the Level

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to all the wonderful romance authors I’ve had the pleasure of calling my friends. Your guidance and support means the world to me. A special thanks to Sierra Simone for introducing me to Tamsen Parker and so many others. Amy Jo Cousins for all that you do! This community is incredible.

  About the Author

  Zoey Castile was born in Ecuador and raised in Queens, New York. She started writing in her teens and pursued that love in her studies at Hunter College and the University of Montana. For nearly a decade, she worked as a bartender, hostess, and manager in New York City’s nightlife. You can follow her on Twitter and Instagram @ZoeyCastile. You can also email her at [email protected].

  Nature’s Heart

  KD Fisher

  Public-interest attorney Harry Walsh has dedicated his life to promoting environmental justice. He may be young but he’s whip-smart and refuses to give up in the face of a challenge.

  Max Novak is exhausted and angry. He’s sick of the government’s crappy environmental track record and he’s pissed off that a proposed natural gas pipeline could wreak havoc on the land he loves.

  Neither man can deny the explosive chemistry between them, even if Harry knows a relationship with a client could prove disastrous for his career and personal ethics. As Harry and Max work to oppose the pipeline, both men worry they will be unable to resist their attraction with nearly as much conviction.

  1

  Harry

  August

  Water swirled down the drain of the cracked porcelain sink. Irritated at the hot flush spreading over my cheeks, I lightly slapped some of the cool from the tap onto my face. I didn’t even want to chance a look in the bathroom’s tiny mirror. I knew what I would see: bruised-looking circles under my eyes, skin far too pale for the sunny August afternoon, a panicked expression. A quick glance at my watch revealed the meeting would start in four minutes. The coalition leaders had probably already gathered in the cramped conference room. There would be mugs of coffee, amiable chatter, a thrum of anticipation in the air.

  I shouldn’t have been so nervous. Sure, this was my first case with EcoJustice since I’d scored my dream job as a staff attorney with the environmental defense organization. And okay, this case had been highly publicized and controversial, an intervention on behalf of Indigenous and environmental groups to block the proposed Liberty Pipeline from moving forward. And yes, under the hateful new administration, regulatory agencies were far more likely to side with oil and gas companies than parties seeking to protect native land or defend natural resources. But our case was strong. There was no way this pipeline could reasonably be built. Well, that was, if reason still prevailed. I drew in a shaky breath.

  A gentle knock snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts. I pulled the door open with a little too much force.

  “Sorry, Mr. Walsh.” A young woman with a long, brown braid shot me a sheepish look. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Everyone’s in the conference room.”

  “Right. Sorry for the delay. And you can call me Harry.” Great. Freaking out in the bathroom had made me late. “Are you Ms. Lewis?”

  The director of the Catskill Collective beamed and gestured for me to follow her down a short hallway. “Yup! Sheila. We spoke on the phone. Nice to finally meet you in person. We’re all really excited that you took on the case.”

  There was a palpable sense of anticipation in the air. Ten people sat crammed into mismatched office chairs around a battered wooden table. Nine heads snapped up as Sheila and I entered the Catskill Collective conference room. I was grateful I recognized a few of the faces. I shook the hand of Roger Charger, the federal representative for the Cayuga Nation of New York. Next to him sat Tara Wheeler, the founder of the Indigenous Youth Group that had been instrumental in opposing the pipeline from the very start. She smiled warmly, and I felt myself relax a little. I knew these people. We shared a common goal. And we were going to fight like hell to achieve it.

  My gaze fell on a man I didn’t recognize—the one who hadn’t looked up when I stumbled into the room. He was older than me, but not by much, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. The flimsy computer chair he was sprawled in barely contained his burly frame, and despite the distance separating us, I noted that his scruffy jaw was set tight. The guy looked pissed off. My nerves returned in a hot swoop.

  “So, I’ll just go around really quick and introduce everyone.” Sheila gestured to a vacant seat at the head of the table for me. I focused on matching the names and titles I’d already memorized with faces. I discovered that the scowling guy was Max Novak, the climate and energy manager for the Catskill Collective. Unfortunately I let my gaze rest a beat too long on his wheat-colored hair and burning hazel eyes before snapping my attention to my briefcase and extracting my laptop. The last thing I needed was to come across as unprofessional or unprepared.

  “Okay,” I said crisply, as I connected my computer to the projector and pulled up the presentation I’d labored over. “EcoJustice is preparing to file a motion to intervene with the court of appeals on behalf of your coalition. Our work with the Department of Environmental Conservation has already gotten a judge to block the pipeline on the grounds that the impact studies failed to show compliance with the Clean Water Act. But unsurprisingly, the companies responded by suing the DEC. They’re dumping a lot of money into getting this approved, resource impacts or not. From a legal standpoint, our case is strong. But we want to hear from you all too. Get a better understanding of the specific, local concerns
.”

  Tara piped up first, initially looking a little nervous but gaining confidence as she spoke. “I think the major concern of the Cayuga people is, well…” She glanced at Roger sitting next to her. He nodded firmly. “Well, it’s basically environmental racism. Like, at first the gas companies planned to route the pipeline farther north. Toward Syracuse, you know? But white people with money there put up this big fuss, and they listened. But now they want to cut through our land and our water, and it doesn’t seem like anyone is going to hear us.”

  I listened carefully as she spoke, jotting down a few points on the memo pad I’d brought with me. Additional members of the coalition aired their concerns, and I filled page after page with issues ranging from migratory bird disruption, to loss of tribal sovereignty, to the devastation of thousands of acres of trees, to the fact that a spill could contaminate over two hundred possible waterways. My anger with the gas companies grew with each scratch of my pen against the lined paper, but I kept my face neutral and my breathing even. Then a voice spoke out that matched the rage boiling inside me.

  “It’s great for us to talk about how fucked up this pipeline is, but we all know they’re going to build it, right? Look what happened at Standing Rock. There was legitimate national outrage, goddamn celebrities getting involved, and still that orange moron got it through in the end.” Max’s big hand was pushed into his close-cropped hair, and he was looking at me with an intensity that almost seemed to border on hatred.

  I cleared my throat. “So what do you propose? With the information Tara and Roger brought to my attention, I think we can establish that the threat to critical watersheds is quite severe.” I hadn’t meant for my words to sound so testy and sharp, but a tiny spark of unease seemed to pass around the room.

  Max shrugged easily. “They’ll build no matter what. We need to fight fire with fire. These fuckers only care about money, right? So we hit them where it hurts. Smear them on social media. Protest. Hell, break their equipment if we have to.” He crossed his arms over his chest as if the matter were settled. Arrogant jerk. I was so sick of entitled macho posturing, people talking before they even bothered to listen.

  I bit my lip. “What you’re proposing is at best inadvisable and at worst outright illegal,” I said primly as I capped my pen. “We have a strong legal case against the companies. I’m confident we can win. And we can do so without resorting to monkeywrenching.”

  Anger transformed Max’s unfairly handsome face. “Look, I know you get to go back to the city and hang out in your high-rise office, but we actually have to live with the consequences of this shit. So why should I listen to some twenty-three-year-old suit telling me about how to do jack in my community?”

  Weirdly, it was the suit comment that stung me first. Sure, he’d gotten my age wrong by four years and seemed to entirely question my commitment to the outcome of this case. But it was that dumb suit remark that had heat creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. I’d known I would be overdressed for the meeting in my slim-cut charcoal slacks and jacket. But I’d also wanted to be professional and respectful. Years of work with environmental organizations prepared me for the reality that everyone in the room would be clad in wash-worn flannel, jeans, and hiking boots.

  Sheila, perched in a chair next to Max, put her hand on his shoulder and shot me a tense smile. “Sorry, Harry. In the past Max has favored a more…direct approach.” She turned, pinning him with a look that told him in no uncertain terms to shut the hell up. Since she was his boss, Max complied and sulked back into his too-small chair.

  The rest of the meeting passed without incident. I laid out the next steps for filing the intervention and gave everyone my personal cell number in the event they needed to contact me for any reason. Tara had mentioned some of the gas company representatives threatening to “bring in the dogs” if her youth group got out of hand. And I was prepared to bring in dogs of my own to fight them off: teams of ACLU attorneys, public defenders, and journalists to highlight any whiff of corporate or law enforcement abuse.

  As the meeting drew to a close and most of the coalition members drifted out of the conference room, Sheila and I chatted pleasantly about the weather and an upcoming music festival in the town where she lived. Needing something to do with my hands, I poured myself coffee from the carafe in the corner, tipping in as much milk and sugar as the chipped mug would allow. Jittery as I was, I probably didn’t need the caffeine. I could feel the weight of Max’s gaze on me as I burned my mouth and coffee sloshed onto my hand. This day just needed to end.

  My eyes streamed as I stepped out into the searing sunlight and waves of heat undulating off the asphalt in the parking lot. I’d gotten sweaty enough during Max’s little tirade, and the last thing I needed was to get back on the train to the city smelling like stress sweat and looking like I’d been plunged into a dunk tank. With irritatingly unsteady fingers, I pulled up the rideshare app on my phone. The meeting had gone longer than expected, and my train back to Penn Station was scheduled to leave in about a half hour. Since it was a twenty-minute drive from here to the tiny upstate train station, I would be cutting it close. My stomach dropped when the app informed me that no drivers were currently available in my area. Great. And when I tried to open the internet browser on my phone to find the number for a cab company, my already spotty service decided it was time to falter entirely. The ominous no-service message replaced my one bar of coverage. Really wonderful.

  I tried to calm down. The sky was a clear, bright blue shot through with wisps of white. The air smelled like fresh-cut grass and pine. Slow inhale, slow exhale. Coming upstate always reminded me of the semi-rural Illinois town where I’d grown up. Chattering birds, leaves rustling on trees that weren’t surrounded by concrete and litter. I supposed if I were going to be stuck for the time being, this wasn’t a bad place to be.

  2

  Max

  I watched as Harry lingered in the parking lot, fumbling with his phone and glancing back at our office. The kid looked genuinely panicked. For a minute I was convinced my dickish outburst had actually pushed him to quit. As much as I’d let my anger over the White House’s blatant disregard for the health and safety of our environment and the humans living in it spill onto our legal representative, I definitely didn’t want him gone. We needed to block this pipeline, and Harry seemed to legit know what he was doing. Yeah, he was a skinny kid who looked fresh out of law school, but he’d impressed Sheila and the rest of the coalition leaders. And I trusted them more than I trusted myself.

  Harry’s fingers knotted into his dark brown hair, messing up the neat side part it was combed into when he arrived. He looked fucking cute like that, a little mussed, and for a moment my mind flashed in a decidedly unprofessional direction. Nope. Shut it down, Novak. I watched through the plate-glass office window as Harry set his shoulders and strode back toward the door, a determined look on his face. Damn, somehow he was even cuter when he tried to be all serious. I pressed my lips firmly together to hide the smirk I knew would only piss the guy off. He probably hated my guts already.

  Harry glanced around the office, clearly hoping to find anyone but me. Finally his gaze landed on where I leaned against the reception desk. His cheeks flushed, and I felt legitimate guilt when he refused to meet my eye. I needed to stop being such a jerk.

  “Everything okay, kid?” I asked, trying to sound genial. Calling him kid probably wasn’t going to do much to convince him I wasn’t a patronizing jackass.

  “Yup!” He glanced back down at his phone, then his eyes flicked to me. Desire twisted in my gut as his gaze slid over my body. “Um, is there any chance I could use the office phone to call a taxi? My phone lost service, I guess.” His voice had taken on the shrill edge of panic.

  “Sure. Cell service up here can be shit.” I pointed to the landline on the desk before an idea occurred to me. I could be a decent human being and offer him a ride to the station. What did I care that it was a half hour out of my way? Some small
part of me I didn’t care to examine too closely wanted to learn more about this slim-hipped lawyer in his fancy suit. But an even bigger part of me was just plain desperate to convince our attorney that I could actually be an okay person to work with. “I’m about to head out for the day. I can give you a ride if you want. What time’s your train?”

  “Four fifty.” He glanced down at his watch. “Which is in like ten minutes. Shit. Oh, uh sorry.” His face and ears pinked.

  “You heading out of Rhinecliff?” I asked, and he nodded. “Next train to Penn Station leaves around seven,” I mused, pulling up the schedule in my head. Before Charlie moved to California, I’d thoroughly memorized the Amtrak timetable for my kind-of boyfriend’s occasional weekend visits. “But I’m still happy to give you a ride.”

  Harry looked unsure for a moment, shifting his weight from foot to foot and combing his fingers through his hair. A few strands fell across his forehead and a pang of lust shot through me. Unfortunately the fact that I found the kid irresistible stifled the part of my brain that controlled rational thought.

  “I’m starving. Since you have a couple hours to kill we could grab some dinner in town before you head out. You like pizza?” I was laying it on way too thick. And judging by his wide eyes, I’d also managed to make Harry uncomfortable.

  “Everyone likes pizza,” he said softly.

  “Never know with you city types. Hell, my last boyfriend was from Brooklyn and he didn’t eat anything. No wheat, dairy, sugar… The only pizza that dude ate was made out of fucking cauliflower. Can you believe that? Tasted like wet cardboard.” I was rambling as Harry followed me out to my car.