Rebel (The Renegades)

by Rebecca Yarros

  If I had her here, knew that this was the one place we could be us, I could control my emotions outside this room. My reactions to her would be more predictable, and any tension outside would be unraveled inside—because we’d know we could have these moments.

  Are you fucking insane?

  Holy shit, I was justifying my need for her, actually contemplating her proposal.

  I had my running shoes on before I realized what I was doing and headed to the gym so I could sweat my thoughts out of my head.

  Seven miles later, she was still there.

  …

  Two days later, I was in hell.

  I’d spent the morning hiking up and down the Mayan ruins of Tazumal, doing my best to keep my eyes off Penelope’s ass.

  But God damn those shorts. Sure, El Salvador was hot, but my body temp had soared the moment she’d gotten on the bus wearing those. She’d been true to her word—keeping her attention off me unless I was lecturing on the history and importance of the Mayans and the mysterious collapse of their empire.

  She’d also been ridiculously close to that Alex guy as her other friends paired off to explore the ruins on their own. I knew there was nothing going on there from Penelope’s side, but his? Yeah, there was some definite interest there, and I didn’t appreciate it.

  I’d nearly growled when he offered her a hand up the ruins.

  I’d never been a fan of someone touching what was mine.

  And there’s that thought again.

  It was true, though. Having grown up with next to nothing in the way of material things, I took exceptional care of what I did have, and I didn’t share.

  Feeling this territorial over a woman was a whole new arena, though. Not that I hadn’t had relationships, but none that I was willing to risk everything for, none that felt like a foregone conclusion.

  “Dr. Delgado?” Casey Barros asked, blinking up at me.

  “Casey? What’s up?”

  “Do you know how much more we’ll be walking? My feet are killing me.”

  A quick glance at her ankle boots sent my eyebrows sky high, but I managed to control my immediate urge to roll my eyes. “You’re welcome to wander for the next half hour, and then we’ll walk back to the bus area.”

  “Oh good, I can sit.” She sighed gratefully.

  “Perhaps I could suggest more sensible footwear for our next excursion?”

  Her cheeks tinged pink. “You’re right. I just thought these were cute.”

  “I’m not sure the jungle really cares about cute,” I replied with a grin. “And seeing as we have a three-day excursion to Machu Picchu coming up, I would definitely recommend some sturdy boots that don’t have a four-inch heel.”

  “You’re so right.”

  Shaking my head, I walked away from the girl to see the ruins on my own, taking the lesser-worn paths. The jungle hung thick with vines that crept over many of the structures, coupled with grass that accompanied every step up the temple, and though I knew thousands had seen the ruins before me, at some angles it almost appeared like I was discovering them for the first time.

  Yes, my number one mission on this trip was Elisa. But this? The ability to see this and be here? That was a close second.

  Passing by the sheltered stone sculptures, I took a moment at each to snap a few pictures and marvel at the lines carved over a thousand years ago. I spent the majority of my alone time studying the pyramid itself, taking pictures and trying to imagine it in its glory.

  The mystery of human migration is what drew me to history. Wars, famine, disease, drought—all were possible reasons for an entire civilization to disappear, or more likely, pick up and move. I’d chosen Latin history for a reason—the Mayans, the Incans, the conquistadors, had all left their mark even to this modern age where sacred, ancient rituals were combined and culturally appropriated by western religion, especially in Peru, where I looked forward to taking my students. What intrigued me was watching the same patterns play out in modern society, just as those refugees who boarded rafts from Cuba or those desperate to escape Syria.

  Different centuries and different cultures, but the same drive for survival.

  A quick glance at my watch told me I only had another twenty minutes or so on my own—then I’d have to round up the students—so I headed back to the small museum.

  I nodded to the students who were studying the artifacts and raised an eyebrow at those who might not be putting their best foot forward.

  As I curved around an exhibit, I saw Penelope standing with Alex. Logically, I knew nothing had been going on when I found them together on her birthday. Emotionally, I wanted to put a football field between them so there was zero chance of it ever happening.

  I hadn’t given her an answer yet, but that didn’t change the fact that every molecule in my body screamed that she was mine. It wasn’t a matter of want with Penelope, it was a matter of what was right and what was wrong.

  Her standing with Alex? So very wrong.

  Studying the art display, I listened to her laugh at something he said, and my chest wound a notch tighter. She had the right to speak to whomever she wanted, to kiss whomever she wanted, because I hadn’t said yes or claimed even the smallest part of her. But you could. I was going to turn into a mass of knots if I didn’t make a decision soon.

  As Alex walked off, I turned to see Penelope studying another painting, her head tilted as she leaned in toward the art. The exhibit around us was empty, and before I let logic rule, I snagged her hand and pulled her into the nearest room, ignoring her gasp of surprise and finding the light switch before quickly shutting the door behind us.

  It was a supply closet. Way to be romantic.

  She looked up at me with wide eyes. “We could be caught!”

  “There’s no one out there. I looked. There’s no way I’d ruin your reputation.” I brushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear.

  “It’s not my reputation I’m worried about.” She backed away until she nearly touched the door.

  “Yeah, well, no matter what we end up doing, there’s going to be a level of risk to us both.”

  “What we end up doing? Have you thought about my question?” A spark lit her eyes, and she stalked forward. I retreated until my back hit the shelves behind me. Great, I could face down the Taliban, but I ran from a blonde in shorts and a smile.

  “I’ve been thinking,” I admitted.

  “And?”

  “And it’s something that deserves a lot of thought. I can’t just come up with an answer for you in two days.”

  “Right. I didn’t give you a timeline.”

  “I just don’t want you to think that I’m not…thinking.”

  “I know you. You’re always thinking. Lots and lots of…thoughts. I don’t expect you to take a chance on me with less than forty-eight hours of contemplation. What I asked you is big. It’s huge, and it puts your career on the line. I respect that. I’m aware of what you’d be risking, and I’m patient.”

  A huge sigh of relief escaped, and my shoulders relaxed. “I saw you standing with Alex—”

  A playful grin curved her smile. “And you got jealous.” Her fingers marched up the buttons of my short-sleeved shirt.

  “Penelope,” I warned, even while I leaned in to her touch. “God, look at us. You made that offer two days ago, and we’re already breaking it in here,” I chided.

  “You’re breaking it in here. You pulled me in, remember?”

  “So true. You have the innate ability to turn me into a primal caveman.”

  “So what are you going to do with me in the supply closet?” she asked, leaning up to run her tongue down the side of my neck.

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  I somehow managed to keep my hands to myself.

  “You see, if you had agreed, then maybe I’d let you steal a kiss in here, where there’s no one to see, no way we could get in trouble.”

  My head swam with visions of kissing her, of turning her around and backi
ng her against the door, lifting her legs to wrap around my hips so I could feel her around me.

  Not that I’d take her for the first time in a supply closet—I wasn’t an asshole. No, our first time would be in a bed, where I could take the time to worship her the way she deserved.

  “Maybe we’d both see it as a prelude to what would come later, when we’d be secluded in your bedroom. But either way, it would be a moment that was just us again; none of this other bullshit about roles and expectations could creep in.”

  Her teeth toyed with my earlobe, and my hands flew to her hips, drawing her against me. She kissed the line of my jaw and then backed away, leaving my hands empty.

  “But you haven’t agreed, which means this is only a meeting with my professor in a very cramped office space.” She gave me a slow smile that was about to make my cargo shorts entirely too tight. “Pity,” she said, then turned and walked out, shutting the door behind her.

  I leaned my head back until it rested against the shelves, willing my heart to stop slamming against my ribs.

  At some point I was going to have to stop letting that woman have the last word.

  …

  “So as we work toward defining your thesis, I’d like you to really open your eyes as we travel through these countries. Don’t focus just on what you find lacking, though there are many more disadvantaged areas than where you’re from, but on what is beautiful about the culture, what makes it unique. Yes, Casey?” I asked the girl on my right and then sat back on my desk.

  We were on day two at sea of five before we’d arrive in Peru, and though this was my favorite class to teach, it was hard to keep my attention on the subject matter when Penelope sat ten feet away.

  Not that she’d so much as looked at me. She was good to her word, not even making eye contact when we were in class. But it almost made it worse—made me hyperaware of where her eyes were, and where they weren’t.

  “Can we pick any country?” Casey asked.

  “You can pick any country, any culture, any theme. Just find something that interests you enough for a paper of this magnitude.”

  “If we pick Cuba, will you be available for extra help since it’s our last port?”

  I could have sworn I heard Penelope snort, and by the look Wilder shot her, I wasn’t far off the mark.

  “You’re right—Cuba is our last port, and that is where I’m from. But I’ll be available to you all equally, no matter what your thesis choice is. You guys know my office hours, and if none of those work for you, shoot me an email. Just don’t procrastinate. Your thesis topics are due in three days, when we get to Peru, and I’m not a fan of last-minute pleas for lenience. Anyone already know theirs?”

  Half a dozen hands rose—about a quarter of the class.

  “Good. If you want to get a jump start, you can submit them via eCampus, and I’ll send you a response so you have time to rework it if you need to.” The clock told me time was up. “That’s it for today. If you haven’t already decided, I strongly suggest you work on a draft before our next class in two days. You guys are dismissed.”

  I walked around my desk and busied myself with a stack of papers to keep from watching Penelope walk out. She had on black leggings today that left almost nothing to the imagination, and even though her shirt’s length was adequate for the dress policy, there was enough to send my brain back to Vegas.

  Damn it, everything came back to Vegas with that woman.

  Would I have been so attracted to her now if we hadn’t already had that night? She was beautiful, there was no denying it, but maybe if I hadn’t gone to that bar, or said yes when she asked me, I could resist now. She would have been just another student. If I didn’t know how stubborn she was, how driven, how reckless, how delicately damaged, I would have stood a chance. If I hadn’t held her in my arms, tasted how sweet she was, seen the quiet desperation in her eyes just before the jump, we might be living a different story.

  She’d be an amazingly gorgeous student.

  I’d be her stoic, uninterested teacher.

  And if you believe that lie there’s a bridge in New York I’d like to sell you.

  I was pretty damn sure that even if we’d never met then, I would still be as drawn to her now. Chemistry, fate, whatever you wanted to call it—it drew me to Penelope like the North Pole directed a compass point.

  “Dr. Delgado?” Her voice brought me out of my thoughts, and I snapped my gaze up to meet her steady, blue one.

  “Miss Carstairs?” I swallowed, and hoped it didn’t look like I was trying to reclaim my tongue. Her hair was swept up on her head, but small, wavy tendrils had worked their way free, dusting her cheeks and shoulders. This woman was sexy without even trying for it.

  “I was hoping I could run my thesis topic by you?” she asked, glancing down at my desk.

  I picked up the stack of papers to keep my hands busy—and off her.

  “Go ahead.”

  “I was thinking about immigration issues and how they affect illegal entry into the U.S. from Latin American countries?”

  That had my attention.

  I looked at her until I worried the few other students lingering in the room might pick up on the electricity that flickered between us. “And this is influenced by?”

  Her teeth raked her lower lip, and I feigned extreme interest in the papers in front of me for my next class.

  “A friend of mine who went through a lot more than he should have to become a U.S. citizen,” she said quietly. “I’m planning on examining the immigration wait times and procedures of each of the countries we visit, then comparing illegal immigration numbers based on complications, wait times, proximity, and ease of access.”

  Yeah, it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d met her back in Vegas or not. I loved the way she looked at things—academic, stunt-related, even relationship-wise.

  Except that you’re the relationship, I reminded myself.

  “I think that sounds like a paper I’d very much like to read,” I told her.

  “Excellent. I drafted it here, if you wouldn’t mind looking it over before I submit it formally?” She pushed a folded piece of paper across the desk and was gone.

  I fielded four more thesis topics, none of which were as defined as Penelope’s, and as my next class shuffled to their seats, I opened Penelope’s thesis suggestion.

  Told you I could act professionally in public.

  In private? Well, probably not.

  I read it twice more before refolding it and putting it in a safe place so it could join its counterpart in my nightstand drawer.

  We could do this.

  The thought had been bouncing around in my head since she first offered the solution, and now it screamed louder than any other for my attention.

  We could be smart. Safe. It would never jeopardize my chance to get to Elisa; in fact, it would actually protect my mission here.

  I couldn’t stay away from Penelope any more than she could stay away from me. At some point, we would collide. Wasn’t it better to set off a nuclear blast in the safety of a shelter? A controlled environment?

  We were both adults, both capable of keeping a secret. She hadn’t even outed me to her friends about the Ferris wheel. We could do this.

  We would do this.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Penna

  Peru

  “Do you have everything you need?” Rachel asked from the doorway of my bedroom as I zipped up my daypack.

  “I’d better, because nothing else is fitting in there,” I answered.

  “I’m missing sunscreen, so I’m going to run down to the ship store if you think of anything, okay?”

  “Sounds good, thanks,” I told her, flipping open my laptop.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  I looked over the screen. “Yeah, of course. I’m actually kind of excited to have a port where we don’t have a stunt to pull off. Not that I don’t love it, but the break is welcome, you know?”

  “Yeah.
It feels like we’re always moving to the next thing, going so fast that I’m scared we’ll get home after this amazing trip and we’ll only remember the tempo, the pressure—that kind of thing—and Landon shows zero interest in slowing down.”

  “Pax, either.” Sometimes it seemed I was the only one who was ready for a change of pace. After six months on board the ship, I was ready for some serious recovery time, just when it was time to rev up for my portion of this documentary.

  And I still hadn’t decided exactly what I was going to do.

  My ship-wide IM pinged, and I clicked on the icon that opened the window. Cruz’s name flashed at me.

  “You know you can talk to me, right?” Rachel asked.

  I shut the laptop, like at any moment his voice might come through the speakers, or he might pop out of the display and reveal the relationship we weren’t even having. I trusted Rachel with my life, but Cruz was right—I wasn’t sure I could trust her with his. She was fiercely loyal, dangerous when she or someone she loved was cornered, and there was zero chance she’d approve of the proposition I’d put in front of Cruz.

  “I know,” I told her, hoping she heard the sincerity in my voice.

  She pressed her lips together, and I swore I could almost see her actually bite her tongue. “Okay. Well, that offer always stands. I know our past hasn’t always been the smoothest—”

  “I’ve seen sandpaper smoother,” I teased. “Rachel, if there was ever something I needed to talk about, I promise I’d tell you. Right now, I’m really okay.”

  Lines puckered her forehead, but she finally nodded. “Okay, well, I’m going to go grab that sunscreen.”

  The minute I heard the door to our suite close, I opened my computer for the IM.

  Cruz Delgado: Miss Carstairs, if you’d like to meet to discuss your thesis, I have a free moment before we leave for Machu Picchu. I have a few moments of office hours in our previously agreed upon location.