Renegade (Phoenix Rising)

by Blake, Brynley

  We share a smile. Before I know it, we’ve been talking nonstop for five hours and the plane is touching down in San Francisco. We rent a car, throw our bags in the back, and drive to the hotel I booked near Union Square.

  “Have you heard from Dr. Morris’s family?” I ask her as we wait behind another couple at the check-in desk.

  She shakes her head. “I’ll try again when we get up to our room.”

  “Did you leave a mess—”

  “Shh,” she interrupts me with her fingers gripping my arm. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “What he said to the couple before us? This is going to be great.”

  Before I can ask her what the hell she’s talking about, the exuberant young man at the check-in desk flashes us a dazzling smile. “Hi. I’m Kevin. How can I help you today?”

  “We’re checking in. Name’s Walker Kinkaid.”

  He types, pauses, types again. “There you are.” He looks up at me. “And are you celebrating a special occasion with us?”

  “It’s our honeymoon,” Gemma interjects with a huge smile. She leans into me, slips her hand in mine, and looks up at me with adoration. What the fuck?

  “Ooh. Love is in the air. The couple who checked in just before you were on their honeymoon as well.”

  I shoot Gemma a questioning look, but she just squeezes my hand and shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

  “I’ll upgrade you to one of our honeymoon suites at no extra charge, too,” the desk clerk says, beaming. That must be what Gemma heard him say. For her, it’s an upgrade. For me, it’s going to be torture.

  He types some more and then hands me two room cards. “This room provides the most romantic view you’ve ever seen,” he gushes. “You’ll find a bottle of chilled champagne waiting for you, along with a box of Ghirardelli chocolates and a coupon for a free dinner in our restaurant. You might want to consider one of our in-room massages. And don’t hesitate to contact the concierge to assist you with tours and reservations. Are you going to the wine country?”

  “We still aren’t sure of our plans,” I hedge.

  “We may just stay in our hotel room the whole time,” Gemma says to him with a suggestive grin as we leave the front desk.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of overplaying your hand?” I shake my head at her as we take the elevator up to our room.

  Gemma shrugs as the elevator door opens on our floor. “I was on a roll. I heard him upgrade the couple in front of us, so I figured, why not? We could pass as newlyweds. Besides, I own a wedding business. This is like research.”

  “Your nose just grew an inch.” I tap it with my finger, and she scrunches it up as she grins back at me.

  I insert the key card and open the door to the most beautiful hotel room I’ve ever seen. Located at the top of the high-rise hotel, floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city and the Golden Gate Bridge. The room itself is modern-looking, with brightly striped walls and crisp, white bed linens on the king-size bed that dominates the room.

  “Come on. Admit it. This is fantastic.”

  So much for requesting two beds. “It’s fantastic.”

  “I’m starving. Can we go get something to eat?”

  “Sure. You want to try Dr. Morris’s family again first?”

  Gemma nods and makes the call while I sprawl in one of the plush armchairs and check my messages, but I can’t help but overhear her side of the call.

  “Hi. This is Gemma Ward, McKenzie Prescott’s friend. McKenzie’s brother, Liam, lost his life rescuing Dr. Morris in Pakistan. We came to see Dr. Morris a few months ago.” A pause. “Yes, I heard. I’m so very sorry to hear that. The reason I’m calling is because Liam is being considered for a very prestigious award. The, um…” She looks over at me for help.

  I mouth “Navy Cross” and sit back in amusement. My messages can wait. This is too good to miss.

  “The Navy Cross award,” she says into the phone. “I’m here with a very high-ranking Navy SEAL who will be making the final decision, and he’d like to talk to you, if you don’t mind. It would mean so much to McKenzie if her brother was honored with this award.” There’s a pause, and she glances over at me, sees my grin, and makes a face at me. “Really? That would be wonderful. Thank you so much. We’ll see you the day after tomorrow.”

  She hits end, sets down her phone, and says triumphantly, “And that’s how it’s done. Aren’t you glad you let me come?”

  “Yes,” I answer honestly. Everything is more fun with Gemma. And more interesting. “But I’m starting to think you’re a pathological liar.”

  She laughs. “I only use my power for good. The only problem is, she can’t talk to us until Thursday.”

  “That’s fine,” I say. “That’ll give us a chance to hit a couple of things on Liam’s list while we’re here. Want to ride the Pacific Coast Highway tomorrow?”

  “Sure. Too bad you didn’t rent a convertible.”

  I give her a reproachful look. “You knew Liam. Do you think he’d drive a car down the Pacific Coast Highway, even if it’s a convertible? We’re renting a motorcycle, sweetheart.”

  Her eyes shine with excitement. “Really? That’s even better! Is there anything on the bucket list for tonight?”

  “Actually, yeah. There’s a concentration of things here in San Francisco. It’s interesting, since this is also where Dr. Morris lived. You up for a tiki bar tonight?”

  “I’m always up for anything.”

  I grin. “That’s true. It’s one of the many reasons we get along so well.”

  “But what’s a tiki bar? And why is that on Liam’s list?”

  I shrug. “It’s hard to know what on this fucking list is a clue and what just struck Liam’s fancy as something he wanted to do. Smuggler’s Cove is world-renowned and is consistently named one of the world’s top bars. It has over five hundred different kinds of rum—which is one of the biggest collections on the planet.”

  “I thought Liam was more of a whiskey kind of guy, like you.”

  “He was. But he was a connoisseur of any kind of food and drink, and he loved to explore places that were the best at what they did, even if it was just the best bread shop in Kabul.” I rub my hand over my head. “Either way, let’s check it out. It could be fun. It’s a kind of Pirates of the Caribbean–themed place. Cool, over-the-top decor. Potent drinks.”

  “It sounds like the perfect place to celebrate Liam.”

  The minute she says it, I realize how much I need to do just that—celebrate Liam with someone who knew him like I did. And in the process, maybe somehow come to terms with the loss of my best friend. I need closure in a way that only Gemma can provide. She knew and loved him, but her grief isn’t as personal and raw as McKenzie’s or as professional and staunch as the rest of the guys on SEAL Team Nine. It’s not that we don’t mourn the loss of a fellow SEAL deeply. We just deal with it stoically, because it’s a part of life for us. I’ve been on missions where we’ve had to put a brother, a friend, in a body bag and carry him for miles. We do it without emotion and with the utmost honor for our comrade who gave the ultimate sacrifice. In a way, I wish I’d had the opportunity to do that for Liam. It would have been something concrete I could do for him. But everything—including his body—was burned beyond recognition in the blast that leveled the house in Pakistan. Now, all I can do is make sure his sister stays safe and clear his name.

  I look at Gemma. “Let’s get drunk.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll go get ready.”

  Chapter Seven

  Gemma

  Smuggler’s Cove isn’t like any bar I’ve ever been to before. It’s like being on a movie set, complete with a ship’s bow, huge anchors, mermaid carvings, and even a waterfall in the darkened three-tiered space that has a definite party atmosphere. Unfortunately, we haven’t seen anything that seems like it could be remotely related to Liam, guns, or drug cartels, so we’ve found a table near the bar and we’re wo
rking our way through as many of the rum concoctions as we can, making a toast to Liam with each one.

  “So when’s my next power play lesson?” Four drinks have made me bold enough to ask the question that’s been dominating my thoughts for the last twenty-four hours. I’ve been telling myself I’m eager for the next lesson because I want to learn as much as I can before Declan comes back, but drunk me acknowledges the real reason. It was hot as hell when Walker pulled me over his lap and alternately spanked me and worshipped my ass with his mouth and hands. And dammit, I want more. It’s all I’ve been able to think about. Drunk me isn’t worried about the fact that he’s my best friend and I shouldn’t feel the way I do when I’m with him. Drunk me just wants to feel his hands and lips on me one more time.

  “Why are you so intent on doing this?” His question isn’t judgmental, just curious. He orders us another round, this time requesting some kind of drink that’s big enough for us to share. The bartender sets it on fire as he places it in front of us.

  “I told you. My whole life, I’ve looked for a guy who’s man enough to handle me. Or manhandle me.” I giggle at my joke. “I’m not like most girls.”

  “Thank God.” Walker lifts the glass in a toast to me with the enthusiasm of a man who’s downed two drinks for every one of mine, and I smile at him fondly.

  “You know what I mean. I want a guy who can take charge. A guy who knows what he wants and knows how to go after it, not wait for me to do it all. I’m smart and strong because I’ve had to be. I’m used to handling my own shit, but sometimes I don’t want to. I want a guy who not only isn’t threatened by the fact that I’m intelligent and badass, but who’s strong enough to make me feel weak sometimes, so I know that I can rely on him. It’s biological.” I point my straw at him. “At heart, all girls just want a guy who can make us feel safe by his side, who we know will slay dragons for us. A man like that can give me butterflies. And Declan did.” I don’t add that Walker did, too. I’m sure it was only by association, anyway. It’s the dynamic, not the man. Lowering my voice, I confess, “My favorite fantasy involves this commanding, assertive, faceless guy with killer abs who talks dirty to me and just takes what he wants.”

  “You don’t have to have the kind of relationship Declan’s proposing to experience that,” Walker counters. “You just need to find the right man.”

  I sigh. “At this point, I’d just settle for an orgasm I didn’t give myself.” Walker is staring at me. I take a long sip of the cold, fruity drink. “What?”

  “What do you mean, an orgasm you didn’t give yourself? Surely a guy has given you an orgasm before.”

  “Nope. Never.”

  “C’mon! Get out. Never?”

  “Ever!” I say emphatically. “Well, except for my faceless fantasy guy. He gives me orgasms all the time. But a real guy? Nope. I’m not sure it can happen. Many have tried…” I make my voice deep and serious, like I’m narrating a movie. But I can’t help but sound wistful when I add, “It’s probably a lost cause, but when I met Declan, it was the first time I thought it might be possible. If anyone can do it, I think it might be him. So now you see why it’s so important.”

  “Bullshit. It has nothing to do with Declan. You’ve just never been with a guy who knows his way around a woman. Hell, I could give you an orgasm.”

  “I doubt that. No one can,” I say dolefully.

  “Guaranteed. Absolutely, positively, 100 percent. I’d bet anything on it.”

  Damn, he’s cocky. “Whatever.” I roll my eyes.

  “Seriously. Name it.”

  “Anything?”

  “Yep. Anything.”

  “Even your original Nirvana Teen Spirit tour T-shirt?” It’s his most prized possession, and one of the only things he has that belonged to his dad. I cross my arms with satisfaction, sure I’ve got the best of him.

  “It’s yours if I can’t.”

  “You’re so full of shit.” I’d never take his T-shirt, but I feel a tiny thrill at the thought of him trying.

  Walker gestures to the bartender and then turns back to me. “I’m going to close my tab, and then we’re going back to the hotel and I’m going to give you the biggest, best, most earth-shaking orgasm of your life.”

  “But we agreed no sex.”

  “We don’t have to have sex for me to make you come.” He throws down a wad of bills and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s go.”

  Damn. Talk about a man who can take charge and put a plan into action. How does a girl say no to that? Especially when he’s looking at her like she’s the first and last piece of chocolate he’s ever going to taste.

  We’re both caught up in the moment, bold and reckless on too much rum, and this suddenly seems like the best idea in the world. We take an Uber back to the hotel, and when the person on duty at the front desk greets us with, “Have a good evening,” we look at each other and giggle like teenagers.

  Up in our room, Walker doesn’t bother turning on a lamp. The city lights twinkling outside the windows provide enough light for us to see by. He doesn’t hesitate. He closes the distance between us and takes my face between his palms, his thumbs gently tracing my cheekbones.

  “First things first,” he says, his voice husky. And then he kisses me. And I mean he kisses me. This isn’t a grazing of lips or a friendly, chaste peck. Walker fucking owns my mouth. He starts out unhurriedly, licking softly at my lips in a way that sends little wisps of desire swirling through me like smoke from a campfire. My hunger for him permeates every pore, and I know the memories will settle in my brain the same way the scent of a campfire lingers long after the flames are gone. But there’s no turning back now.

  His lips press against mine harder, demanding more, and I’m caught up in the maelstrom of sensation. Kissing him is so intoxicating and he tastes so good, and somehow my fingers are in his hair and I’m opening my mouth hungrily to him, eager for more. He growls and deepens the kiss, exploring more intimately now. His tongue strokes mine erotically, sweeping lightly over my teeth before our lips crash together again. Hungry. Tasting. Teasing. Wanting. He bites my lower lip and tugs, and I whimper. With a groan, he spears his tongue into my mouth and I suck it deeper, unable to get enough. Who knew kissing Walker would be so fucking hot? Our tongues tangle together, our lips speaking a language of their own, until we both have to come up for air.

  We stop and stare at each other, both of us stunned by the energy crackling between us. He speaks first.

  “You’ve got to get out of those clothes.”

  I laugh softly as I shrug out of my jacket, and he takes it from me and tosses it onto a chair. I start to pull off my tank top, but he pushes my hands away. “There’s no fucking way you’re denying me the pleasure of taking every damn piece of clothing off you.”

  In one swift movement, he peels my top off, and it lands next to my jacket. Then his lips are on mine again, kissing me, devouring me, as his hand slides up my bare thigh and under the short, flirty skirt I changed into before we went out. He cups my ass cheek, which is bared by the skimpy lace panties I’m wearing, and growls. He pulls back slightly and looks at me with heat in his whiskey-colored eyes. “Dammit, you have the hottest ass. I can’t get the image of it, all pink and wiggling around on my lap, out of my head.”

  Oh, God. Him too? The memory has something deep in my core tightening. I have the sudden, overwhelming need to touch him, to feel his hard muscles and run my hands over his smooth, hot skin. I wordlessly grab the hem of his T-shirt and drag it over his head. Oh, holy hell. With a body like his on a poster, Walker could singlehandedly eliminate the need for a draft. His chest is smooth and well-defined, with a little smattering of dark hair right in the center, and his abs are downright mouthwatering. He’s got just enough muscle to make me feel soft and feminine next to him, like he could take on the world to protect me. I run my hands over his chest and biceps, memorizing the feel of him as I trace each cord of muscle with my fingertips.

  “You’re going to hav
e to stop that before I unman myself,” he says tightly. He grabs my hands and pins them behind me, circling my wrists with his hand as he pushes me back against the wall. My stomach clenches deliciously at the way he takes charge.

  His mouth is on me like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. He starts at the sensitive hollow behind my ear and makes his way across my jaw and then down the column of my neck, devouring me with hungry kisses and tiny nips. He stops as his nimble fingers release the clasp of my bra in one quick movement, and I feel the cold hotel room air whisper across my now bared breasts. They feel tight and heavy, and oh so needy.

  “Fuck!” He says it reverently, his eyes hot with desire as he stares at my chest. I’ve never felt so beautiful or so desired before. Walker makes me feel like my body is a rare treasure that he’s the first to discover. And that he can’t wait to plunder.

  He bends his head and fastens his mouth over one nipple. He sucks, his teeth lightly clamping down over the hard little nub as he pulls up and lets it go with a little pop, and heat stabs through me. I look down at my nipple, which is now rosy and impossibly erect. Walker smiles and moves to the other one, repeating the process, although this time, he holds the nipple in his mouth until I start to squirm slightly before letting it go.

  “I love how responsive your nipples are to me,” he says with a satisfied grin.

  He bends forward again and teases first one nipple and then the other, alternately swirling his tongue around each tightened bud and then sucking and biting lightly before pulling it into his mouth again. I think I’m going to explode. There’s a slight edge of ruthlessness to the way Walker touches me—a tightly controlled but undeniable hardness that is as surprising as it is intoxicating. He’s always been my rock and my protector. I’m not used to this side of him. His rough brutality is even hotter because I know, unequivocally, that he would never hurt me.