“Okay,” she says softly. She clears her throat. “But I need breakfast if you expect me to even partly function today.”
“Ditto,” I say. “Why don’t you order room service while I shower? Be sure and ask for coffee.”
She rolls her eyes. “Who are you talking to? Of course I’ll order coffee. I’ll even see if they have an IV for it.”
I chuckle. Gemma is the only person on the planet who can put away as much coffee as I can. She’s already reaching for the room service menu as I head into the bathroom to take a shower. When I emerge, she’s dressed in yoga pants and my T-shirt, and judging by the tight little points poking at the soft fabric of the shirt, she isn’t wearing a bra. I stifle a groan.
“I stole your shirt,” she says unnecessarily. “Mine had some rum punch on it, and the rest of my clothes are in my bag I left in the bathroom.”
I wonder briefly what would have happened if she’d come into the bathroom to get it.
“No worries. It looks a hell of a lot better on you than me anyway. When’s the food going to be here?”
“I need to tell you something,” she says gravely.
“Okay.” Her tone has fingers of dread tightening around my heart.
“You should sit down. It’s bad news.”
I sink down onto the bed. I don’t know how much more bad news I can take. I steel myself for the worst. “Shoot.”
“Room service stops delivering breakfast at ten.”
I stare at her. “That’s the bad news?”
“Well, yeah. Hello…have you seen the size of the coffeemaker they provide?” She nods at the tiny coffeemaker sitting on the counter. “I don’t know why they don’t put full-size coffeemakers in hotel rooms. Who the hell only drinks one tiny cup of coffee?” She shoots me an impish grin. “I guess I’ll just have to fight you for it.”
Relief has me feeling almost giddy. “I’ve got an idea.” I pick up the hotel phone and punch in the number for the front desk. A woman answers. “Is Kevin working today? Perfect. Can I speak to him?”
I’m aware of Gemma’s eyes on me, and I switch the phone to speaker as Kevin comes on the line, his chipper attitude unsubdued by the telephone. “This is Kevin. How can I help you make it a beautiful day by the bay with your bae?” he chirps.
“Hey, Kevin, this is Walker Kinkaid. Room 511. The honeymoon suite. Listen, man, I need your help. My beautiful bride and I haven’t left the room since we checked in yesterday.” I lower my voice confidentially. “She insisted we wait until marriage, but she must have been repressing a lot, because she’s been insatiable.” I hear Gemma’s muffled laughter, but I don’t dare look at her. “I’m fucking exhausted. I need some food, and apparently room service stopped serving breakfast a few minutes ago. Can you help me out? I don’t know how much longer I can go.”
There’s dead silence on the other end of the line, and then Kevin clears his throat and says, “Of course, sir. What would you like?”
“Whatever’s easy. Just make sure there’s lots and lots of coffee.”
“I’ll bring it up myself.” He hesitates for a minute and then adds under his breath, “Would you like me to see if I can get you some Viagra to go with that?”
I’m trying to hold back the laughter, but it’s hard. “Thanks, Kevin, but I’m good.”
When I hang up the phone, Gemma dissolves into giggles. “Oh. My. God. I cannot believe you did that,” she finally says, gasping for air. “You totally sold me up the river!”
“Well, you’re the one who told him we might stay in the room the whole time,” I argue. “And I scored us breakfast and coffee. And maybe a little blue pill.” We both burst out laughing again. “Why don’t you go shower while we’re waiting for the food? And pack your backpack with some clothes for tonight and tomorrow. I think with the late start we’re getting, we should plan to stay overnight somewhere along the way and come back here tomorrow morning.”
Twenty minutes later, Kevin arrives with a cart filled with steaming platters of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, and fruit, along with two large carafes of coffee.
“Thanks, Kevin. You’re the man!” I say, clapping him on the back.
“On the contrary. I’m pretty sure you are the man,” he says reverently.
I’m pressing a hundred-dollar bill into his hand when I hear the bathroom door open.
“Sweetie,” Gemma calls out, “there’s a detachable showerhead in here with some very interesting settings. Hurry up or I’m going to start without you.”
Kevin thanks me quickly and leaves with a wink, a smile, and the promise to help me with anything else I need during the rest of our stay.
“You’re pretty cool,” I say with a grin when Gemma emerges from the bathroom a minute after the door closes behind Kevin, looking sexy as hell in a pair of skinny jeans that hug every luscious curve and a black T-shirt with the words “Born to Be Wild” emblazoned across the front.
She shrugs. “I guess. Mostly thanks to you.” She sits down across from me and lifts the lid on the plate of bacon, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. Then she opens them, grabs a piece of bacon, and takes a bite. “Who knows what would have happened if I hadn’t met you.”
“You would have been fine.” I pile a plate with eggs and toast and more bacon and hand it to her.
“I wouldn’t have, and you know it. I was a total bitch, and I never would have had any friends if it weren’t for you. You made me instantly cool by association. And possibly threats, although I still can’t prove that.”
“You were prickly and standoffish,” I correct. “And with good reason.” Gemma’s father disappeared when she was three, and then her stepfather, whom she had considered her real dad since he was the only one she remembered, had done the same thing nine years later. After that, her mom entertained herself with a string of increasingly younger and bolder boyfriends who were eager to get to know her beautiful teenage daughter, much to her mother’s chagrin. As a result, Gemma learned that the best way to avoid being disappointed, abandoned, or taken advantage of was to keep everyone at arm’s length.
I noticed her right away when I moved to Skyline High School for junior year. How could I not have? She was different, and strikingly beautiful with that long auburn hair and her pale skin and mesmerizing green eyes. But she didn’t give me a second glance, and I assumed she was one of those snooty girls who didn’t talk to boys like me whose skin wasn’t lily white. Eventually, I realized she treated everyone like that. She kept to herself, hiding behind her camera, although she wasn’t quiet or timid, either. Ballsy and passionate, Gemma has always been a storm just waiting to be unleashed—sometimes with lightning that comes in flashes of brilliance, sometimes with rain that cleanses your soul, and sometimes with the whole fucking tornado of her emotions.
“I was already a year behind when I moved to Skyline. I may have helped you be cool, but you helped me graduate, which, in the whole scheme of things, is much more important,” I remind her.
“Not when you’re in high school.”
I laugh. “True.” My smile fades as I watch her lick her fingers. How the hell does she make everything look so damn sensual? “But we’re not in high school anymore.”
She meets my gaze. “No, we’re not.”
I’m about to reach across the table and take her hand, to tell her that I’m kicking myself for missing nine whole years that I could have been tasting her, kissing her, making her scream with ecstasy, when she looks away quickly.
“What are we doing today?”
While she obviously enjoyed last night, she clearly isn’t interested in doing it again, and nothing has changed between us in her mind. And the bitch of it is, I know she’s right. It shouldn’t. It can’t. It hasn’t. Last night was just an anomaly, an unexpected, drunken, incredible, never-to-be-repeated interlude. Thank God one of us is keeping a level head.
I heap my plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and fruit. “While you were in the shower, I
found a place that will rent me a Harley. It’ll be just like old times.”
I got my first bike—a refurbished old Indian—when I was seventeen, and I’d take Gemma home on it most days after school. In addition to teaching her some basic fighting skills, it was one of the things I did to keep her safe from her mom’s boyfriend at the time—a slimeball who made no secret of the fact that he wouldn’t mind sampling both mother and daughter, and who tried every chance he got. I smile at the memory. Nothing scares a redneck in Louisiana like a tough-looking mixed-race guy on a motorcycle. My girlfriend at the time—damn, what was her name?—didn’t like it, but she put up with it when she realized it was nonnegotiable. My friendship with Gemma always came first.
Gemma smiles wistfully. “I haven’t been on the back of a bike since then.”
“It’ll be fun. I figured we’d start here and head south down to Half Moon Bay and Santa Cruz. From there, we’ll hit Monterey and then Big Sur. I don’t think we’ll go much farther than that. Route 1 is mostly highway after that and not very scenic, so we won’t be missing much.”
“How long is the whole route?” Gemma asks.
“The Pacific Coast Highway runs from just south of Seattle to the border of Mexico. If we had the time to do it right, we’d start in Seattle and ride around Puget Sound and see Mount Olympus and the redwood forests on our way to San Francisco, then ride down to Los Angeles, hit San Diego, and maybe even cross into Mexico for a cerveza across the border. But we don’t have time for the full route, and I’m pretty sure this section is the one on Liam’s list because it’s on every guy’s bucket list, not because it’s a clue. There’s not a guy on the planet who wouldn’t want to do this.” I grin. I’m looking forward to it immensely, and the fact that I’m sharing it with Gemma only makes it better. “Besides, finding some cryptic clue along so many miles of highway is like finding a needle in haystack. Our time is best spent elsewhere.”
“Like talking to Dr. Morris’s family?”
“That’s definitely key. I hope they’ll be able to help us.”
“Me too.” Gemma pours another cup of coffee, dumping a healthy amount of sugar into it. “What else?”
“Well, there’s a club on Liam’s bucket list that’s having an event Thursday night.” I hedge, reluctant to tell her exactly what kind of club it is. But trying to keep a secret from Gemma is like trying to take a bone from a puppy, and there’s no way she’s letting it go.
She arches an eyebrow. “A specific club on Liam’s bucket list? Like the tiki bar?”
“Sort of. Except it’s private. And you have to know the right people to get in.”
“And do you?”
“I’m working on it.”
Her eyes are dancing. “That sounds intriguing! A private club. Is it fancy? If so, I’m going to have to go shopping.”
“You’re not coming.”
Her fork stops in midair and she frowns. “What do you mean, I’m not coming? I thought we got past that when you agreed to let me come to San Francisco. We’re a team; we’re in this together.”
I sigh. “It’s a sex club, Gemma. The kind that your friend Declan probably goes to. There’s no way I’m taking you there.”
She practically bounces out of her chair with excitement. “Then I’m definitely coming! It’s the perfect opportunity for research. How could you even think of not taking me?” she demands.
I try a different tactic. “I’m having enough trouble getting myself in, much less another person.”
“Honestly, Walker, you’re one of the smartest guys I know, but sometimes you can be so obtuse.”
“If I was one of the smartest guys you know, you wouldn’t have had to help me pass high school,” I say placidly, not rising to the bait. There’s no way she’s going to manipulate me into taking her to the Dominion. “I’m perfectly happy being obtuse if it means you don’t come.”
I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. Her face falls, although she quickly tries to hide it.
“I see,” she says quietly.
“Shit, Gemma. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not because I don’t want you with me. Everything is better with you,” I say honestly. But I can’t tell her the real reason I don’t want her to come. I’ve never been to a club like this, but I’m guessing her going involves at least some degree of undress, and if we go together, we’ll be expected to engage in some sort of physical activity together. Frankly, I don’t think I can take too much more. “It’s very exclusive, and every person who goes has to be vetted first,” I explain. “I don’t know if there’s time to get you vetted too. And more importantly, I want you to be safe. A lot could go wrong at a private club like that where everyone knows everyone and the law is kept out.”
“The only reason you almost failed out of school is because you moved around so much that no one realized you’d never learned how to read,” she says. “The fact that you made it to your junior year of high school without reading proves just how smart you really are, so don’t pull that crap on me. What I meant was, if you think about it, taking me would probably help you get in. Have you ever been to a hot, A-list dance club? Who do the bouncers let in? The girls. Who gets turned away? The guys who arrive alone. Why? Because they don’t want more guys than girls. But if you arrive with your own girl, you’re not a threat and they’re more likely to let you in.
“Also, I figured if we went together, we’d be more likely to find clues to clear Liam’s name, since both of us would be looking. And I’d get the added bonus of getting some real experience before Declan comes back. But if you don’t want me to go, I’m not going to beg you.”
She says it with a little huff of indignation, but I can still see the lingering hurt in her eyes that she’s trying to hide, and it levels me.
“You know what? I didn’t think about it that way, but you’re absolutely right,” I say. “Our odds of getting in as a couple are definitely better.” She’d gotten up and walked over to the window while we were talking, and I follow her, wrapping her in a big bear hug. “Not only should you come, but I am going to beg you to come. Because you, Gemma Ward, are absolutely brilliant!”
She looks up at me tentatively. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She is brilliant. And beautiful and spunky and the most amazing woman I know. But that’s not why I agreed to let her come. I’ve seen that look of hurt and rejection in her eyes way too many times before, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be the one who put it there. I’ve spent the last nine years trying to protect Gemma. She deserves way better than that, even if it means I have blue balls for a month. I would go to the ends of the earth to make sure Gemma doesn’t get hurt—by Declan or by me.
“You about ready to go?”
“Yep,” she says, moving out of my arms to grab her backpack. She points to her T-shirt. “I was born for this shit. See?”
Chapter Nine
Gemma
“Come here.”
I step closer to Walker, and he pulls the helmet he got for me snugly onto my head. I stand still as he fastens the strap under my chin and tightens it. “Is that comfortable? Not too loose or too tight?” He looks to me for confirmation, and I nod mutely, my pulse still thrumming from the proximity to his warm, lean body. How on earth am I going to spend the next five hours with my body plastered to his when just the innocent brush of his fingers as he fastened the helmet sent my stomach plummeting to my toes?
Last night changed everything. No one has ever come close to making me feel the things Walker did. And I’m not just talking about the orgasms, although those were mind-blowing. Somehow, Walker pushed my limits and made me feel incredibly vulnerable but still somehow safe. He took complete charge, yet let me set the pace. And now I am so screwed. Because what was just a drunken bet between friends has made me feel things I have no right to feel.
Obviously, Walker doesn’t feel the same. He was amazingly sweet about making sure I had not one but two orgasms, and altho
ugh I never sensed he wasn’t into it (in fact, his cock made it apparent he was), he obviously didn’t want more. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stopped me last night when I had his cock in my mouth, or he would have taken me up on my offer to pleasure him this morning instead of getting dressed. But it was the way he reacted to me going with him to the sex club that was the true indicator. It was obvious he didn’t want me to go. Sure, I ultimately convinced him, but it doesn’t feel like a win.
I just need to remember why I’m here—to help Walker find the guns, keep McKenzie safe, and clear Liam’s name. And of course, I intend to make the most of what Walker can teach me and what I can learn at the club that might help me with Declan. Going to the club on Liam’s list will be invaluable in that regard.
Declan. I try to conjure up an image of him in my head, but instead of his piercing gray eyes, all I can see are Walker’s warm brown ones, and the way they crinkle at the corners when he smiles at me.
“You ready?” Walker revs the engine, and I realize he’s already on the Harley, waiting for me. He looks like he could have just walked off a movie set. He’s wearing a T-shirt that molds slightly to his sculpted chest, and the smooth brown skin of his forearms gives a tantalizing hint of the taut muscles underneath. He’s got a helmet on, too, but it’s not a full-face one like I have, and with his mirrored sunglasses and scruff of a beard, he looks like an advertisement for everything manly—independent, self-reliant, and fearless. He’s the quintessential bad boy. He nods toward me. “Hop on.”
I swing my leg over the seat. He revs the engine again, and a little thrill of anticipation dances up my spine. I’d forgotten how much fun it is to be on the back of a bike, and I suddenly can’t wait. I wrap my arms around his waist. He feels warm and solid. “Let’s go.”
Renegade (Phoenix Rising) Page 9