Rogue (Phoenix Rising)

by Brynley Blake

  “You don’t have to. Really.”

  He doesn’t argue. He just stands there, watching me with hooded eyes as I walk toward the door with as much dignity as I can muster. I’m opening the door when he closes the distance between us in three long, purposeful strides. He pushes it closed firmly as he fists his hand in my hair, tilting my head back so I’m looking up into his uncompromising face. He just stares at me for one long, silent moment, his face inscrutable. Then he leans forward and kisses me again, slowly this time, as if he’s savoring the taste of me.

  “I’ll walk you down.” His voice is soft, but his tone leaves no room for protest. “I just have to handle something first. Wait here,” he commands. Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “Please.”

  As if I have a choice. After that kiss, I’m not sure my legs are capable of working.

  I watch as he glances at his phone, frowns, types something, and then sets it back down before walking back to where I’m standing. Then, with a hand firmly planted above my hip, he guides me out of the suite.

  “Have you seriously never played poker before?” he asks casually as we take the elevator down to the cheaper suites where I’m staying with my friends. I’m oddly disappointed that we’re reduced to small talk after what just almost happened between us.

  “Not until this weekend. My brother tried to teach me a couple of times, but I could never remember all the different hands and he finally gave up. Plus, the last time I suggested we play with tampons instead of money.”

  I smile at the memory, but it’s immediately followed by that familiar twinge of sadness.

  “Sounds like you’re pretty close to your brother.”

  “We were. He died a few months ago,” I say quietly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  For some reason, his words level me. People tell me they’re sorry about Liam’s death all the time, but the way Noah says it, it somehow means more. He doesn’t look at me with pity or try to offer any comfort, only those two short words uttered with absolute sincerity. Like he understands.

  “Thank you. He’s actually the reason I’m here.”

  He raises an eyebrow, encouraging me to continue. I stall for a moment as the elevator stops at my floor and we exit. He takes my hand, threading his fingers with mine, and it somehow gives me the strength to continue.

  “My brother, Liam, was a Navy SEAL. He was everything I’m not—daring, impetuous, and larger than life, but I loved him more than anyone else in the world.”

  “I wouldn’t say you’re as different from him as you think,” he murmurs.

  I guess I do seem daring and impetuous to him—after all, I’m here with him—but he doesn’t know the real me.

  “He had a bucket list of things he wanted to do before he died. He updated it just a few weeks before he was killed. I actually carry it around with me, because holding it and seeing his handwriting and knowing he touched it a few weeks before he died makes me feel closer to him,” I admit sheepishly. “One of the guys on his team gave it to me. I decided I’d finish the list for him.”

  Noah’s looking at me intently. “What kind of things are on it?”

  “Well, an all-nighter in Vegas was one of them, which is why I’m here. And I jumped off a waterfall last week, which was absolutely insane.”

  “But fun, judging by the look on your face,” he comments with a faint smile.

  “Yeah. It was fun. I never in a million years would have thought I’d do that, much less enjoy it, but it was amazing.”

  “So what’s next?”

  “Sailing around the Philippines, then diving in Malaysia, with a stopover in Australia afterwards to swim with sharks.”

  He lifts an eyebrow in surprise. “You sail?”

  I shake my head. “No. I’ve hired someone to take me.”

  “I’ve sailed the Philippines a few times myself. I have a buddy from college who lives in Australia with a boat that he lets me borrow sometimes. You should be careful. Terrorist activities, maritime kidnappings… It can be dangerous.”

  We’ve stopped outside my suite, and he has somehow inched me backward so my back is pressed against the wall in the hallway outside my room. His arms are braced against the wall on either side of my shoulders, caging me. My pulse is racing again at the sheer nearness of him.

  “Kind of like now?” My voice sounds breathless, like I just ran up three flights of stairs.

  “Exactly.” His lips trace a hot path down the side of my neck. “A man might take advantage of a beautiful woman like you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be perfectly safe,” I manage to whisper, even though his touch is igniting my skin. “I’m sailing out of Coron, and I’ve hired a retired husband and wife who’ve sailed around the world twice to take me. From everything I’ve heard, they’re as harmless as you can get.”

  “No one’s harmless,” he murmurs, his lips so close to mine we’re sharing the same breath. “You’d do well to remember that.”

  Chapter Six

  Noah

  One week later…

  “What do you mean they’re not here? I booked a charter with them a month ago!”

  Halfway across the world, McKenzie’s soft lilt has the same effect on me as it did in Vegas. Hidden from view just below deck of the Kairos, my buddy’s sailing yacht, my dick twitches as I watch her trailing along after the slight, wiry Filipino man who’s been my friend for years, and who is pretending to operate the marina here in Coron after I paid the real owners to disappear for a while.

  Gone is the sex bomb I met a week ago. In her place, looking prim and proper in khaki shorts and a crisp, sleeveless white blouse with her hair piled into a serious-looking bun on her head, is the McKenzie Prescott El Gato described. Complete with a cardigan knotted over her shoulders. Somehow, she looks just as fuckable. Maybe more so.

  “I’m sorry, miss. As I’ve told you, I have no record of an Albert or Marites Cruz, or a boat named the Santos set to sail out of here.”

  “That’s impossible!” She stops and takes a deep, steadying breath. “Okay then. Can you take me?”

  “No, miss. I’m sorry. There is no one to watch the marina. I must stay.”

  “Please!” Her voice is tinged with a hint of desperation. “I have money. Name your price. I’m willing to pay if someone will just take me.”

  I roll my eyes. She might as well put a sign around her neck that says, Take Me to the Cleaners. Of course, no one’s going to take her anywhere, because I’ve already paid everyone within a five-mile radius a small fortune not to, just like I paid the salty old sailor and his wife who were supposed to take her on a seven-day cruise through the islands to disappear. I’m pretty sure I can convince her to come with me, but I don’t believe in leaving anything to chance.

  McKenzie stops and grabs the railing of the rickety pier. She’s close enough that I can see the whites of her knuckles as she grips it, her breathing shallow.

  Manuel peers at her. “Are you okay, miss?”

  “Yes. Well, no. You wouldn’t happen to have a paper bag, would you?”

  When he stares at her blankly, she shakes her head vehemently. “No, no, no,” she half mutters. Then more firmly, “Stop it, Kenzie. Think about Liam.”

  She nods almost imperceptibly and then lifts her chin resolutely. “Eventually there’s got to be someone who’d be willing to take me. I read online that there are sailing outfits that take groups of people out of here all the time. I’ll just check back every day until I find one.”

  “There’s nothing on the schedule. It’s the end of June, the beginning of the wet season. Things are slow.” Manuel scratches his head. “There’s a man with a boat who docked here a day or two ago.” He waves a hand in the direction of my boat. I chuckle. The man could win a bloody Oscar for his performance. “You could ask him.”

  “A man? Sailing alone?” She frowns. “That sounds dangerous. I’ll figure something else out.”

  McKenzie Prescott is a fascinating mystery of co
ntradictions. The adventurous, spontaneous bombshell I met at the Wynn who jumped off a waterfall is at odds with the cautious girl in a cardigan standing on the pier. The girl at the Wynn would have at least been curious enough to meet the one person in the marina with a boat. This girl probably threw out all her Halloween candy as a kid because it might have a razor blade in it. I sigh. If she doesn’t come willingly, I’ll kidnap her, but I’d rather do this the easy way. And it should be easy, because I have my trump card—her brother’s bucket list that she somehow inadvertently left in my room at the Wynn in Vegas.

  After I’d tortured myself one last time letting my lips trail a path down the column of her neck outside her room, I’d gone back to my suite and had finally fallen asleep, although between a raging hard-on and dreams of her writhing beneath me, my sleep had been restless. When I’d finally woken up, I’d found the well-worn and carefully folded list on the floor of the living room where it must have fallen when I’d temporarily lost my mind and manhandled McKenzie against the floor-to-ceiling window.

  At first, I hadn’t been able to believe my luck. Here was Prescott’s list—the original, judging by the two different colors of ink where he’d added things and crossed out others—and exactly what El Gato wanted me to get from McKenzie, basically handed to me on a silver platter. But I should have known it was too easy. The SEAL’s bucket list was just that—a simple list of places and experiences. If there’s a map or clue hidden in the list that will lead to the guns, the way El Gato seems to think there is, it’s not easily discernable. Which means I still need her. Maybe she knows where her brother hid the guns. And if she does, I intend to find out. But if she doesn’t and her brother’s bucket list is the key, who better to read between the lines, getting to the subtext of the list, than Liam Prescott’s sister, especially since she’s so determined to accomplish everything on it? I agree with El Gato that she’s the key to finding the guns, whether she knows it or not. Either way, I’ve got to spend some time with her and find out.

  Not that spending the next ten days in close quarters with McKenzie is going to be a hardship. I may not be able to touch her, but I sure as hell can appreciate that hot body in a swimsuit.

  I’m about to step onto the deck when I hear Manuel say, “You should at least meet him, miss. He’s American. You’d be safe with him.” Manuel’s voice drops confidentially. “He’s a Navy SEAL.”

  What the hell? Revealing that piece of information to McKenzie was NOT part of the plan. It’s not even true, and Manuel knows it, although I used to be. Now, my years as a SEAL seem like a thousand lifetimes ago. Hanging out with the underbelly of the drug world does that to you.

  To my surprise, her breathing visibly slows. “Really? Okay, I’ll talk to him,” she says, her relief evident in her voice.

  Huh. By some stroke of genius, Manuel had known just what to say to put her at ease. Even if it’s a lie.

  “Just don’t mention it to him,” Manuel says under his breath as they walk toward my boat. “He don’t like people knowing that.”

  The sly son of a bitch. I’ve got to hand it to my old friend. He knows how to cover his ass.

  “His secret’s safe with me,” she promises.

  “Yo! Noah.”

  I step out onto the deck and watch as McKenzie’s big blue eyes widen in surprise. “You? What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  “I… What… How…” she stammers. Her brows knit together and her lips purse in confusion, and dammit if I don’t get even harder. Those lips were made for a man’s cock. Get a grip, Noah. McKenzie’s a mark, a means to an end. Nothing more. Now if my dick would just get the memo. I nod to Manuel, and he discreetly disappears, leaving me alone with McKenzie.

  “You left something in my room in Vegas.” I hold out the list. “By the time I found it, you’d already checked out, and I didn’t trust leaving it with the front desk to return to you. You’d told me how important it was to you. I knew I had to get it back to you, but I didn’t even know your last name. Then I remembered you saying you were sailing out of Coron. As I told you, I’m familiar with sailing the Philippines, so I asked my buddy if I could borrow his boat.”

  McKenzie is clutching the tattered paper against her chest, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You traveled halfway around the world to give this back to me?”

  I shrug, suddenly a little uncomfortable. “I love to sail, and I had some time off coming. I thought maybe I could even help you with the list. If you want it. SEALs help each other.”

  It’s not an out-and-out lie—SEALs would die for each other—but the implication that I’m here as a SEAL to help her brother, especially after Manuel has told her I’m one, is probably going to earn me a spot in hell if I don’t already have one with my name on it.

  McKenzie chews her bottom lip, clearly weighing the decision in her mind. Finally, she says, “The couple I booked with over a month ago to take me didn’t show up. There’s not even a record of them setting sail out of here. I could wait and book someone else, but if you’re going to be sailing anyway… I could pay you. Well.”

  “I don’t need money.” That at least is true. When I told him about McKenzie’s plan to sail the Philippines, El Gato dumped a quarter of a million dollars into my account and told me to do whatever it took to get her on my boat.

  She frowns, no doubt remembering my penthouse in Vegas.

  “Surely there’s something I can give you.”

  I give her a slow once-over, my gaze roving deliberately over her body. “That’s a tempting offer.”

  She blushes.

  “You ever sailed before?”

  She shakes her head. “But I won’t get in the way. And I can help. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “Is that right?” I can’t help grinning at that. The image of her on her knees obediently in front of me, awaiting my command, is heady.

  Her pupils have dilated, and I don’t miss the way she presses her thighs together slightly.

  “I’d be happy to take you, although I have to warn you, it’s a pretty bare-bones existence on the boat. No wifi or human contact, except for me, although there are plenty who would argue that I don’t count as human. You have anything on your agenda other than just sailing?”

  “I need to tweet from the equator, but since you don’t have wifi, I guess that’s out. So just sailing. Unless you want to scuba dive in Malaysia.” Her small smile and self-deprecating tone make it clear she doesn’t want to impose.

  “You dive?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice. Somehow, she just doesn’t seem like the type.

  “I got certified before I left.”

  “I’ve got some dive equipment on the boat, and Malaysia isn’t too far out of the way. The reef is one of the most beautiful places in the world to dive.”

  Her eyes are shining. “Really? You’d go with me?”

  “Sure.” Diving had been a recent addition to her brother’s bucket list, and if I don’t figure out what McKenzie knows before we get there, maybe there will be a clue in Malaysia that might indicate where the hell Liam stashed the missing shipment of guns he took out of Iraq and sold to El Gato before he died.

  She hesitates for a half a second and then nods. “Thank you. I’ll get my stuff.”

  Thirty minutes later, her surprisingly small duffle bag is stowed in the cabin, I’ve gassed up, and we’ve cast off, headed out to the open sea. McKenzie’s pressed as far into the corner of the bench seat as she can be, gripping the edge of the cushion tightly as we motor away from the dock.

  “Nervous?” I ask as I open the throttle.

  “No…” She loosens her death grip on the seat slightly, but if her body was any more rigid, she’d snap in two. “Okay, a little,” she admits. “I’ve never been on the ocean before. It’s awfully big, isn’t it? And no offense, but your boat seems kind of small.”

  I remember the excitement and pride in her eyes when she told me about jumping off the wa
terfall, and the confident sway of her hips when she walked away from the poker table, knowing damn well the effect she was having on me with the unspoken invitation. I have a feeling that’s the real McKenzie Prescott, not this tentative girl who’s been beaten down by God knows what. Her brother’s death, for sure. She needs a dose of confidence—the kind that comes from doing things that scare you but make you feel alive—and the resulting affirmation that she’s stronger than she thinks she is. Of course, I’m not stupid enough to tell her that, but I can show her.

  “It’s big enough. Come here. I need you to steer while I unfurl the sail.”

  “What? I don’t know how to drive a boat.” Her voice is tinged with panic.

  “You’ll be fine. Get your cute little ass over here.”

  She loosens her grip on the seat cushion and walks over to where I’m standing by the wheel. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I say with a wink as I move aside. “I’ll tell you exactly what to do.” She blushes at the not-so-subtle innuendo, and I’d give my left ball to know just what’s going through her head that makes her eyes darken and her lashes lower. “Stand here, and put your hands on the wheel. It’s just like a car.” She places her hands tentatively on the wheel, and I stand behind her, my body curving around hers as I grip the wheel, too, my arms on either side of her. The physical reaction to our bodies touching—even something as simple as the feel of her back against my chest—is overwhelming, and my blood thrums with awareness. She inhales sharply. She feels it, too. The sexual tension only intensifies as I cover her hands with mine, showing her how to operate the throttle and gearshift.

  Fuck. This girl is dangerous. I take a step back. “Just keep it steady and steer into the wind. Piece of cake.”

  She nods, her gaze trained intently over the bow as if there are fifty icebergs to navigate around instead of open sea. I unfurl and raise the mainsail, calling out instructions to McKenzie, which she follows to a tee. Then we’re sailing, the bow riding the gentle waves, tossing back spray as we head out into the Pacific.