But no one’s come close. And I’m tired of looking, tired of being disappointed.
And, I remind myself as I slather my body with fragrant bubbles, it’s not like I haven’t been taking care of my own sexual needs already. I have some weird thing that I can’t come with a guy—I’ve never been able to—so it’s just the rest of the stuff I’ll miss. Or rather, I think as I shut off the shower, I’ll miss the idea that what I crave is really possible. That someone really can make me feel the things the faceless man in my fantasies does. The only thing I’m really giving up is hope.
I towel dry my hair, brush my teeth, and apply moisturizer, studying my face in the mirror. I just need a good night’s sleep in my own bed and things will look better tomorrow. It’s been a long week, and I’m suddenly exhausted. Leaving the towel on the floor of the bathroom, I cross the hall to my darkened bedroom. My bed is calling me like a siren. I have the apartment to myself, so I don’t even bother with underwear or a T-shirt. With a sigh of pleasure, I slide between the cool, comforting sheets of my bed.
Chapter Two
Walker
The creak of bedsprings and the sudden slight weight on the mattress next to me half wakes me from my deep sleep. The room is dark, and in my still half-asleep state, I try to remember where I am. Not Afghanistan. The bed is too comfortable, the sheets are too soft, and the cool, dark air around me is deafeningly silent, without the sound of gunfire in the distance and the grunts and snores that come with sharing a bunk with half a dozen men. In fact, the scent and the warmth radiating from the body on the bed next to me are decidedly feminine, and there’s just enough moonlight coming through a crack in the blinds to highlight an enticing pale sliver of smooth, bare skin. I must be home at my apartment in San Diego. I struggle to clear the cobwebs in my sleep-fogged brain, trying to remember last night and the girl I brought home.
My cock, already stiff and ready for action, even while I’m sleeping, doesn’t care who she is, and I’m not sure I do either. I reach for her, my sleepy mind appreciating how soft and silky her skin is as I slide my hand over the sweet curve of her hip and across the flat plane of her stomach. I pull her to me so that my cock is nestled in the crack of an ass so glorious, I think I should have my head looked at for not remembering it.
“What the fuck!”
The elbow jab to my ribs, coupled with the heel that connects sharply with my balls, snaps me wide-awake, and although I’m seeing stars from the pain, I can appreciate the quick one-two defense. In fact, it’s something I taught Gemma when we were in high school, back when she was worried about one of her mom’s endless string of boyfriends coming on to her.
Light from a lamp on the nightstand floods the room, and I find myself staring into familiar emerald-green eyes that are flashing with anger.
“Gemma?”
“Walker?”
Our words cross as we stare at each other in shock. Seconds later, Gemma realizes she’s completely naked, and she snatches the sheet from the bed, hastily wrapping it around herself. But not before I see every inch of her—from her full, rounded breasts with gorgeous erect pink nipples to the indent of her small waist to the bare mound with a tiny landing strip at the top of long, shapely legs. My best friend has the body of a fucking centerfold.
“What the hell are you doing naked in my bed?” she demands.
I look around the room, suddenly remembering arriving yesterday evening and letting myself in with the key the girls keep buried in a pot of rosemary by the door.
“McKenzie told me you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.” I flash her a grin. “I made myself at home.”
“Clearly.” Her tone drips with sarcasm, but she’s smiling. “I came back a day early. It’s good to see you. Even if you just defiled my bed, groped me, and took two years off my life.”
Her gaze falls on my cock, which has leaped to attention again at the sight of Gemma naked. Fucking traitor. I try to think of sick puppies, my grandma, prunes…anything to get the image of Gemma’s flawless pale skin out of my mind. Gemma is my best friend. I need to burn the image of her naked out of my mind. Permanently.
With studied nonchalance, I get up and retrieve my boxer briefs from the floor by the bed and put them on. “Sorry. I would have slept on the couch, or in McKenzie’s room, if I’d known you were coming home tonight. Or at least somehow warned you I was here.” I wink at her. “How was the photography workshop? And the bridal show?”
She texted me about both before I flew to the Philippines looking for McKenzie.
“The workshop was fantastic. It was about visual storytelling and how using photos in a series can convey a deeper theme. The photographer teaching it was amazing.”
I love the way her face lights up when she talks about photography. Gemma feels her emotions intensely, and it’s impossible not to get caught up in her enthusiasm when she’s passionate about something. And Gemma’s passionate about everything, from why dill pickles are better than sweet to women’s rights. “The bridal show…not so much.” She makes a face. “I met this guy in the booth next to me, and we went back to his place, but he couldn’t keep his hard-on and he called his dick Mr. Peen and then his mom walked in… Oh, God. Stop laughing!”
But she’s laughing, too, and just like that, the awkwardness between us evaporates and it’s just me and Gemma again.
“At least he wasn’t wearing Spanx, like the last guy,” I add as I tug my T-shirt on.
“True.” She covers her face with her hands, groaning dramatically. “Why can’t I meet a real man?” Her voice turns matter-of-fact. “But it’s okay, because I’ve decided I’m going to become a cat lady.”
I can’t keep the grin off my face. “A what?”
“A cat lady. I’m giving up on men. I’m just going to surround myself with pussy.”
That sets us both off again. But then somehow, instead of laughing, she’s crying, and I feel exactly like I did the first day I actually talked to her, when I found her crying in the bleachers behind the school. It was as if someone had driven a stake into my heart. From that day on, protecting Gemma and making her smile has been my job. I will do anything to keep her from being hurt.
“Come here.” I hold my arms open and she walks into my embrace, wrapping her arms around my waist as she buries her face in my chest. I hold her tightly, letting her cry. After a few minutes, I tilt her chin up.
“Guys are assholes,” I say softly. “But don’t give up just yet. The perfect guy for you is out there somewhere.”
“If you say so,” she says glumly.
I rub her back briskly. “I should let you get some sleep.”
“No. I’m awake now. I want to know what you’re doing here. Did you find out anything about Kenzie?”
I take a step back. “Kenzie is actually why I’m here. She and Noah need my help.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who’s Noah?”
I pause, not sure where to begin. “Noah’s the guy I thought was trying to kill her. But after I kidnapped her, she convinced me he wasn’t who I thought he was, and then—”
“You kidnapped McKenzie?” She’s looking at me like I just sprouted horns.
“I had to.” I rake a hand across my face. The last four days have been insane. “It’s a long story. Let’s get some sleep and I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.”
Gemma’s eyes narrow. “Oh no, you don’t, Walker Kinkaid. I want the whole story, and I want it now.” She’s already digging through a dresser drawer, pulling out a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. “I’m hungry anyway. If we go now, we can still get food at the Tattooed Moose.” She stops to look at me, flashing me the impish grin that has left a trail of heartbroken men in her wake. “Your dick is impressive, but you should probably put some pants on. Southern women are total prudes.”
…
Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting in a scarred wooden booth in a crowded, quaint-looking pub with an assortment of taxidermied animals wearing clothes decorating the walls.
At Gemma’s suggestion, I’ve ordered the club sandwich with blue cheese fries, which she keeps reaching across the table to eat. I finally just push the basket into the middle of the table.
“Okay. Start at the beginning.” She takes a swig of beer and looks at me expectantly.
“Well, right after you told me about McKenzie and the men shooting at her in Costa Rica, I decided to put a security detail on her while I did a little digging—just in case your hunch was right and someone was after her. But she was gone. Vanished. No bank withdrawals, no credit card activity, no outgoing calls from her cell phone and no way of tracking it. I was able to confirm she’d flown to Coron like you said, but after she checked out of the hotel there, there was no trace of her.”
“That’s when you called me, asking for everything I could remember that had happened with McKenzie since Liam died.” Gemma looks at me accusatorily. “You didn’t tell me she was missing.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. And at that point, I didn’t know anything. Anyway, I contacted the charter you told me she’d booked to take her sailing around the Philippines, but they said she’d canceled the trip. That didn’t sound right, and I was starting to get a little worried, so I flew to Coron and asked around at the hotel and the marina to find out if anyone had seen her. The owner said an American guy had paid him an exorbitant amount of money to rent the entire marina for a few days. His only instructions were that everyone had to vacate the premises for forty-eight hours, and spread the word that if an American woman tried to hire them, he’d pay double what she offered if they refused.
“I pulled a few strings and got a record of all the boats sailing out of Coron the time McKenzie was supposed to leave. Turns out an American by the name of Noah Payne had sailed out that day in a boat called the Kairos.”
“The guy she almost hooked up with in Vegas was named Noah too.”
I nod. “Same guy. What a coincidence, huh?” I add sarcastically. “Turns out he was a former Navy SEAL, one of the best, in fact, who had gone rogue after his wife and child were killed by a Mexican drug cartel. For the past three years, he’s been working for El Gato, the head of a rival cartel called La Frontera, mostly negotiating arms deals for them.”
“No shit!” Gemma’s hand is frozen in midair between the basket of fries and her mouth.
“There have been some rumors that Liam was gunrunning—illegally selling arms to La Frontera.”
Gemma nods slowly. “That’s what Kenzie said. It’s not true, is it?”
I shrug. “It’s looking like it could be. Before you called me about McKenzie, I’d been checking into it. Hoping to find the truth so I could clear his name. He was like a brother to me,” I add softly.
Gemma covers my hand with hers and squeezes it.
I clear my throat and continue. “Unfortunately, there’s a lot of evidence that he was somehow involved, starting with a shit ton of money he dropped in his bank account right before he died.”
Gemma’s nodding. “McKenzie told us about that. I’d been wondering how she was funding the trips on Liam’s bucket list. Our business is doing good, but not that good. She didn’t know where he’d gotten the money.”
I sigh. “I know. Noah brokered the deal with Liam in person. Apparently El Gato paid Liam for a huge shipment of guns, but Liam died before he could deliver them. El Gato thinks Liam’s bucket list is a map to where the guns are hidden, and that McKenzie can lead him to them. So he sent Noah to get close to her. Noah targeted McKenzie in Vegas from the beginning. She accidentally dropped Liam’s list in his room and—”
“That’s where it was?” Gemma interrupts. “McKenzie was sick over having lost it. Did he give it back?”
I nod. “He traveled halfway around the world to do just that. He borrowed his friend’s boat to sail to Coron and waited for her at the marina. He also offered to help her. McKenzie had no one to take her on the trip she’d chartered and was hell-bent on taking for Liam, so she took him up on his offer, thinking me or one of the other guys on the team had sent him to help her.”
“That fucker! He used her?”
I hold my hand up before Gemma gets more wound up. Her eyes are starting to flash in a way that usually means the shit is about to hit the fan. “Actually, he fell in love with her. And saved her life a couple of times, because it seems someone else is trying to figure out what McKenzie knows. Either that, or they want to eliminate her.”
“Shut up.” Gemma’s eyes are as big as saucers. “You go to New York for a week and miss everything.”
I can’t help but laugh at how put out she is.
She takes another fry, dips it in sauce, pops it in her mouth, and chews thoughtfully. “But Noah’s one of the bad guys. He works for a drug cartel. That’s illegal. And dangerous. It can’t work. Wait, does she love him back? And where does you kidnapping her come into the story?” She grips my arm. “Is she safe?” She pauses, then answers her own question. “Of course she is, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Gemma, shut the fuck up or I’m going to put a gag on you,” I say mildly. “I’ll tell you everything, but stop interrupting.” I fix her with a pointed stare, and she gives me an impish grin and then pretends to zip her lips, tossing the invisible key over her shoulder before sitting back and looking at me expectantly.
“I was convinced Noah was just using McKenzie to get to the guns and might hurt her, so when they docked in Borneo, I kidnapped her from the ladies’ restroom and took her to my hotel and explained everything. Then I made the mistake of going down to get her something to eat.” I pause and shake my head. I’m still pissed at myself for making such a stupid-ass mistake. I should have known better.
“Someone, I don’t know who—she described him as cold, military-taught, and pretty much a trained killer—came to the door, held her at gunpoint, and took her down to his car.” My voice hardens at the memory. “Luckily, Noah had been looking for her and got to her before the asshole could hurt her. Noah’s actually NCIS, working undercover for El Gato, investigating potential illegal activity by military personnel, specifically illegal arms dealing.”
Gemma is looking at me wide-eyed, but she doesn’t say anything.
“He’s one of the good guys, and he and I are going to get to the bottom of this. Because McKenzie is in trouble; we’re just not sure why. All I know is that there’s a missing shipment of guns, and Liam’s bucket list somehow holds the clues to where they are. But we don’t know how, so we’ve got to follow the list and see where it leads us.
“I’m on leave for the next six weeks, so I’m going to chase down the things on the list that are in the States, while Kenzie and Noah dive in Malaysia and then move on to the other things on the list on that side of the world. No one knows I’m involved, so while whoever it is keeps an eye on them, I can pretty much operate under the radar here.”
Once she’s satisfied that I’m finished, Gemma says, “You’re sure McKenzie’s safe?”
I nod. “As safe as we can keep her. Noah was an outstanding SEAL. She’s probably safer with him than she could be with anyone else. But Jesse said he’d keep watch from a distance if they need backup.”
Gemma smiles at the mention of the outspoken SEAL with a Southern drawl who has been on plenty of missions with both me and Liam. I’d trust him with my life.
“That’s good then.” Gemma polishes off the last few fries and then licks her fingers. “You know you can stay with me as long as you want.”
“Thanks, Gem. I just may do that. Until I know who’s after McKenzie and why, we can’t be too careful. I want to make sure you and Charlotte are okay, too.” The thought of someone hurting Gemma has my fist clenching. “I protect what’s mine.”
Chapter Three
Gemma
When I walk into the kitchen in the morning, Walker is digging through the freezer, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips and reveal the top of his boxer briefs.
“Hey,” I say by way of greeting
as I make a beeline for the coffeepot. “Thanks for making coffee.”
He mutters something unintelligible and then turns around to face me with a box of waffles in his hand, and my mouth goes dry. Sure, I knew Walker had a good body. I mean, the man is a swimmer and a Navy SEAL, for God’s sake. But actually seeing him shirtless, with those pecs, and those abs, and that alluring V-cut, is something entirely different. My best friend is sexy as hell.
Of course I kind of noticed that last night when I scrambled out of bed, but my heart was racing thinking there was a serial killer in my bedroom, and I wasn’t fully able to appreciate him. Oh, God. Last night. The memory of him pulling me to his chest, his cock nestled in the crack of my ass, pops into my mind, and my gaze involuntarily drops to his crotch. The prominent outline of his dick in the slightly fitted pants concurs with my impression from last night. Walker Kinkaid is undeniably well-endowed.
I force my gaze away, hoping I’m not blushing. Although my auburn hair is more brown than red, I’m cursed with the pale skin of a redhead that reveals even my slightest embarrassment. I shouldn’t be thinking of Walker that way. Even if he does have the body of a god and the cock to go with it. But last night, when he touched me in the dark, in that split second before fear set in, butterflies I haven’t felt in years—actually, make that ever—fluttered in my belly at his touch.
I firmly push the thought out of my mind. Walker and I are friends, nothing more. Sure, I had a crush on him in high school, along with every other girl in a two-hundred-mile radius. Walker’s always been undeniably gorgeous, with that flawless café au lait skin that comes from a mixed-race heritage, long-lashed, expressive, whiskey-colored eyes, dark hair that he’s worn close-cropped as long as I’ve known him, and currently just enough of a beard to scrape a woman’s skin deliciously. And, of course, that body.
Renegade (Phoenix Rising) Page 2
