He maneuvers the bike slowly through traffic until we reach the Pacific Coast Highway, and then he opens it up. The bike roars to life, and I tighten my grip on him so I don’t fall off.
Five minutes in and I’m grinning like an idiot. Nothing beats riding on the back of a Harley with the throaty rumble of the engine in your ears and the wind in your hair. This is what freedom feels like, and it’s exhilarating. Walker always calls it wind therapy, and I see what he means. This is way better than the short rides home from high school.
There’s also something oddly thrilling about having to put my trust wholly and completely in Walker’s capable hands for a while, and the knowledge that even though we’re twisting through curves and going thrillingly fast with nothing between us and the pavement, he’s got it all under control. There’s no one I ever feel safer with.
Of course, it’s also heady being this close to him. His abs are hard beneath my hands as I grip his waist, and at first, I hold on tightly, my chest pressing into his hard, unyielding back. After a while, I get more comfortable and reluctantly loosen my grip on him so I can see the scenery around us.
Northern California is stunning. The views are exquisite, and my fingers itch for my camera. After about forty-five minutes, Walker pulls over at the beach in Half Moon Bay and I finally get the chance to get my camera out of the saddlebag, snapping dozens of pictures of the rocky cliffs, beach, and waves crashing on the shore before we take off again. Another hour and we’re in Santa Cruz, where we spend some time walking along the beach, taking pictures of the lighthouse, and strolling along the boardwalk, which is like stepping back in time to the sixties. Walker impulsively buys us tickets to ride the Giant Dipper roller coaster, and I hold onto him and we scream and laugh like kids. Afterward, we grab lunch at the Santa Cruz Diner, which is the real deal, and super cute with road signs and posters on the wall, red vinyl booths, and a jukebox. We devour cheeseburgers and greasy fries and argue over whether the East Coast or the West Coast is better.
After lunch, we’re back on the bike and headed south to Big Sur, which Walker says is about seventy miles from Santa Cruz. Any remaining awkwardness from last night dissipates as we ride, the wind and the road carrying it all away. It’s hard to talk much, but I’m content to wrap my arms around Walker and soak in the scenery. Occasionally, he absentmindedly runs his hand up my leg as we drive, and each time, his touch sends little frissons of pleasure dancing through me.
We’ve been on the road for about an hour, each curve revealing a more beautiful view than the last, when we slow down, riding through the most adorable town I’ve ever seen. It looks like what I would imagine a European village to look like, with cute little cottages and shops and an amazing view of the Pacific with white sandy beaches.
“Are we going to stop here?” I lean forward to ask Walker.
He turns slightly and grins. “You like it?”
I nod.
“This is Carmel. I knew you’d love it. Like I expected, it’s going to be too late to make it back to San Francisco tonight, so we’ll stop here on our way back and spend the night. That way we can take our time today and tomorrow and explore more.”
“You’re paying for two hotel rooms tonight?”
He looks at me a little sheepishly. “Yeah. But I only get to show you the Pacific Coast for the first time once.”
I smile at him, touched that he cares so much.
“We’ll hit 17-Mile Drive before we head down to Big Sur,” he says. “Tell me when you want to stop and take pictures.”
I’m sure he regrets telling me that, because I ask him to stop at least a half a dozen times. The road hugs the coastline as it goes around the peninsula, and there are so many great picture opportunities—miles of beautiful shoreline, a sandy white beach where I get some amazing shots of a mother harbor seal and her pup, the Pebble Beach golf course, ridiculously expensive homes, and my favorite shot of the day so far, the lone cypress tree that’s perched on the top of a rocky cliff. But Walker doesn’t complain. He seems happy to hang out and watch while I take pictures, although after a while, he starts asking questions about how I frame shots and how to use the aperture and shutter speeds to get various effects. At one point, he takes my camera and starts taking pictures of me until I chase him down and wrestle the camera out of his hands. I don’t like being on the other side of the lens.
As we hit the end of the scenic drive, we get back on Highway 1 toward Big Sur. This is my favorite stretch of the highway so far. Magnificent rocky cliffs plunge into the Pacific, towering redwoods reach for the sky, and frothy waves dance against the craggy rocks. I’ve never been much of a landscape photographer, but I realize maybe I just never had the right inspiration. Here there are no traffic lights or shopping centers or stores—just the world as God made it, so beautiful it makes my heart ache. It’s a photographer’s dream. From an overlook, we see a waterfall in a hidden cove that could have been stolen from a movie scene, and the late-afternoon sun as it collides with the fog is mesmerizing.
Walker turns onto a small road that I hadn’t even noticed and parks the bike, helping me take my helmet off. We walk through dense trees and emerge on one of the most beautiful beaches I’ve ever seen.
“Wow!” I breathe. “What is this?”
“Pfeiffer Beach.” Walker is beaming, as if he’d made it himself, and I feel a rush of affection for him. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed him until I’ve had the chance to spend this much uninterrupted time with him.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand.
We explore the beach, marveling over the unique purple sand and the giant rock with a hole in it, like a doorway to the sea. There’s another big rock in the cove, and Walker convinces me to climb it with him, holding my hand and pulling me up so I don’t slip. There are more stunning views of the coastline and the beach from the top, and we sit together companionably on the rocks.
“This has been amazing, but do you think it has anything to do with Liam or where the guns are hidden?” I ask.
Walker shrugs. “Sometimes I wonder if everyone is wrong, and Liam’s bucket list is just that—a bucket list.”
I’m quiet for a minute, considering the possibility. “You’re sure Liam sold guns to the Mexican cartel?” I ask.
Walker nods. “I told you before, Noah met with Liam himself to broker the deal. There’s no doubt.”
“Okay, so we know he definitely sold the cartel the guns. But did he actually get them? Has anyone seen them? Even if he did procure them, maybe Liam never actually smuggled them out of, what was it, Afghanistan, before he was killed?”
“Iraq. And he did. Noah said Liam sent him a picture to confirm he had the weapons before El Gato paid him. There was a huge collection, mostly handguns and AK-47s. Noah said he could see the Iraqi Army stamps on a few of them. Liam told Noah they were in a safe location.”
“How do you know they aren’t still in Middle East?” I ask, pressing the issue.
“Gemma, no SEAL would ever call Iraq or Afghanistan a ‘safe place.’ And Noah said he couldn’t tell much from the background where the picture was taken, but it was very green.”
“Like the Philippines?”
“Exactly. Except Noah and McKenzie didn’t find anything while they were there. At least not that I know of.”
“Where are they now?”
“Diving in Malaysia.” He glances at his watch. “It’s early in the morning there now. I’ll check in with Noah when we get to Carmel. Maybe they’ve found something.”
“California is green,” I offer.
“Parts of it,” he agrees. “But so are a million other places in the world.”
“But maybe not all the places that Liam has traveled to. Has anyone checked his passport? Seen where he went in the last few months before he died? There has to be some sort of paper trail.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll follow up on that. And his military orders, too. Maybe we could at least narrow it down. Yo
u always were the brains.” He tugs my hair affectionately. “Come on. We should get back to Carmel before it gets dark.”
Getting down the rock is much harder than climbing up it, and I’m grateful Walker’s there to help me. He climbs down like it’s effortless, and when I slip on the rock, he catches me and then holds on to me tightly the rest of the way. His touch is incendiary.
We make the two-hour trip back to Carmel in relative silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Mine are centered on the upcoming night, mostly wondering how I’m supposed to lie in bed next to Walker and not beg him to do all the things he did to me last night. But I can’t. Somehow, I’ve got to forget that last night ever happened.
The sun is just starting to set when we arrive back in Carmel. Walker turns off the main road into the parking lot of a cute little collection of cottages called the Lamplighter Inn, which looks like it was plucked out of a fairy tale and plopped down in the middle of California.
“Is this where we’re staying?” I ask as I take my helmet off, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice.
Walker has already taken his off and fastened it to the bike. He winks at me. “It came highly recommended by Kevin.”
I laugh. And make a mental note to thank Kevin.
We’re shown to the Treetop Room, a charming little upstairs room with a fireplace, a king-size bed, and a gorgeous view of the gardens, a gazebo, and the Pacific Ocean in the distance. We even have our own private deck.
“I’m going to give Noah a call,” he says as I inspect every inch of the quaint little room. “Then we can go grab dinner.”
“Okay. I’m going to shower.”
When I come out of the bathroom, Walker’s still on the phone. He looks up as I walk out, and his eyes light up when he sees me. Suddenly I wish I’d brought something nicer to wear to dinner than distressed denim shorts with a coral top and sandals. I glance down at the pad of paper he’s been writing on. As soon as he is off the phone with Noah, I ask, “What’s Phoenix Rising?”
Walker flashes me a sheepish grin. “SEAL habits die hard. We had to give our mission a name. The mission Liam and I were on when he was killed was called Operation Phoenix. Phoenix Rising seemed appropriate for what Noah and I are doing, especially since solving the mystery of where the guns are means that Noah will get a chance at a new life. And with luck, we’ll clear Liam’s name.” He frowns. “Somehow.”
We eat dinner at a beautiful restaurant perched on a cliff overlooking the Pacific. Walker and I order a dish to share, and he carefully serves me, putting more food than I can possibly eat on a plate and setting it in front of me before he takes a bite himself.
I look around the restaurant, and I can’t help but notice how romantic it is. I wonder briefly if Walker chose it for that reason, then mentally shake my head. Why would he pick a romantic restaurant? We’re just friends.
“Another Kevin recommendation?” I ask Walker.
He nods and smiles. “You never should have told him we were on our honeymoon.”
I try not to let his words sting. We’re just friends. I can’t want more.
After we finish dinner and a bottle of wine, we go down to the white-sand beach near the Lamplighter Inn. It’s a beautiful night, and the full moon reflecting on the water makes it easy to see.
“How’s McKenzie?” I ask as we walk along the shoreline.
“Great. I talked to her briefly before I talked to Noah. She sounds good. Happy. But she’s different. Noah brings out a side of her I’ve never seen before. She couldn’t stop talking about how cool diving had been. Can you imagine the McKenzie we know even swimming in the deep end of a pool, much less diving?” He shakes his head in wonder.
“No, I can’t,” I say in disbelief. “I wish I could have talked to her.” I miss my best friend, especially now. Not that I could have asked her all the things I really wanted to know, or told her all the things that have happened since she left. It would have taken at least an hour and required being out of earshot of both Noah and Walker.
“I know. She wanted to talk to you too. But you were in the shower, and they had plans…”
“It’s okay. Any leads on Liam?”
Walker nods. “Actually, it sounds like Liam was there about a month before he died. The dive master who operates the outfit that took them out recognized his picture. They’re going to check around and see if anyone else remembers seeing him, and if they can figure out where he went while he was there.”
“That’s great!”
Walker nods. “I also asked McKenzie about Liam’s passport. She couldn’t remember if it was in his personal effects the navy gave to her. She said she had been too emotional to look through it all and just put it in a box. We need to watch for that.”
“I can call Charlotte and ask her to go look. She has a key to our place.”
“I thought of that too. Figured we could call tomorrow. It’s three hours later there.”
I glance at my phone. It’s nine here, which means it’s midnight at home in Charleston. “She’s probably still up. I’ll try her now.” For some inexplicable reason, I need to hear Charlotte’s voice. I feel like my world has turned topsy-turvy since last night.
She answers on the second ring. “Hey! Is everything okay?”
Just hearing Charlotte’s voice makes me wish I could just blurt out everything to her—about last night, and my feelings for Walker, and how confused I am now—and let her tell me what to do. But Walker’s standing next to me, so instead I say brightly, “It’s great. California is beautiful. But we need a favor.”
“Anything.”
“Can you go by my apartment tomorrow and look for a box that has Liam’s personal stuff in it? I don’t know where it is. Somewhere in McKenzie’s room. We’re looking for Liam’s passport.”
“Sure. I can go tomorrow evening. Sorry I can’t go sooner, but I am jam-packed with appointments all day. That’s what happens when your business partners both go on fantastic vacations and leave you behind.”
I groan. “I’m sorry, Chaz.”
“Hey, I’m just teasing. You know I’m a total homebody; nothing makes me happier than my routine and staying busy running our business.” She pauses. “You sure everything’s okay?”
I swallow hard. “I’m sure. Let me know if you find Liam’s passport. See you in a few days. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I turn to tell Walker what Charlotte said, but he’s absorbed in reading something on his phone. I wait. After a minute, he looks up at me and grins. “You rock.”
“I’ve been telling you that for years. What made you finally realize it?”
“Earlier today I messaged the guy I’ve been talking to about the event at the Dominion, asking if you could get added to the guest list too. And just like you said, that seemed to open the door. He just messaged me back and said he’d put both of our names on the list; all we need to do now is show up with a picture ID.”
“That’s great!” When he doesn’t answer, I add, “Isn’t it?”
It’s dark on the beach, but I’m standing close enough to Walker to see his frown. My heart hurts at how obvious it is that he’s still not thrilled about me going.
“I don’t have to go.”
“It’s not that. It’s just that it’s casino night at the club—their biggest event of the year, my contact says. Although they’re usually open to visitors and those new or curious about the lifestyle, he says this event is just for couples or regulars at the club, and just for those with a certain level of experience.”
“So?” I don’t see what the problem is. I’m sure Walker is more than experienced enough to fit in.
“So we have two nights to turn you into an experienced submissive. And more importantly, to build the kind of trust that takes most couples who do this months, if not years, to build.”
“There’s no one I trust more than you,” I say.
Walker doesn’t say anything, but he takes my hand, playi
ng with my fingers absentmindedly for a minute before he speaks. “This is a different kind of trust,” he says softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” I say it with a conviction I don’t feel. I know without a doubt he would never hurt me physically, but my heart is another story. And with every second I spend with him, and every step we take deeper into this sham intimacy, I lose a little more of it. I’m falling for my best friend…and I know, without a doubt, that it’s going to end in heartbreak.
Chapter Ten
Walker
“What’s the plan?” Gemma looks at me expectantly with wide green eyes.
We’re back at the inn I reserved in Carmel, and the romantic room—complete with an antique four-poster bed, red roses on the nightstand, and a fireplace that someone has lit to offset the chill of the California evening—mocks me. The plan is to somehow get through the next three days exploring erotic games with Gemma while pretending it means nothing to me—that I don’t want to possess her and own her body and soul—without losing my fucking mind.
I have no idea how the hell I’m supposed to do that. It was exquisite torture having her behind me on the bike all day, her breasts pressing into my back, her arms wrapped around my waist, the scent of her lingering on my clothes even after we got to the hotel… But the real bitch of it is, it’s not just physical. I love Gemma’s body, don’t get me wrong, but I love the woman inside even more—her sassy confidence, her intelligence, the unique way she views the world through the lens of her camera, and the passion that influences everything she does. The woman is driving me insane.
The whole damn thing is spiraling out of fucking control, and if there’s anything I hate, it’s being out of control. I started out agreeing to help Gemma to keep her away from that asshole Declan. She’s not cut out to be submissive. Gemma’s too…Gemma. She’s too independent, too full of fire, and way too good for him. There’s no way I’m going to let him try to convince her she’s something she’s not and break her spirit in the process, or her heart. A girl like her shouldn’t be tamed. I was going to give her a true taste of dominance—just enough to shock and maybe scare her a little without hurting her or doing irreparable harm, of course—so she’d realize it wasn’t what she wanted. That was the plan. At least it was three days ago.
Renegade (Phoenix Rising) Page 10
