Resurgent

by Brynley Blake

  Liam

  We shouldn’t be going down to the beach. If I were a play-by-the-rules kind of guy, we’d stay at the villa until I had put together a plan, and then we’d leave late at night and no one would ever have known we were here except the cab driver and the guy at the front desk. But fuck it. I’m not a rule follower. That look on Charlotte’s face as she looked out at the ocean when I came downstairs… There’s no way I’m denying her that. Especially since there’s no guarantee we’ll get out of this alive.

  I know that look. I used to have it myself. I loved the ocean, loved swimming in it from the time I was little and my mom and dad would take Kenzie and me to the Outer Banks every year. But when my mom got sick and died, and then my dad, the ocean saved me. Literally. I was in college at USC then—a golden boy living a charmed life. Football player, plenty of friends, pussy galore, and a family that loved me. Then, just like that, it was all gone. There was no money to pay for the fraternity or the out-of-state tuition. Not with two funerals, the medical bills, and my little sister—stunned by the loss of everyone she loved—just finishing her first year of college. She had nowhere to go, and at least some sense of normalcy at school. There wasn’t money to pay for either of us, much less both of us, so I dropped out. I didn’t care. I no longer had anything in common with the kids whose biggest concern was what party to go to that weekend anyway, and I hated the looks of pity.

  Being near the ocean made me feel better. I’d go out to the beach—sometimes to drink with the handful of friends who had stood by me, and sometimes alone—and just stare out at the water. The ocean was never-changing, timeless, and that soothed my soul and gave me peace. I’d watch the tide roll in and out, and something about the way the waves would rise and then fall, endlessly, made me realize life was like that—the waves get high and overwhelm you, and then they get low and you regain your footing before the next one comes. I reevaluated my life. I pulled out the creased and worn bucket list I’d made as a kid and turned it into a plan for my future—a plan to not waste a single second of whatever life I had left. Eventually, my love for the ocean propelled me to put becoming a Navy SEAL at the top of my bucket list. I had a purpose.

  I’m pulled from my thoughts by the sound of light footsteps on the stairs, and I look up to see Charlotte. She’s wearing the bikini she bought in Puerto Vallarta—the burgundy one with tiny triangle cutouts that cover just enough to hint at what’s beneath. Holy shit, she’s sexy as fuck. I let my gaze travel down her body as I whistle softly. “Damn.”

  “Is it okay?” She sounds flustered, and I find myself oddly pleased by that. It feels good to be the one who unravels Miss Always-in-Control, even just a little.

  “That swimsuit should be outlawed. You sure you don’t want to change your mind about no-strings-attached sex?” I wiggle my eyebrows at her suggestively and she relaxes, giving me that wide smile I was hoping for.

  “Positive.”

  Of course it’s the answer I was expecting. Not that I wouldn’t love to get Charlotte out of that bikini and into my bed. In fact, even under the circumstances, if she were anyone else, I would have done it already. But I know she’s off-limits. Because she’s my little sister’s best friend, yes. But also because somehow, she’s different than the other girls who’ve come in and out of my bed, and she deserves more than a guy who betrayed his country, put his friends and family in danger, and is on the run. I’m in the deepest sort of shit imaginable, and I have to get myself out of it. If I don’t, I’m going to be spending some time in jail, and that’s if I’m lucky.

  The repartee, the innuendo, the sexy banter…it’s all just my way of helping her keep it together until she’s ready to process everything she’s been through. At least that’s what I’m telling myself, and it’s mostly true, although I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying it. Teasing her and flirting with her is a welcome distraction for both of us.

  “You’re sure about this?” she asks.

  “Definitely. Just remember to call me Tyler and kiss me passionately a few times and we’ll be fine.”

  She rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling as she turns away.

  The beach is a short walk from our villa. There’s a handful of hammocks strung from the trees, and the white sand is dotted with palm trees and chaise lounges under palapas umbrellas spaced out for privacy. I find an open one and lay the plush royal-blue towels provided by the hotel on them.

  “You want to hang out here for a while? Absorb a little Vitamin D?”

  “No. I want to walk on the beach and feel the ocean.”

  “Yeah? Okay.” I hadn’t expected that. Most women prefer lying on the beach with a fruity drink in their hand, but I’m quickly learning Charlotte isn’t like most women.

  Her eyes are glued to the surfers out in the wake. “Can you surf?”

  “I’m a Navy SEAL. Of course I can surf,” I scoff.

  “Will you teach me?” I realize I’d do just about anything she asked if she looked at me that way with those big brown eyes.

  “Sure, but not today. Let’s save that for tomorrow.” I want to make sure we’re safe here.

  The beach is fairly small—only about a quarter of a mile long—and we walk the length of it, talking easily. I can practically feel the tension leave Charlotte’s body with each step. Unfortunately, it has some sort of reciprocal effect, and as a result, all that tension is transferred to me. Or rather, to my cock. There’s an undeniable visceral chemistry between us that’s hard to ignore. Maybe that’s why she’s haunted my dreams for months.

  There’s an outcropping of big, smooth rocks that create little tidepools, and we explore them, Charlotte “oohing” and “aahing” with each new discovery of a sea urchin, crab, or brightly colored fish. I enjoy watching her. She moves gracefully—like a dancer—and when she bends over to see a crab disappear into its shell, her bikini bottom rides up ever so slightly, revealing the sweetest curve of ass I’ve ever seen.

  I’ve got to stop this. Watching her, lusting after her, is nothing but a recipe for blue balls.

  After a while, we start to walk back up the beach. The sand is hot, and Charlotte dances around on it, her perky breasts bouncing with each little hop. I look away, scanning the beach for something to distract me. There’s only so much a man can take. That’s when I see him. He would have been easy to miss, standing on the balcony of a beachside villa, partially obscured by palm leaves. He looks like a tourist, gazing out at the beach and ocean, binoculars in hand. But something about him doesn’t seem quite right. It’s nothing I can put my finger on, just that familiar prickle at the back of my neck. I glance at Charlotte to make sure she’s okay, and when I look back, he’s gone, making me wonder if I imagined him. I’m getting paranoid. But just to be on the safe side, I scoop Charlotte up into my arms, determined to play up the honeymoon bit. And get her out of sight, just in case…

  “What are you doing?” She struggles, her ass wiggling deliciously against me. I just tighten my grip on her as I carry her out into the Pacific.

  “I need to cool off with a dip after watching you prance around in next to nothing.” There’s no way I’m telling her I’m worried the drug cartel may have spotted us, particularly since it’s probably just my imagination. I need her to act natural and not freak out. Or worse, start making a list of possible getaway routes.

  She pushes uselessly against my chest, trying to wriggle out of my arms. “You don’t have to take me with you. I don’t need to cool off. I’m completely unaffected by your good looks. Which are questionable, I might add.” There’s a mischievous glint in her eye that makes me want to kiss her senseless.

  “Brat.” I toss her into the surf.

  She comes up spluttering. “You know that’s a declaration of war, don’t you?”

  “Sure, baby. Bring it on.” I grin at her, egging her on with a wave of my fingers.

  She takes a step forward and I take one back. She lunges and I dodge her. After a few minutes of me eludin
g her, I make my move, barreling straight toward her. It catches her off guard, and I easily lift her off her feet and toss her over my shoulder. Fuck. Her full breasts are pressing into my back, and her thighs feel firm and smooth under my hands.

  She hammers at my back with her fists, but she’s laughing. “Put me down!”

  “Okay. Just as soon as you admit I am, in fact, a god and you secretly have fantasies about me.”

  “I make it a point to never lie.”

  I smack her ass. “You are a brat. Most brats just want to be tamed.”

  “Not me! I’m untamable.”

  Oh fuck. “Wrong thing to say, sweetheart. There’s nothing I love more than a challenge.” I smack her ass again. She wiggles against my shoulder enticingly, and I run my hand over the sweet curve of her cheeks before delivering another smack. “You sure about that?” God, that little shiver of hers is going to fuel my fantasies for days. “I can do this all day. In fact, I’m enjoying myself quite a bit.”

  “Fine. Put me down and I’ll admit the truth.”

  I slowly set her down, keeping my hands on her hips. I grin. “I’m all ears.”

  “Okay, I admit it. I secretly have fantasies about you.” Her voice is low and seductive, with a husky rasp to it. “Want to hear my favorite one?”

  “Oh fuck yes.”

  “We’re together at the beach. It’s hot and I don’t want tan lines, so I slowly peel off my shorts, and then my shirt and bra. I need a little sunscreen, so I slowly rub it over my naked skin, making sure I rub it into my breasts really well. You know what I mean?” Her voice has taken on a seductive, hypnotic tone, and I nod, trying not to let my tongue hang out at the visual picture she’s created. “I can’t reach my back, so I ask you to help. I hold my hair up while you rub the cream into my shoulders, then work your way down. You get to the crack of my ass and slowly part my cheeks, slipping an oil-coated finger between them. And then…” She runs a finger down the center of my chest. “I turn around and knee you in the balls.”

  “Seriously? I thought you weren’t mad at me anymore.” I put on an injured face.

  “I’m not mad. I’m just completely unaffected by you.”

  “You aren’t attracted to me at all?” I’m teasing, but a part of me wants her to be.

  She’s grinning. “I know how fragile your ego is, but nope. Not a bit.”

  I glance back at the villa. The guy is back. “Prove it. Kiss me again and tell me you feel nothing and I’ll sleep outside in a hammock tonight. And I’ll feed you chocolate cake and the most expensive champagne they have.”

  “You’re on.” She leans forward and presses her lips to mine. After a few seconds, she pulls back slightly and looks me straight in the eye. “I feel nothing.” Her voice is a whisper.

  “Me neither.”

  Then somehow, we’re kissing for real, as if we had to, as if we waited our whole lives for this moment and couldn’t wait any longer. When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathless. What the holy fuck was that? I clear my throat and take a step backward.

  “That was perfect.”

  “Really?” Her eyes are soft and shining.

  “Yeah. We need to make sure we keep up the appearance of a couple on their honeymoon. It’s been nice to hit the beach, but I don’t want to push our luck. Let’s head back to our room and take a look at the bucket list. The sooner we find the guns the better.” Spending time with Charlotte is becoming more and more dangerous.

  …

  Back at our villa, I grab a couple of cervezas from the villa’s refrigerator while Charlotte changes out of her swimsuit. She joins me out on the balcony, and after taking a long drink, she hands me a small, folded piece of paper.

  “Like I told you, I found this with your personal effects, and everyone thinks it’s a map to where the guns are hidden.”

  I unfold it, my eyes skimming over the list I started when I was a kid. Damn. Talk about memories. I smile as I read over the list, remembering the things I’ve done, the girls I’ve kissed, and the places I’ve visited. I don’t know about a map to the guns, but if there’s a blue print for my life, this is it. And it’s been a damn good life, despite that dark period after my parents died. Or maybe because of it. Their death, and me having to grow up overnight as a result, has ensured I never waste a second of living.

  “Remember anything?”

  “I remember a lot. Thank God my long-term memories are still intact.”

  “McKenzie was trying to finish the things that hadn’t been crossed off your list. After your memorial service, she jumped off a waterfall in Costa Rica, and she, Gemma, and I all went to Las Vegas before she flew to the Philippines to sail around the islands.”

  “McKenzie?” No way. My little sister is the antithesis of a thrill seeker. She’s always been the homebody, the one who never wanted to go on roller coasters or jump off the high dive. I can’t even conceive of her having the guts to travel out of the country, much less jump off a waterfall or go sailing.

  “What else did she do?” I take a closer look at the items still uncrossed on the list. “A BDSM club? Fuck.” Imagining my little sister half naked in front of a room full of guys has me wanting to punch something.

  “Relax. She ended up meeting someone in the Philippines and stayed to go diving in Malaysia. Item number twenty-three.” She points to the list. “So Walker and Gemma said they’d do the BDSM club when they went to San Francisco to look at the things on your list there. They were going to go to this club—The Dominion—to see if they could find anything out. That was the night I was kidnapped so I don’t know what happened.”

  “My little sister can scuba dive?” Maybe I suffered more brain damage than I thought.

  Charlotte nods. “We all got certified together before she left.”

  “And she met a guy in the Philippines?” I glance at the list again. “Holy Mother of God. Please tell me she’s not having kinky sex with him.”

  Charlotte arches one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Isn’t that a little hypocritical? After all, you’re the one who put it on the list.”

  “That’s different. This is my little sister we’re talking about! Anyway, that one should have been crossed off a long time ago.” I catch her staring at me, an unfathomable look on her face. I wink, and she blushes and turns away. Interesting…

  After a minute, she clears her throat. “How can you be so blasé about all of this? Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in? You smuggled a million dollars’ worth of guns out of Iraq and illegally sold them to a Mexican drug cartel, so as soon as the U.S. realizes you’re alive, they’ll want to throw you in jail. And if that’s not enough, the drug cartel will also be after you for not getting their guns after they paid you.”

  “Thank you for the recap. I’m well aware of exactly what’s at stake. And I intend to do everything in my power to fix the situation. But I have a motto I’ve always lived by.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I know, I know. Don’t underestimate the power of fuck it.”

  “Exactly. I’m going to tell you a little secret, sweetheart. I know you love that control you hold on to so tightly, but the tighter you hold on to things, the less control you actually have. The key is to not let anything matter too much. When you let go of what you want—really let go—that’s when you get it.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  I shrug. “It works for me.”

  “Well, I’m not going to sit back and watch you go to jail.” She stomps inside and I can see her rummaging through a drawer. She comes back with a pad of paper and a pen and perches on the edge of the chaise, legs primly crossed. “Okay, what do you remember putting on the list?”

  An hour later, we’re no closer to deciphering what things on my bucket list might be a clue. Some of the things—like jumping out of an airplane and hiking the Inca Trail—I added to my list and completed long before the guns were a thing, and they clearly aren’t important now. Yet many of the newer things that haven’t b
een crossed off don’t make any sense.

  “Salsa dancing?” I run my fingers through my hair with frustration for about the fifteenth time. “Who puts that on their bucket list?”

  “Well, I would, if I didn’t already know how. It’s very sexy. I always encourage my clients to take dance lessons for their reception.”

  “Exactly my point. That’s something a woman puts on her bucket list, not a Navy SEAL.” I’m half teasing, but I swear I’ve never given a second’s thought to salsa dancing.

  “Hmph. I’d expected more from a guy with your…proclivities.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “My proclivities?”

  “You know, since you’re into kinky sex and all.”

  This woman is fascinating. “What does kinky sex have to do with salsa dancing?”

  “Everything. In salsa dancing, the man has to lead. It requires strength tempered with gentleness, as well as confidence. He has to make decisions and communicate them to his partner without saying a word, and she has to trust him enough to follow. And when dancing so close to your partner and leading her, you instinctively learn to read her cues and responses so you know what’s going through her head.” She flips her hair back and shrugs. “But maybe I misunderstood.”

  I whistle softly. “Damn. You could singlehandedly create a resurgence of salsa dancing with that speech. But I didn’t peg you for the submissive type.” The thought of Charlotte tied up and at my mercy is oddly tempting, maybe all the more so because she is such a control freak.

  “I’m not,” she says quickly. “I’m the one who likes to be in control.” She stands up. “Let’s look at the list again later. Maybe something will come to you. I’m going to order dinner.”

  …

  “Who was that?”

  The unease is evident on Charlotte’s face as I come back outside to the lower terrace where we’ve been hanging out talking for the last few hours after dinner. We’d started out on the chaise loungers, moved to the hammocks, and finally ended up in the hot tub. Although a string of lights and a few lit candles illuminate the terrace, the jungle beyond us is dark and endless. The waves crash rhythmically in the distance and, coupled with the night sounds around us, it feels like we’re the only two people on earth. Our conversation had begun with the bucket list again, but before long, I’d found myself telling her about my life in general—the places I’d been and the things I’d done with my SEAL brothers. We’d been interrupted by a knock at the door, and I’d gone to answer it, stopping first to grab my knife and slip it into the back waistband of my swim shorts where it was easily accessible.