Page 4 of Renegade
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 abouteverything, 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?”
