Page 7 of Renegade
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 aulaitskin 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.
But his real appeal has always been his attitude. If you looked up “swagger” in the dictionary, there’d probably be a picture of Walker. Confident, brash, bold, and undeniably charismatic, Walker was the quintessential bad boy, the kind of guy girls fantasized about. Including me, until we unwittingly became friends, and I realized there was an incredibly sweet guy under that bad-boy exterior and decided I didn’t want to be just another one in the revolving door of girls who came in and out of his life. Now, almost nine years later, he’s become one of my very best friends, and I would never want to jeopardize that. We are both perfectly comfortable in the friend zone.
“You look nice.” His gaze sweeps over the professional-looking navy sheath dress and heels I’m wearing. “I thought photographers wore ripped-up jeans and black T-shirts with snarky political statements on them.”
“Oh, we do. I have dozens of them. But today I have an appointment, so I thought I’d dress like a grown-up.”
I don’t mention that I’m trying to impress the very attractive father of the bride I’m meeting with this morning. He and his daughter dropped by the shop the week before I left for New York, and although his daughter was a bit of an entitled brat, I felt an instant attraction to him. He’s older than me—Charlotte would say too old—probably in his early to mid-forties. But he’s in good shape, tall with dark hair, and he had that aura of command that I find so insanely hot…and so rare in guys my age. It’s not like I’m looking for anything serious anyway. Who cares if he’s forty?
“If you want waffles, you’re going to have to go to Waffle House to get them,” I tell Walker. “That’s a decoy. It’s where McKenzie keeps her jewelry.” I roll my eyes. I adore McKenzie, but she’s a tad paranoid.
Walker shakes the contents of the box onto the table and frowns. “I know. I’m looking for a necklace that she told me was in here. Silver, with some sort of emblem on it.”
“The one she got from the guy Liam saved?”
Walker is looking at me intently. “Yes. You know it?”
I nod. “I went with her to California when she met with him. She didn’t want to go by herself.”
“Fuck, Gemma. Why didn’t you didn’t tell me that?” His eyes narrow, and he’s giving me that dangerous, you’re-about-to-be-in-trouble look that tends to make people fall all over themselves trying to explain. Too bad it doesn’t work on me.
“You didn’t ask,” I say flippantly.
“This is important. I need to know everything you can remember.”
He looks so worried that I relent. He takes his job to protect very seriously, and even more so when it involves the people he’s closest to. I’ve never met anyone more loyal than Walker. “Okay. I’m sorry I forgot to tell you. I didn’t know it was important. But it’s going to have to wait until tonight. I’m running late.” I gather up my stuff and give him a quick peck on the cheek before dashing out the door.
“You know where the necklace is, at least?” he calls after me.
“Check with Charlotte. She borrowed it last week.” I give him a little wave before I disappear down the stairs.
Unfortunately, traffic sucks and I’m almost ten minutes late to my meeting at the Village Bakery in Old Village, a quaint and pricey neighborhood on the water. Apparently the attractive and sophisticated Mr. Campbell has some money, as well.
He’s sitting at a table by the window frowning at his watch when I slip into the chair across from him. Crap. Not a good first impression. “Good morning, Mr. Campbell. I apologize for being late. Traffic was terrible.”
“Please, call me Declan. And no apology necessary. I was just starting to worry about you a bit. I was hoping I hadn’t scared you away.”
“I don’t scare easily,” I say boldly, looking him in the eye.
“Indeed.” The corners of his mouth turn up in a faint smile, like he’s privy to some sort of inside joke, and my stomach drops. “I’ve been told I can be exacting, demanding, and a bit of an ass, actually. I meant it when I told you a few weeks ago that I’m willing to pay for the best, but I won’t settle for anything less than perfection.”
“I understand completely. And I can assure you that if you go with Tying the Knot for your daughter’s wedding, that’s exactly what you’ll get. I know your daughter has already spoken with McKenzie about designing her dress, and Charlotte Windsor—she’s our wedding planner, who will be your main point of contact—is amazing. She will take care of even the smallest details, so your daughter, you, and your wife can enjoy the day without having to worry about anything.”
Yes, I’m shamelessly fishing for information, and he doesn’t disappoint me.
