Rogue (Phoenix Rising) Page 7

  “Liam was always the risk-taker. The daredevil.” I take a sip of cold beer, thinking about what Noah said. “But maybe that’s changing. Completing the things on Liam’s bucket list has been kind of liberating, not only because it’s made me feel closer to him, but because with each challenge I tackle and accomplish, I feel bolder and stronger and braver—like I can do anything.” I laugh. “It sounds crazy.”

  Noah is looking at me intently. He reaches out a finger and traces it gently across my cheekbone. “No. Not crazy at all,” he says softly.

  My pulse quickens at his touch.

  Then, obviously remembering himself, he frowns, clears his throat, and busies himself squeezing a lime into his beer. “So tell me more about your brother’s list,” he says after a few minutes. “You said he added some things right before he died?”

  I nod. “He must have been thinking about what he wanted to do when he got out of the navy. He loved being a SEAL, but his last few deployments had been hard on him emotionally, and lately he’d been talking about possibly getting out. Actually, this trip to the Philippines was one of the last things he added, and so was diving in Malaysia.” I laugh. “Who knows why. Knowing Liam, he probably met some gorgeous Filipino girl and figured there were more where she came from.”

  Noah steeples his fingers in front of him. “I’m glad our paths crossed. From this point forward, let’s honor your brother’s memory and do it right. Let’s do what he would do.”

  Doing it right apparently means lying on the beach and more swimming, followed by watching the most amazing sunset I’ve ever seen from a hammock tied between two palm trees on the beach outside the bar. Noah seems a little more relaxed with me, although he does frown when I peel off my shorts and T-shirt. “There’s barely anything to that swimsuit. Don’t you have a one-piece or something?”

  Who knew Noah Payne was such a prude? “You’re going to make your daughter’s life hell one day.”

  “Not an issue. I’m not having kids.” I want to ask him why, but the look on his face makes it clear the conversation is over. Oddly enough, I can totally see Noah as a dad, the kind who has tea parties with his little girl and plays catch with his son. He’d make a great dad, the kind who is imposing and firm but steady, his love unconditional. It’s too bad he obviously thinks otherwise.

  When the sky is dark, the swirls of orange and yellow over the glistening water just a memory, we walk to another bar up the beach. Like everything else here, it’s open-air and a dive by American standards, but it’s clearly the happening place with a rowdy crowd of locals and tourists alike, drinking and dancing and singing karaoke. The atmosphere is fun and friendly, and the drinks are flowing. After a few glasses of a tropical drink called Weng Weng that’s made with six different types of alcohol mixed with orange and pineapple juice, I’m feeling buzzed and almost happy for the first time in ages, even if it’s just for the moment and alcohol induced. I’m also feeling a little wild and impulsive. In a moment of clarity, I realize this is what it feels like to be truly alive. I’ve been missing it, but Liam knew it all along. The secret to life is taking chances and trying new things.

  An old local on the stage picks up a guitar and starts strumming, singing the opening lines of the duet “Picture” by Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow. He pauses and looks out at the small crowd gathered in front of the stage. “Any of you ladies want to join me?”

  I’ve always wanted to try karaoke, but I’ve never had the guts to do it. He continues to sing, and with the alcohol lowering my inhibitions and clouding my brain too much to overanalyze it, I set down my drink and walk up on stage, picking up the microphone just in time to chime in with the female lyrics.

  The crowd erupts with applause. He gives me a wink and a toothy smile, encouraging me. I’ve never sung in front of anyone before, and while it’s a little scary at first standing on a stage singing to a crowd, even a small drunk one, it’s pretty exhilarating. When the song is over, I leave the stage to a roar of cheers. It’s the most fun I’ve had in ages.

  Noah watches it all from the table, never taking his eyes off me, an ever-present ghost of a smile on his lips. He observes everything with that predatory, watchful look in his eyes, but he keeps himself apart slightly. In the crowd but not of it. There seems to be an instant friendship between everyone else at the bar, though, the kind that is forged by being thousands of miles from home and in a new place where strangers quickly become friends. Before long, a group of young twenty-somethings from Texas arrive. They’re funny and chatty and easygoing, and soon, we’re sharing stories of how we came to be in Palawan. They’re all fascinated by my story of Liam’s bucket list. Before long, a couple of guys from Colombia join us.

  From the moment they sit down, Noah seems to take an instant dislike to them, especially Sebastian, the one who sits next to me. He’s attractive in a suave, urbane way, with dark olive skin, long black hair that brushes his collar, and an engaging smile. Surely Noah’s not jealous. He clearly wants nothing to do with me.

  “So what is this bucket list you’re talking about?” Sebastian asks with a smile.

  “Just the best thing ever!” answers a blonde girl named Miranda who’s touring the islands with her boyfriend, Matt. “Her brother was a Navy SEAL, and he died in the line of duty. McKenzie’s finishing his bucket list.”

  He arches a dark brow at me questioningly. “This is you?”

  I nod.

  “McKenzie.” The way it rolls off his tongue makes it sound almost seductive. “‘The fair one.’ A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

  I smile. It’s a line, of course, but I can see why Latins have a reputation for being great lovers. Noah’s frown has turned into a glare.

  “Tell me, preciosa, what is on this bucket list.”

  I have no idea what preciosa means, but it sounds nice. I smile at him. He’s not as attractive as Noah, but unlike Noah, he is definitely interested in me. I figure I might as well have a little fun flirting with him. The effect it seems to have on Noah is a nice bonus.

  I recount some of the things on Liam’s list as Sebastian listens intently. When I’m finished, he smiles and says, “Kind of like a scavenger hunt, no?”

  I hadn’t thought of it like that, but in a way, he’s right. Step by step, Liam’s list has been leading me to a life of freedom and excitement.

  “And what’s at the end?” he asks.

  “A pot of gold,” I say with a smile, realizing that it’s true. Wherever Liam’s list leads me, I will have had experiences and memories to savor for a lifetime.

  Sebastian leans in closer. “Would you like to dance?”

  Why not? I smile at him. “I would love to.”

  He grabs my hand as we move to the makeshift dance floor, which is just a concrete-floored section of the bar in front of the stage where a band is now playing. My karaoke buddy is apparently also the lead singer.

  The band is playing a popular song from home, and Sebastian holds my right hand up in his left as he takes a few rhythmic steps forward, his hips swiveling like they’re attached to his body with brads instead of tendons. Damn but the man can dance. He’s doing a sexy bastardized version of the salsa, and he pulls me along for the ride. His hands are everywhere—on my hips, wrapping around my shoulders as he pulls me back against him and then propels me forward as I spin under his arm. I laugh with delight, remembering salsa dancing on Liam’s list. I thought I’d checked that off the list when I took classes at the local community college, learning the steps with a dozen other women and a few men who’d obviously been dragged there by their wives. But I had it all wrong. This is what he meant—dancing with a partner whose sensuous moves and hands on your body set your senses on fire.

  My classes didn’t prepare me for this, though, and I focus on my feet, trying to keep up.

  “Look at me.” Sebastian’s voice is sultry as he lifts my chin with a firm finger. “Keep your chin up. Your spine straight.” Ka-thunk. His confidence and innate authority re
mind me of Noah. I apparently have a hidden penchant for alpha men. “Just feel the music.”

  I try to do as he says as he whips me around the tiny dance floor. “That’s it, belleza,” he croons, pressing his forehead to mine as I circle my hips and wrap my arms around his neck. He dips me low and then pulls me close to his chest as we snake our bodies together in time with the music. Dancing like this, so sensually with the beat pulsing in my veins, is doing nothing to alleviate the sexual frustration that has been building in me for the last day and a half on the boat in such close proximity to Noah, who seems hellbent and determined to turn me on and then do nothing about it. As a result, I feel like I’m about to combust.

  Who needs Noah? In fact, screw him. How dare he tease me, making me crave his touch, then leave me as soon as I’m dripping with desire. If he doesn’t want to help me with the sexual things on Liam’s list, I’m sure Sebastian will. And I’m just drunk enough to ask him.

  “Where are you staying?”

  Sebastian’s eyes darken as he pushes me away from him slightly, still holding my hand as I sweep a foot outward in one of the few fancy salsa moves I remember, then pulls me back to him.

  “Just up the beach. Where are you?”

  “We’re on a boat called the Kairos, anchored just off the shore.”

  “This man you’re with… Is he your boyfriend?”

  “Oh, no.” I laugh. “He’s made it quite clear he’s not interested in me. He won’t miss me one bit.”

  He smiles. “Well, then. I’ll come and steal you away.”

  “Will you tie me up in the process?” I ask flirtatiously. He seems like the kind of guy who could be into kinky stuff, but it can’t hurt to feel him out.

  He laughs. “Whatever turns you on, belleza.”

  His left hand moves over the curve of my ass possessively and squeezes.

  I hadn’t seen Noah get up, but suddenly he’s standing next to us, his eyes dark with fury. “Watch your hands,” he snaps. “She’s with me.”

  Sebastian looks up at him in surprise, completely unfazed. “Really? That’s not what she says. You’ve ignored her all night, and a woman this beautiful and sensuous should get the attention she deserves.” He turns to me. “Another dance?”

  “I…um,” I stammer, looking up into Noah’s unyielding face. I may be braver than I used to be, but I’m not sure I have the courage to challenge Noah when he’s looking at me in that steady, unnerving way. I don’t think anyone would, and for a minute I have complete sympathy for the men he commands. He saves me from having to decide.

  “She’s dancing with me,” he says. He grabs my arm and yanks me to him. The jolt of electricity as I go crashing into his chest blazes through me, setting every nerve in my body on high alert.

  My karaoke buddy is still on stage, and when he sees me crushed against Noah, he winks, says something to the band, and they start to play a slower, more sensuous song. Oh, damn.

  “If you wanted to dance, you should have just said so.” Despite his gruff tone, Noah’s holding me so close to him that I can hear his heartbeat and feel the hard plane of his chest beneath the thin T-shirt he’s wearing. I can feel my nipples tighten as they brush against him. Traitors.

  “I didn’t know you could salsa.” I try to sound flippant, but I’m not sure I pull it off.

  In response, he places his hand on the side of my neck, sending shocks of awareness racing through me. “Try to keep up.”

  Noah isn’t as flawless at the dance steps as Sebastian was, but whatever he lacks in finesse, he makes up for with pure unadulterated sexuality and control. He is comfortable in his own skin as few men are, and it shows. He’s aggressive in dancing, as he is in life, and although we’re dancing together, I feel like he controls my every move. He doesn’t let go of me, one hand always on my back, holding me firmly to him as our bodies move to the music in a dance of seduction as old as time. He lifts my arm as he skims his knuckles down the tender underside, making me shiver, then takes both of my wrists in his, firm fingers wrapped around them as I dance for him, his eyes hungrily watching me.

  It’s as if all of the unfulfilled want and need that’s been simmering between us is poured into the dance, and we move together like our bodies know each other intimately. He turns me so my back is to him, my bottom pressed against the hard bulge beneath his pants and his hand splayed across my stomach as I circle my hips, and then he spins me around so we’re facing each other and pulls me back against him. I’m past combustion. The heat in me is already at the flash point, and fire is licking through my veins, demanding to be extinguished.

  Our hips undulate, our pelvises grinding together erotically as his hand caresses my hair. This isn’t dancing; this is foreplay.

  “What gives, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice gravelly.

  Dancing together like this has created a familiarity that makes me bold. Screw paralysis by analysis.

  “I want you to make love to me.”

  Our foreheads are pressed together, our noses touching, our faces so close I can see the golden flecks in his whiskey-colored eyes. With one arm still banded around my waist, he cups my cheek in his hand and gently swipes the pad of his thumb across my cheekbone. The simple sweetness of the gesture sends my stomach plummeting to my toes. His gaze lingers on my lips for a long minute, and I will him to kiss me. Instead, he shakes his head slightly.

  “I can’t.”

  “Fine,” I snap, pushing him away from me with every ounce of strength I have. He barely moves—I might as well try to shove a boulder—but he lets me go.

  “If you won’t, I’ll find someone who will.”

  I don’t give him a backward glance as I walk out of the bar.

  Chapter Ten

  Noah

  McKenzie’s going to find someone else to fuck her? Like hell she is.

  I hesitate for a nanosecond, watching her shapely little ass in the body-hugging denim shorts she’s wearing, before following her. God knows I’ve tried to stay away from her, even though I want her more than I’ve ever wanted a woman before. But now she’s left me no choice.

  I catch up with her just outside the bar, grabbing her by the shoulder. “You are not going to fuck that Latin asshole.” It’s not a question, a request, or an accusation. It’s simply a statement of fact.

  She spins around, her blue eyes stormy. “Oh really? Who’s going to stop me?”

  “I am.” I cross my arms across my chest, giving her my most intimidating stare, but she just tilts her chin up defiantly.

  “Why? You obviously don’t want me. What do you care if someone else does?” Her eyes are shimmering with tears, and I feel like I’ve been sucker punched. Since putting her sunscreen on yesterday, I’ve done nothing but think of her silky skin and the way she wriggled so deliciously when I trailed my fingers over her body. I had wanted to take her right then and there, burying my cock in her sweet heat on the deck of the boat in broad daylight. But I didn’t. Instead, I’d avoided her, ignored her, tried to put some distance between us, but dammit if it just hasn’t made me want to touch her again even more. I’ve been living with blue balls trying to avoid hurting her, but somehow, I’m still the prick who put that bruised look in her eyes.

  “God, McKenzie, of course I want you. I’ve wanted you since the second you walked into the club at the Wynn.”

  It’s true, and spending the last twenty-four hours in close quarters with her prancing around in that scrap of fabric that passes for a bikini has done nothing to quench my desire for her. Although if I’m being honest, she turns me on even when she’s drawing in that sketchbook of hers while wearing shorts and a T-shirt, thoughtfully biting her bottom lip with intense concentration, or belting out a duet with that soft, sultry voice of hers. She’s beautiful and intelligent and courageous, and she makes me smile more than anyone I’ve met before.

  “I still want you,” I confess.

  “Then why do you keep pushing me away?”

  I rake my fingers
through my hair. This woman is killing me. I’m trying, for once in my sorry excuse for a life, to do the right thing—to think with something other than my dick—but she’s making it damn near impossible.

  She’s nothing but a job—the mark I’m supposed to get close to so she can lead me to where her brother stashed the guns. I shouldn’t be thinking of her as a person, much less as a woman I’m seriously considering fucking. But she’s making that awfully hard, especially since she’s intent on finding someone else to do it if I don’t. I give it one last shot.

  “Because I’m no good for you.”

  She pushes me away. “Stop saying that.”

  “It’s true. I live a different kind of life. I have a dangerous job, and I’m gone most of the time. I can’t get attached, and I can’t be tied down. Which means it would just be sex. It wouldn’t mean anything. And you’re not that kind of girl.”

  No, she’s the kind of girl who could become addictive. The kind of girl you can’t get enough of, the kind who you want to hold in your arms as you fall asleep and wake up next to in the middle of the night, touching and caressing and teasing until, still half asleep, she acquiesces with soft, sweet moans. She’s the kind of girl who looks like a lazy Sunday afternoon, who’ll steal your T-shirt, and drive you mad, yet still hold up her end of an intelligent conversation over coffee the next morning.

  But I gave up the right to have that kind of girl years ago.

  She meets my gaze steadily. “I can be that kind of girl. I’m not looking for any kind of commitment or anything beyond one night. I…” She looks down, twisting her fingers nervously. “The thing is, I need someone to help me with…um…some things on Liam’s list. Some intimate things.” She blushes, and my cock hardens. She’s an intoxicating combination of feistiness coupled with shyness. “I thought maybe it could be you.” Her voice hardens with determination. “But if not, I’m going to find someone else.”

  I hesitate. What she wants, what she’s asking for, is dangerous. More dangerous than she can imagine. She has no idea who I really am and what I want from her. But I can’t stand the thought of another man touching her, tasting her, making her come. And I have no doubt that if I say no, she’ll go back into the bar and find that South American prick to help her. I’ve never seen anyone more committed to something than McKenzie is to that goddamned bucket list. Sex is nothing compared to jumping off a waterfall or travelling to the other side of the world and getting on a boat with a virtual stranger.