Renegade (Phoenix Rising) Page 3

  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.

  “I’m divorced.” He watches my face as he says it, and I feel sort of like a rabbit that’s been spotted by a hawk.

  “Right. Well, as I was saying, Charlotte will handle everything. Securing the venue, the florist, the—”

  “I’m not concerned with Ms. Windsor,” he says evenly. “I’m more interested in you.”

  “Oh.” I’m not used to feeling flustered. I can’t decide if I like it or not. “Well, as I told you when we met previously, I have a bachelor’s degree in fine arts from Wake Forest, and I’ve won several awards for my photography. I brought my portfolio, if you’d like to look at it again.”

  I lean over to pick up my portfolio, but he waves his hand dismissively. “I don’t need to see your portfolio again. I was impressed the first time around. And I confess, I did a little looking online to find out more about you. You’re hired. The platinum package should work perfectly.” His phone buzzes, and he glances down at it briefly before turning his attention back to me. “Just send the contract along with your bill to my office.” He hands me a business card across the table, and I feel a jolt of electricity as our fingers brush. “I’ll have Natalie contact your office to set up an appointment with Ms. Windsor to get things started. I apologize, but I’m going to have to cut our meeting short. There’s an emergency at the office.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  He pushes his chair back and tosses a twenty on the table, which is way more than necessary to cover our two cups of coffee.

  “I can get it.” I push the bill toward him and open my purse.

  “I’ve got it already.”

  “But I have a ten. Our coffee was only six dollars.”

  “I always take care of the check.”

  “That’s ridiculous…” I trail off as he fixes me with a stare, that faint smile playing at his lips again. “Are you always this argumentative, Ms. Ward?”

  “Yes.”

  He steps aside, gesturing for me to go ahead of him, and I’m hyperaware of his eyes on me, even though my back is to him.

  “Where are you parked?” he asks once we’re outside.

  “Just over there.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car.” I don’t argue with him this time, and when we get to my car, I turn around to thank him for meeting with me. Only I find him dangerously close—so close that I can smell his cologne.

  “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  It’s not really a question, more of a command, and I get a little tingle up my spine. This! This is what I’ve been wanting.

  I look up into his face and get lost in those piercing gray eyes. “Okay,” I whisper.

  He smiles, grips my throat lightly, and brings his lips to mine, barely brushing them, but when he lets go, I’m breathless. What was that all about?

  The rest of the day passes in a flurry of activity punctuated with a giddy anticipation I haven’t felt in ages. I have a ton to do after being out of the office for a week, for both the photography side and the business side, which mostly falls to me since McKenzie’s out of town. Charlotte has her hands full with the wedding planning side of our business.

  “Welcome back. I brought dinner. I figured you probably worked straight through lunch and forgot to eat, although how anyone forgets to eat is beyond me.”

  I look up from the photos I’d been editing and s
tare dumbly into Charlotte’s smiling face. “Dinner?”

  She sighs as she crosses the sunlit space, sets a container of salad on the desk in front of me, and then plops herself into a chair as she opens another container. “It’s almost six o’clock. Sorry I wasn’t here earlier. I had to go look at venues with Brittany, and then Walker called and wanted to know about that necklace of Kenzie’s. You didn’t tell me he was in town.”

  “I didn’t know myself until last night.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her about accidentally climbing into bed naked with him, and how he pulled me against his hard chest and his even harder cock—I know she’d find it hilarious and we’d have a good laugh over it—but something stops me. For some reason, I don’t want to laugh about it; I just want to keep it to myself. “Wait. Did you say it’s six?”

  Charlotte nods.

  “Shit.” I quickly log off and scramble to gather up some papers to take home with me to finish later. “I have a date at seven! I’ve got to go.”

  She arches one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “With who? Walker seems to think you’re going out with him to talk about McKenzie. He asked me to come too.”

  “Damn. I forgot. But Walker’s going to have to wait.” I waggle my eyebrows at Charlotte. “Remember Declan Campbell?”

  “The father of the bridezilla we met with last week? The good-looking older guy?”

  “He wasn’t that old,” I retort. “But yes. That’s who I have a date with.” I can’t help my jubilant, singsong tone. “I met with him briefly this morning to talk about the wedding, which, by the way, we got. Platinum package.”

  “Yes!” Charlotte high fives me. “And?”

  “And…he was very clear that he was interested in me, but then he had to leave abruptly, so he asked me to have dinner with him. Actually, he told me to have dinner with him,” I amend. “And then he grabbed my throat and kissed me and I almost came on the spot.”

  “You?” Charlotte looks at me incredulously. “The girl who’s never had an orgasm with a man?” She is well aware of my problems in that area.

  “Well, no. But I did get a shiver up my spine, and he is hands down the most promising guy I’ve met in…well, forever.” I sigh dramatically. “There is nothing wimpy about Declan Campbell!”

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Go home and get ready. And call me afterward. I want to know everything.”

  …

  “Are you familiar with BDSM?”

  Declan’s casual question, which is accompanied by that penetrating gaze that seems to see straight through to my most secret thoughts, catches me off guard.

  He picked me up at five to seven, waiting patiently while I hastily scribbled a note for Walker. But other than allowing his hand to graze the small of my back as he guided me down the stairs and to the car, and again into the restaurant, he hasn’t made any move to touch me. In fact, if it wasn’t for the way he looks at me with a smoldering heat in his eyes, I’d wonder if I misread his interest in me.

  I laugh. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

  “I don’t see the point in it. I believe in being direct about the things I want.”

  “I see.” Am I something he wants?

  “Do you?” He raises an eyebrow as he smiles slowly. “Tell me, Gemma, what do you know?”

  “I know lots of things,” I say, deliberately misunderstanding him. “I know how to make a mean omelet, how to change a tire, how to shoot photos in full light, low light, no light…” I trail off as he takes my hand in his and turns it over, rubbing my palm with the pad of his thumb. It inexplicably raises goose bumps on my arm.

  “Try again.”

  “Um, not much really.” Damn. I’m not used to feeling awkward and off balance. “Just that it involves blindfolds and handcuffs and, uh, other stuff.” The way he’s looking at me is making me wish I knew more. A lot more.

  “Well, there is that. But those are just the accoutrements. BDSM is about power play, about giving yourself over for another’s pleasure. It’s about domination and submission, and ultimately, trust.”

  “And you’re into it? Are you—what’s it called?—a dominant?” As if I have to ask.

  “I am. I always have been, although I didn’t know what to call it, or how integral it was to my happiness, until I got divorced ten years ago. I will never date vanilla again.”

  “Vanilla?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “A conventional relationship with conventional sex. No kink.”

  “So what are you doing here with me, then?”

  He shrugs and rubs my palm again absentmindedly. “There’s something about you…” he muses. He leans forward, steepling his slender fingers. “I’m looking for a submissive. I wondered if, perhaps, you might be interested.”

  “You think I’m submissive?” I’ve been called many things before—bossy, aggressive, take-charge, even bitchy—but submissive isn’t one of them.

  He shrugs. “Maybe I’m wrong. But the way you responded to my kiss this morning said otherwise.”

  I sigh at the memory. The way he held my throat only added to the heat of the kiss itself. “That was nice. But…I don’t know much about it. Or what exactly you’re looking for.”

  He looks at me thoughtfully, but there seems to be a hint of calculation in those sharp gray eyes. “I tell you what. I’m going to be out of town on business for the next few weeks. I’ll send you a few links, and you can take some time and see what you think. If it looks like something that intrigues you, we’ll talk when I get back.”

  “I…um…okay.”

  He orders another bottle of wine and changes the subject. Apparently the conversation is over.

  “Tell me more about you. How long have you been in the wedding business? I have to say, your photographs are works of art. It almost seems like a waste of talent that you only photograph brides and weddings.”

  I can feel my face flush at his praise, and I’m glad the restaurant is dark. “The wedding business pays the bills. But I’m working on some other stuff on the side, and I hope to concentrate on those things more now that the business is established. We’ve come a long way in three years.”

  “Indeed.” His hand moves to my thigh, and I try to focus on what he’s saying. “What did you do before opening your wedding business?”

  “Went to college. We started Tying the Knot right after we graduated—which is kind of crazy in retrospect,” I add with a laugh.

  He’s staring at me intently again. “Seriously? You’re just a baby.”

  “I just turned twenty-five. I’m hardly a baby,” I say indignantly.

  He laughs, a full, throaty bellow that sends warmth flooding through my veins, and I realize I really want to find out more about what he wants, and what he thinks I might find intriguing. “Easy, kitten. I didn’t mean to ruffle your fur. You do seem very mature, but you’re only a few years older than my daughter.”

  “Is that a problem?” I ask boldly.

  “We’ll see. I do prefer my submissives to have a little life experience, if not experience in the lifestyle.”

  I feel a tiny flare of panic. I finally find a guy who has the potential to give me everything I’ve been looking for, and now it might end before it even starts. I at least want the chance to see if he could be the one. Not the one I spend my life with—I have no interest in that—but the one who finally gives me the orgasm I’ve waited my whole life for, the one who can command my body and break through whatever is wrong with me that stops me from letting go. Suddenly, nothing is more important than convincing him I could be what he’s looking for.

  “I have plenty of life experience,” I assure him. “My father left when I was three, and my mother started serial dating after that. I was pretty much left to fend for myself. I grew up fast.” I don’t add that, out of necessity, I also learned to lock my door at night and push a dresser in front of it to keep my mother’s boyfriend out, or that I often stayed by myself for days at a time, even as young as nine or
ten, while she enjoyed a “little getaway.”

  “If that doesn’t count as life experience, I don’t know what does. Send me your links. And call me when you get back.”

  He gives me slow smile. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you, Ms. Ward.”

  Chapter Four

  Walker

  I glance at the clock for about the twentieth time. Ten forty-five. Where the hell is Gemma? After promising to talk to me about McKenzie as soon as she got home from work, she left me a note saying she had a date tonight, but she’d be home by ten and we’d talk then.

  Ten, my ass. I get up and stalk around the small apartment, irritated with myself for being put out. It’s not like she knew I was coming, or that I expect her to drop everything because I’m here. And of course, I don’t care that she’s on a date. What Gemma does is up to her. It’s just that she said she’d be back at ten, and the sooner I can get to the bottom of who’s after McKenzie—not to mention discovering if Liam really sold guns to the Mexican cartel and, if so, where the hell they are—the better.

  I stare at the clock again. Four hours is a long-ass dinner. They’re probably at his place, having a quick fuck, and…I clench my fists at the thought of some man’s hands on Gemma’s body.

  Enough. When I was younger, the pent-up energy created when I got frustrated often got me into trouble, but now I know how to deal with it. When I get agitated like this, the best thing is to work it out physically—either with a hard run, a hard workout, or a hard fuck. However, since it’s almost eleven o’clock at night and I’m in a town where I don’t know anyone but Gemma and Charlotte, options two and three are out. Thank God I can run anywhere.

  Five minutes later, I’ve changed into athletic shorts and a T-shirt, put on my running shoes, and left a quick note letting Gemma know where I am. I open the door, steeling myself for the muggy heat…and Gemma tumbles backward into me. I reflexively catch her, my hands on her waist as I set her on her feet. She’s wearing a crop top with jeans, and her bare skin beneath my hands feels like warm satin.