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Resurgent
by Brynley Blake 

Copyright © 2019 by Brynley Blake. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Prologue

Charlotte

“Chaz! Where are you going? The party’s just getting lit. We’re doing shots. Want one?”

I shake my head, smiling at Gemma’s rapid-fire volley. She’s slightly drunk, and a guy with washboard abs and a ridiculous tan has his arm slung around her shoulders. Trust Gemma to find the hottest guy on the beach.

“This is Leo. He’s from Texas. And he has a friend,” she adds in a singsong voice, nodding toward a guy in red board shorts swaggering our way. She waggles her eyebrows at me, and I roll my eyes back at her. I’m slightly tipsy, but not tipsy enough to want to meet Leo’s friend. I have a ten-year plan for my life, and it doesn’t include hookups with strangers in Mexico. Gemma can do what she wants, but I, for one, don’t intend to become a statistic or a story on the news.

Gemma would, however, make a great pimp. This isn’t the first time she’s tried to set me up with a guy du jour, saying good sex is the secret to the universe. When I protest, she always argues I just have to sleep with him, I don’t have to marry him. But I’m not taking any chances. In exactly six years and nine months, I’ll consider looking for my Mr. Right—a man who’s steady, reliable, polite, careful, responsible, and likes things as organized and orderly as I do. In other words, my perfect counterpart.

I’m not like Gemma. Sometimes I wish I had her flirtatious, reckless attitude, especially when it comes to guys, but let’s face it, I’m more librarian than sex goddess. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a prude. I’ve had sex before—with carefully chosen, fastidious guys who aren’t likely to have sexual diseases, murder me in my sleep, or want anything serious, but to be honest, I prefer my vibrator. Five minutes on medium (or if I’m feeling particularly wild, the pulse setting) and I’m a happy camper. No mess. No surprises. No awkward conversations afterward. And I stay in control. Just the way I like it.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

“Hi.”

Board shorts guy takes a step closer. “Is your mom a beaver, because daaaaammmmnnn girl!”

“Maybe I’ll take that shot after all,” I say under my breath. Gemma grins as she hands me a bottle of Fireball whiskey she got God knows where. I take a big swig before handing it back.

I turn to board shorts guy. “Aw, that’s so sweet. Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Yeah?” He winks at me and grins, my sarcasm completely lost on him. “Want to go for a walk on the beach?”

“Sure. Just give me ten minutes. I have to go back to my room and take my medication.” Lowering my voice confidentially, I add, “It’s just a minor herpes flare up. Not like last time. My God, now that was a nightmare, although my date took it pretty well. Once the shock wore off, at least.” I pat his well-oiled and muscled bicep. “But you have nothing to worry about. I just need to take my antivirals on time.” I turn back to Gemma, who’s simultaneously shaking her head at me and biting her lip, trying not to laugh. “I’ll catch up with you later. Where’s everyone else?”

“Playing Beach Twister by the bonfire. Don’t be too long or I’ll send out a search party.” Leo leans in to bite her neck and she pushes him away playfully.

“Have fun.” I turn and head toward the direction of our beach house, Gemma’s laughter floating back to me on the ocean breeze.

Except I don’t want to go back. I want…something more. I’m actually more than a little tipsy—I’ve had at least four…or was it five…of the potent cocktails that keep flowing from the bar, which is way more than my usual two. I make it a point not to get drunk. Getting drunk means losing control, and losing control allows things to get messy. Or worse, unpredictable.

Maybe it’s being on vacation, or maybe it’s Mexico, but for the first time ever, I feel a little restless. Or maybe, I think with a sigh, it’s being around McKenzie’s hot Navy SEAL brother Liam. We’ve flirted with each other all weekend. Nothing serious. Just the occasional brush of hands, the slightly teasing repartee. And I swear I’ve caught him staring at me more than once. Of course, nothing’s going to come of it. I mean, come on! A guy like Liam would never be interested in me, and not just because I’m his little sister’s best friend. He could have his pick of women, and according to McKenzie, he regularly does.

But my God! The feel of his hands on my skin when he’d rubbed sunscreen on my back and shoulders earlier this afternoon will fuel my fantasies for months. Maybe when I get back to Charleston, I’ll find a suitable guy for a “date” to get Liam and the hunger he’s aroused out of my system. I have a list of contacts from a financial planning seminar I took for the business. That should be a good place to start.

Speak of the devil. Liam’s walking up the beach toward me, looking like I imagine Neptune, the god of the sea, would look. His feet are bare, his short blond hair is still wet and sticking up everywhere in a sexy tousled mess, and the smooth carved muscles of his chest, shoulders, and biceps gleam in the moonlight. He gives me that disarming grin of his, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and my stomach does somersaults. It’s unfair for a guy to be as good-looking as Liam.

Trying to act casual, I smile back. “Apparently five minutes is too long?”

“What?” He falls in step next to me.

“Didn’t Gemma send you to find me?”

“No. I was looking for you myself.”

“Oh.” My stomach does another little flip.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him why, but for some reason my brain and my mouth aren’t working right. We walk along the beach in companionable silence, close enough to the ocean that the warm water laps at our feet.

Liam stops suddenly, his hand on my arm sending a current of electricity coursing through me. “Look at that!” His voice is full of reverence.

I look around, but I don’t see anything. “What?”

“The stars. Aren’t they amazing?”

I follow the direction of his finger and gaze up at what must be thousands of stars blanketing the black sky. How had I not noticed this last night?

Because last night, you hadn’t been walking on the beach with Liam, a voice inside my head says.

“There are so many,” I say. “More than back home in Charleston.”

“Nope. You can just see them better here. That’s one of the things I love about stars. They’re always there, millions of them, but you can’t see them until all the lights are gone and the sky is its blackest. Kind of like life,” he adds wryly.

I look up at him curiously. Liam is about the last person on the planet I would have expected to have a philosophical view about stars. Easygoing, charismatic, supremely confident, and more daring than anyone I know, Liam has life by the horns. “What do you mean?” I say.

He shrugs, giving me that sexy half smile of his. “Forget it. Tequila philosophy.”

I laugh. “That’s the best kind.” Looking back up at the stars, I say, “I usually hate chaos, but I have to say, stars are the exception.”

“That’s because they’re not chaotic at all.”

I stop. “Yes, they are.” I point to the mass of twinkling lights. “You can’t tell me there’s any sort of order there.”

“Of course there is. There’s a pattern in them if you know where to look. I’ve used the stars to navigate more than once on a dark night in the Middle East. Computers and technology are great, but when you’re in the middle of nowhere without Wi-Fi, you can still find anything with a sextant and a little knowledge of the stars. That’s what the constellations are—the stars organized into pictures that serve as guideposts.”

He steps behind me, his arms on either side of me as he points up to the sky. I am hyperaware of him and the warmth of his skin, although it’s barely touching mine. The stars have never looked more beautiful to me, or shone so bright.

“Look at that one. I think it looks like a Phoenix—the bird that died in flames and then rose from the ashes in Greek mythology.” He shifts, turning me with him. “There’s Draco; it resembles a dragon. And there’s the North Star—Polaris. From there you can find the Big Dipper. Do you see it?” I nod, mesmerized by his closeness as he traces the outline in the sky with his forefinger. “From there you can find everything else. There’s the Southern Cross. You know the song?” He hums a few bars of the Crosby, Stills & Nash classic.

“Of course,” I scoff, turning to look up at him. “What kind of southern girl do you think I am?”

A smile flashes across his face, and I feel a little thrill of pleasure at knowing I’m responsible it. “You can’t see it from most points of the United States, but you can see it from here. In fact, it was something I crossed off my bucket list this weekend.”

“You have a bucket list?”

“Don’t you?” he teases.

“I don’t need a bucket list. I have a life list,” I retort.

“Touché,” he says with a low chuckle. “Same difference.” His voice lowers an octave as he says, “I think you need a little chaos in your life, Charlotte.”

“No, I don’t!” I say, but it doesn’t sound very convincing.

His breath is warm near my ear, and it sends goose bumps of pleasure prickling across my skin.

“You smell good.” His voice is a raspy rumble.

The night has cast some sort of spell on me, and I lift my face to him as his lips find mine. They’re soft and oh-so-intoxicating. I didn’t know kissing could feel like this. Suddenly scared, I try to pull away, but he grabs my arms, both steadying me and holding me captive as his lips descend on mine again. My mouth seems to open of its own volition and his tongue sweeps in, lushly caressing mine until I’m breathless. He pulls away slightly, and I run my tongue experimentally over my lips. They feel swollen.

He growls. “Damn, Charlotte. Do that again and I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

My breath hitches. Like some coy, flirtatious alter-ego has taken over my body, I deliberately lick my lips, slowly and provocatively. I want more than anything to find out exactly what he means. To be the girl who makes him lose control.

In an instant, he has me pressed against a nearby palm tree, the bark rough against my back as his mouth descends on mine again with a voraciousness that has my pulse racing. My fingers somehow tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. His mouth is hard and hungry, devouring me with little nips of his teeth and plunging his tongue into my willing and open mouth with a fierceness that turns my legs to jelly. Liam kisses with just the right amount of assertiveness mixed with control, and I fall into the kiss like a woman drowning. Both of us are hungry. Insatiable. Like we’ve waited forever for this moment, which is crazy. But whatever. The way he kisses me—like he’s staking some sort of claim—leaves no room for rational thought. His mouth demands my acquiescence and I give it willingly, desperate for his lips, his mouth, his tongue, and the intoxicating taste of him.

He grabs my wrists and pins them against the tree trunk over my head. Holding my hands against the tree with one hand, he reaches behind me with the other to tug at the string of my bikini top, and I close my eyes as I feel it fall to the sand. For once, I don’t want to think, don’t want to analyze or worry about what I should or shouldn’t do. I just want to savor Liam’s hands and mouth on my skin.

The cool breeze of the ocean whispers over my nipples, and I can feel them draw into hard points. His free hand skims down my side and over the outer curve of my breast before trailing seductively across the plane of my stomach, making me quiver. His fingertips don’t miss an inch as he explores my body, leaving hot lines of pleasure everywhere he touches.

He lazily circles one breast and then the other, teasing me until I’m squirming against the palm tree. He closes in on the aching peak with agonizing slowness, tracing lines over the sensitive skin of my breasts, until—thank you Jesus!—he finally reaches my nipple. His fingernail scrapes across it lightly.

“Oh.” I inhale sharply. His lips curve up as he grasps it between his thumb and forefinger and twists slightly before pulling on it. He moves to the other breast, giving that nipple a little pinch and tug, too, creating a visceral response deep inside me. I’m still wearing my swimsuit bottom, but I might as well be naked judging by the heat pulsing between my legs.

He lowers his head to kiss me again, but this time his teeth capture my lower lip, biting down and sucking on it lightly. Heat pools in my belly as he releases it to feather little kisses up my jawbone.

“I’ve wanted to taste you all weekend.” His breath is warm and seductive near my ear.

He plants a soft kiss in that secret hollow just behind my ear, his lips branding me with their heat before making their way down the column of my neck. He takes his time, lingering at my collarbone before moving lower with each sweet kiss. I shiver deliciously as he reaches the swell of my breast. What exactly does he want to taste?

Cupping my breast in his hand, he traces a slow and lazy circle around my areola with his tongue. Just when I think I’m going to die of torturous anticipation, his mouth closes over the tight, needy point. He sucks it erotically and I arch up to meet him. I never knew a man’s mouth could feel this good, so warm and wet and silky.

The scruff of his beard rubs deliciously against my sensitive skin, somehow heightening every sensation. His teeth fasten around the tip lightly. Biting down on it ever so gently, he gives it a little tug with his teeth, and a moan of pleasure escapes my lips. He bites down a little harder and I gasp, trying to wriggle away. It doesn’t hurt exactly, but I’m suddenly aware of just how strong he is, and just how compromising my position is.

He releases my nipple, which is now a hard, little nub, but he doesn’t loosen his grip on me.

“Shh. Don’t move.” It’s an unmistakable command, the kind that carries the weight of a Navy SEAL commander used to being obeyed, but there’s a look of intensity mixed with dark promise in his eyes that has me wanting to provoke him just to see it again. I wiggle with exaggeration.

He laughs, and warmth floods me. “You like that?”

“God, yes.” His teeth bite into the tender flesh again, a little harder this time, as if he’s testing my limits. I suddenly worry I’ve gotten myself into more than I bargained for. “I mean—no. I don’t know.” How am I supposed to think straight when his lips are firmly wrapped around my nipple, tugging on it gently until he releases it with a little pop, leaving the oh-so-sensitive tip stiff and perky and rosy with arousal.

“Make up your mind.” There’s that hint of teasing in his voice that has me grinning despite the overwhelming need slowly building into an inferno.

With his fingers plucking my left nipple deftly, his mouth closes over the right one, sucking and nibbling gently, slowly increasing the pressure as he gauges my arousal.

“Breathe, sweetheart.” I can hear the smile in his voice, and I slowly release the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Growing up, whenever I’d hear my parents argue, I’d hold my breath, waiting for the inevitable sound of things breaking and my mom’s tears. But this…this is something different. It’s the first time I’ve held my breath waiting for something good to happen. He nips sharply, and I yelp, but white-hot heat streaks straight to my core like lightning.

“Oh fuck. That’s the best sound I’ve ever heard.”

With a growl, he releases my hands and my breasts and cups my bottom, hauling me up off my feet and against his chest, so I’m sandwiched between his hard body and the tree. He’s holding me so tightly, I can feel the thump of his heartbeat, and for the first time in my entire life, I feel safe, although God knows why. If danger had a name and a face, it would be Liam Prescott with that sexy devilish grin of his. I barely know him. Maybe it’s because he’s a Navy SEAL—the strongest of the strong and the best of the best, bound to protect. Or, a voice in my head whispers, maybe it’s that deep and visceral connection I feel with him, like I belong to him, and him to me.

What the hell is wrong with me? My hormones are clearly making me deranged. But tonight, I’m like Scarlett O’Hara. I’ll think about it tomorrow.

I snuggle into him as I wrap my arms around his neck. I can feel his cock—thick and hard—pressing against my pubic bone, and I know he wants me as badly as I want him. I’m not used to having this effect on men, especially men like Liam. Feeling a sense of power mixed with a touch of mischievousness that is undoubtedly increased by the ratio of tequila in my blood, I bend my head and nip his erect nipple with my teeth.

He yelps with surprise, then laughs, a sexy deep bellow that only makes me want him more.

“Sweetheart, there’s no way we’re making it back to the house before I make love to you.”

My heart thuds erratically. “What makes you think I’m going to let you make love to me?” I counter.

“Because you need someone to take away that control you hold on to so tightly.”

“I most certainly don’t.”

“Afraid you’ll lose it for good and the world will spiral out of control without you holding on to it so tightly?”

“Of course not.” But that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

He kisses the corner of my mouth.

“Then what’s the harm? I leave for Afghanistan next week. Give me something to remember.”

There’s that engaging, impish grin of his again—he knows as well as I do it’s a line as old as time—and I can’t help but smile back. But I don’t want to say no. His teeth gently tug at my earlobe, and it’s my undoing. I’m just drunk enough to think this is a good idea. I have a ten-year plan, and a man isn’t on it. And certainly not a man like Liam. But maybe that’s what makes him, and tonight, perfect. I’m a continent away from home and my real life and responsibilities. Maybe it’s time I threw caution to the wind and had a little fun.

“Okay. Just this once.”