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“Always,” he confesses, downing the remainder of his drink and abandoning the tumbler.
“Then, why?” Why let them be here, stealing moments?
“Because I love them all,” he reasons, returning to his candy with a wistful gape. “We each have our roles with her. I know where I stand. I get the most intimate parts of her, the parts no one else sees. She’s mine first and foremost, my partner, my wife. My everything. The mother of my children.” His lips quirk with an amused breath. “Yes, there will be more.”
He shuffles a few Skittles in his palm. “But it doesn’t mean she isn’t theirs in other ways. Took me a while to accept that. I wanted to lock her away, not let anyone else even look at her. But Ivy makes everyone better. Those men are my family, but we were a familywith a fuck ton of scars. Some so deep that I’d long since given up on mending them. She swooped in and healed us. We all need her. So, my jealousy takes a back seat to my awe and gratitude for how she rescued the men I’d been trying to save for nearly a decade.”
Ivy told me once that passion rolls off Wells in everything he does. It’s undeniably true. He loves hard. Ivy and the guys.
“That is exactly who Ivy is.” I sigh, relinquishing my claim on her a little. “She’s always changed people. I’m glad you see her.” My eyes flit back to his with a promise because he earned my utmost respect with that explanation. “I’ll make an effort. It’s not only one-sided though. Ty’s wonderful, but the other two aren’t thrilled that I’m here. Which I’m sure is obvious by the spectacle Liam made earlier. What if they don’t try with me?”
Maybe I shouldn’t lump Gage in with Liam, but his props for the cheetah comment this morning was about as friendly as he’s ever been to me. And I spent two weeks around him when they visited me in Europe.
“They will,” Wells says simply before rising and strolling toward the doors.
“How do you know?” I ask, wondering suddenly if they’ll be ordered to play nice.
“Because they’d do anything for Ivy.”
“Right.” Even tolerate the friend they loathe.
As if Wells senses my thoughts, he stops in the doorway and turns to face me. “One of my favorite qualities about my wife is her impeccable taste. She’s picky. Absolutely won’t choose something unless she’s convinced of its worth.I trust it over anything—her flawless gut instinct. Situations. People. If Ivy says something or someone is gold, that’s all there is to it. She’s always spot-on.” He pauses a beat before adding, “Everyone in this house knows that, Celeste.”
I’m not sure what the hell is wrong with me because I only have one question floating through my mind.
Does Liam?
LIAM
Several beefed-up, mean motherfuckers glare at me from the three computer monitors stationed on my desktop. It’s been a hell of a week. Eight days with the Carver princess, three since I lost my shit on her for putting Ivy at risk with her trivial pastimes. I got my ass reamed for that, but it was worth every rebuke Wells dished out.
That single heated snippet of time when she narrowed her deep brown eyes—russet that morning with the sunlight bathing the foyer—and called me a cheetah was the highlight of my week. Fucking brilliant and delivered with such poised hostility. Impressive. As pissed as I was, she had me conflicted in that moment, biting back a laugh.
All I could think was that, based on her analogy, she thinks I’m pretty. She was also calling me empty, but I can live with that. There’s no way she can date those one-dimensional jerkoffs and still consider me shallow. Not that I fucking care about her opinion. I just think she’s entertaining when she’s all riled up. She’s resumed her frigid-bitch posturing, so I’ve kept my distance. Nothing good to see when she’s like that.
This morning’s meeting is in my office—the most tech-savvy room in the house since data mining is my domain—so we can dig into this security issue. My screens are mirrored onto widescreen wall monitors so we can all review our prospects. We’ve been at this for well over an hour.
Wells paces, dragging a hand down his drained face—doesn’t appear that the Chief has been sleeping. “The guys we want aren’t guys we can choose from.”
He’s referring to retired Navy SEALs, guys we know for certain have the skill set we’re searching for. That’s not an option since we’re believed to be the killed-in-action heroes posted in every Navy facility and SEALs bar across the states.
Juggling multiple identities can be a bitch.
“There are plenty of skilled warriors who didn’t serve,” I counter, flipping through a few without military training.
“That you’d trust?” Ty huffs, brows pinched in disgust as he glares at the current selection of enforcers.
“Fuck no,” I say, swiveling my chair in his direction. “But that’s what we’re dealing with. Hell, I wouldn’t trust the three of you on paper.”
“Irrelevant,” Gage snaps, inhabiting every square inch of the leather love seat, arms and legs spread wide. “Ivy should never be without us. This conversation is a fucking waste of time.” The Big Guy detests meetings, so his grumbling is par for the course.
“Natasha had a point,” Wells insists, his eyes flitting to mine with a laden pause before turning back to Gage. “Someday, you’ll all have people who are just as important, and our hands will be too full.”
Gage dismisses that idea with his usual no-bullshit approach. “Nope. You’re stressing over nothing, Wells. Any girl coming in gets put on the same lockdown as Ivy. That’s how it works here. They can take it or leave it.”
“Fuck.” I snicker. “That’s a good pickup line.”
“Yep,” Ty agrees. “Every woman’s looking for an epic captor-hostage love story.” He deepens his voice to a panty-dropping octave. “Hey, baby, what do ya say I lock you up?”
