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He furrows his brow. “Not a chance. It’s move-in day. Our treat.”
“That’s very kind,” I say, dropping into the oversize lilac chair, soothed by the velvet texture. “But unfortunately, I can’t come out there until you’ve proven you accepted your challenge.”
“Right.” He lowers his voice, like a kid keeping a secret.Cute.“Wells as a movie character? James Bond is the first who comes to mind.”
“Pierce Brosnan.GoldenEye?” I confirm.
“Exactly.” He bobs his head, clearly pleased we’re on the same page.
“Aww. That’s a sweet dose of hero worship and fitting, but too easy. I expected more.”
He laughs, his temple falling against the arm he has perched on the door molding. “You got a better one?”
Of course I do.“Clooney.Ocean’s Eleven. Danny Ocean, the brilliant, suit-clad leader of con artists, swindling millions from the unlikable and suspicious casino owner.”
His eyes narrow with a mix of humor and respect. “You’re too clever for your own good, Freckles. You win.” He jerks his head out to the hallway. “C’mon.”
We make our way out back to a charming stone patio, and Ty points to a golf cart. “Hop in, and I’ll show you the grounds before the sun sets.”
“That’s right. This was thenext timepromise.” I jump in the golf cart, and Ty takes off.
We pass a sparkling turquoise two-lane lap pool that dips into an oval lounge area, complete with a tranquil waterfall. Off to the side, there’s a quaint campfire area, and beyond that, a man-made pond is surrounded by vast shade trees and vibrant jade-green grass. They’ve thought of everything.
“This is all incredible,” I commend him, captivated by the tranquility. “There’s a small pond behind my house. I’ve always lovedthe way the moonlight dances on the water. Do you guys entertain a lot?”
“Not really.” He grins, boyish and lopsided, like he’s holding something close to the vest. “We use the pool every day until the weather doesn’t permit, so we’ll be draining it any day now. Wells loves the pond too—usually drinks a morning cup of coffee out here. And we build a lot of fires. But what’s coming up is my favorite.”
He drives on, flying over some uneven terrain with a teasing glint as we jounce. My lively response ricochets around us, the thick wall of trees whispering of that enchanted-forest energy I was hoping for.
“Whoa. What the hell is this?” I shriek when a massive obstacle course comes into view beyond another set of trees. It reminds me of one of those warrior mud runs—walls to climb, sandpits to crawl through, bars to swing from, ropes to scale, and tires to flip. Who has this in their backyard?
“This is where we train.” He points to an area that’s shrouded in trees. “There’s a shooting range and knife throwing targets over there.”
“Jesus,” I gasp. “What are you training for?”
“Anything. The unexpected,” he quips. “You were running the day we met, right? You can’t tell me this doesn’t look more fun.”
“I love to run, the peacefulness of it.” My head shakes in doubt. “I’m not sure I could hack it out here though.”
“We’ll have to work on that then. We do have several different mile runs mapped out that I can show you. But it’s late, and the guys are waiting to eat, so it’ll have to wait.” He makes a U-turn, taking us back to the house.
There’s a lot to learn about these guys, and I have a feeling I haven’t even scratched the surface.
Wells and Liam are waiting on the patio when we return. No pizza in sight. The sun is low in the sky, casting a dusty-mango-colored glow—a photographer’s golden hour. And these men certainlyprovide portrait-perfect subjects. Ty and I plop down at the table with them, just as some guy bursts through the French doors.
Gage maybe?
“What’s with the flashy-as-fuck car in the drive?”
That would be mine he’s referring to, but I can see his monster of a vehicle parked in the side driveway from here.
“As opposed to that inconspicuous matte-black six-wheeled Jeep Apocalypse?” I chirp, which causes Ty to clap with a chuckle while Liam and Wells both sport sexy smirks, but also inquiring eyes. “What?” I shrug. “I know cars.”
“Who the hell—”
“Ivanna Kingston,” I say, rising to cut off his rudeness with my hand out in greeting. “I’m … Wells’s fiancée.” Second time I’ve said I was engaged today, and it’s still an out-of-body experience. “You must be Gage.”
He shoulders past me, ignoring my cordial gesture, his booming tenor filling the outdoor space with a rattle. “The fuck is she talking about, Wells?”
