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Briggs turns onto a paver drive and stops long enough to punch a security code into a pin pad. It unlocks a tall, metal gate with pointed spears on top that look both fancy and like they’d poke holes in anyone attempting to scale the fence.
It takes a bit before he rolls up to a gorgeous stone mansion that’s at least part castle. It’s not so formal that it doesn’t seem welcoming, though. I’m hoping they have a comfy couch for me to pass out on when Briggs opens one of the five or six garage bays and parks their sedan next to an array of sleek, neon sports cars.
Damn, to think of how proud I am of the bubblegum-pink bike River hauled out of a junk heap and refurbished for me. I ride that thing everywhere. I’m so far out of my league, I might as well be in a different universe.
It’s too late to change my mind and run. I’m ensconced in their fortress home.
They climb from the vehicle, then Wesley reaches to help me out.
Briggs hesitates with his hand on an ornate, matte-black door handle. I realize why when a skittering of nails on hard flooring is followed by a riot of deep barks. Briggs casts a glance over his shoulder at me. “Beast isn’t a fan of strangers. Let me get him.”
Wesley and Grant each take one of my hands and keep me close as Briggs goes inside. Through the open door, I watch as he snags Beast’s navy collar in his unbreakable grasp. I see why they call the dog that. He’s every bit as muscular as Briggs. His black-and-white coat ripples over top of his powerful form ashe strains toward me, snarling and bristling at me for daring to trespass.
Beast is damn near as big as a pony and as fierce as a wolf.
I shy away, leaning into Wesley as Grant calls to Beast. “Hey, buddy, settle down. This is Clover. I know, it’s weird. We’ve never brought a woman home before. It’s okay, though. She’s ours. You protect her like you do us. Got it?”
Never?
I’d ask them more about their female guest policy, but Beast’s eyes lock on mine. He cocks his head sideways then transforms into a completely different animal. His tail wags furiously, and he lets out a yip that sounds a lot more like excited puppy than feral attack dog.
“Want to say hello?” Grant asks me. “Or we can put him up if you’d rather.”
I’ve never had a pet. Most of the dogs I’ve been around have been the vicious sort. Not treated well enough to ascend beyond their animal instincts. But tonight is full of firsts.
I approach Beast slowly—my hands open flat, palms up—and let him sniff me. He lunges forward, drawing a squeak from me that quickly morphs into laughter when the pup licks them all over, smothering me in kisses.
Satisfied, Briggs lets him go. I rub Beast’s face, scratching the base of his ears, loving how he leans into my touch like I did to that of his owners. I hug him, and he plants himself at my feet as if he’ll do as good a job as his masters of making sure no one gets close enough to me to do any damage.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked that Beast loves our Beauty.” Wesley grins as Briggs shakes his head in disbelief.
“Just like his fathers’, his bark is far worse than his bite.” I pat Beast on his big square head, and he peers up at me, his tongue lolling from his open mouth in a way that makes him appear to grin despite his impressive canines.
“Say that again when my teeth are near your bare flesh,” Briggs dares.
My fingers dart to the spot on my neck where they left their marks. Wesley, mostly, with his dominant show of possession. The area is warm beneath my touch.
Wesley smirks, causing my breathing to hitch. But I’m too exhausted to continue teasing them or take them up on the promises simmering in their stares.
“So where am I sleeping? Should I take the couch?” Exhaustion is swamping me now that the danger has passed and the adrenaline is wearing off too.
They exchange a pointed look, Wesley nodding, then turn toward me.
Grant speaks for them all as usual. “We have somewhere especially for you.”
“Oh, like a guest room?” I should have realized in a house like this they have plenty of space.
“Not at all.” Briggs shakes his head but doesn’t elaborate. He sticks out his hand. “Come.”
I grasp it and trail him through rooms straight out of the pages of a magazine. Wood, neutral earthy tones, and slate accents give the entire place a solid yet homey vibe. After we ascend a grand staircase, my toes sink into plush carpet.
The landing is wide and open to the main living area below.
There are four doors leading off it.
Three are ajar.
From the shades of blue and gray, and the beds—two rumpled and one crisply made, Wesley’s for sure—I can immediately tell these are their rooms.
