The ranch only had one pool, but the thing came with a waterfall, swim-up bar, and private Lake Travis views along with an attached boat house-and that was before entering the main mansion, a true Texas sprawler with five bedrooms, four fireplaces, game room, recording studio, and spaceship-worthy workout space. Damn. Rebel be been a man slut, but the dude sure rocked the personal connections. In this case, his version of "I know a guy" referred to Dax Blake, a former Spec Ops operative who'd become one of the hottest country music stars in the solar system. This place comprised Dax's "Texas digs", not to be confused with his Antebellum place in Nashville or his "vacation chalet" in La Plagne.
Blake's generosity perfectly fit their cover story of just being "some buddies and a friend" enjoying their leave in a beautiful part of the country-though as Brynn Monet climbed out of the car and gave him a cheerful wave, he wondered how he'd stick to the "friend" part of that scenario. The woman would've knocked even Blake out of his thousand-dollar boots, with that gleaming red ponytail, movie starlet lips, and an outfit that accented every luscious inch of her pinup-perfect curves. And what the fuck did he do about it? Jammed his hands into his back pockets, jerked his chin stupidly, and hoped like hell he covered up the dork who still lived deep inside: the guy before Sir Rhett finally surfaced, finding a safe arena for communication at last in his life.
Time to put away those kinds of thoughts, as well. Far away.
"We made it." Brynna's cry broke into his brood, bringing needed energy to the air. Rhett cut loose with a grin as she bounced on her toes. His expression dropped when she remained next to the car, hanging back for Rebel.
What the hell?
Reb had barely been civil to her last night at the Bommers, after the triple take-down of legend. She'd barely seemed to care, only asking how fast they could get out of town and continue the search for Zoe. Now, she waited on Moon like-
Shit.
Like a subbie on a Dom.
"Okay, asshole," he growled beneath his breath. "Abort that launch right now, before you start seeing little green men too."
Luckily, no aliens of any color appeared, though the impression clung that Brynn still deferred to Reb. As Rebel yanked their luggage from the car, she turned and damn near fretted over him, despite how both bags were likely a fraction of what he humped through jungles and deserts on real missions. After Reb shirked her off with a laughing growl, she hurried up the curved paver walkway, a new smile in place for Rhett. His tensions eased further as she warmly embraced him.
Maybe he really had been alone too long. And maybe, hopefully, the two of them had actually come to a little truce during the flight down from Nevada. That had to be a good thing going forward, no matter what stupid vibes his gut threw out otherwise.
"Welcome to the shack." He grinned as Brynn giggled.
Rebel, approaching behind her, smirked from behind his Oakleys. "I'll relay that little feedback to Dax, next time I see him."
"Fuck you," Rhett jibed.
"Boys." Brynn's tone joked equally, though ended in admonishment.
Course change.
"How was your flight?"
"Fine."
Was their rubber band snap answer, given in unison, really the evasion he suspected? Note to self. No more solitary ops prep in the middle of nowhere.
"It was fine." Rebel underlined the last word as if Rhett had disputed him. "Smooth and quick. Nothing major."
Brynn bobbed a firm nod. My name is Brynna Monet, and I approved this message.
What the hell had happened on that trip?
A little casual sleuthing was definitely in order.
"So Mackenna behaved himself, eh?"
"Affirmative." Rebel grunted, pushing forward into the house.
"Sure did." Again, Brynn rushed it out.
"Hmm." Rhett kept his tone noncommittal but his stare keen. "So … the internet meme quotes were all clean?"
She flashed a bright smile. "Every single one. Crazy, right?"
"Yeah. Crazy."
Sam didn't know any clean internet memes.
Brynn barely spared a glance for the sprawling main hall, the two-story granite fireplace, and the sweeping stone archways that laid a castle feel atop the cowboy chic. "So where's the good stuff?"
Rhett replied by flashing a look of his own-of bewilderment. This was her window to disclose her tease, if the question was one, but she only stared back, her stare intensified by expectancy.
"You are all set up, right?" she pressed. "The command center and all? Where is it? Have you connected to El yet?"
He felt his smile soften. Damn … this woman. They probably could've transported her to the foyer of the sheikh's place itself, and all she'd be concerned about was the effort to save her friend.
Brynn Monet was the real deal.
In the body of a too-good-to-be-true goddess.
Which meant the friend zone was really going to suck ass this time.
"I've been on all morning with El. We've been running tests on everything-and even had time to work on a little something else, too."
He couldn't help winding a bit of mystery into the statement, to be rewarded exactly how he'd hoped.
"Something else?" she repeated, lifting an intrigued smile.
"Awwww." Rebel hoisted the bags onto the ten-foot-long leather couch. "You baked, didn't you, honey? Please tell me it was your famous lemon bars."
"Fuck you." Rhett chuckled but fought the new twist in his belly. The joke about his abysmal kitchen skills, normally a stress reliever for them both, felt like a jab with an extra purpose today.
Brynn puckered her lips. "You want to show me sometime today, Double-Oh?"
He swept an arm toward the plank-floored hallway that led to the rest of the house. With the other, he hooked out an elbow to escort her. "Your wish, my command."
Rebel emitted a rumble while falling into step behind them. "Kiss-ass."
It was a step up from the lemon bars poke-or so he hoped.
The hallway paralleled the grounds, allowing for full enjoyment of the lake views while walking to Blake's huge office. Once in there, décor of leather, wood, and masculine comfort surrounded them. Along one wall of the room were half a dozen framed platinum records. The desk and computer systems consumed another corner, and one wall was comprised of two sliding glass doors, opening to the terra cotta patio Rhett had been spending a lot of time on today. He couldn't wait to show Brynna why.
"After you." He swiveled around the big rolling chair in front of the desk, beckoning her to sit. He offered the matching chair to Rebel, not missing how his friend rolled at least three inches closer to Brynn. When Reb propped an ankle to a knee, his other knee rested directly on top of Brynn's-a contact she seemed completely happy with.
What. The. Hell?
He barely wrestled away a glower. Not so successful when it came to the mental boot up his ass. He felt like one of those idiots in a cravat from some BBC period show, ready to call a "cur" out for daring to touch his virginal lady conquest. Thinking about Brynn Monet's "virginal" status was not a good idea. Containing his own dick around the woman was torture enough, let alone stressing about anyone else's. And "pistols or swords?" wasn't an expression that tripped easily off his lips.
No. Screw that.
Rock, paper, scissors, guys. Hand grenade beats pistol and sword.
Wait.
Shit.
Reb was the expert at those, too.
So he just had to start showing off his weapons.
He peered around, spying the item he needed on the desk behind Brynn. Leaning over without scooting around, he took an extra moment to savor his larger claim to more of her physical awareness. With his chest next to her face and his neck against her hair, it was a moment of tangible intimacy-one that, if he wasn't mistaken, affected her as potently as him.
Damn the knightly pledge. If they were alone, he would've gone for it. Tangled his free hand in her hair and tilted her head back. Gazed into her huge chocolate eyes for all the signs that she welcomed what he yearned to do: plunge his mouth over hers, then his tongue in along hers …
"Yo, pretty boy?" Rebel's prompt was a stab of impatience. "Sometime today? We don't all have time to sit and pick our zits."
"Hey." Brynn jerked her knee up into his. "Be nice."
Rebel chuckled.
Huh?
It was really time for the Rhett Lange portion of this fucking operation.
He tugged on Brynn's chair, halting the knee fornication, before facing her toward the three huge monitors on the desk. One belonged to Blake, so remained dark. A ton of coding consumed the screen next to it. He'd been double-checking the shit, ensuring their firewalls were up and the IP was routed through fifty other cities, in preparation for when Adler and his goons latched on to their chatter with Vegas. Yes, when they latched. No way in hell had Adler dared this super freak move and not anticipate there'd be some hot pursuit. The fucker had likely been ready for them for weeks.