Mastered By The Mavericks(15)

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.