Speed King (Men of Action 1)

“This place is a drama-free zone. They need to have their own place. Easier to get away.”

Achilles’s mouth comes to my ear. “They’re still fucking with you.”

“It’s too early in the morning for me to deal with your antics.” I glare at the three of them.

“Noted. Jay’s not a morning joker. Good to know when you move in,” Talon continues to goad.

“I’m not moving in,” I argue.

“We’re not going over it again or we’ll be here all morning. We have somewhere to go before you have to work.” Achilles steps to the door.

“Somewhere to go?”

I attempt to pull him to a stop, but it’s useless. He drags me toward the garage.

“Wait, I planned to make breakfast.”

He halts long enough to twist his head. His lips tip in a confident smirk. “Babe, really?”

“Don’t say it like that. I can manage eggs and toast.”

“You burnt the toast last weekend.”

“That wasn’t my fau—” The words die because it was totally my fault. The kitchen and living room smelled the whole day.

“Achilles, I can’t go anywhere like this.” I try a new tactic.

“You’re perfect.”

His eyes glint in that wickedly possessive way. I’m wearing one of his sweatshirts over a loose pair of pajama pants with my hair in a sloppy bun. Basically, I look like I just rolled out of bed. But beneath the clothes are his stubble marks covering my skin.

The memory of his wake-up fills my mind, and heat courses through my veins. I bite my lip and drop my gaze to his groin.

“Harley,” he grounds out in warning, and a throat clears from behind.

He yanks me forward and guides me out. We pass the row of motorcycles and he stops by the golf cart, urging me to sit. As soon as the garage door opens, a blast of cool air hits us.

“Shit, didn’t expect the temps to drop this much.”

As if on cue, the door swings open, and a ball of green flies into his hands. “Thanks, man,” he tells Ford, draping the blanket across my legs.

“Good luck, Kingston.” He leans against the doorframe with a sly grin.

Achilles flicks his fingers, then drives us around the back of the house.

“Where are we going?”

“Over to Holmes Court.”

The name sounds familiar, but I can’t figure out why until he rounds the pool house and the area comes into view. Then it hits me. Holmes Court. The side street Jewls and I swung into that first night thinking we were camouflaged from Talon. The bushes we hid behind with those stupid binoculars, waiting to see if women paraded in and out of the house.

We bounce across the property, and he pulls onto the street, following the road to and stopping in the cul-de-sac.

“This is the last street of lots to sell out in the development,” he tells me, staring at the lot in front of us.

“I thought they sold out last year.”

“Every lot but the ones on this street. Doug and Celia held on to these for a reason.”

“What’s the reason?”

“They offered them to us.”

My eyes bulge, and I can’t stop the squeaky reply, “They what? Is this…” I swallow to help my dry throat, “…is this yours?”

He shifts his gaze to me. “It is.”

“Oh, wow… you own a piece of property—here?”

“Is that a problem?” He crooks an eyebrow. “You don’t like the neighborhood?”

“It’s not that at all, but it’s an exclusive neighborhood with enormous homes. Like mansions.”

“Not all the houses are like the Whitmans’.”

“No, they are mini-mansions.”

“Celia recommended some builders. We can review them together and go with what style you like.”

There’s a ringing in my ears, and my heart races double time. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My mind is racing with scrambled thoughts. There’s no way I heard him right. My eyes close and I rewind his words.

“Celia recommended some builders. We can review them together and go with what style you like.”

He said it.

He said ‘we can review them’.

“Harley, look at me.”

My eyes pop open, and he reaches out, scooting me to him. “Say something.”

“You want to build us a house? Here? In one of the most exclusive, high-end communities in the area?”

“If the community bothers you, we’ll go somewhere different.”

My head shakes so forcefully my bun tumbles out. “I don’t want different.”

His fingers thread through my hair, and he brings our faces close, his dark eyes glimmering bright. “Do you understand now?”

He’s assuring me in his own way. He’s not making a promise because promises can be broken. It’s a different vow. The kind of vow that gives me insight into our future. The double-beat of my heart bursts with so much love, my body trembles.

I nod, laying my forehead to his. “I understand.”

We stay like this for a minute, sitting and staring until my brain clears and Ford’s statement comes back to me.

“So, all the guys know?”