“Won’t we be able to do this once we are there?”
Morgan gazed into Honey’s eyes. He fingered a stray curl by her temple. “Possibly not. My family is very formal, and there are going to be lots of guests around.”
“Maybe we can run away after the wedding?”
Morgan smiled, showing large even teeth. “I like the way you think.”
Honey kissed him on the chin. Morgan moved his head so she could reach his mouth.
“Ahhh, we need to leave, or it will never happen. And I cannot miss this wedding. JoJo will never forgive me.”
“JoJo is your adopted sister, right?” Honey asked as she stepped out of Morgan’s warm embrace. She would have rather stayed, but he was right. They needed to leave or they would end up back in bed.
“Yeah, she became my legal ward, after my parents’ death. She’s my sister where it counts.” Morgan tapped himself in the chest, over his heart. “She’s pretty much everyone’s favorite.”
“She like you?” Honey asked as she made a claw shape with her hand and curled it like she was scratching at something.
“No, she’s not like me. She’s not wolf. Her mother worked for my family when she died. Mom refused to let JoJo be taken from the only family she’d ever known.”
“Oh, how sweet. So she was raised with you?”
“I was a teenager when all of that happened. She was raised closer to some of my cousins, but I was always around.”
Honey laughed, “I bet you’re the one who helped all the younger kids get into trouble. Instigator.”
“Were you there?” Morgan grinned.
“I’m right. You were a troublemaker?”
“I was a teenage boy. What do you think?”
“I’m right, I’m totally right.” Honey answered smugly.
Morgan picked up his suit bag and Honey’s duffle bag. “Ready?”
Honey slipped on a jacket and picked up the garment bag containing the dress.
She followed him outside towards a parked truck. Morgan had said he was picking up his car this morning. This was a truck. A square, boxy, old pickup truck, color blocked with areas of flat, patternless color. The hood was a pale blue color that created a stripe along the top of the door and along the top of the bed of the truck. The middle section was mostly white with large areas of rust. There were a few areas where the rust had been sprayed over with gray primer. Another stripe of the pale blue ran the entire length along the bottom of the truck. The vehicle had to be at least thirty years old, if not older. Technically, it should be considered a vintage vehicle, but to Honey, it was a rusty, old, beat-up truck. Honey thought a truck is not a car, and this was an old truck. The squared-off cab was large but clearly had no extra room for hanging their garment bags. Honey looked at Morgan and gave herself a mental shake. She was going away for the weekend with him, not his truck.
She glanced into the bed of the truck. More rust.
Without saying a word, Honey turned and walked back into her apartment building. Once inside her apartment, she leaned against the closed front door. “I can do this. I can do this. Don’t judge. It’s just a truck. Don’t judge. Don’t judge. Don’t judge.” Honey talked herself out of a panic attack. “I’m going away with Morgan, not his truck.” She groaned and pushed off the door.
She returned to Morgan holding some towels in her hand.
“I thought you changed your mind there for a second.” His brow creased with concern.
Honey smiled. She couldn’t admit how close to the truth he had come. She held up the towels “To put under the bags. That—” She nodded towards the truck bed. “—doesn’t look particularly friendly.”
“Good thinking.” Morgan smiled as he took the towels and spread them out in the truck bed. He laid the garment bags down first then placed Honey’s heavier duffle bag on top.
“All set. Shall we?”
Honey nodded and climbed into the truck. She reminded herself over and over, Morgan was not his truck. The truck did not define him.
19
Honey shifted in the seat trying to get comfortable. “I have a confession, Morgan.” She held on to the pendant at her neck. Her stomach roiled with nerves. She was going away with Morgan, not his truck. “I like you.”
Morgan kept his focus on the road. “That’s hardly a confession based on this morning’s activities. I like you too.”
“I mean, I really like you. I like like—” Honey emphasized the word, drawing it out, “—like you. Like, might not even be the right word for it. I more than like you.”
“You aren’t going to use that other L-word, are you?” he smiled. Just a small twitch of upward movement at the corner of his mouth. Honey recognized that smile; it meant Morgan wanted to play. It was an incredibly sexy expression. Honey wanted to slide across the cab and begin licking where his lips curved, but her nerves kept her on her side of the truck. Was Morgan ready for the L-word? Was she?
“No. At least, not yet. But—” She shifted so she could see him more easily. “I think I easily could.” She stared at him. Morgan said nothing. He continued to smile that little playful grin and focused on driving. “You aren’t freaking out.”
“Why should I? You’re saying something I want to hear.” He finally glanced at her, flashing a large smile. “It’s encouraging.”
“Encouraging, huh?” She sat back. “Okay, then. I hope it’s still encouraging after I tell you all of this.”
“You were born a man?” Yep, he was playing with her.
“No. I was not born a man. All original parts, thank you very much.”
“Because if you were, I’m basically okay with that. What you do with what you’ve got— Damn.” He scratched at the stubble on his chin as if thinking hard. “Okay, not a man. A serial killer?”
“Morgan!”
“You’re a mutant that shoots knives from between your knuckles.”
“Will you shut up.” Honey shook her head at him. She needed him to be serious for a second “I’m shallow!”
“That’s your big confession? You’re shallow?”
“Would you let me finish, ya’ big oaf!”
“Sorry.”
“I’m shallow. I used to judge men based on their outward appearance only. Not just looks, but grooming too. The clothes they wore and how they wore them. What cars they drove. Who they knew. Not what they knew, but who. What their job title was. And mostly the size of their wallets.”
“Hmm-mmm.” Morgan acknowledged what she said with a nod.
“Personality, height, size, skill weren’t even in my top five”
“Not judging a guy by how big he is isn’t such a bad thing. I mean I’m told it’s not what you’ve got but how you use it,” he smirked.
“That’s just it, Morgan. I stayed with crappy lovers who didn’t have a clue how to make love to anyone but themselves because they looked a certain way or drove a certain car.”
“What is it you are trying to tell me, Honey?”
“I’m saying I really like you. You are different for me from any guy I have ever dated.”
“I would hope so.” He glanced at her out from the corner of his eye, before returning his focus to the road.
“I’m not only talking about that wolf thing you’ve got going on. It’s everything else. You are kind. You took care of me when I needed it. You paid for all those people’s coffee because you might have inconvenienced them for a minute or two. You replaced everything in my apartment. You wear plaid shirts. I’m saying I never would have dated a guy who drove a rust-bucket of a truck, let alone go away to meet his family for a long weekend in one. So I’m apologizing now if I say or do something shallow or snotty or arrogant or just plain fucking stupid. I’m learning to not judge people based on their appearance. Lana has really helped me with that, but I know I’ve got a ways to go yet. I’ve got years of superficial bad behavior to get over.”
“Fair enough. But you do actually like me. I’m not some experiment in slummin
g or trying out the rough-and-ready laborer?”
“I am completely infatuated with you, Morgan. I didn’t plan on it, but I am. And what you do to me in bed. Damn!” Honey sighed. “This isn’t about money—having it or not.” She motioned in the space between them. “I just need you to know that in my past, it always was about money, and designer labels. So if I am a complete idiot this weekend, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be, but I can be an ignorant ass at times.”
Morgan drove them into an unincorporated neighborhood, not quite country but clearly not suburbs. It looked very much working class, even though the yards were large and so were the houses. Morgan pulled into a steep driveway. He followed the long drive up the hill to behind the house. Honey could see several outbuildings, a large garage, and the top of a pool slide behind a paneled fence. The yard was full of cars. Cyclone fencing encircled the entire property.
They really weren’t that far away from the peninsula. It had barely taken them an hour to get here. Honey thought if this was his family home, they could have easily driven here every morning for the weekend.
Morgan honked and a short broad Hispanic looking man came out of the large garage. He wiped his hands on a greasy looking rag as he approached the truck. “Put it over there,” he said, indicating a space between a couple of broken-down cars. Morgan got out of the truck and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Thanks Jorge. This saved us some time.”
“Sorry, she wasn’t ready earlier, Mr. Palatine. She’s all gassed up and ready for you.” He lifted his arm and signaled to someone with a flick of his wrist.
Honey hovered around the back of the truck. She had expected Morgan to introduce her. This was his home, right?
“Honey, I’m glad you told me your feelings.” A slick black car purring like a contented feline rolled to a stop in front of her. It looked like the love child of a jungle cat and a shark in car form. Morgan escorted her to the passenger side. He opened the door for her and indicated she should sit. He leaned in over her. “I’m glad you feel the way you do and that money isn’t involved.” Morgan closed the door.
Honey watched, confused, as Jorge helped Morgan move their items from the back of the truck to the trunk of the sleek car. Honey barely heard the thump and click of the trunk, then Morgan slid into the driver’s seat. He shook hands with the man named Jorge, closed the door and began driving.
Honey stared in shock, her mouth agape. This was the kind of car that defined luxury, and she didn’t even know its make.
“The truck wasn’t mine. Jorge lent it to me because this, my car, wasn’t ready yet. I didn’t want to waste another two or three hours waiting for it to be ready, drive back to get you, and then head north. Picking it up here saved us a few hours.”
“What is this thing?” Honey was still in shock at being in the car. Everything was tan and black leather. She reverently stroked the dash in front of her. “What is this thing?”
“It’s a Maybach. They don’t make them anymore.” Morgan’s tone indicated that he liked his car but not so much that he was impressed with himself for owning it.
“Uhm, this is a really expensive car, isn’t it Morgan?”
“Yes, it is. That’s not going to be a problem, is it, Honey? You said what we have isn’t about money, and you said that thinking I was a poor construction worker. Now you know I’m not, it’s still not about money, is it?”
“How? I’m sorry. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around this. You are or you aren’t a construction worker?”
“I am a structural engineer, a foundations specialist. I run Seven Hills. I am also the CEO of the parent company Truria. My family owns the company. Has for a very long time.”
“Wow, okay.” Honey glanced at the interior of the car then she looked at Morgan, still in awe of the turn of events.
“So you are a construction worker, but you actually don’t need to be.” She spoke slowly, clarifying for herself at the same time.
“Right. I like to get hands-on at the beginning of a project. It helps the other guys know who I am, know they can talk to me, and lets them see I know what it is they are actually doing,” he explained.
“That’s why you haven’t needed to go into work early the past few days and are dressing differently” Honey couldn’t take her eyes off the interior of the car, as if it verified the words Morgan said.
“Right. I’m transitioning at this point. Now that the project has moved on past the installation of the base foundation, I can pull back and let Jim—he’s the site manager—take over for me. I’m mostly there at this point for the client.”
She tilted her head to watch him. Was he going to shift into another beast? First a wolf, now rich tycoon? What else was Morgan hiding? “But what about that job you did in Pacific Grove?”
“That was helping out a buddy. They had some guys call in sick with the flu. I was available. He had a time crunch. He needed the concrete poured at a certain time, and they needed help getting the forms set up properly.”
“Morgan, I still really really like you. But…” She paused thinking about her phrasing. “But since you have money, could I help you buy some different clothes? I mean, I really hate those plaid shirts.”
Morgan roared with laughter. “Sure, but those are work shirts. They are cheap, rugged, disposable. If they get messed up, no bother. I only had work clothes in Monterey. I hadn’t planned on being social. I certainly hadn’t planned on meeting you.”
“See I told you I’m shallow.”
Still laughing, Morgan said, “If it makes you feel better, no plaid at all this weekend. And if you don’t approve of the rest of my wardrobe, I will let you take me shopping.”
*
Morgan’s driving skills and the smooth ride of the car made the trip feel as if they flew. They crossed the Golden Gate Bridge before she felt like enough time had passed at all.
Morgan continued north on Highway 101. He exited, and they drove into the golden, water-starved hills of Northern California.
The car snaked its way up a long grade deep into wine country. Honey watched as acres of grape vines slipped past her window. She felt as if the vines and hills around her were moving while she sat still.
A brick and iron gate indicated the entrance to a drive. Small solar lamps lit a path on either side of the driveway, guiding the car towards more lights. They rounded a bend and Honey gasped. Oak trees that sparkled with lights framed an elaborate brick and stucco entrance to a large, three-story facade. The car circled around a small circular drive then stopped.
Honey stared, mouth open. The building extended out to either side. This wasn’t a house, this was a large, mission-style mansion.
Morgan exited the car and opened Honey’s door. She put her hand in his offered one, and stood. She gaped at the entryway. Large, round, terra cotta pots filled with succulents stood like sentries on either side of a brick walkway. Low wood steps led to a deep wide patio. Columns and arches repeated the length of the front patio. Honey noticed a ramp to the right zig-zagging from the walk to the patio.
“We’re here,” Morgan announced.
“This isn’t a house, Morgan. This is a resort.”
“This is home. It’s a house, not a resort.”
“No, this isn’t a house. A house is—you know—three bedrooms, two baths, a garage or a carport. Single level. Maybe even one of those old Victorian two-story houses. No, this—this is a fucking mansion.”
Morgan snickered. “Definitely more than three bedrooms and two baths. But it is home.”
“And you live here all by yourself?”
“No.” Morgan shook his head. “Extended family lives here. I have rooms, and yes, I mostly live here. But, definitely, not all by myself.”
One of the large wooden doors swung open. An older man in a wheelchair followed by a middle-aged woman emerged from the mansion.
“Morgan,” the man roared as he wheeled down the ramp to greet them. “You’re back in time.”
“
Remi…” Morgan motioned Honey to his side. “This is Honey Gould. Honey, this my Uncle Remi.”
Honey offered her hand, expecting Remi to shake it. She was caught off guard when he turned it and brought it to his lips.
“A pleasure.” Remi’s voice boomed.
“Nice to meet you.” She turned, expecting to be introduced to the woman who had opened the trunk and had begun removing items from the car.
A small group of teenage boys burst out of the front door. They jostled for position. The winner of the race stopped in front of Morgan. “Can I put her in the garage?”
Morgan tossed him the keys. “One scratch and I’ll hide ya’.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the kid said as he slipped into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
The other boys started to shuffle back into the house.
“Oh no, you don’t.” The stern tone of the woman’s voice stopped them in their tracks. “Take those things up to Morgan’s rooms.” She pointed to Morgan’s bags. “And you can put those in a guest room.” She pointed to Honey’s bag and handed over her garment bag to one of the boys.
“Which one?” Clearly, the prize had been to park the car. Delivering bags was a losing chore.
The woman raked Honey up and down with a judgmental look then glanced out of the side of her eye at Morgan, “Let’s put Miss Gould in the Blue Bird Room.”
Honey heard Morgan grumble.
The woman turned on Morgan, pointing at his chest. “I have a house full of guests and kids. I expect you to follow the rules. She’ll be on the same hall as JoJo’s bridesmaids.”
“Jinx has run this house for almost twenty years,” Remi announced. “We follow her rules.”
“Those were the rules of the house when I started, and since no one has officially changed them, I follow them,” Jinx replied.
“No one is going to change them,” Morgan added. He turned to Honey. “I think I mentioned that my parents ran a school?”
Honey nodded.
“We have a small private school on premises. Mostly for extended family and others with our—” Morgan gestured in a circling motion, “—family trait. The rules Jinx is referring to were put in place to keep the kids in line and to prevent underage hanky-panky.”
Protective: Legatum - Book 1 Page 19