Ryker glared at him.
Denver nodded solemnly. “And the dumbest.”
“That’s accurate,” Heath said sadly, shaking his head. “Maybe she’ll take pity on you.”
“Plus, the ring is pretty,” Denver said, grabbing a kitchen towel off the counter. “She’ll like the ring.”
Ryker breathed out. “You guys suck.”
“See?” Heath asked. “What woman would want to be around such a negative attitude?”
Denver bit his lip. “So true. I mean, that’s just true.”
Ryker slowly turned his head. “Heath? Why don’t you stop worrying about me and go give your woman the fake ring. I mean, the real ring for the fake engagement. Let’s see how that goes.”
Heath lost his smile.
Denver snorted.
Heath turned on Denver just as Ryker did.
Denver backed away, hands up. “Hey. You’re the ring buyers.”
Heath rolled his shoulders. “I’ve got this.” He needed to talk to Anya but had no clue what to say. “Thanks for breakfast.” He handed his plate to Denver, who’d offered to clean up. “Let’s meet in ten minutes in the war room to finalize the plan to go public later today.”
His brothers failed to hide amused expressions—this time at him. Yeah, they all knew he was dragging his feet. He wasn’t good with the mushy talk, and Anya deserved all the gooey words.
He steeled his shoulders and moved for the door, quickly leaving and heading back into his silent apartment. Victims and timelines were spread across the room’s northern wall. Anya had been busy.
Making his way to the bedroom, he stopped short at hearing Anya singing quietly. What was that? “Any Man of Mine.” Interesting. He bit back a grin and moved into the room.
She jerked in surprise and then finished making the bed. Apparently she’d already showered, and then she dressed in form-fitting jeans and a green sweater that matched her eyes. “Um, hi.”
The woman looked good enough to lick inch by inch. His mouth watered. “You have a lovely voice.”
She blushed a pretty pink. “Thanks.”
The bed lay before him, big and inviting. She’d piled her rich hair atop her head, and with her freshly scrubbed face, she looked to be about eighteen. A purple mark on her neck caught his eye. “What the fuck?” He reached her in a second and grasped her chin.
“Hey.” Her eyes widened.
He slowly tilted her head to see the round bruise on her neck. Where he’d almost bitten her. “Shit.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s just a hickey. Apparently it’s a family thing.”
Man, she bruised easily. He wanted to apologize, yet the sight of his mark on her filled his chest with heat. He straightened his shoulders at the primitive rush of possession that took him. He wanted to mark the other side of her neck. What was going on with him? “Did I bruise you anywhere else?”
She pulled her face free and met his gaze. “Guess you’ll have to find that out on your own.”
Moxie. The woman definitely had moxie. The challenge shot through him, hit all the erogenous zones, and landed in his heart. She was one of a kind.
He grinned. “Is that an invitation?”
Her gaze strayed to the bed and back. Then she shrugged. “Should we, ah, um, talk about last night?”
Instinct ruled him, and he took her shoulders as gently as he could. “It was wonderful.”
“But it doesn’t change anything,” she said quietly.
