Murphy bounds down the hall with a rawhide bone in his mouth, looking like he just found the Holy Grail. The pure joy in his eyes makes me smile. “Whatcha got there, buddy?” He’s so smart—or so eager to share his treasure—that he drops the very wet, very slimy bone in my lap.
Ew. I shouldn’t have asked.
“Murph.” Wyatt snaps his fingers, and the dog picks up the bone, then settles at my feet. “Sorry. He loves those damn things.”
I’m about to tell him it’s okay when a chime sounds. Murphy drops his prize, bolts to the door, and bares his teeth.
“Go into the bedroom,” Wyatt snaps. “Now.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. No one knows we’re here. They can’t.
“Hope…”
The doorbell—what else can it be?—sounds again, seconds before there’s an electronic click from a speaker, then a man’s rough voice. “Wyatt, open the goddamn door.”
“Murph. Friend.” The dog returns to his bone, and Wyatt holds out his hand for me. “It’s Ryker. Come here, darlin’.”
Tucking me under his arm, he flips the sturdy locks and steps back as the door swings inward. Oh, my God. I thought Wyatt was huge, but the man in the hall is a giant. Scars cover half his bald head and the left side of his face then wind down his neck before disappearing under a tight, black t-shirt. He’s obviously ripped, and I’m pretty sure he could bench-press a car.
The woman at his side doesn’t even reach his shoulder. Her billowy green sweatshirt matches her eyes, and red, wavy locks tumble around her heart-shaped face.
“About damn time,” Ryker says. His lips twitch into what might almost be a smile. “Never thought I’d see you back in Seattle, Wyatt.”
“Ry.”
The men stare one another down for so long, the redhead rolls her eyes. “Will the two of you get over yourselves? My feet are permanently swollen these days and I have to pee. Again.” She turns her focus to me. “I’m Wren. You must be Hope. Can I use your bathroom?”
“Um, hi. And…sure?”
Wren thrusts a messenger bag into my hands. “Thanks. Be right back!” She’s down the hall before I know what to say. Or how to react to the tension between the two alpha men in front of me.
“You gonna invite me in?” Ryker asks. “Or are we doing this standing in the doorway?”
Wyatt takes a step back with me and shrugs his uninjured shoulder. “It’s your place, Ry. We’re just borrowing it for a spell.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Ryker moves with a grace a man his size shouldn’t possess. I expect to feel the floor vibrate with his every step, but he’s utterly silent as he crosses to the French doors. For a beat, I can only see his broad back as he stares out over the city skyline. Then his shoulders heave and he turns to face us again. “You saved my life, Wyatt. We’re…family.”
The last word seems to stick in Ryker’s throat, and from the look on Wyatt’s face, it wasn’t what he expected to hear. He gapes at the big man until Ryker rolls his eyes. They’re this odd mix of hazel, green, and blue, and the colors seem to shift as he fixes his stare on me.
“So you’re Hope.”
The urge to shrink behind Wyatt hits hard until Wren comes back down the hall. “Ry, you’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?” I ask.
As intimidating as Ryker is, Wren’s his complete opposite. She wraps her arm around Ryker’s waist and melts into him. The man’s entire demeanor changes when he peers down at her. His gaze softens, the tiny lines around his lips relax, and his eyes turn a deeper shade of…well…everything.
“Oh, you know,” Wren says with a wave of her hand. “Big, terrifying, black ops soldier ready to burn down the world? Don’t get me wrong. He could. He’s done it a few times. But he’s working on his inner teddy bear.”
“H-his…wh-what?”
Don’t laugh, Hope. Don’t…
It’s no use. Between the exasperation on Ryker’s face and Wren’s smile, I can’t help myself.
“His inner teddy bear.” She pats her swollen belly. “In just over two months, he’s going to be singing lullabies and changing diapers. In between all the death and destruction. This one is going to turn him into a puddle of mush.”
“For fuck’s sake, little bird.” Despite his words, Ryker’s expression is pure love and adoration, and he leans down to press a kiss to the top of her head. “I am not—nor will I ever be—a ‘puddle of mush.’”
