Page 46 of My Ex's Billionaire Brothers

Theo nods. “Agreed. And perhaps verify the cabin’s Wi-Fi so I can clear remote work.”

Anya collects empty mugs, humming softly. She looks at me, and I swear time hiccups. Her lips are strawberry-stained, and I’m dying to lick them clean. She’s all warmth and bravery bundled into one tasty package. My heart squeezes.

Careful, Hunter. You’re on the cliff’s edge.

Again.

I cock a brow at Theo, throwing on my jesting mask. “Ready for operation Hide the Evidence? Because if Mom ever hears we served burnt waffles to a guest, she’ll revoke your trust fund.”

He sniffs. “My fund is unassailable.”

“Hmm.” I rub my chin theatrically. “But is it syrup-proof?”

Gage groans. “You two are hopeless.”

Anya laughs—an unguarded, melodic sound. It clangs against my ribs like a tuning fork. I want to bottle that laugh, play it whenever I doubt myself. One day she’ll need a job, a place to land. I can give her both. I just need to convince the mastermind duo first.

I sling an arm around Theo’s shoulders, steering him toward the living area. “Brother conference soon?” I whisper. His eyebrow arches, but he nods.

Gage loads the dishwasher with more aggression than necessary. I pat his shoulder. “Truce, big guy. We’ll fix the SUV, we’ll face Calvin. And maybe we’ll upgrade our waffle game.”

He smirks. “I suppose.”

Anya emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands. “I like burnt waffles,” she declares, chin tilted. “Adds character.”

Gage’s eyes soften, and Theo offers a wry bow. I clap dramatically. “We can rebrand burnt waffles as artisanal caramelized crunch cakes.”

She laughs again, radiant. My chest swells to the point of ache. Yeah—I’ve definitely toppled off the cliff. Now to find a parachute before I hit the ground.

20

THEO

The cabin has settledinto that mellow post-brunch hush—a clinking of dishes in the sink, the snap of a fresh log in the fireplace, a lingering sweetness of strawberry jam in the air. Hunter requested a brother conference, and I promised him we would discuss whatever notion is occupying his irrepressible mind. Yet the moment Anya excuses herself for a shower, my thoughts drift like a sailing yacht that has lost its course.

Must right the ship. First order of business—confirm the car’s status. I step onto the porch for better reception and a breath of fresh air to clear my head. The mechanic informs me the SUV will be ready soon, but that’s the least of my worries.

When I return, my brothers understand when I ask them to take a woodland hike for an hour. I need time alone with Anya, or I’ll never think clearly again. The door closes, their footfalls fading down the porch steps. I collect myself—straighten my shirt, brush invisible lint from my trousers—then pad down the hallway toward the bathroom. Steam curls from beneath the door. I tap lightly.

“Just a minute!” her muffled voice calls. After a soft rustle, the door opens. Anya stands wrapped in a fluffy towel, damp hair cascading over her shoulders. Her skin glows rosy from the heat.

“Oh—sorry, Theo.” She tugs the towel tighter. “Did you need in?”

Time stalls. Droplets trailing down her collarbone. Lashes clumped from water. The hint of curves I’ve memorized yet desire anew.

I draw a steadying breath. “Gage and Hunter are on a brief hike. We have privacy.”

A curious light flickers in her blue eyes. Her slight smile tells me she’s not opposed to the idea. “Privacy?” she repeats, stepping back so I can enter. Her smile grows. Facetiously, she asks, “What for?”

I shut the door behind me, and the bathroom fills with moist cedar scent. “I’ve been…overburdened with responsibility,” I confess, reaching to brush a lock of hair from her cheek. “Vehicle repairs, itinerary changes, family politics. Yet my predominant thought is you.”

Her breath hitches. “Theo…”

“We promised to teach you,” I continue, fingertips sliding along the slope of her shoulder where towel meets skin. “Not merely physical techniques—which I relish, undoubtedly—but deeper assurances. That you are safe. Allowed to want. You can tell me anything, Anya. I’ll never judge you.”

The towel flutters slightly in her grip. “I know that,” she whispers, throat bobbing. “But sometimes I get in my head about…things. It’s like I can’t focus on what’s happening. There’s too much noise in my mind, if that makes sense.”

“Tell me about the noise in your head.”