Chapter 10
W hen I woke up, my head was fuzzy with memories of last night’s dinner with Caleb. The early morning sun was already high, streaming through windows I hadn’t cleaned yet. Note to self: add “remove decade of dust” to the growing list of cottage maintenance nightmares, right under “figure out what that noise in the attic is” and “determine if the basement is actually haunted.”
The sound of a lawn mower jerked me fully awake. Who the hell mows the lawn at this ungodly hour?
Cedar Grove, apparently. Because normal small-town logic clearly didn’t apply here.
I dragged myself to the bathroom, deciding whoever was destroying the dewy grass could wait until after my shower. The ancient pipes groaned like tortured souls as I turned on the water, but at least it was hot. Small mercies in a cottage that seemed determined to fall apart around me.
I was in the middle of washing my hair, contemplating the strange normalcy of dinner with Caleb—and definitely not thinking about how good he looked in that leather jacket or how his eyes seemed to glow when he laughed or—nope, not thinking about it at all—when the water suddenly… stopped.
Just stopped. Mid-shampoo. Because of course it did. Because apparently, the universe had decided I hadn’t been humiliated enough this week.
“No, no, no…” I frantically twisted the handles. Nothing. Not even a sputter. The pipes just sat there, mocking me with their silence.
That’s when I heard it. Again. The lawn mower. Which had been near the back of the house. Where the water main probably was. Because why wouldn’t someone be mowing dangerously close to essential utilities?
“Son of a—” I grabbed my sad excuse for a towel. The one that was more holes than terry cloth at this point, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. And I was in the begging category of life right now. Wrapping it precariously around my waist—trying to find the least threadbare section to preserve what was left of my modesty—I stormed toward the back door, shampoo dripping into my eyes and probably taking my dignity with it.
I burst outside, ready to tell off whatever maintenance person had destroyed my water line, and stopped dead.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
The man by my definitely not broken water main was… massive. Like, “did-you-eat-the-last-maintenance-guy” massive. All muscle and tactical gear and—wait, who does lawn maintenance in tactical gear? He looked like he’d just stepped out of some special ops calendar, all broad shoulders and rippling forearms and… Was he growling?
I blinked shampoo out of my eyes, suddenly very aware of how naked and wet I was. Droplets ran down my chest, and his eyes—a strange amber color that had to be contacts as no one had eyes that literally glowed—followed their path with an intensity that made my skin tingle. The tiny towel chose that moment to slip dangerously low on my hips.
The growling got louder. Actually got louder. Like he was some kind of… but no, that would be crazy. Crazier than everything else in this town, which was saying something.
“Um.” My voice came out embarrassingly high. “You wouldn’t happen to have destroyed my water pipe with your murder-mower, would you? Because I’ve got to say, that’s some impressive timing. Like, Olympic-level inconvenient timing. Gold medal in ‘Making Kai’s Morning Weird.’”
His eyes—seriously, they had to be contacts—dragged up my body so slowly I felt it like a physical touch. My scar tingled, which was not helping the situation. “No.”
Just that. One word. In a voice that rumbled like thunder and did inappropriate things to my insides. Great. He was hot AND monosyllabic. Because apparently, the universe wasn’t done messing with me yet.
“Oh.” I shifted, trying to keep the towel in place and probably just drawing more attention to it. “So the water stopping while you’re mowing near the water main is just…”
“Coincidence.” He growled the word. His hands flexed at his sides, and sweet baby Jesus, were those actual claws? No, definitely not. Just… very sharp… nail… things…
Note to self: Stop watching horror movies before bed. Also, maybe lay off the caffeine. And possibly seek therapy.
I took a step back. Or tried to. My wet feet had other ideas, sliding on the dewy grass, and suddenly I was falling—
Strong arms caught me before I hit the ground, and I found myself pressed against a wall of muscle. The towel, treacherous thing that it was, gave up the fight entirely. And there I was, naked as the day I was born, plastered against Cedar Grove’s answer to a military recruitment poster.
“Careful, little mate.”
My brain short-circuited. Little what now?
“I mean,” he corrected roughly but didn’t let go. If anything, his arms tightened, one hand spanning my entire lower back while the other… was definitely not moving to find the towel. “The grass is slippery.”
“Right.” I was still pressed against his chest, which was unfairly firm and radiating heat like a furnace. Shampoo ran down my face in what I’m sure was a very attractive manner. “This is… this is not how I planned my morning to go. Though honestly, at this point, I should probably just expect the unexpected. Yesterday it was lawyers, today it’s tactical landscaping. Tomorrow there’ll probably be a unicorn in my kitchen.”
Was he sniffing my hair?
“Derek Stone,” he rumbled, and yes, he was sniffing me. Because this situation needed to get weirder. “Maintenance.”
“Of course you are.” Because obviously he was a Stone. They probably had a secret cloning facility somewhere, producing unreasonably attractive men to torture my apparently gay disaster soul. “I’m—”
“Kai.” The way he said my name should be illegal. “I know.”
Well, that wasn’t ominous at all.
“Right. So…” I gestured vaguely at my very naked self, still somehow in his arms. “I should probably… clothes… those are a thing I should have.”
His chest rumbled against mine. Was he purring? No, growling. Again. Maybe he had a medical condition. A very attractive, terrifying medical condition.
“The water,” he finally managed, though his eyes hadn’t moved from where a droplet was making its way down my collarbone. “It’s the old pipes. Need replacing.”
“Okay, but like, today? Because I’m currently rocking the ‘partially shampooed disaster’ look and while I’m sure it’s very avant-garde, I’d really like to—”
“My place.”
I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Shower,” he growled out, finally releasing me but staying close enough that I could feel his body heat. “At my place. While I fix this.”
Oh, hell no. “That’s… very neighborly of you, but I don’t actually make a habit of showering at strange men’s houses. Even very large, surprisingly well-armed maintenance men.”
Something that might have been amusement flickered in those impossible eyes. “Not strange. Derek Stone.”
“Yes, because that makes it so much better. ‘Don’t worry, Mom. I’m just going to shower at the house of the tactical landscaper who knows my name and growls a lot.’ Totally normal.”
He actually smiled then, just a quick flash of white teeth that did nothing to make him less intimidating. “Marcus and Caleb will be there.”
Because that made it better? “Ah yes, the whole collection of suspiciously attractive Stone brothers. Much more reassuring.”
“You had dinner with Caleb.”
“That was different!” Though how, exactly, I wasn’t sure. “That was in public. With witnesses. And fully clothed.”
He growled again.
“Look,” I tried reasoning, “I can just… wait. Until it’s fixed. Air dry. Become one with nature.”
“Hours,” he said, and was he standing closer? “Multiple parts needed. Special order.”
“Hours?” My voice definitely didn’t squeak. “But I have shampoo in my hair! I’ll look like a deranged porcupine!”
“My. Place.”
And that’s how, ten minutes later, I ended up wrapped in Derek Stone’s jacket—which was basically a tent on me—being herded toward his ridiculous tactical Jeep. Because apparently, my options were either embrace the porcupine lifestyle or accept the hospitality of Cedar Grove’s most intimidating family.
“This isn’t kidnapping, right?” I asked as he opened the passenger door. “Because I feel like I should point out that I’m very high-maintenance and would make a terrible hostage.”
His laugh was unexpected and rich, sending shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with being wet and mostly naked.
“No kidnapping,” he promised, then added with a gleam in his eye, “Today.”
Great. Perfect. Wonderful.
Just another normal morning in Cedar Grove.
The drive was… interesting. And by interesting, I mean terrifying in a way that somehow still managed to be hot. Derek drove like he was in a high-speed chase, one hand on the wheel, the other… well, the other kept finding reasons to adjust his jacket around me. Very thoughtful. Totally not possessive at all.
“So,” I ventured after the third time he growled at another driver for getting too close, “do you always do lawn maintenance in tactical gear, or am I just special?”
His only response was to grip the steering wheel tighter. I watched in fascination as the leather actually creaked under his hands.
“Right. Stupid question. Obviously, lawn mowing is a high-risk operation in Cedar Grove. Probably got guerrilla gardeners hiding in the bushes. Radical landscapers plotting—holy mother of—”
The words died in my throat as we turned down a private drive and Stone Manor came into view. Holy. Shit. Manor was the understatement of the century—this was a straight-up castle masquerading as a modern mansion. The structure rose from the misty forest like something out of a fantasy novel, with four massive wings sprawling out from what had to be the biggest “great room” I’d ever seen. The whole thing looked like some architect had taken a medieval fortress, a luxury resort, and a Bond villain’s lair, threw them in a blender, and somehow created something breathtaking.
Walls of windows caught the morning light like diamonds between chunks of rough-cut stone that had to be older than the United States. Modern additions blended seamlessly with ancient masonry, creating this weird time-traveling effect that shouldn’t have worked but absolutely did. And because apparently four wings weren’t enough, there was a tower rising from one side—because of course there was. The grounds around it were this perfect mix of carefully maintained gardens and wild forest, like nature itself couldn’t decide whether to be intimidated or impressed.
But as I stared at the manor, something twisted in my gut—a weird sense of déjà vu that made my scar burn. The morning sunlight suddenly seemed to shift, and for a heart-stopping moment, I saw silver moonlight instead, heard screaming, smelled smoke and blood. My hand drifted unconsciously to my hip, to that strange triangular scar that was now pulsing with warmth. Something about the layout made my head spin, like I’d seen it before, but from a different angle. Underground maybe? But that was crazy. Wasn’t it?
“You live here?” I managed weakly, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling of forgotten memories clawing at the edges of my mind. “What, was the castle from Beauty and the Beast already taken?”
Derek’s hand suddenly gripped the steering wheel tighter, and I could have sworn his eyes flickered to where my fingers still pressed against my hip. But that was impossible. Nobody knew about that scar except my mom, and she’d taken that secret to her grave.
Right?
We pulled up to what I assumed was the garage, though it looked more like an aircraft hangar. A sleek black Mercedes that screamed ‘Marcus’ sat next to what had to be Caleb’s sports car.
“The others are home.” I definitely wasn’t panicking. Much.
Derek suddenly tensed, nostrils flaring like he’d caught a scent. His eyes—still doing that weird glowing thing—darkened. “Inside. Quick.”
“O-kay?” But he was already out of the Jeep, moving to my door with that predatory grace that really shouldn’t be as attractive as it was.
Before I could process what was happening, he had me out of the car and… was he carrying me?
“I can walk!” I squeaked, clutching his jacket closer as he strode toward a side entrance.
“Slippery,” was all he said, like that explained everything about why I was being princess-carried into the Stone lair while wearing nothing but his jacket and my dignity—which was hanging by a thread at this point.
We entered through what looked like a mud room, though it was nicer than my entire apartment back in Seattle. Derek still hadn’t put me down, and I was trying very hard not to notice how easily he held me, like I weighed nothing at all.
“Derek?” a familiar voice called from somewhere in the house. Caleb. “Is that you? Why do I smell—”
He appeared in the doorway and stopped dead, eyes widening as they took in the scene. Me, practically naked except for his brother’s jacket. Derek, still carrying me and… was that a growl?
“Well.” Caleb’s mouth twitched. “This is not how I expected my morning to go.”
“Water pipes,” Derek ground out, pulling me closer.
“Ah.” Caleb’s eyes danced with barely contained laughter. “And naturally, the only solution was to bring our soaking wet mate home wrapped in your—”
“Caleb.” The warning in Derek’s voice could have stripped paint.
“Right, right.” Caleb held up his hands, but he was grinning now. “I’ll just go tell Marcus that—”
“Tell Marcus what?”
Oh God. That voice. I knew that voice.
Marcus Stone stood in the hallway like some CEO fever dream, all perfectly tailored suit and authority, until his eyes landed on me. They flashed—actually flashed—red for a moment before darkening to something that made my stomach flip.
“Kai,” he practically purred, and how did he make my name sound like that? “What an… unexpected pleasure.”
“Hi?” I managed, suddenly very aware that I was still in Derek’s arms, wearing nothing but his jacket, while being stared at by three alphas who… wait, why did I just think of them as alphas?
The air felt heavy, charged with something I couldn’t name. All three brothers were looking at me like… like…
“Shower,” Derek growled, starting forward.
“Oh yes,” Caleb’s voice was pure innocence. “He needs a shower. In fact, I could—”
Derek’s answering growl actually vibrated through my body.
“Guest bathroom,” Marcus commanded, though his eyes hadn’t left me.
“I can walk,” I tried again, but Derek just held me tighter.
“Slippery,” all three brothers said at once.
Right. Because that wasn’t weird at all.
Just another totally normal morning in Cedar Grove. Totally normal naked shower adventure with three growly, possessive, unreasonably attractive brothers who kept looking at me like…
Like I was theirs.
Oh, I was so screwed.
Possibly literally.
The guest bathroom was bigger than my entire cottage. Because of course it was. Everything in this house seemed designed to make me feel smaller, including its inhabitants.
“Towels,” Derek said, finally setting me down. His hands lingered longer than strictly necessary. “Soap. Shampoo.”
“Thanks.” I clutched his jacket closer, waiting for him to leave.
He didn’t move.
“I think I can handle it from here,” I prompted. “Unless you’re worried the shower has guerrilla gardeners too?”
There was that rumble-laugh again. But he backed away, eyes never leaving me until he finally closed the door.
The shower was heaven. Multiple showerheads, perfect pressure, and enough hot water to supply a small country. I might have moaned a little. And if I heard a muffled growl from outside the door… well, I was choosing to ignore that.
Twenty minutes later, I was clean, dry, and facing a new crisis.
Clothes. Or rather, the lack thereof.
A knock at the door made me jump. “Kai?” Caleb’s voice. “I’ve got some options for you.”
I opened it a crack, clutching the actually appropriate-sized towel they’d provided. All three brothers stood there, each holding clothes.
Because, apparently, this was my life now.
“I, uh…” My eyes darted between their offerings. Marcus held what looked like designer casual wear. Derek had a Henley and jeans that would swallow me whole. Caleb…
“Mine will fit better,” Caleb said, earning twin growls from his brothers. “I’m closest to his size.”
He wasn’t wrong, though “closest” was relative. I grabbed the soft t-shirt and jeans he offered, along with… was that silk underwear? Whatever, better than nothing.
The underwear was loose but manageable. The jeans, however…
“Um,” I called out after several failed attempts to make them stay up. “The pants are a no-go unless you want me to flash everyone.”
A series of strangled sounds came from the hallway.
I ended up in just Caleb’s t-shirt and the borrowed underwear. The shirt fell to mid-thigh—thank God—but the collar kept slipping off one shoulder no matter how many times I adjusted it. My still-wet hair dripped occasionally, making the white fabric cling in ways that were probably indecent.
When I emerged, all three brothers froze. Their eyes tracked a water droplet as it ran down my neck and disappeared under the collar.
“Breakfast,” Derek managed, though it sounded painful.
“Oh, I usually just have ramen—”
All three brothers stared at me with identical expressions of horror. “Ramen?” Marcus looked personally offended. “For breakfast?”
“It’s quick!” I defended. “And cheap. And—”
“No,” all three brothers said at once.
As they herded me toward their kitchen, I was very aware of how the shirt rode up with each step. A man I could only assume was their personal chef—because of course they had a personal chef—took one look at me. Tall and fit from constant kitchen work, with salt-and-pepper hair and features that still broke hearts, he radiated the confident energy of someone who ruled his kitchen with both iron discipline and warmth. His warm brown eyes crinkled with laugh lines as he assessed the scene: me in bare legs and wet hair, drowning in Caleb’s shirt, with three brothers hovering like overprotective satellites. Then he burst out laughing.
“This is Jorge, our cousin,” Caleb said, grinning. “He’s been our family chef forever. Best chef in three states.”
“Dios mío,” Jorge muttered something I assumed was Spanish, shaking his head with a knowing smile. He gestured at me, then at the brothers, continuing in rapid Spanish that made Caleb chuckle and Marcus clear his throat. I might not understand the words, but given my current state—wearing just Caleb’s shirt after a failed shower attempt—and this whole bizarre morning, I could only imagine what he must be thinking about this strange situation.
“Sit,” Derek growled, pulling out the center chair at the kitchen island. The way the brothers were hovering, I didn’t need to be a genius to figure out their planned seating arrangement. Three apex predators, and I was about to be the filling in their overprotective sandwich.
I managed two steps before stumbling over my own feet—because apparently being watched by three intense pairs of eyes did nothing for my coordination. Three pairs of hands reached for me, but Derek was closest. I found myself caught against his chest for the second time that morning.
“Careful, little mate,” he rumbled, and were his eyes actually glowing now?
“You know,” I said breathlessly, “people usually wait for at least three dates before they start using pet names.”
A sharp intake of breath came from behind me—Marcus? Then warm hands were on my waist as someone—Caleb—steadied me.
“Three dates?” Caleb’s voice held something dangerous. “Is that what you want, baby? Three dates?”
Wait, what?
Jorge chose that moment to save me by loudly setting down a plate stacked with pancakes, eggs, and bacon. “Please, enjoy,” he said warmly, adding another serving of bacon to my plate with a friendly smile.
I was guided to my chair, very aware of how the shirt rode up as I sat.
“Coffee?” Caleb offered, already at the expensive machine, though his eyes kept darting to where the shirt had slipped again.
“Please,” I managed, trying not to notice how Derek had positioned himself between me and the exit or how Marcus kept finding reasons to brush against my bare legs as he “helped” set the table.
“Cream? Sugar?” Caleb asked, voice strangled.
“Black, like my soul.”
That startled a laugh out of all of them. Even Jorge snorted as he set down more food—enough to feed a small army.
“What?” I defended. The shirt slipped farther, and three sets of eyes tracked the movement. “Some of us need industrial-strength caffeine to deal with…” I gestured vaguely at everything, accidentally causing more shirt slippage. “…this.”
“This?” Marcus’ voice was dangerously low as he watched another water droplet trail down my collarbone.
“You know, this. The whole…” I waved my hand at them, then quickly grabbed the hem of the shirt as it rode up. “Whatever this is. With the growling and the staring an—” I stopped, realizing I was babbling. “Just… this.”
Caleb slid a steaming mug across the counter to me, his fingers lingering as they brushed against mine. The coffee smelled amazing, rich and dark, probably some fancy imported blend because heaven forbid the Stones have anything ordinary in their house.
“Thanks,” I muttered. The shirt slipped again, and Marcus made a sound I’d never heard a human make before.
“Please eat,” Marcus said smoothly, his tone gentle but leaving no room for argument.
“Right. Eat. Got it.”
The pancakes were amazing. Like, life-changing amazing. I might have moaned a little at the first bite.
The sound of splintering wood made me look up. Derek was gripping the table edge, which now had… claw marks?
“Everything okay there, Wolverine?”
Caleb choked on his coffee. Marcus’ lips twitched. Derek just stared at me with those impossible eyes.
“Fine,” he ground out.
“So,” I said, trying to distract myself from how Marcus kept “accidentally” brushing my bare leg under the table as I pulled the collar of my shirt back up. “Do you guys often kidnap half-naked people for breakfast, or am I special?”
Three sets of darkened eyes snapped to me.
“Special,” Derek growled, and holy hell, his voice shouldn’t do things like that to me.
“Very special,” Caleb added, leaning close to pour more coffee and sniffing my hair again.
“Unique,” Marcus finished, his hand now resting on my thigh under the table.
Right. Cool. Totally normal breakfast conversation.
I reached for more bacon, the shirt slipping farther off my shoulder. The sound of another fork bending made me look up. Marcus was staring at my exposed collarbone like it had personally offended him.
“You know,” I said conversationally, “at this rate you’ll need new silverware by lunch.”
“Lunch.” Jorge perked up from where he was pretending not to watch us. “You should stay for lunch as well. I’ll make that moussaka you enjoyed at Athena’s—”
“How do you know what food I like?”
“Caleb suggested I try making Greek dishes. He was quite enthusiastic about how much you enjoyed Athena’s cooking.”
I turned to Caleb, who suddenly found his coffee fascinating. “And how exactly did my food preferences become a topic of conversation?”
“I… might have mentioned your reaction to the food at Athena’s.”
“Uh-huh.” I narrowed my eyes. “And did you also happen to mention my coffee order? My shoe size? My blood type?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marcus cut in smoothly. Then, under his breath, he added, “The blood type was in your medical records.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“More pancakes?” Derek offered quickly.
I opened my mouth to protest, but movement caught my eye. Through the massive kitchen windows, I could see… was that security? Multiple men in tactical gear patrolling the grounds?
“Okay, seriously?” I gestured at the window. “What is with this town and tactical gear? Is there some sort of paramilitary gardening club I should know about?”
Caleb choked on his coffee again. Marcus’ hand tightened on my thigh. Derek just looked proud, like excessive security was a personal achievement.
“Protection,” Derek said simply.
“From what? Aggressive deer? Militant squirrels?”
“You’d be surprised,” Caleb muttered, earning twin glares from his brothers.
I shifted in my chair, very aware that I was basically pantless in a house full of security.
“You should stay here,” Marcus said suddenly, like he’d been waiting to say it all morning. “Until the pipes are fixed. It’ll be a few hours.”
The pipe repair was going to be a whole other nightmare. Maybe I could sell a kidney? Take out another loan on top of my student loans? Decisions, decisions.
“The pipe repair will be covered by insurance,” Marcus said as if he could read my mind.
I blinked. “There’s insurance on the cottage?”
“Of course.” He looked completely certain. “I’m sure of it.”
Hope bloomed in my chest. One less organ I’d have to sell. “Really?”
“Really,” all three brothers answered, exchanging one of those looks that seemed to contain entire conversations.
“Kai.” Marcus’ voice held something that made my spine tingle. “Stay.”
Maybe it was the way he said it or how Derek was looking at me like he’d personally carry me to a guest room if I refused or how Caleb was leaning across the counter with that mischievous grin, but…
“Okay,” I heard myself say. “Until the pipes are fixed.”
The satisfied looks on their faces should have worried me more than it did.
What exactly had I just agreed to?