Page 48 of Marked

“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.

---