Page 36 of Marked

“If anything feels weird—like,anything—call me.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. It’s just dinner.”

“Just dinner. With a mysterious mechanic. Be careful, okay? And text me. A lot.”

“Yes,mom. Going now.” I hung up before he could threaten me with Imo’s protective rituals.

I glanced at the time and jumped up. Twenty-five minutes to get ready for thisdefinitely not a serial killerdinner date. At least I had time for a quick shower.

As I headed for the bathroom, I tried to ignore the little voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like Luke, listing all the ways this could go horribly wrong. But really, what was the worst that could happen?

I’d barely managed to towel off from my emergency freshening-up shower when I heard the purr of an engine outside. A glance at my phone confirmed it was exactly six o’clock. Of course Mr. Perfect would be precisely on time. Because apparently one overwhelmingly attractive Stone brother wasn’t enough for one day—now I had to deal with another one.

“Please let there be something decent to wear,” I muttered, rifling through my sad excuse for a wardrobe.

I ended up in my best-fitting jeans—the ones that had earned me more than a few appreciative glances, thank you very much—and a plain black t-shirt that had seen better days but at least didn’t have any holes. Mom always said simplicity was elegant. I was going with “minimalist chic.”

When I opened the door, I nearly swallowed my tongue. Caleb Stone stood there looking like he’d just stepped off a photo shoot, all dangerous grace in perfectly fitted jeans and a leather jacket.

“Ready to go?” He flashed that movie star smile that probably made angels weep.

“Sure, just let me grab my designer everything—oh wait.” I gestured at my basic ensemble. “This is what you get when you spring dinner plans on someone who’s living out of boxes.”

Caleb’s laugh was warm and genuine. “You look perfect.” His eyes did this slow sweep that made me feel like I was wearing a lot less than department store basics, lingering just a moment too long on areas that made my face heat. “The car’s this way.”

‘The car’ turned out to be some kind of sports car that looked more appropriate for a Formula 1 track than the backroads of Washington state. “Compensating for something?” I couldn’t help asking as he opened the passenger door.

“Why don’t you find out?” He winked, and I felt my face heat.

“Does that line usually work for you?”

“You tell me,” he said, sliding into the driver’s seat with unfair grace. “Is it working?”

I buckled my seat belt, hoping the darkness hid my blush. “You’re something else, Caleb Stone.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” His grin was visible even in the dim light as he pulled away from the curb.

The interior was all soft leather and subtle lighting, everything screaming luxury and money. Just like everything else about the Stone brothers, apparently. I tried not to think about how the seat seemed to cradle me perfectly or how Caleb’s cologne mixed with the leather scent was doing dangerous things to my concentration.

“So,” Caleb said as we purred down the winding road, the engine humming like a satisfied cat, “I heard you had quite the adventure with Marcus today.”

“Oh God.” I slumped in the ridiculously comfortable seat. “Did he tell you about the coffee incident?”

“The ten-thousand-dollar suit?” Caleb’s grin was teasing. “He might have mentioned it.”

“Ten thousand?” I squeaked. “For a suit?”

“Welcome to the world of Marcus Stone.” He chuckled.

“Does your brother always personally escort strangers around town?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

Something flickered across Caleb’s face before his easy smile returned. “Only the special ones.”

The way he said ‘special’ made my skin tingle. Or maybe that was just the way his hand brushed mine when he reached for the gear shift. Either way, I needed to change the subject before my body could betray me further.

“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going, or is this the part where you reveal you’re actually a serial killer?” I asked, watching the trees blur past my window.

“If I was a serial killer, would I tell you?” He shot me a playful grin. “Don’t worry, I know this amazing Mediterranean place in the next town over. The owner’s this incredible Greek woman who treats her recipes like state secrets.”

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