Page 66 of Marked

The look of absolute horror on Jorge’s face sent me into another fit of giggles. Even Marcus cracked a smile, though his hand had somehow found its way to my knee under the table, thumb tracing small circles that were very distracting.

A warm nose nudged my hand, and I automatically slipped Shadow a small piece of chicken from the chicken salad before I could stop myself.

“Kai!” Maria’s scandalized gasp made me jump. “You’re spoiling them! They’ll never leave you alone now.”

“Too late,” Derek rumbled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Shadow’s already claimed him.”

The paella was heavenly, but it was hard to focus on the food with three pairs of eyes watching my every move like I was performing a private show. Marcus’ hand hadn’t left my knee, his thumb tracing lazy circles that were not helping my concentration. Every time I lifted my fork, I could feel Derek’s gaze tracking the movement, his own food barely touched.

“Try the shrimp,” Caleb murmured, leaning close enough that his breath tickled my ear. He speared one with his fork and offered it to me, his eyes dancing with mischief.

I blamed the wine for the way my cheeks heated as I accepted it. The shrimp was perfect, and I couldn’t quite hold back a small sound of appreciation. All three brothers shifted in their seats.

Shadow chose that moment to whine softly, his massive head heavy on my lap. Those soulful eyes looked up at me pleadingly.

“Don’t you dare,” Maria warned, but I was already sneaking him another piece of chicken under the table. “Dios mío! You’re worse than the brothers!”

Miguel’s phone chimed again, and his face lit up in that now-familiar way. “Anna’s still mad about this afternoon,” he announced, his expression darkening slightly. “Says you scared her half to death yelling about the pillows, Marcus.”

I winced, guilt flooding through me. “I knew it. Those are family heirlooms. I’m so sorry about the whole… pillow incident. The dogs just caught me off guard and—”

“The pillows are fine,” Marcus cut in smoothly, though his hand tightened slightly on my knee. “It was my fault for overreacting.”

Maria muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “foolish wolves and their pillows” under her breath.

“Still,” Miguel frowned at his phone, “you didn’t have to make her cry. She’s been working here for three years and never—”

“Miguel.” Derek’s voice held a warning note, though his ears had turned slightly pink. “We’ll make it right with Anna.”

“We’ll give her tomorrow off. With pay,” Marcus added, clearly trying to smooth things over. “And a bonus for emotional distress.”

Miguel’s eyes narrowed. “You know that Prada bag she’s been saving up for? The one she keeps showing me on her phone?”

“The burgundy one?” Caleb perked up, catching on quick.

“Mm-hmm. The one that costs three months of her salary.”

Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Miguel—”

“I’m just saying”—Miguel shrugged, the picture of innocence—“it would make a really nice apology gift. Especially since she cried. For an hour. In her car. Before driving home.”

Derek actually winced. “Fine. Send us the link.”

“And flowers,” Caleb added quickly. “From that place in Bellingham she likes.”

“Done,” Marcus agreed, looking like he’d rather face a firing squad than continue this conversation. “Have it all delivered to her house tomorrow.”

I sank lower in my chair, mortification warring with the wine’s pleasant buzz. “I really am sorry about the pillows. I didn’t mean to cause trouble between—”

“You didn’t cause anything,” Caleb assured me, his shoulder pressing warmly against mine. “The pillows are replaceable. Anna’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

Miguel’s expression had softened into smugness as he typed on his phone. “I’ll send you the link. And her address. And the flower shop details. And maybe links to a few matching accessories…”

“Don’t push it,” Derek growled, but there was no heat in it.

“Tell her I’m sorry too!” I called after Miguel’s retreating back, then muttered into my wineglass, “though I still maintain those dogs are secretly tactical assault units.”

“More wine?” Caleb offered, clearly eager to change the subject.

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