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Marcus’ fingers traced up my spine, making me shiver. “You were saying?”

“I don’t…” I swallowed hard. “I don’t remember.”

A wolf howled somewhere in the distance, breaking whatever spell had fallen over us. I stepped away quickly, my face burning. “Right! Tour. We were touring. Historically. Let’s… let’s do that.”

The brothers exchanged another one of those looks that seemed to hold entire conversations, but they kept their distance as we continued through the manor. Though I noticed they always managed to stay close enough to catch me if I stumbled, which I blamed entirely on the uneven historical flooring and not at all on the way they kept looking at me.

“You’re swaying,” Marcus observed eventually, his arm sliding more securely around my waist. “Perhaps we should continue the tour tomorrow. When you’re less… floaty.”

“I’m not that drunk,” I protested, even as I leaned into his warmth. “Just… contemplating historical significance. Very seriously.”

Caleb’s laugh was warm. “Come on, lightweight. Let’s get you to bed before you start trying to solve centuries-old family mysteries.”

As they led me toward the guest wing, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just scratched the surface of something much deeper than local history. The way the brothers moved around me, protective and possessive all at once. The looks they kept exchanging. The strange familiarity of rooms I’d never seen before.

But maybe that was just the wine talking. After all, what mysteries could an old family like the Stones possibly have?

Besides the obvious one of how they all managed to look like they’d walked straight off a luxury magazine spread. But that was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, I was just going to focus on walking straight and not thinking about how good Marcus’ hand felt on my back. Or how Derek’s eyes seemed to glow in the firelight. Or how Caleb’s smile made my stomach flip.

Definitely the wine’s fault. All of it.

Right?

The guest suite was larger than my entire cottage. Decorated in soothing shades of cream and gold, it managed to be both opulent and cozy. A four-poster bed dominated one wall, piled high with what looked like a small fortune in pillows and the kind of sheets that probably had a thread count higher than my bank balance.

Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the moonlit gardens, while a seating area near the fireplace featured the kind of overstuffed chairs you could sink into and never want to leave. The whole room felt warm and inviting, like it had been prepared specifically for me—which was ridiculous, of course. I was just a random guest who’d had too much wine.

“Here you are,” Maria bustled in with an armful of clothes. “These are Miguel’s old pajamas. Too small for him now, but they will fit you perfectly, mi amor. The bathroom has everything you need—fresh towels, new toothbrush, and allthose expensive products. The brothers, they only buy the best quality.”

I followed her gesture toward what I assumed was the en suite bathroom and nearly gasped. The “bathroom” was bigger than my bedroom at the cottage. Gleaming marble surfaces, a shower big enough for a small party, and a deep soaking tub that looked like it could double as a small pool. The counter held an array of high-end toiletries that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

“If you need anything, my room is down the hall,” Maria continued, fussing with the already-perfect bed linens. “The brothers are close too—Marcus in the east wing, Derek in the west, and Caleb in the south. You will sleep well here, cariño. The bed is very comfortable, and you are very safe.”

Something about the way she said ‘safe’ made me pause, but before I could question it, she was shooing me toward the shower. “Go on now, a hot shower will help after all that wine. Sleep well, pequeño.”

The shower was heavenly, with multiple jets and the kind of water pressure that made me never want to leave. Miguel’s old pajamas fit surprisingly well—soft flannel pants and a worn t-shirt that smelled faintly of lavender. I was just about to climb into that ridiculously inviting bed when I heard scratching at the door.

Opening it revealed three pairs of pleading eyes. Shadow, Storm, and Scout sat there looking up at me with expressions that somehow managed to be both regal and pathetic at the same time.

“Really?” I asked them. “This morning I was running naked through the house to get away from you, and now you want a sleepover?”

Shadow’s tail thumped against the floor. Scout actually whined.

“Fine.” I sighed, stepping aside. “But no hogging the bed.”

They filed in with far too much dignity for dogs who’d just been begging at the door. Within moments, they’d arranged themselves around the bed—Shadow claiming the spot nearest my pillow, Storm at the foot, and Scout sprawled across as much space as possible in between.

“Make yourselves at home,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help smiling as I climbed in. The bed was just as comfortable as it looked, and despite my earlier five-hour nap, I drifted off almost immediately. There was something oddly comforting about having three massive wolf-dogs as roommates. Like having my own personal security detail.

The last thing I remembered thinking before sleep claimed me was how strange it was that I felt safer here, in this huge unfamiliar house, than I had anywhere since Mom died. But maybe that was just the wine. Or the thread count. Or the three furry bodyguards already snoring softly around me.

Or maybe…

But sleep pulled me under before I could finish that thought, wrapped in warmth and comfort and the oddest sense of belonging.

Chapter 15

STONE BROTHERS

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