Page 23 of Captivated By Alphas 1, Fated (The Blood Moon Chronicle #4)

Twice, when I had to serve his side of the table, his fingers brushed against mine as I set down a dish or refilled his water glass.

Each time, that same electric current shot up my arm, and each time, I caught the subtle curve of his lips that told me the contact was entirely deliberate.

Worse, each time I felt that same weird urge to lower my eyes, to show my neck, to somehow demonstrate that I wasn’t challenging him.

What was with that? I’d never been the submissive type in my life.

By midafternoon, the lunch dishes had been cleared and the kitchen had settled into that brief lull before dinner preparations would begin. I was just thinking about escaping back to the cottage when Madi caught my attention.

“Eli, there you are!” Madi exclaimed. “I need you to run into town for me. Ravenswood Cleaners called, and they close early today.”

“I can drive you,” Jace offered immediately, appearing from nowhere like some sort of gorgeous ninja.

“That’s not necessary,” I said quickly, practically tripping over my own words in my haste to escape another one-on-one encounter. “I have my car.”

“You should go now before they close,” Madi said, “You’ll be back in time to help with dinner preparations.”

I nodded, grateful for the escape from Jace’s overwhelming presence. “I’ll head out right away.”

Twenty-eight minutes later, I was speed walking through downtown Ravenswood with all the casual nonchalance of someone who definitely wasn’t freaking out about being pinned against a wall by Jace Carmichael earlier that morning.

The cleaners’ errand had been blessedly normal—no movie stars asking me to dinner, no almost-kisses, no mysterious urges to bare my throat to anyone.

Just regular, boring errand stuff, the kind of life I had before yesterday.

I was trying desperately not to think about how Jace had looked at me this morning—that hungry, possessive gaze that made my insides feel like melted butter.

Or how his scent—that intoxicating blend of sandalwood and cedar—had wrapped around me like a physical touch.

Or how my body had practically begged to submit to him, my neck tilting without permission, my knees going weak like some swooning heroine in a bargain bin romance novel.

And I was absolutely NOT thinking about how different it felt compared to yesterday’s bathroom encounter—more intense somehow, like whatever weird effect he had on me was growing stronger.

As if my body was tuning itself to his frequency with each interaction, becoming more sensitive to his presence.

That couldn’t be normal, right? People don’t just develop increasingly intense physical reactions to other people.

Except apparently I did, at least when it came to Jace Carmichael.

I tossed the garment bag into my passenger seat and cranked the AC, which responded with its usual asthmatic wheeze.

The temperature had hit ridiculous levels for Washington—like the universe thought we were suddenly Southern California or something.

Sweat plastered my t-shirt to my back, and my skin felt weirdly tight, almost itchy with discomfort.

“This is fine,” I muttered to my dashboard. “Totally normal day. Just grabbed some dry cleaning after nearly kissing Jace Carmichael in the hallway. Standard Tuesday activities.”

My lips still tingled from the almost-kiss, phantom pressure from something that hadn’t even happened.

If Mom hadn’t called up those stairs… would I have melted completely against him?

Would that overwhelming scent of his have consumed me entirely?

Would I have made embarrassing noises that would haunt me for the rest of my natural life?

Signs pointed to yes on all counts, which was both terrifying and weirdly thrilling.

The worst part wasn’t even the embarrassment—it was the disappointment.

That strange, hollow ache in my chest when he’d pulled away, like I’d been denied something essential.

Like some part of me I didn’t even know existed was throwing a tantrum over the interrupted moment.

Get it together, Eli. He’s just a guy. An unfairly gorgeous, impossibly magnetic guy who smells like everything you’ve ever wanted and makes your body respond in ways that should probably be studied by scientists, but still just a guy.

My brain kept replaying that moment on loop—Jace’s fingers tangled in my hair, his body practically pressed against mine, those blue eyes darkening to gold as he leaned in… Nope. Not thinking about it. Absolutely not.

I made a split-second decision and turned off the main road, taking the winding path that led to my secret spot. I’d discovered the hidden lake two summers ago, and it had become my personal escape pod when life at the estate got too weird.

As I pulled into the small clearing, something inside me immediately settled, like some restless animal finally finding its den.

This place was mine. No one else ever came here.

Just me and the trees and the water and blessed silence.

No gorgeous movie stars with boundary issues, no confusing physical reactions I couldn’t explain, no mothers giving me suspicious looks.

God, the heat was killing me. I’ve always been weirdly sensitive to temperature—while everyone else celebrates rare Washington sunshine, I’m the weirdo dreaming about snowstorms and glacier dips.

Today was especially brutal, making my skin feel like it belonged to someone else—too tight, too hot, too everything.

The lake looked like something from a travel brochure for “Places You Can’t Afford to Visit.

” Clear blue water, perfectly still except for the occasional ripple when a fish jumped.

It was practically begging me to dive in—like those sirens from mythology, except instead of luring sailors to their doom, it was just tempting one overheated graphic design student into making questionable life choices.

I did a quick 360° check—completely alone, as always—and made what was either a brilliant or catastrophically stupid decision. Knowing my luck lately, probably the latter.

“Just a quick dip,” I told a nearby chipmunk, who judged me silently from a tree branch. “Ten minutes, tops. Then back to reality and whatever the hell Jace meant by ‘dinner.’”

I stripped down with the efficiency of someone who’s absolutely certain they’re alone, leaving my clothes in a neat pile because apparently even when skinny-dipping, I can’t turn off my inner neat freak.

The first touch of water against my overheated skin was better than any drug—not that I’d know, but I’m assuming this level of instant relief isn’t standard for legal substances.

I pushed off from the shore with strong strokes, heading for deeper water.

There’s something ridiculously freeing about swimming naked—no constraints, no expectations, no pretending to be someone I’m not.

Just me, the water, and the weird sense of rightness that always comes when I’m surrounded by wilderness instead of people.

Floating on my back, I stared up at the sky through the dappled tree canopy, trying to empty my mind of all the questions spinning through it.

Why had Jace looked at me like that? Why had my body responded so weirdly to him?

Why did I suddenly want to bare my throat when his eyes changed color?

And most importantly, was I losing my mind, or was Jace Carmichael—actual Hollywood A-lister Jace Carmichael—really interested in me?

I was so deep in my own thoughts that I almost missed it—that prickly feeling at the back of my neck that screamed I was being watched.

Suddenly, my senses went into overdrive, like someone had cranked all my dials to eleven.

I could smell pine and expensive cologne, hear the soft shift of weight on forest debris, even feel the subtle change in air currents.

What the actual hell? Since when did I have superhero-level awareness?

I flipped over, scanning the shoreline while treading water, and—

Oh.

You have GOT to be kidding me.

Because standing at the edge of the trees, looking like some GQ “Wilderness Edition” photoshoot come to life, was Adrian freaking Carmichael.

The universe wasn’t just messing with me anymore—it was actively trolling me. Twenty-four hours ago, I’d never had a single awkward naked encounter with any Carmichael. Now I was batting a thousand. What’s next? Cole Carmichael hiding in the bushes with a camera?

“Seriously?” I called out, my voice coming out higher than intended. “The ONE time I decide to skinny-dip? Is this some kind of cosmic joke?”