Page 61 of Captivated By Alphas 1, Fated (The Blood Moon Chronicle #4)

Ravenswood Heights was even more ridiculous in person than in the pictures I’d seen online.

The building seemed to grow right out of the cliff face, all gleaming glass and natural stone that caught the sunset.

The kind of place where they probably charged you extra just for breathing their fancy air.

“You can close your mouth now,” Adrian murmured, his breath warm against my ear in a way that made my brain cells abandon ship.

I snapped my jaw shut, not even realizing I’d been gawking. “I wasn’t—okay, fine. It’s impressive. But seriously, do they make you show your bank statement at the door, or do they just scan for platinum cards?”

Adrian laughed, the sound vibrating through me where our shoulders pressed together. “Don’t worry. You’re with us.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” I muttered as the car stopped and a valet materialized at the door.

The valet’s eyes widened slightly when he recognized Jace—because of course they did, the man was literally on movie posters worldwide—but maintained his professional poker face with the skill of someone who’d probably served actual royalty.

“Welcome back to Ravenswood Heights, Mr. Carmichael. Gentlemen.” His gaze flickered to me with barely concealed curiosity, probably wondering who the hell I was and what I’d done to deserve being escorted by the holy trinity of gorgeous.

Cole handed over the keys with a tip that made the valet’s eyes widen enough that I was worried they might fall out. “Take care of her.”

“Of course, Mr. Carmichael.”

As we entered the lobby, I tried not to gawk at the soaring ceilings, massive stone fireplace, or wall of windows facing the ocean. I failed miserably. The place screamed “if you have to ask the price, you definitely can’t afford it” in seventeen different languages, all of them expensive.

“Mr. Carmichael!” The ma?tre d’ appeared out of nowhere, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Mr. Carmichael and Mr. Carmichael,” he added, somehow making each identical greeting sound different.

“And guest.” The way he said “guest” made me feel like I should have worn a name tag that said “Hello, My Name Is: Charity Case.”

Private dining room? Of course. The Carmichaels couldn’t possibly eat in the main restaurant. What was next, a personal chef who only cooked for people with more money than small countries?

We were led through the dining area, which was filled with people trying (and failing) to pretend they weren’t staring at us.

I recognized at least three faces from magazines and one actress I was pretty sure had been nominated for an Oscar last year.

The ultra-wealthy were out in force tonight, probably discussing their yacht maintenance schedules and which private island to buy next.

“Is that—?” I whispered to Adrian, nodding toward a woman who looked suspiciously familiar.

“Probably.” He shrugged, his hand settling on my lower back as he guided me through the room. The casual touch sent heat racing up my spine. “The food here is worth the privacy invasion.”

Jace moved to my other side, his hand settling on my opposite hip in a gesture that was both protective and possessive—a clear signal to anyone watching that I was definitely not available for casual conversation.

Cole walked ahead of us, clearing a path through the staring diners with his imposing presence alone.

The ma?tre d’ opened a set of double doors with a flourish that belonged in a period drama, revealing a space that made me stop dead in my tracks.

The private dining room was suspended over the cliff edge, three walls of floor-to-ceiling glass creating the illusion of floating above the ocean.

The fourth wall held a small fireplace, its gentle flames casting a warm glow over the single table set for four.

Outside, the sun was setting, painting the sky in dramatic strokes of orange and pink that reflected off the endless expanse of water below.

“Holy shit,” I breathed, then immediately clapped a hand over my mouth. “I mean—wow. This is… wow.”

Apparently, my extensive vocabulary had been reduced to single-syllable exclamations. Very impressive, Harper. Really showing off that college education.

“Very eloquent,” Cole teased, but his eyes were warm as he watched my reaction.

“You try forming complete sentences when you’re literally dining in the sky,” I shot back, moving toward the windows. The view was spectacular—miles of coastline stretching out below us, the ocean a vast canvas of color as the sun sank toward the horizon.

“Worth the drive?” Jace asked, suddenly beside me with that supernatural quiet that all the Carmichael men seemed to possess.

I nodded, momentarily speechless. “Worth it” didn’t even begin to cover it. “It’s beautiful.”

“We thought you’d appreciate it,” Adrian said from my other side, apparently having teleported there through sheer force of will. “The artistic eye and all.”

The ma?tre d’ cleared his throat discreetly, probably used to people having religious experiences in their dining room. “Shall I seat you gentlemen?”

I found myself sandwiched at the table—Jace to my right, Adrian to my left, and Cole directly across from me. It felt like being the prize in some weird alpha competition, which was both flattering and slightly terrifying.

A sommelier appeared with a bottle already decanted, pouring wine into crystal glasses.

“We selected something special,” Cole said, his eyes never leaving my face as I took a cautious sip.

The wine exploded across my tongue in flavors I didn’t even have names for—it was incredible. “That’s… wow,” I managed eloquently.

“Another rave review,” Adrian teased, leaning closer than necessary in a way that made my pulse jump. “We should put that on the label. ‘Wow.’ —Eli Harper, wine connoisseur.”

“Hey, I’m a graphic design student, not a sommelier,” I protested, taking another sip. “My wine vocabulary consists of ‘red,’ ‘white,’ and ‘is this under ten dollars?’”

“Then we’ll have to expand your education,” Jace said, his knee pressed deliberately against mine under the table in a way that made it hard to focus on anything else.

Adrian’s arm draped across the back of my chair, his fingers “accidentally” brushing my shoulder in touches that definitely weren’t accidental. “Starting with the Carmichael Vineyards Reserve. It’s quite… stimulating to the palate.”

The way he said “stimulating” made it crystal clear we weren’t just talking about wine anymore.

Cole’s eyes narrowed fractionally at Adrian’s move. Apparently, everything was a competition tonight. “The vines were planted by Sebastian Carmichael himself,” he said, leaning forward to refill my glass, his arm brushing mine in a touch that lingered.

The first course arrived—some type of seafood arranged beautifully on black slate plates that probably required a PhD in fine dining to properly appreciate.

“The chef prepared a special tasting menu,” Cole explained, his eyes tracking my every movement as I picked up my fork.

“Is that okay?” Jace asked, his hand somehow finding its way to my knee under the table in a touch that sent heat racing up my thigh.

“Are you kidding? After a week of serving Aunt Josephine’s increasingly slurred drink orders and dodging Cousin Bradley’s finger-snapping, I’m just happy to be on this side of the service equation.”

“Has it been that bad?” Adrian asked, shifting his chair slightly closer to mine. Jace’s hand tightened on my knee in response.

“Let’s just say I’ve developed a new appreciation for my parents’ patience.

” I sighed, trying to ignore the way Jace’s thumb was now tracing small circles on my knee that made it hard to think straight.

“Yesterday, Melissa’s twins decided to play indoor soccer with a vase worth more than my college education. ”

“Did they break it?” Jace asked, his thumb continuing those maddening circles that were slowly driving me insane.

“No, but not for lack of trying. I had to channel my inner Olympic gymnast to save it.” I demonstrated with my hands, nearly knocking over my wineglass in the process. Jace caught it with supernaturally fast reflexes, his fingers wrapping around mine in the process.

“Careful,” he murmured, his eyes holding mine captive. “We wouldn’t want to waste good wine.”

The heat in his gaze made my mouth go dry. “Right.” I swallowed hard. “That would be… wasteful.”

I turned my attention to the food, which seemed safer than the way Jace was looking at me.

The first bite was so good I couldn’t help the small sound that escaped me—something between a moan and a sigh that I immediately regretted when I looked up to find all three cousins watching me with identical expressions of intense focus.

“What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious because they were all staring at me. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Just enjoying your appreciation,” Adrian replied, his voice rougher than before. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “Your expressions are… captivating.”

Jace made a sound low in his throat that might have been a growl, his hand sliding slightly higher on my thigh in a clearly possessive move that made my brain short-circuit.

Cole reached across the table, his fingers brushing mine as he adjusted my napkin with unnecessary precision. “Most people take luxury for granted,” he said. “You don’t.”

“Hard to take for granted what you’ve never had,” I shrugged, increasingly aware I was caught in some weird alpha dominance game that I definitely didn’t understand the rules to.

“Before moving to the estate, my idea of fancy dining was a restaurant where they bring the check in a little folder instead of just slapping it on the table.”

“And now?” Jace asked.