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Chapter

Twenty-Seven

LEXIE

T he night unfolds like something from a dream, or maybe a movie about how the other half lives.

We start at an exclusive rooftop restaurant where the ma?tre d' greets Jax by name and leads us to a private table with a view of the city skyline.

No menus appear. Instead, the chef himself comes to our table to discuss what we might enjoy.

Yeah, I am definitely underdressed.

And yet, the guys keep stealing glances at me like I'm wearing a shimmering, haute couture ballgown.

"Just bring us your favorites," Jax tells him with confidence. "And a bottle of the Cristal."

I raise an eyebrow at that. "Cristal? Really?"

"What?" Zayn grins. "Too cliché for you?"

"No," I laugh. "Just… extravagant."

"Nothing's too extravagant for a night out with you," Aidan chimes in. "But what do you usually drink?"

I hesitate, already flushed. "Um, red?"

Jax nods, turning back to the sommelier who has materialized at his elbow. "The lady prefers red. Perhaps the 2015 Chateauneuf-du-Pape?"

The sommelier nods approvingly. "An excellent choice, sir."

As he departs, I can't help but laugh. "I have no idea what you just ordered, but it sounded fancy."

"It's good," Darren assures me, his thigh pressed warmly against mine under the table. "Trust me, you'll like it."

The food arrives in waves, delicate appetizers, perfectly cooked entrees, decadent desserts, each more impressive than the last. The conversation flows as easily as the wine, jumping from hockey to fashion to Aidan's latest baking disaster.

Apparently he tried to make macarons and ended up with what Zayn describes as "colorful hockey pucks".

What surprises me most is how normal it feels. Despite the luxurious setting and the fact that heads turn whenever one of the guys is recognized, at its core this is just dinner with people I'm growing to care about. People who seem genuinely interested in my opinions, my work, my life.

People who look at me, a beta woman who makes sweaters for a living, like I'm someone extraordinary.

After dinner, we move to a private club where the music thrums through the floor and the lighting gives everything a sultry glow. A VIP section is cleared for us immediately, champagne and cocktails appearing without being ordered.

"Do you dance?" Aidan asks, looking adorably nervous as he gestures toward the crowded floor.

"Not well," I admit. "But I'm willing to try if you are."

His smile is blinding as he offers his hand, leading me into the mass of bodies moving to the beat.

I expect awkwardness. He's so tall, and I'm not exactly a clubbing expert, but Aidan moves with surprising grace for someone his size.

His hands find my waist, respectful but firm, guiding me to match his rhythm.

"You're good at this," I shout over the music, genuinely impressed.

He ducks his head, a flush visible even in the dim lighting. "Hockey requires good footwork," he explains. "And I may have taken a dance class in college. For, uh, credit."

The admission is so unexpectedly charming that I laugh, relaxing into the movement.

One song blends into another, and I find myself passed between partners, from Aidan to Jax, whose controlled dominance on the dance floor matches his demeanor off it.

Next is Dmitri, who doesn't so much dance as sway powerfully, his large hands spanning my waist in a way that makes me acutely aware of how small I am compared to him.

Then Zayn, who moves with sensual purpose, his dark eyes never leaving mine.

His hand on the small of my back feels like burning coals eating through my sweater, and the intensity of his gaze is even hotter.

Finally Darren pulls me close, his body familiar against mine. "Having fun?" he murmurs in my ear, making me shiver.

"More than I expected," I admit, arms looping around his neck. "Your pack knows how to show a girl a good time."

"We're just getting started," he promises, and the rasp in his voice makes my heart skip.

The night continues in a blur of luxury and attention, starting with a private tour of an art installation that should be closed but opens for Dmitri, who apparently is a major donor.

Next up is cocktails at a speakeasy so exclusive it doesn't have a name, just a blue door in an alley where Zayn is greeted like royalty.

And to top it all off, a midnight dessert tasting at a patisserie where Aidan exchanges baking tips with the chef while the rest of us sample exquisite creations.

Through it all, I'm the center of their attention, never smothered, never overwhelmed, but constantly aware that these five extraordinary men are focused on making me feel special.

It's intoxicating in a way that has nothing to do with the champagne and everything to do with the way they look at me, touch me, listen to me.

By the time we pile back into the SUV in the early hours of the morning, I'm floating on a cloud of contentment and excitement.

"Where do you want to go next? Your place or ours?" Darren asks finally, his voice low and intimate in the darkness of the car.

The underlying question is clear. This night doesn't have to end with a chaste goodbye at my door. It could continue, could evolve into something more.

Something involving all of them.

The thought sends a jolt of heat through me, equal parts anxiety and desire. I've only been with Darren so far, only crossed that physical line with him. The others have been respectful, keeping their touches appropriate despite the obvious attraction.

"Yours is probably best," I decide, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice. "My apartment isn't exactly built for entertaining a huge pack. And you're well aware of the sweater situation."

He chuckles. "I don't mind worshiping your body on a stack of wool, but your customers might."

Warmth spreads across my cheek, matching the warmth building between my thighs as Darren strokes my knee.

The city lights blur past the SUV's tinted windows as we wind through nearly empty streets. Did I really just agree to go back to their place? To their mansion after a night of being wined, dined, and treated like royalty?

Yes. Yes, I did.

As we pull into the driveway of their mansion, I'm struck again by the sheer size of the place once more. It's not just big, it's fucking enormous. The kind of home that has history etched into its bones.

"Home sweet home," Aidan says cheerfully as Zayn parks the SUV in the circular drive. "Part two of the evening awaits."

The casual confidence in his voice sends a flutter through me. There's no pressure in his tone, just an easy assurance that whatever comes next will be good. Will be right.

Darren's hand squeezes mine gently as the others climb out of the vehicle. "You okay?" he asks, his voice pitched low for my ears only. "We can always call it a night, get you a cab home if you're tired."

The concern in his eyes is genuine, and it warms something in my chest to know he's giving me an out if I want to take it.

"I'm good," I assure him, leaning in to brush my lips against his. "Better than good, actually."

His answering smile is slow and full of promise. "Then let's not keep them waiting."

The house is quiet as we enter, the late hour wrapping the space in a hushed intimacy that feels both welcoming and slightly charged.

Jax moves ahead, turning on soft lights that illuminates the living room.

Dmitri heads toward what I assume is the kitchen, while Aidan and Zayn linger near us, their movements casual but their eyes tracking me closely.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Aidan asks, already heading toward a sleek bar set up in one corner of the living room.

"Water would be nice," I reply, slipping off my jacket. Darren takes it from me before I can look for somewhere to put it, his fingers brushing mine.

Dmitri returns from the kitchen, a platter of what appears to be artfully arranged cheese, fruit, and chocolate in his hands. "Thought you might be hungry after dancing," he says, his accent slightly thicker than usual as he sets the platter on the coffee table.

"You guys really know how to treat a date," I say, unable to keep the smile from my voice. "First the VIP treatment all over town, now gourmet midnight snacks?"

"We aim to please," Zayn says, dropping onto one end of the large sectional sofa. Despite his relaxed posture, there's something in his eyes that's anything but casual when they meet mine. Something hungry. "You'll find that out soon enough."

My pulse kicks up a notch.

Jax returns from wherever he disappeared to, having shed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his henley to reveal muscular forearms. He's carrying what looks like a stack of soft throw blankets.

"In case you get cold," he explains, setting them on the arm of the sofa nearest to where I'm standing.

It's such a thoughtful gesture that I feel a rush of unexpected warmth. These men are fussing over me like I'm rare and valuable. Like I'm…

Well, an omega.

I never realized just how much of a second class citizen I was in my other relationships until this.

Never had anyone, alpha or otherwise, so devoted to making sure I'm comfortable, fed, warm.

The contrast between their intimidating physical presence and this gentle attentiveness is doing things to me I hadn't anticipated.

Aidan appears at my side, offering a glass of water. "A lovely cabernet, courtesy of the Brita," he teases.

"Thank you, good sir," I say with a giggle, accepting the glass and taking a sip. "Very posh."

Darren's hand finds the small of my back, warm and steady through the fabric of my sweater. "Let's sit," he suggests, guiding me toward the sectional where Zayn is already sprawled at one end.