Page 17 of Hunted By Valentine

“I am,” I confirm as her gaze keeps dipping lower.

“Right this way.”

She places a hand on my elbow, steering me toward the table. A crooked finger beckons, her exaggerated sway offering more than directions. The woman is beautiful, no doubt about it. But it takes much more than beauty to ensnare me. And luckily for her, she doesn’t have anything I want.

As we walk to the table in a secluded corner, I take in the other guests. Most of them are in groups, but there are the odd couple dining alone. At the bar, there are a few singles.

Howcan I tell? The women are seated on the stools while the men lean against the bar. They’re all aware of each other, but the dance of approaching subtly is so choreographed that even the smallest movement counts.

These men think they’re hunting—a wife, a girlfriend, a fleeting conquest. But their prey is already caged, and the irony isn’t lost on me. It’s not a hunt; at least not a worthy one.

“Here we go,” the woman says, pointing at the empty chair at the table. “I’ll give you guys a few minutes to look through the menu.”

Nicklas’ broad back faces me, and beside him is Carolina. My gaze is drawn to Ruby; her raven hair falls in waves, draped over one shoulder, exposing the curve of her neck. The faintest flush of pink blossoms against her pale skin.

She’s still wearing the outfit she wore at the meeting, and it suits her to wear something edgier than pantsuits and whatever else she’s worn in my classroom.

Her eyes are calculating behind a mask of calm. She doesn’t know I’ve already begun dissecting her, reading the flickers of hesitation she can’t quite conceal. She’s too composed, too perfect. And that’s where the cracks begin.

“Good evening,” I announce. They turn, and I catch the flicker of surprise in Ruby’s guarded emerald eyes before she schools her expression into neutrality. I don’t know why she’s surprised, I said I’d join them and I keep my word.

“Valentine, you made it,” Nicklas says, offering a firm handshake.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I reply with practiced ease, sharing a nod with Carolina, whose lips quirk up in a polite smile.

I slide into the seat beside Ruby, my fingers grazing her thigh, featherlight but deliberate. It’s a brief, charged contact, enough to test her composure. She doesn’t pull away, but the faintest tightening of her lips, the pink creeping up her neck, gives her away. The crack in her armor is almost imperceptible, but it’s there—and I savor it.

“Ruby, always a pleasure,” I murmur, close enough that only she can hear the underlying current of my words. There’s a storm brewing in her eyes, a tempest of emotions she fights to keep hidden. But I see them all—the fear, the curiosity, the desperate longing for something more than the gilded cage she’s trapped in.

“Valentine,” she replies, her voice betraying none of the chaos I sense within her.

A waiter appears, a young guy that avoids eye contact with both Nicklas and Carolina at all costs. “W-would you like more wine?” he asks, his tone cracking.

I look at Nicklas and arch an eyebrow. He shrugs and puts his hand on top of his wife’s. “The guy touched her,” he growls, shooting daggers at the kid.

Carolina sighs. “It wasn’t like that. All he did was accidentally brush my—”

“As I said, he touched you.”

I chuckle and look at the poor guy, who can’t be more than twenty-one. “I think we’re fine for now.”

He smiles at me and offers to fill up my glass, which I allow him to do. It’s a small thing, but it’s putting him at ease around me. Skittish people can often sense if there’s a threat nearby, and I don’t need him to be alert. Let him think that Nicklas is the biggest and meanest predator at the table.

The conversation drifts like smoke, wafting toward the charity project that’s Carolina’s pet cause. I lean back, swirling the wine in my glass as I listen to her outline plans with more passion than precision. It’s the perfect opening.

“Strategic planning is everything,” I say, letting my words stretch like silk. “At Holloway University, we’ve mastered community engagement.” My gaze drifts, locking with Ruby’s for a brief moment before she looks away—her retreat is small but telling.

“Really? Tell us more,” Carolina urges, leaning in.

“A personal touch is important,” I stress, recounting tales of galas and auctions that drew in the elite with their wallets wide open. “It’s about creating an experience that resonates, something memorable.”

Nicklas nods, his dark eyes calculating as he digests my words. His focus is intense, but I’m not here to play with him. Well, not really. Though I suppose by playing with his sister, I’m playing him as well. Hmm.

“Carolina, your vision could be revolutionary with the right execution,” I say, my attention deliberately on her. I want to see Ruby step into the light, to claim her place as more than an outsider.

“You really think so?” she asks, happiness coating every word. “This project is a dream for me. It’s, ahh, as personal as it can get. So I want to make sure I get it right.”

“You will, Hellcat,” Nicklas murmurs, lifting her hand so he can kiss the palm. “You don’t know how to fail.”

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