Page 19 of Hunted By Valentine

“I have the time,” she confirms. “And I’d love to be part of organizing the fundraising and events—”

“Michael understands the importance of the work I do. He wouldn’t interfere,” Nicklas says as he interrupts his sister.

As the food arrives, I lean back and spread my legs, making sure to push one against Ruby. Her breath hitches again and I notice her eyes widening out of the corner of my eye. I press harder and just as I think I’ve gotten all the reactions she’s going to give, I feel a slight pressure against mine.

Hiding my smirk, I slide my fork through the tender flesh of the steak, lifting it to my lips as I maintain a polite gaze on Carolina. Her laughter fills the air, light and carefree, but I catch the slight furrow in her brow when I drop an offhand remark about the unpredictability of investors.

“You can never be too careful when working with investors,” I murmur, the words hanging between us like a veiled threat. Looking at Nicklas, I add, “You need to make sure you have contracts in place to keep people from changing their minds later on.”

“God, yes,” she agrees, but I see the uncertainty flash in her eyes.

Since Nicklas has already suggested I spend more time with Ruby, there’s no point in sowing these seeds apart from… I want to see what happens.

“You think anyone is going to be stupid enough to risk angering me?” he challenges.

“Forgive me,” I laugh as I take another bite of my food. He doesn’t look away while I chew and swallow. “Another occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”

“Nick,” Carolina scolds, lightly swatting his arm.

He finally smiles. “I’m just kidding,” he grins. “Well, kind of.”

I hear the warning in his words, and I know I need to dial it in. It won’t do any good to have a man like him looking too closely at me.

“Contracts are a great idea,” Ruby says, daintily wiping her mouth with the cloth napkin. “It’ll show people that we’re not taking it lightly. Why risk relying solely on our… err, your family name when we can show them right away how serious we are?”

There we go; there’s the Ruby Simmons I was hoping to coax out. The one with an opinion. Seeing her square her shoulders and lift her chin is enough to make my cock twitch.

We finish off our food, and as soon as the last bite has disappeared, three waiters materialize to carry the plates away. The only one who takes them up on the offer of dessert is Carolina, who asks for the molten lava chocolate cake to go.

While the married couple engage in a private conversation, I turn to Ruby. “This project is Willow’s legacy, right?”

“I guess you can call it that,” she confirms.

“Tell me,” I say, my voice low and intimate, “have you thought about your legacy, Ruby? The mark you’ll leave when this fleeting world moves on without you?”

Herglass pauses mid-air, that fortress of hers bristling at the siege. Her composure falters, just for a second. It’s almost imperceptible, but in that instant, I see the doubt flicker in her eyes. The question has unsettled her, nudged her toward the edge of her carefully constructed persona.

She recovers quickly, but not fast enough. “I’m more concerned with the present,” she replies, her voice smooth but with an edge of defensiveness. “A legacy is for people with something to prove.”

I smile, the predator in me sharpening its claws. “Or something to lose.”

Again, I move my hand under the table. Only this time, I don’t just graze her thigh, I circle the top part, dangerously close to her core. She arches an eyebrow, and just as I’m about to give up on getting more from her, she licks her lips and parts her legs more.

The silence between us stretches, thick with unspoken implications. Nicklas and Carolina continue their idle chatter, unaware of the tension coiling tighter between Ruby and me. She knows I’m watching her closely now, waiting for the next crack to appear.

“I’d like to believe I have nothing to lose,” she finally says, her voice soft but resolute. A bold statement. But it’s a lie.

“And yet,” I murmur, my fingers lightly tracing her inner thigh under the table, “everyone does.”

With an inaudible gasp, she places her hand on top of mine. But she doesn’t stop me, it’s like she wants it along for the ride. Her hand is warm, her pulse quickening ever so slightly.

She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she lets the contact linger, as if testing her own boundaries while wrestling with the temptation to retreat, to reassert control, but there’s something holding her in place. Curiosity, perhaps. Or the thrill of standing at the edge of something unknown.

“Okay, I’ll play.” Her eyes, pools of molten emerald, flicker with an uncertain flame as she meets my stare. She shifts in her seat, and adds pressure onto my hand, guiding it to her heat. “I believe we all strive to leave something behind,” she answers, her controlled tone betraying the slightest tremor.

“Ah, but what?” I press, leaning slightly closer, invading her space with the mere suggestion of intimacy. “Is it merely our actions, or perhaps something more?” With each word, I harden my touch, making sure she feels it through the barrier of her clothes.

She sets her glass down. “You speak as if there is something beyond the tangible,” she says, skepticism lacing her words.

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