Page 145 of His to Hunt

Interesting. She's maintaining the fiction of financial limitations even as she's just spent fifteen thousand dollars without blinking. Either she's deeper in character than I gave her credit for, or Marcus is being more careful with his money than she anticipated.

"Graham Ellsworth," I say, extending my hand.

"Sophia Reeves," she replies, her handshake firm and confident. "And this is Marcus Pemberton."

Marcus steps forward with the kind of territorial aggression that suggests he views me as a threat to whatever arrangement he has with the lovely Miss Reeves. "Ellsworth... I know that name. You're the one who bought out Harrison Industries last year."

"Among other things," I reply mildly. "Though I try not to make a habit of discussing business at charity events. It tends to spoil the altruistic mood."

Sophia laughs, a genuine sound that transforms her entire face. "How refreshingly honest. Most people here seem to treat charity events as networking opportunities."

"And you don't?" I ask, meeting her eyes directly.

For just a moment, her composure slips, and I catch a glimpse of something sharper underneath the polished surface. Then the mask slides back into place, and she's once again the enthusiastic art lover.

"I suppose everyone has their ulterior motives," she says lightly. "Mine happen to involve beautiful paintings and supporting sick children. Hardly scandalous."

"The most dangerous motives rarely are," I observe, my tone conversational but my meaning clear.

This time her smile doesn't waver, but I see her pupils dilate slightly—the involuntary response of someone who's just recognized a worthy opponent.

"Well," Marcus says, clearly uncomfortable with the undercurrents he can't quite identify, "we should probably arrange payment for the painting. Sophia, darling?—"

"Of course," she says, but her attention remains fixed on me. "It was lovely meeting you, Mr. Ellsworth."

"Likewise, Miss Reeves." I pull out my phone, fingers moving across the screen with practiced efficiency. "I'm having a small gathering at my place next weekend. Nothing formal—just good wine, better conversation, and the kind of art collection that might interest someone with your evident passion for the Hudson River School."

Her phone chimes with an incoming text message. She glances down at it, then back up at me with an expression that might be surprise or might be calculation.

"How did you?—"

"I have my methods," I say with a slight smile. "The question is, do you have the courage to accept an invitation from a dangerous stranger?"

Marcus sputters something about prior commitments and not knowing anything about my reputation, but Sophia holds my gaze steadily.

"I'll consider it," she says finally.

"I hope you do." I incline my head politely to both of them. "Enjoy your Cole, Miss Reeves. Something tells me it's going to be the beginning of a very interesting collection."

I walk away before either of them can respond, leaving behind the faint scent of expensive cologne and the promise of complications to come.

As I rejoin my friends at their table, Sebastian immediately leans over. "Well? How'd it go?"

"Like Christmas morning," I reply, settling back into my seat with the satisfied air of a man who's just discovered his new favorite game. "Absolutely like Christmas morning."

The auction continues around us, but my attention remains split between the proceedings and the woman in red who keeps glancing in my direction when she thinks I'm not looking.

Six months until the next Hunt. Just enough time to unravel the mystery of Miss Sophia Reeves and discover whether she's the predator or the prey.

Either way, I intend to enjoy finding out.

Chapter 2

Delilah Monroe

The scarlet Bainentino dress clings to my body like liquid fire, every stitch precisely tailored to create the illusion of effortless perfection. I've spent three hours getting ready for tonight—hair, makeup, accessories—all carefully calculated to project the image of a woman who belongs in these rarefied circles. The kind of woman who can drop fifteen thousand dollars on a painting without checking her bank balance first.

If only they knew the truth.

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