Page 30 of The Sole Suspect

“Five thousand.” Dominic’s voice cut through my thoughts.

Blake’s lips curved upward. “Six.”

“Seven.” Dominic never broke eye contact with me.

Something felt off about their rivalry. Blake’s scent held none of the aggressive challenge typical of competing alphas. Instead, there was something almost... orchestrated about their back-and-forth.

“Eight thousand.” Blake examined his nails, the picture of studied indifference.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The tech CEO slumped back in defeat, but I barely noticed.

“Ten thousand.” Dominic’s growl vibrated through my chest, pure alpha dominance flooding the room.

Whispers erupted across the ballroom. The bid was more than three times what any local bachelor had ever commanded at these events. Adelaide’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. This would go a long way toward saving Rosie’s bakery and any other shops fighting to stay afloat.

My knees weakened as Dominic’s scent wrapped around me. Memories of that night in my kitchen flashed through my mind—his hands on my skin, his teeth at my throat, the way he’d made me feel... A rush of heat pooled in my core, unrelated to the stage lights but equally intense.

The crack of Margaret’s gavel jolted me back to reality. “Sold to Mr. Steele for ten thousand dollars! A generous contribution to our restoration fund.”

As I descended the stage steps, Dominic met me at the bottom, his hand settling possessively at my waist. The heat of his palm burned through my vest. Our scents mingled—his spiced fragrance wrapping around my chocolate and leather in a combination that drew knowing looks from nearby guests.

“Mine.” The word ghosted against my ear, too quiet for others to hear.

A hot blush crept across my face. “This is just for charity,” I reminded him, but my racing pulse betrayed me. Another waveof warmth rippled through my body—not quite pre-heat, but a warning of what was approaching.

“Is it?” His thumb stroked my hip, the small gesture sending sparks along my nerve endings.

Blake approached, champagne in hand. “Congratulations, Dom. Money well spent, I’d say.”

Dominic’s arm tightened around my waist. “You enjoyed that far too much.”

“Can you blame me?” Amusement played across Blake’s face as he watched us. “It’s not often I get to watch you lose your infamous control. Though I suspect Leo has that effect naturally.”

My face burned hotter. Before I could formulate a response, Margaret’s voice rang out again.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, Penny Lee of Vintage Vogue!”

The string quartet’s sultry notes wrapped around Penny as he mounted the stage. My best friend owned every step, his emerald suit catching the light in a way that emphasized his lithe omega frame. Pride swelled in my chest—I’d restored the vintage 1950s wingtips he wore to their former glory.

Blake’s playful wink accompanied his opening bid. “Two thousand.”

Several society paddles shot up in quick succession, the amounts climbing steadily. Penny’s cotton candy and citrus scent drifted through the air, sweet but with an edge that spoke of his unique personality.

“Three thousand.” Sebastian Fairfax reclined in his seat with a casual swagger, radiating wealth and status in his impeccably tailored British suit.

“Five.” Victor Fairfax challenged. He was Sebastian’s opposite in every way—from his sleek designer suit to his brash new-wealth confidence.

A sudden hush fell over the crowd.

The married alphas locked eyes across their shared table. Their recent public feud had been the talk of fashion circles, but something deeper than professional disagreement crackled between them. It made my omega instincts prickle with unease. Their gazes shifted to Penny in perfect unison as my friend pranced around the stage, completely oblivious.

“Eight thousand.” Sebastian’s cultured tone sliced through the whispers. He adjusted his platinum cufflinks—a gesture that should have appeared casual but instead radiated controlled aggression.

“Ten thousand.” Victor’s voice carried a sharp edge. His crystal champagne flute trembled slightly in his grip, the only visible crack in his polished facade.

Sebastian’s lip curled, showing off a pair of sharp white canines. “Fifteen.” He refused to look at his husband, though his alpha pheromones flooded the space with territorial challenge.

“Twenty.” The crystal creaked in Victor’s white-knuckled grip.