Turning back to the phone, she said, “Simone had an excellent idea.”
“I heard,” Rhys said dryly.
“Given the caliber of collector we’re courting, tell Dev I’ll need increased security.”
“With his wife involved, was that ever in question?”
She felt a rush of gratitude for Dev. His skill and the formidable team he’d put together made it possible for her to run her gallery without constantly looking over her shoulder, and to wade into the mysteries of the art world without fear.
“Leave the rest to us, Rhys.”
“I’m asking a lot,” he said gently, “but if this works, you might be helping to save not only Gaby’s sister but countless other girls.”
“I hope so,” she murmured, her own brush with trafficking and her family’s complicity still fresh and raw.
She ended the call and met Simone’s gaze.
“Well,” Simone said lightly. “Looks like we’re about to make art history.”
Cari glanced toward the sunlit gallery, already envisioning the room filled with power, money, and men who thought themselves untouchable.
“No,” she said softly. “We’re about to set a trap.”
Chapter 8
Gaby walked into the main house and paused, letting the golden candlelight and the familiar thrum of music wash over her. How many times had she told herself she wouldn’t be back? Yet here she was.
She had bigger fish to fry, but the club pulled at her anyway. Its energy was vibrant, magnetic. There were people here she considered friends. And something about this place had awakened a part of her she hadn’t known existed.
Or maybe it stirred to life the night she’d met Rhys.
She shook the thought off. She was moving on. That’s what they both wanted.
Lying to yourself, Gabriella? Is that what you’re doing, now?
Pushing aside the nagging voice in her head, she moved deeper into the house. Saffron and rose curled through the air, mingled with sea salt and leather. The scent was unmistakably Devil’s Pointe, luxury edged with dark romance.
Near the lounge entrance, she spotted Greta. For once, the petite dynamo wasn’t working. She was perched sideways in her husband’s lap, her hand resting trustingly against his chest. Michael had broad shoulders and thick forearms. He was sheer power contained, and he dwarfed her. His palm stroked slowly along her spine, fingers idly playing with the drape of her dress.Greta laughed softly at whatever he said. Her body leaned into his strength, her mouth brushing his.
The contrast between them was striking. Greta looked delicate, almost breakable, but everyone knew the steel coiled beneath her petite frame. And Michael… He could crush her but held her as if she were precious. He didn’t take what he easily could. He accepted what she willingly yielded because she trusted him enough to do so.
Greta had survived things that would have broken softer women, but she’d found refuge in her gentle giant.
Good for you,Gaby silently cheered.
On a couch in a quiet corner near the wall of windows, she spotted Alec and Emily wrapped around each other. She was used to seeing her friends together, and the way electricity arced between them, but maybe not so close. He had his hands spread unapologetically over her ass as he spoke to her. Something teasing, she suspected, because Em’s head tilted, her long dark hair sliding over her shoulder as soft laughter spilled out.
She smiled, genuinely happy for the newly engaged couple. After years apart, they’d found each other again, reclaiming love, intimacy, and certainty. Gaby couldn’t deny the pang of envy she felt and regret for what might have been. She had once been on that path, with a man who’d looked at her like she was enough.
Before anyone could read the longing radiating off her, she turned and walked away.
The patio was mostly empty. Little wonder. It was the peak of the evening, and members were enjoying the play areas. She headed toward the quiet bar and ordered a soda she didn’t want.
As she gripped the cold glass, questioning yet again why she’d come tonight, she felt the faint prickle of awareness. Although she told herself not to, she looked.
Rhys stood by the patio door. Even though she saw him at work every day, it struck her differently here. He wore hisstandard club uniform: black shirt open at the throat and snug black pants. His eyes scanned the room, reading everything and everyone.
Before they landed on her, she swiveled and faced the bar, pulse kicking up. She took a gulp of her drink.
