Don’t spiral. Don’t hope. Don’t even look at him.
In the midst of her pep talk, willing herself to calm before she bolted for the nearest exit, a voice said from beside her, “You look at Langston like he’s a sweet treat you’ve sworn off, but still crave.”
She controlled a flinch at his spot-on observation then turned. It was one of the men who’d spoken to her last time, still criminally attractive and painfully observant.
“Do I?” she asked, aiming for nonchalant.
Gaby knew she had failed when he chuckled softly. “Now you have the look of someone trying to decide whether to stay or bolt.”
She huffed a breath. “You’re very perceptive. It’s been a long week. It could go either way.”
“Submissive doesn’t mean doormat,” he said simply. “You could approach him. Offer a scene. Maybe get the answer you’re seeking. Or get him out of your system.”
Her fingers tightened on the glass. “That’s impossible. We work together.”
“Mmm. That complicates things.” His expression softened. “Then you’re stuck, little subbie. Which means you move forward or you find another club.” With a slight chin lift that wished her luck, the dom, who had never introduced himself, left her alone with her decision.
She didn’t want another club or anyone else.She wanted Rhys. But as the old song went, you can’t always get what you want.
Choosing escape, Gaby abandoned the bar. Head down, praying no one noticed her, she slipped toward the shadowed path leading to the front lot and walked straight into Rhys.
Out of town, my ass.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Dev’s question from weeks ago echoed through her. She cleared her throat and replied, “I could ask you the same. I was told you were working.”
“Plans changed. Is that why you came tonight? To avoid me?”
“No, I… uh…”
The dom’s advice replayed in her head.Get the answer you’re seeking. Or get him out of your system.This was her chance.
“I can’t get that night out of my head,” she blurted before she lost her nerve. “The waterfall. The swing. You. I’ve tried.”
His eyes darkened, a tell he didn’t catch in time. She was just as surprised when he admitted, “Neither can I, Gaby. Nothing seems to be working.”
Her pulse lurched. “Then why does it feel like you’re pretending it didn’t matter?”
His hand lifted before he seemed aware of it, fingers brushing her wrist in a fleeting, conflicted touch that seared all the way down her spine. “Because I don’t trust myself around you,” he said. “And I don’t trust what that night meant anymore.”
“I wasn’t playing a role with you, Rhys. Not then. It meant something to me,” she said softly.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I’m beginning to see that.”
The words were steady. Careful. And worse than a denial.
He wanted her, but didn’t trust her, didn’t trust them together. It wasn’t a hard no. He could change his mind,eventually. But that left her suspended between hope and heartbreak. It wasn’t a state she’d wish on anyone.
“I should go,” she murmured before she cried. Or worse, begged.
She moved past him, pulse hammering as she slipped toward the shadowed path beyond the bar. Almost free but wanting a man who clearly didn’t want to want her, not free at all.
His fingers closed around her wrist and spun her back, momentum carrying her straight into his chest. In that moment, his grip was firm, decisive. No hesitation. No apology.
Turbulent blue eyes met hers a split second before his mouth came down on hers—hungry, possessive, burning with everything he tried to deny.
Her hands fisted in his shirt as heat tore through her. The kiss left no room for doubt or distance or restraint.
