Gaby slid out and joined Rhys, lowering her voice. “How did they get here?”
“They followed in another vehicle,” he replied as they climbed the rain-slick steps side by side. “We don’t rely on Álvarez’s good graces to leave. If things go sideways, we walk out on our terms.”
She took a moment to absorb that. “There are intricacies to this I didn’t consider.”
“You have your part,” he said simply. “They have theirs.”
“And you oversee it all.”
He only shrugged, revealing the kind of easy confidence that made it clear he saw leadership as a simple fact, not a burden.
Before she could respond, Álvarez appeared at the top of the steps, framed by the glow of the terrace behind him, a smile sharp enough to cut glass.
“Welcome, Mr. Blackwood,” he said smoothly, extending a hand, all charm and refined menace. “I’m delighted you accepted my invitation.”
Rhys gripped his hand, pumping once before releasing it, which was longer than she could have tolerated. “I like to keep tabs on my fellow collectors. How could I say no?”
Álvarez tensed then seemed to recognize his humor. He chuckled, though it rang cold. “And your adversaries,si?
“I understand the quest for ownership,” Rhys replied, matching his cadence.
“As any true collector would.” His gaze slid to Gaby, lingering far too long. Heat prickled beneath her skin, not from the climate but from the sensation of being appraised and catalogued. “Who is this exquisite creature?”
“This is Camille. She’s mine.”
Álvarez’s expression sobered. “She behaves outside of a controlled setting?”
“She behaves exactly as I require.” Rhys’s fingers brushed her lower back. Lightly, with barely a breath of contact. “She’s very well trained.”
Although she’d prepared for it, hearing them speak about her—not to her—like she was livestock was appalling. A small shudder rippled through her before she could stop it. She leaned instinctively toward Rhys, eyes lowered, chin tucked. She knew he’d understand the reaction, but prayed Álvarez would misread it as submission, not instinctive self-preservation against the vile predator in front of her.
His slow appraisal dipped to her throat, her breasts, her hips. “She is young, but not too much so,” Álvarez mused. “Unlike me, your taste runs toward a bit more… seasoning, shall we say?”
Gaby fought the urge to react as an image of Natalie came to mind: terrified, alone, possibly trapped in a place ruled by this man’s whims.
Álvarez swept an arm toward the terrace. “Come in. Enjoy yourself.”
Notyourselves. Just Rhys. Here, only his pleasure mattered.
“There is champagne, food, music,” he continued. “I personally curated the guest list. Make connections, Mr. Blackwood. This gathering separates the appropriate from the unworthy.”
The odd turn of phrase would have confused the unsuspecting. But this was a vetting. The word didn’t need to be spoken.
As they climbed a flight of stone stairs, Rhys’s hand brushed hers. He noticed before she did that her fingers had curled into fists. Her nails bit crescents into her palms, and though it wasn’t easy, she forced herself to relax.
“He’s repulsive,” Rhys murmured under his breath, pitched for her ears alone. “But try not to let it show.”
“I’ll do my best, but I should’ve practiced being furniture.”
His hand moved to her back, warm and reassuring. “Some in the lifestyle find objectification freeing.”
She huffed softly. “That is definitely not my kink.”
“Use my arm if it helps you stay steady. Just try not to leave nail marks. The jacket is Armani. It’s Mateo’s. He’d make me buy him a new one.”
She glanced up just enough to catch the glint of humor in his eyes. That small, unexpected lightness eased the knot of tension in her chest. Not enough to calm her completely, but it made it a little easier to breathe.
The terrace wrapped around the building, and the view from the rear was breathtaking. The ocean stretched endlessly beyond the railing. Above it the last traces of sunset streaked acrossthe darkening sky. To the sides, nearly enveloping them, the rainforest danced with fireflies. Laughter bubbled from clusters of people. Champagne flowed like water. And everywhere she looked, she saw wealth, power, and entitlement.
