“A generator, too, and plenty of food,” the driver added. “To us, this is a spring rain, but we stay prepared.”
Rhys glanced her way. “We’ll have to make a run for it.”
Gaby kicked her heels off and followed him into the deluge. The rain was warm but relentless, plastering her dress to her skin. By the time they stumbled through the villa door, the adrenaline had drained away, leaving her cold and shaking.
She turned to see the brake lights vanish just before a gust of wind slammed the door shut. It barely muted the roar of the storm bearing down on them.
“Why do I get the feeling it’s going to get worse before it gets better?”
“Because you’re a Florida girl who has lived through this before,” Rhys said as he searched for a wall switch.
When the lights flicked on, they both took in their storm shelter for the night. The villa was stunning, with high ceilings, dark wood beams, sand-colored walls, and modern furniture softened by woven textures and tropical greenery. Glass doors lined one side of the living area. When lightning flashed, it gave her a blurred view of the storm thrashing the palms outside, but she couldn’t see past them.
She shivered even more.
Rhys wasn’t faring much better. His shirt clung to him, nearly transparent, outlining every hard line she’d spent weeks trying not to remember. Water dripped from his hair, down his jaw, along the column of his throat. He raked a hand through it with a low exhale.
“We’re dripping everywhere,” he muttered.
Before she could reply, he disappeared down a short hall, his footsteps muffled by a thick runner. Left alone, the villa suddenly felt smaller. Too close. Too personal.
Thunder cracked overhead, loud enough to make her jump.
Then Rhys returned barefoot, shirt gone, a thick white towel slung around his neck, another folded over his arm. “Álvarez doesn’t skimp on amenities.”
Before she could protest, he wrapped the towel around her shoulders. His hands moved over her arms in slow, firm strokes, rubbing warmth back into her skin. His touch was purely practical, but her breath caught anyway.
“There,” he murmured. “Better?”
She nodded, acutely aware of how close he was. She felt his warmth, caught the scent of rain on his skin, and saw the quiet concentration in his eyes. His thumbs brushed just inside the towel’s edge, lingering a fraction too long.
“We should change into dry clothes.”
“Dry clothes,” she whispered. “Right.”
Still, neither of them moved.
Except for his lips, which tilted upward. He lifted a damp curl from her cheek, her sleek blowout ruined, her hair springing back into the spirals she’d tried to hide. He tugged lightly, letting it coil around his finger.
“This is more like the Gaby I know.”
Maybe it was the storm, or the night, or just the way he said her name, like it meant something, but a response slipped out before she could stop it. “I thought you didn’t like that Gaby.”
His hand stilled. The smile faded. “Liking you was never the problem.”
“Trusting me is,” she said, finishing what he didn’t say. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze head-on. “I played a role because I had to. But with you, I never lied about my feelings. Not once. And I’m not about to start.”
He didn’t deny it or try to soften it. But his hand slid from her hair to her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek with devastating familiarity. She leaned into his touch before she could stop herself.
That was all it took.
The restraint he’d held onto for weeks—the distance, the discipline, the careful lines—snapped like a thread pulled too tight. His forehead touched hers. And for a suspended heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then he kissed her, slowly at first, as if he were testing whether this was real or another moment he’d force himself to forget. When she opened for him, the restraint shattered.
His lips grew hungry, tongue sweeping inside as he pulled her closer. With a whimper of longing, Gaby rose on her toes, hands fisting in his damp shirt, needing him nearer. He answered with a low sound in his throat and swept her into his arms as if he’d been waiting for permission he no longer needed.
It wasn’t frantic. It just felt inevitable.
