Then he saw it. Not the hazy, distant look that often followed a well-played scene. Her eyes were too clear. She was watching him. Trying to understand the deliberate space he’d put between them.
His chest tightened. He recognized that look from the field. From safe houses and hospital rooms, from people who had just realized someone they trusted to hold them steady—hadn’t.
He’d taken her all the way there then retreated as if he’d never been part of it. What should have been affirming and powerful, connecting them, had instead fractured under his restraint. Could he come back from this? Did he want to?
Bloody hell!
He crouched in front of her, lowering himself to her level, keeping his voice calm and steady. “You did great, Gaby.”. Hiswords of praise sounded like an afterthought, even to him, because they were. He cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m good,” she said, hesitating just long enough to confirm what he already knew.
But she wasn’t good. The words were right, not the tone. This was hurt wrapped in careful composure.
Though he knew he shouldn’t, that it would just add to the confusion, he reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t lean into the touch either. The difference was subtle but devastating.
Rhys swallowed, jaw tightening. He would not want this for any submissive, this sense of being held and then set aside without rhyme or reason. But the truth he refused to face pressed in all the same.
He hadn’t withdrawn because the scene demanded it. He’d retreated because real closeness risked exposure, and vulnerability.
Gaby’s eyes lifted to his. “I can’t do this anymore,” she said softly.
He thought he knew what she meant, but he needed to hear it. “What can’t you do?”
“This,” she repeated. “The emotional whiplash. You push me away with one hand but pull me close with the other. I don’t know where I stand.”
No matter the truth, the words landed like a slap. “Gaby, I—”
She cut him off gently. “I don’t know what happened in your past. You won’t tell me. But I deserve better. After the mission, we go back to being strictly professionals. No practice, no exploration, no more scenes.”
When she turned to leave, Rhys couldn’t breathe.
“Wait.” He gripped her hand tighter, keeping her there.
Why had he stopped her when making a clean break from a forty-year-old man who didn’t have his head on straight wasthe best thing for her? Because this was the opposite of what he wanted her to feel after being with him. And because deep down, he didn’t want her to walk away.
But he released her, not crowding her or turning instinct into pressure. Instead, he forced himself to be the dom he should have been from the start. “How are you getting home?”
If his practical concern surprised her, she didn’t show it. Her mouth curved faintly, almost sadly. “Emily and Alec are here,” she said. “I’ll ride with them.”
Relief flickered through him. “Right,” he said awkwardly. “I’m glad you won’t be alone.”
She studied his face for a long moment, as though committing something to memory. Or letting it go. Then she nodded.
“Good night, Rhys.”
Notsee you later,orwe’ll talk. Just… good night.
The words hit him hard. He stayed where he was, watching her walk away without looking back.
A few minutes later, fireworks exploded over the river, red, white, and blue scattering across the sky. Everyone turned, faces tipped toward the spectacle. Except Gaby, who threaded through the crowd seemingly unaware. She reached Emily, who listened in silence. Her brow creased as she slipped an arm around her shoulders.
Alec appeared at Rhys’s elbow, looking very domestic with his fiancée’s purse tucked under his arm, and a lightweight sweater draped neatly over his forearm.
“We’re leaving. Gaby’s riding with us, not you.” He glanced through the glass at the two women. “It’s funny how the tables have turned.”
“How so?”
“Me being in the position to give you advice.”
