“You were brilliant,” he murmured. “You deserve a little TLC. If the massage doesn’t help, there’s a jacuzzi tub in the bathroom. We can soak and talk there.”
A knock sounded at the door.
They both stilled.
Rhys rose and crossed to the door, opening it just enough for a steward to hand him a note. He read it, suppressing the satisfaction that followed.
The man cleared his throat. “Señor Álvarez awaits your response, sir.”
“Tell him I will be delighted to join him.”
The man inclined his head. “I shall escort you to the grotto when you are ready.”
Rhys closed the door and returned to her.
“Ready for what?” she asked.
“My reward.”
At her puzzled look, he read the note aloud:
Tomorrow we shall continue our little rivalry.
Skeet shooting. A gentleman’s sport.
Tonight, I invite you to enjoy my private grotto.
“Is the grotto or skeet shooting your reward for me winning?” Gaby wondered aloud.
Rhys smiled, slow and deliberate. “Neither. It’s our opportunity.”
Her frown deepened, but this wasn’t the place to explain.
Moments later, Rhys and Gaby and their small security entourage followed the steward through the twists and turns of the mansion. They stepped from the cool interior into the heavy tropical air.
The steward stopped at the top of a flight of torch-lit steps carved into the rock. “I shall leave you to your privacy, sir,” hesaid respectfully. “But I’ll be nearby. Call out if you should need anything.”
Rhys acknowledged him with a brief nod and continued on.
Iron sconces set into damp stone marked the curving, narrow path. The air cooled with each step, the sound of water growing louder, heavier as they descended.
Around a sharp bend, the steps ended abruptly. Beyond them, the grotto opened into moonlight. It wasn’t a cave as he expected, but a private tropical oasis. Rock walls rose on three sides, the fourth dissolving into palms that arched overhead. Fronds swayed softly in the night breeze, breaking the moon into silver shards that scattered across the water below.
The pool glowed from beneath with an ethereal blue-green light that illuminated the stone basin and the cascade spilling from a carved outcropping twenty feet above. The falls thundered just enough to swallow voices. Perfect for plotting.
Leland took a position at the entrance, his silhouette in the last reaches of torchlight. From there, he could see anyone coming or going.
Mateo moved ahead, skirting the edge of the pool before disappearing into the darker foliage on the far side—present without being seen.
He trusted them to keep them safe, as safe as they could be in an enemy camp.
Rhys didn’t move immediately. His gaze swept the space, taking in the waterlines, the shadows, and the way sound carried and died beneath the falls. No visible cameras. That didn’t mean they weren’t being watched, more likely that Álvarez preferred the illusion of trust here.
Gaby leaned in, her gaze intent, tension tightening her shoulders. Rhys knew she’d rather be tearing the place apart brick by brick than wasting time in the grotto.
“You mentioned this was an opportunity.”
He moved them closer to the cascade, the thunder of it swallowing their voices.
