“If something goes wrong,” he echoed. “I will find you. Come hell or high water.”
A slow breath left her as she eased into him, the tension in her body uncoiling at last.
They stayed like that, neither speaking, neither sleeping, listening to the sea and each other’s breathing, sharing warmth and resolve in equal measure.
There was nothing sexual about it. And yet it was the most intimate thing they’d done all night.
Chapter 21
Gaby stood at the open balcony doors, listening to the surf crashing onto the beach below. She hadn’t slept. Neither had Rhys. She’d known it by the way his breathing never quite deepened, by the tension that lingered even in rest.
When she turned, he was already dressed and had become crisp, controlled Lucien Blackwood once more. The tailored lines of his clothes erased the man who had held her through the night, replacing him with the art dealer Álvarez expected.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then the distant echo of footsteps and voices drifted up from the estate grounds as the island came to life.
“It’s time,” Rhys announced quietly.
She nodded.
They left the guest suite together and moved down the west wing corridor, its long stretch of glass opening to the Pacific. Sunlight glittered off the water, blue and endless, the view deceptively peaceful.
The smell hit her halfway down the hall. Bacon, coffee, and something freshly baked. Probably rich and indulgent. Exactly what Álvarez believed men like him deserved before sport.
Gaby’s stomach growled, loud enough for Rhys to hear.
He glanced down at her, a faint crease forming between his brows. “You didn’t eat dinner last night.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t recall it being offered. Not that I was hungry after… that.”
“You’ll need something on your stomach this morning,” he said decisively as the corridor opened into the main house.
The grand foyer rose around them, three stories of stone and glass, meant to impress. Álvarez was waiting near the center of the space, flanked by men in dark shooting jackets, gloves, and boots. His gaze swept over Rhys’s suit, his lip curling faintly.
Rhys evidently hadn’t gotten the wardrobe memo.
Gaby bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking. These self-indulgent, entitled men, wrapped in their expensive costumes, had no idea how foolish they looked beside him. Or how inferior.
“Lucien,” Álvarez greeted smoothly. “I trust you rested well.”
Rhys inclined his head. “I did.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the dining room. “Though I woke with a fierce appetite. Must be all the fresh, salty air.”
Álvarez smiled thinly. “We’ll have refreshments available at the range. We shouldn’t keep the targets waiting.”
“What about Camille? She won’t be joining us but still needs to eat.”
His attention slid to Gaby, brief and dismissive. She was unimportant, after all. A possession, not a person.
“Have her dine with my muses,” Álvarez said, waving his hand as if he couldn’t be bothered with such minutiae, already moving away.
Rhys stepped closer to her, his voice pitched low. “An invitation,” he murmured. “It doesn’t get any easier than that.”
As he passed, his arm brushed hers, subtle and unremarkable to anyone watching. To her, deliberate and encouraging.
Rhys followed Álvarez and the others. His spine stiffened. She felt the moment he wanted to look back. And didn’t.
When he disappeared around the corner, Gaby was alone for the first time since arriving on the island. Strangely, it wasn’t freeing. It was unsettling. She’d grown used to looking over and finding him there.
