Chapter 2 #2
They’d shared one scene, but before that, they’d talked. Flirted. He’d shown her around and answered her relentless questions. She’d given her newbie status away, but he hadn’t seemed to mind. They’d really connected, and she couldn’t get him out of her head.
A presence slid into the space beside her.
“You look like a woman who deserves a better drink than soda.”
She glanced up.
Dark-eyed, broad-shouldered, ruggedly handsome in the way men at the Pointe often were. His smile was easy, wicked. Confidence worn like a second skin. On any other night, if steel-blue eyes and a subtle British accent didn’t occupy her every thought, she might have said yes.
“Tonight, ginger ale is all I can handle, I’m afraid.”
His brows lifted, amused. “It sounds like you’ve got a story. I’m a good listener.”
“Thank you, sir. But I’m not good company tonight.”
And you’re not the man my traitorous heart wants.
“Don’t be surprised if I ask again,” he said as he slid off the stool as smoothly as he’d arrived. “I hope your evening improves, little one,” he murmured, brushing her knuckles with his lips.
She watched him go, noting absently how every man here seemed tall enough to dwarf her 5’8” frame—yet all of them insisted on calling her little.
A familiar voice spoke at her other shoulder. “Gaby. We haven’t seen you at the Pointe in weeks. Have you been well?”
She turned to Master Everett, steady, kind-eyed, and perceptive.
He’d checked on her at the charity event, too.
She’d come in third place in the kinky labyrinth race and got her pick of doms for the evening.
Her consolation prize had been a lonely, tear-streaked ride home after Rhys, with a single glance, dismissed her in front of God and everybody.
Tonight, she seemed destined for the same—maybe minus the tears.
“Actually, sir. I’m not feeling great,” she said then lifted her glass. “After this, I’m heading home.”
“Are you okay to drive?”
“Yes, it’s just a little stomach thing.” Another lie.
He held her gaze longer then left, muttering, “Langston’s a damn fool.”
Gaby swiveled on her stool to hop down. But couldn’t seem to do it. To get her keys, she had to go into the house, through the lounge, which was where she’d last seen Rhys emerging from the back hall that led to the theme and playrooms.
He wasn’t alone. Wrapped in his arms, clinging to his neck, body pressed full against his, he carried a woman to an aftercare couch.
A bare thigh peeked out from beneath the blanket she was swathed in.
His hand splayed wide over her back, steady, strong, and protective.
He gave that care easily—to someone else—which speared straight through Gaby’s heart.
There had been no promises between them for more than a scene. But seeing another woman wrapped around him as if she belonged there—as if she’d earned that care, that closeness—cut deep. Too deep.
He’d moved on. Clearly.
So, why couldn’t she?
A sudden pang twisted in her chest. Was this all some twisted white-knight fantasy because he’d swooped in on a mission gone wrong and saved her? Was she confusing trauma bonding with longing?
Did it change the fact that her wanting was all one-sided? Not even a little. She should’ve known better than to look for him where truth and illusion had once blurred so dangerously together.
Gaby drained her ginger ale in two swallows. She hopped down from the stool, likely for the last time. She doubted she’d be back. Not after tonight.
No one stopped her as she crossed the backyard and slipped into the shadows along the side of the house. The path led past the labyrinth, which held nothing but painful memories. Sounds filtered through the tall hedges—laughter, moans, the occasional playful shout.
That hadn’t been her experience. All she remembered was hiding and licking her wounded pride after Rhys’s public rejection.
She hurried faster. Desperate to be out of there. Her plan was to circle around to the front and grab her keys unnoticed.
“Gaby.”
She stopped, closing her eyes. Damn it. She’d been so close.
With a deep steadying breath, she turned. Devil stood in the circle of torchlight near the maze entrance, arms folded, measuring her with uncomfortable insight.
She pasted on a neutral expression, or at least she tried to. “I was just heading out.”
“I see that.” He studied her for a moment, then his dark eyes pinned her with a question. “Why are you here?”
That threw her. “I… uh… thought membership was a benefit of employment.”
“It is. But not everyone takes advantage. Usually, just those in the lifestyle.”
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “I made friends while I was here and was beginning to feel comfortable,” she replied, avoiding his point.
She wasn’t in the lifestyle. She had stepped into it for a reason. With Rhys, she had thought maybe… but now she wasn’t sure.
“I’d hoped to unwind after a long week.”
Unsurprisingly, his brows lifted. Her excuse, even to her, sounded pathetic.
“You can unwind in dozens of places, Gaby. Bars. Restaurants. At home.” He let that settle. “So, let me ask again. Why are you really here?”
Her mouth opened. Closed. An odd squeaky noise came from her throat before she could stop it.
“You don’t have to bleed for him in public to prove anything to anyone,” Dev insisted, his measured words landing harder than any accusation.
He was mostly right, except the public venue didn’t matter; it was convenient. She sought one man’s approval and was ready to submit. But more than anything, she wanted to be chosen.
Her chest tightened with jealousy and longing, and the stubborn refusal to admit what she still wanted. What she’d probably always want.
“I shouldn’t have come,” she whispered.
“You’re right,” Dev agreed, surprising her. “Not until you can admit why you’re here. To me. But more importantly, to yourself.”
Tears pricked behind her eyes, but she forced them down. “I’m going home.”
“I’ll have someone walk you to your car.”
“I’m fine on my own.”
“I’m sure you are,” he said evenly. “But you’re still my responsibility.”
She hesitated then nodded once. “I need to go inside and get my keys.”
He gestured toward a side door she’d never noticed. It led into the lounge. She peered through the glass. Fortunately, Rhys wasn’t in sight.
Inside, she kept her eyes front, avoiding the wall of windows looking out on the backyard. The waterfall, the swing, the whole moonlit world he’d opened for her, belonged to a memory.
The thought of him sharing that space with someone else made it hard to breathe and was entirely her fault. But she’d do it again for Natalie.
***
The current slapped lazily against the pilings, making the dock sway beneath his feet.
Ribbons of light from the club behind him danced across the ink-black water.
Cicadas buzzed loudly enough to drown out the murmur of conversation from the patio.
Other sounds carried on the night air—muted music, the steady cadence of scenes unfolding, the unmistakable rhythm of need being met.
All of it was familiar. None of it called to him.
More than one sub had approached him tonight, tentative but hopeful for the chance to play. He’d disappointed each one, politely declining.
He didn’t want a rotation of willing bodies. He wanted one submissive with brown eyes he couldn’t forget and a smile that disarmed him. Who unsettled him, challenged his control, and made the past loosen its hold long enough to imagine a future.
But she hadn’t been real. None of it had.
Rhys braced his forearms on the railing, exhaustion pulling at him like an undertow. Once, this place had offered escape, control, and enough noise to drown out the ghost in his memory. Lately, it only brought her into focus.
He’d meant to join Leland for that drink. But when he reached the patio and saw Dev and Cari curled together on the deep rattan couch, a week out from their wedding, wrapped in certainty and inextinguishable joy, he changed his mind.
Across from them, Alec and Emily snuggled close despite the heat and humidity. The new ring on her left hand caught the torchlight each time she moved. Lips brushing, they whispered, lost to everything but each other.
He’d had that once. Or thought he did. Now, he felt hollow.
A soft splash nearby pulled him back to moonlight, cool mist, the swing over the waterfall, and the breathless sounds Gaby made when she opened for him. He couldn’t forget the look in her eyes—yearning, unguarded, genuine.
Or so he’d thought.
Footsteps on the wooden planks thudded softly behind him.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Emily said, her tone gentle. “You always retreat to the dock when things get too loud.”
He didn’t turn. “You’re stalking me now, love?”
“Someone has to make sure the broody Englishman doesn’t toss himself into the river.”
People often forgot he was American-born. He didn’t correct her.
She moved into his peripheral vision, mirroring his position at the rail.
“Did you lose your fiancé?” he asked.
“The perimeter alarm went off for the second time. He and Dev are checking it out.”
A quiet moment passed before he said, “And you came to check on me.”
“I’m worried about you. And Gaby. I consider you both my friends.”
“There’s no cause to worry about me.”
She angled toward him, hip against the railing. “I saw you two out by the pool. Together, you burned with a fire even the waterfall couldn’t put out.”
His jaw flexed. “It was good until it wasn’t.” His gaze followed the dark current swirling below. “Lies tend to end that way.”
Emily didn’t look away. “You can’t keep hiding behind your charm and dry sense of humor, Rhys.”
He huffed softly. “It’s worked well enough so far.”
“Late one night, when you were guarding me and I couldn’t sleep,” she said carefully, “you told me you wanted something real.”
The word sank into him like a blade.
London flared behind his eyes—her voice, precise and coldly clinical as she dismantled him from the inside out with her brutal truth.
You fascinated me. I never meant for you to form an attachment, let alone fall in love. I didn’t. I don’t. For that, I’m sorry.
Except, she hadn’t been sorry. Not when her case study came out. When peers praised her insight. It was borderline ethical even though the names had been changed to protect the subject’s identity. His identity.
Even now, the humiliation burned in his bones. To have been studied without his knowledge. Used. He swore never again, and yet…
He stared out across the water, the memory tightening like a band around his ribs.
“Not anymore,” he replied, despite the lengthy pause.
Emily’s voice softened. “You’re judging her too harshly.”
He looked at her finally. “Am I?”
She held his gaze without flinching. “Put your profiler glasses on and really see Gaby. Not the lie. Not the cover. The caring, loyal woman who is so desperate to save her sister, she walked into not only our club but that den of vipers, alone.”
He went rigid, wanting to believe, but his profiler glasses had been clouded before.
“She’s strong,” Emily continued. “Brave. Stubborn as hell. A fighter through and through. And she’s also in love with you.”
His words came low and rough. “Did she tell you that?”
“No, but I can tell.”
He shook his head. “You left out her best trait. She’s an excellent actress. She fooled me—a dom for nearly twenty years—and a trained psychologist. Trust doesn’t survive lies.”
“I don’t think that part was a lie. I’m not very experienced, but I could tell. So could Alec. Gaby didn’t submit to anyone until you,” Emily pointed out.
Her words struck him harder than any accusation.
In the silence that stretched between them, music thrummed like a distant pulse. Laughter wafted down the hill.
Emily wasn’t done. Her voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Maybe ask yourself why that is.”
Having planted a seed of doubt, she left him.
When the soft thud of her retreating footsteps faded, Rhys closed his eyes.
Once again, he’d believed what he wanted to see. Once again, he’d trusted the surface instead of the truth beneath it. And once again, he was the one who paid the price.