Chapter 8
Gaby walked into the main house and paused, letting the golden candlelight and the familiar thrum of music wash over her. How many times had she told herself she wouldn’t be back? Yet here she was.
She had bigger fish to fry, but the club pulled at her anyway. Its energy was vibrant, magnetic. There were people here she considered friends. And something about this place had awakened a part of her she hadn’t known existed.
Or maybe it stirred to life the night she’d met Rhys.
She shook the thought off. She was moving on. That’s what they both wanted.
Lying to yourself, Gabriella? Is that what you’re doing, now?
Pushing aside the nagging voice in her head, she moved deeper into the house. Saffron and rose curled through the air, mingled with sea salt and leather. The scent was unmistakably Devil’s Pointe, luxury edged with dark romance.
Near the lounge entrance, she spotted Greta.
For once, the petite dynamo wasn’t working.
She was perched sideways in her husband’s lap, her hand resting trustingly against his chest. Michael had broad shoulders and thick forearms. He was sheer power contained, and he dwarfed her.
His palm stroked slowly along her spine, fingers idly playing with the drape of her dress.
Greta laughed softly at whatever he said.
Her body leaned into his strength, her mouth brushing his.
The contrast between them was striking. Greta looked delicate, almost breakable, but everyone knew the steel coiled beneath her petite frame.
And Michael… He could crush her but held her as if she were precious.
He didn’t take what he easily could. He accepted what she willingly yielded because she trusted him enough to do so.
Greta had survived things that would have broken softer women, but she’d found refuge in her gentle giant.
Good for you, Gaby silently cheered.
On a couch in a quiet corner near the wall of windows, she spotted Alec and Emily wrapped around each other.
She was used to seeing her friends together, and the way electricity arced between them, but maybe not so close.
He had his hands spread unapologetically over her ass as he spoke to her.
Something teasing, she suspected, because Em’s head tilted, her long dark hair sliding over her shoulder as soft laughter spilled out.
She smiled, genuinely happy for the newly engaged couple.
After years apart, they’d found each other again, reclaiming love, intimacy, and certainty.
Gaby couldn’t deny the pang of envy she felt and regret for what might have been.
She had once been on that path, with a man who’d looked at her like she was enough.
Before anyone could read the longing radiating off her, she turned and walked away.
The patio was mostly empty. Little wonder. It was the peak of the evening, and members were enjoying the play areas. She headed toward the quiet bar and ordered a soda she didn’t want.
As she gripped the cold glass, questioning yet again why she’d come tonight, she felt the faint prickle of awareness. Although she told herself not to, she looked.
Rhys stood by the patio door. Even though she saw him at work every day, it struck her differently here. He wore his standard club uniform: black shirt open at the throat and snug black pants. His eyes scanned the room, reading everything and everyone.
Before they landed on her, she swiveled and faced the bar, pulse kicking up. She took a gulp of her drink.
Don’t spiral. Don’t hope. Don’t even look at him.
In the midst of her pep talk, willing herself to calm before she bolted for the nearest exit, a voice said from beside her, “You look at Langston like he’s a sweet treat you’ve sworn off, but still crave.”
She controlled a flinch at his spot-on observation then turned. It was one of the men who’d spoken to her last time, still criminally attractive and painfully observant.
“Do I?” she asked, aiming for nonchalant.
Gaby knew she had failed when he chuckled softly. “Now you have the look of someone trying to decide whether to stay or bolt.”
She huffed a breath. “You’re very perceptive. It’s been a long week. It could go either way.”
“Submissive doesn’t mean doormat,” he said simply. “You could approach him. Offer a scene. Maybe get the answer you’re seeking. Or get him out of your system.”
Her fingers tightened on the glass. “That’s impossible. We work together.”
“Mmm. That complicates things.” His expression softened. “Then you’re stuck, little subbie. Which means you move forward or you find another club.” With a slight chin lift that wished her luck, the dom, who had never introduced himself, left her alone with her decision.
She didn’t want another club or anyone else. She wanted Rhys. But as the old song went, you can’t always get what you want.
Choosing escape, Gaby abandoned the bar. Head down, praying no one noticed her, she slipped toward the shadowed path leading to the front lot and walked straight into Rhys.
Out of town, my ass.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Dev’s question from weeks ago echoed through her. She cleared her throat and replied, “I could ask you the same. I was told you were working.”
“Plans changed. Is that why you came tonight? To avoid me?”
“No, I… uh…”
The dom’s advice replayed in her head. Get the answer you’re seeking. Or get him out of your system. This was her chance.
“I can’t get that night out of my head,” she blurted before she lost her nerve. “The waterfall. The swing. You. I’ve tried.”
His eyes darkened, a tell he didn’t catch in time. She was just as surprised when he admitted, “Neither can I, Gaby. Nothing seems to be working.”
Her pulse lurched. “Then why does it feel like you’re pretending it didn’t matter?”
His hand lifted before he seemed aware of it, fingers brushing her wrist in a fleeting, conflicted touch that seared all the way down her spine. “Because I don’t trust myself around you,” he said. “And I don’t trust what that night meant anymore.”
“I wasn’t playing a role with you, Rhys. Not then. It meant something to me,” she said softly.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I’m beginning to see that.”
The words were steady. Careful. And worse than a denial.
He wanted her, but didn’t trust her, didn’t trust them together. It wasn’t a hard no. He could change his mind, eventually. But that left her suspended between hope and heartbreak. It wasn’t a state she’d wish on anyone.
“I should go,” she murmured before she cried. Or worse, begged.
She moved past him, pulse hammering as she slipped toward the shadowed path beyond the bar. Almost free but wanting a man who clearly didn’t want to want her, not free at all.
His fingers closed around her wrist and spun her back, momentum carrying her straight into his chest. In that moment, his grip was firm, decisive. No hesitation. No apology.
Turbulent blue eyes met hers a split second before his mouth came down on hers—hungry, possessive, burning with everything he tried to deny.
Her hands fisted in his shirt as heat tore through her. The kiss left no room for doubt or distance or restraint.
A splash, an outraged shriek, and giggles broke the spell.
Rhys broke the kiss instantly. The sudden shift was brutal. The man she’d had under the moonlight vanished as his armor locked back into place.
“Much has changed since that night,” he said, the rasp in his voice the only sign he was affected. “We have to find a way to work together.”
Her throat constricted, and her chest ached. Her confession, their kiss, had changed nothing.
“And this isn’t it,” she breathed, stepping away from him. “Good night, Rhys.”
This time, he let her go, and she didn’t look back. If she had, she might have cried and begged after all.