Chapter 14
Rain hammered the mountainside as the limo crawled toward their mountaintop villa, sheets of water slashing sideways across the windshield. Palms bent under the force of the wind, their fronds thrashing like warning flags.
“We’ve lost Leland and Mateo,” Rhys said, reaching into his jacket pocket for his phone.
Gaby twisted in her seat, peering through the rain-blurred rear window. She hadn’t seen him look back. He just knew. His instincts were well-honed and almost always right, which she was grateful for, even if it unsettled her a little.
There was nothing he could do about what came next. “No signal,” he muttered, jaw flexing as he checked his screen.
The driver glanced at them in the mirror. “The storm strengthened more than expected,” he said in heavily accented English. “We’re under a tropical storm warning now.”
Her stomach twisted. Tropical storms, even hurricanes, weren’t uncommon in Miami. Central America was an unknown.
“The airport?” Rhys asked.
“Already closed,” the driver said grimly. “But the system is expected to move through quickly. That’s good news, since this area tends to flood.”
She didn’t find anything about this good, especially with the road behind them already disappearing. “How do we reach the guys?” she asked softly, just for Rhys.
“For now, it looks like we don’t.”
When the limo finally stopped, Rhys took the key from the driver. He glanced toward the villa, which was barely visible in the driving rain. “There are lights on. At least there’s power.”
“A generator, too, and plenty of food,” the driver added. “To us, this is a spring rain, but we stay prepared.”
Rhys glanced her way. “We’ll have to make a run for it.”
Gaby kicked her heels off and followed him into the deluge. The rain was warm but relentless, plastering her dress to her skin. By the time they stumbled through the villa door, the adrenaline had drained away, leaving her cold and shaking.
She turned to see the brake lights vanish just before a gust of wind slammed the door shut. It barely muted the roar of the storm bearing down on them.
“Why do I get the feeling it’s going to get worse before it gets better?”
“Because you’re a Florida girl who has lived through this before,” Rhys said as he searched for a wall switch.
When the lights flicked on, they both took in their storm shelter for the night.
The villa was stunning, with high ceilings, dark wood beams, sand-colored walls, and modern furniture softened by woven textures and tropical greenery.
Glass doors lined one side of the living area.
When lightning flashed, it gave her a blurred view of the storm thrashing the palms outside, but she couldn’t see past them.
She shivered even more.
Rhys wasn’t faring much better. His shirt clung to him, nearly transparent, outlining every hard line she’d spent weeks trying not to remember. Water dripped from his hair, down his jaw, along the column of his throat. He raked a hand through it with a low exhale.
“We’re dripping everywhere,” he muttered.
Before she could reply, he disappeared down a short hall, his footsteps muffled by a thick runner. Left alone, the villa suddenly felt smaller. Too close. Too personal.
Thunder cracked overhead, loud enough to make her jump.
Then Rhys returned barefoot, shirt gone, a thick white towel slung around his neck, another folded over his arm. “álvarez doesn’t skimp on amenities.”
Before she could protest, he wrapped the towel around her shoulders. His hands moved over her arms in slow, firm strokes, rubbing warmth back into her skin. His touch was purely practical, but her breath caught anyway.
“There,” he murmured. “Better?”
She nodded, acutely aware of how close he was. She felt his warmth, caught the scent of rain on his skin, and saw the quiet concentration in his eyes. His thumbs brushed just inside the towel’s edge, lingering a fraction too long.
“We should change into dry clothes.”
“Dry clothes,” she whispered. “Right.”
Still, neither of them moved.
Except for his lips, which tilted upward. He lifted a damp curl from her cheek, her sleek blowout ruined, her hair springing back into the spirals she’d tried to hide. He tugged lightly, letting it coil around his finger.
“This is more like the Gaby I know.”
Maybe it was the storm, or the night, or just the way he said her name, like it meant something, but a response slipped out before she could stop it. “I thought you didn’t like that Gaby.”
His hand stilled. The smile faded. “Liking you was never the problem.”
“Trusting me is,” she said, finishing what he didn’t say. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze head-on. “I played a role because I had to. But with you, I never lied about my feelings. Not once. And I’m not about to start.”
He didn’t deny it or try to soften it. But his hand slid from her hair to her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek with devastating familiarity. She leaned into his touch before she could stop herself.
That was all it took.
The restraint he’d held onto for weeks—the distance, the discipline, the careful lines—snapped like a thread pulled too tight. His forehead touched hers. And for a suspended heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then he kissed her, slowly at first, as if he were testing whether this was real or another moment he’d force himself to forget. When she opened for him, the restraint shattered.
His lips grew hungry, tongue sweeping inside as he pulled her closer.
With a whimper of longing, Gaby rose on her toes, hands fisting in his damp shirt, needing him nearer.
He answered with a low sound in his throat and swept her into his arms as if he’d been waiting for permission he no longer needed.
It wasn’t frantic. It just felt inevitable.
He guided her backward, step by deliberate step, until her back met the arm of the oversized couch. His hands framed her there, not trapping, not crowding, simply claiming the space between them.
“I want you,” he said gruffly. “But this isn’t the club. We’re coworkers. I won’t cross a line we can’t come back from.”
“I think we crossed that line when you took me over your knee for ‘practice.’”
A faint curve touched his lips, not quite a smile, not quite a warning. “So we did. But I need you to say the words because once you do, I’m not holding back.”
The storm rattled the shutters, rain pounding against the roof. But the real storm was between them. The weeks of tension, desire, and unspoken truths finally broke open.
“I don’t want you to hold back, Rhys. I’m done pretending I don’t want you.” She strained on her toes enough for her lips to brush his. “Or that I don’t want this,” she breathed.
His mouth crashed onto hers, no hesitation, no restraint. The kiss was fire and fury as he pulled her closer, lifting her off her feet like he couldn’t stand the distance anymore.
She clung to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her through the villa like she weighed nothing. He didn’t ask where. The couch. The bed. The wall. It didn’t matter.
He chose a bed and laid her down. Beneath his hands the towel and dress gave way.
They roamed her body, exploring curves and valleys, sending a shiver racing through her that chased away the last whispers of doubt.
His mouth found her neck, her breasts, and descended her trembling belly.
She held her breath, anticipating more, but then he shifted, rising above her.
“You’re mine tonight,” he said, his turbulent blue eyes burning into hers. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she gasped.
“Louder.”
“I’m yours. Rhys. All of me,” she cried, arching into him.
That released the last of his restraint. His head dipped, a deep growl rumbling in his chest as he recaptured her lips. His knee nudged her thighs apart and aligned their hips.
The air, thick and humid, vibrated less from the storm and more from their unbridled desire. She breathed out, half sigh, half moan, as the warm head of his shaft glided through wetness.
Had she ever yearned to be possessed with such fierce intensity? When he slid into her with a slow, deliberate thrust, a profound sense of fullness and undeniable completeness washed over her, and she knew the answer was a resounding no.
Still, that was just a taste. His fingers laced through hers, and he pinned her hands above her head, eyes blazing into hers, as he moved inside her.
The rhythmic friction intensified, and she couldn’t look away, mesmerized by the man and his second-nature dominance.
Every touch, every command, every breath was Rhys unleashed. And she craved all of it.
He took her as if he’d been waiting a lifetime, driving her higher with every deliberate plunge and withdrawal, and every whispered demand. She met him stroke for stroke, yielding not because she was weak but because she chose to. Because, with him, surrender felt like strength.
Her fingers curled into his, and her heels dug into his backside when the storm within her finally broke. She cried out, shuddering with wave after wave of pleasure. Rhys followed close behind, his shout rivaling the booming thunder vibrating through the house.
He lay above her, breath ragged, his face in the bend of her neck. “Bloody hell, woman. What you do to me,” he whispered. “I tried so damn hard to resist this.”
She smiled, fingers tracing the smooth muscles of his back. “Honestly, I’m glad you couldn’t. This is the only way to ride out a storm.”
His head came up. Steel-blue darkened to black as his gaze traveled over her. Not restrained but also not casual. As if this mattered. As if she mattered. Then his eyes flashed, and he rolled onto his back, with her on top.
“I believe I did all the riding. Your turn.”
Her laugh was breathless. But when he wrapped a hand around her nape and pulled her down, his lips claiming hers once again, she was as guilty as him. Unable to resist.
***