Chapter 20
Gaby barely made it to the bed before collapsing on the edge. “That was brutal,” she muttered, closing her eyes.
Even without her comment, Rhys could see the toll the challenge had taken—arms limp, head lolling, fatigue etched into every line of her posture. He wanted to go to her, to ease the strain in her muscles, but he was ever mindful of the cameras.
He removed his jacket and attended to his own comfort first—in álvarez style—before approaching her.
“Turn,” he ordered as he sat beside her.
Her eyes snapped open, confusion clouding her expression.
“I’m pleased with your performance, Camille,” he said. “A little reward is in order.”
Use of her alias triggered comprehension.
“Thank you, Mr. Blackwood,” she said, slipping back into her role despite her exhaustion, and she turned to give him her back.
He settled his hands on her shoulders, thumbs pressing in. She let her head tip forward, hair sliding over one shoulder, as he worked the muscles held too long in an unnatural position.
“I don’t think my arms will ever be the same,” she whispered, part sigh, part groan.
His thumbs pressed deeper, kneading the tight band of tension. Rhys leaned in, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear. It would read as a master rewarding his muse’s obedience.
“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. “Senor 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,” he said 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.
“álvarez isn’t used to losing.”
“The skeet shooting is a rematch,” Gaby correctly concluded.
“Yes, and it’s more than a game to him. Winning is his identity. He’ll want to reassert his control and prove he’s still the one setting the terms.
“And while he does?”
He met her gaze in the moonlight, unable to miss the sparkle of mist on her skin and lashes. Bloody hell, she was a distraction.
Rhys glanced over her head at the rock walls, the palms above, the open sky masquerading as freedom. At anything other than her to maintain his cool.
“He’ll be focused on me, not his muses. Or mine.”
“Which gives me time to search for Natalie,” she said, understanding dawning.
“You and Mateo,” he clarified.
“But what about security?”
“If anyone asks, you’re taking your daily exercise as your master requires,” he said, certain in a way she wasn’t yet. “No one will question a guest’s companion obeying her master’s commands. Or that she’s guarded as she does so.”
Her eyes narrowed, calculation replacing fatigue. “Natalie is behind that iron gate.”
“Agreed,” he replied.
“How do we get in?”
“You and Mateo will figure it out,” he said. “In the meantime, I’ll give álvarez some stiff competition and keep him occupied.” He didn’t mind the challenge. The company was another matter.
She angled a look up at him. “Have you ever shot skeet?”
“Never. But I’ve had hours of rifle practice.” He shrugged. “How hard could it be? If álvarez thrashes me, he won’t want to stop. All the better for us.”
“Or you beat him,” she countered, “requiring another contest and buying Mateo and me more time.”
His hands settled on her shoulders to drive his next point home. “Don’t challenge anyone directly. You observe. You count. You come back.”
“And if I find her?”
His jaw tightened a fraction. “Then we adjust.”
She nodded once. No dramatics. No hesitation.
“You held your ground tonight,” he murmured. “You earned this.”
Her lips parted. “This?”
“The chance to finish what we came here to do.”
Determination hardened her features, but he didn’t miss the wince when she moved.
He extended his hand toward the water. “It’s not a jacuzzi, but the warm salt water should help.”
She glanced at the rippling pool, a shadow crossing her face. “Are you joining me?”
“As inviting as that looks?” His mouth curved. “Try and stop me.”
Rhys kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his trousers. Before he stepped out of them, he heard a splash.
When he looked up, her dress lay on the stone deck.
A moment later, she broke the surface of the water, slicked back her wet hair, and floated lazily toward the falls.
As he watched the water glisten over her bare skin, he kept his thoughts in check, focusing on the strength she’d shown tonight, enduring what should never have been asked of her.
Rhys had seen objectification before. In the right context, with consent, it could be liberating.
What álvarez practiced was the opposite.
Choice never entered the equation. It wasn’t dominance and submission as he knew it—it was subjugation and erasure, reshaping the humanity of these young women into silent obedience.
And Gaby had willingly stepped into this space. That took a kind of courage few possessed.
There was so much more to her than he had allowed himself to see.
His friends had recognized it. Leland’s disapproving looks.
Mateo’s cutting-edged comments questioned his intelligence.
Alec’s voice echoed faintly in his head: I let something good slip through my hands once.
Decide… before she makes the call for you.
Excellent advice. He intended to heed it as soon as they were done here.
He searched the pool for her. She had drifted on her back just outside the cascade. Her bare breasts bobbing above the waterline glistened in the moonlight. His body reacted. Did she have any idea how arresting she looked, or what she was doing to him?
He should leave her be until they could talk. That would be the professional thing to do given their mission was underway. And after what she’d just been through. But he didn’t feel professional or considerate. He was on edge, and the need to be near her tugged at him like an irresistible force.
Rhys found himself walking down the steps into the pool. Toward the woman he couldn’t get enough of, not away.
He dove under the water, surfacing in front of her.
Surprised, she jerked upright, water sloshing around her.
Reaching out to steady her, he said low, “Didn’t mean to startle you. Feel better?”
“Physically, yes.”
“What besides the obvious is bothering you?”
“álvarez isn’t a man who likes to lose. He’ll punish her,” Gaby whispered, staring at the water. “I wish I could help her.”
Rhys brushed a wet strand from her cheek, already beginning to curl in the humidity. “We stop him. That’s how we help her. That’s how we help all of them.”
“The end justifies the means,” she concluded, frowning. “At what cost?”
“None of this is justified, Gaby,” he replied quietly. “But it ends when we succeed.”
She leaned briefly against him. The burbling of the falls stirred a memory, and, when she lifted her head, he saw it mirrored in her eyes.
Everything else fell away. Not dominance. Not cover. Not criminals or would-be kings. Just two people—exhausted, emotionally raw, but still standing. Their lips met, soft and searching, reminding more than demanding.