Chapter 20 #2
Rhys remembered the possibility of eyes on them. It didn’t stop him from drawing her into the shadow of the falls, where the water thundered and swallowed the world. Their mouths met again—deeper this time, unhurried, the kind of kiss that carried history and promise all at once.
Her hands slid up his chest, fingers spreading as if she needed to feel him solid beneath her palms. He answered, one arm curving around her back, the other threading into her hair, pulling her close until there was no space left to question.
The water lapped at their waists, warm and restless. He felt her breath stutter against his mouth, felt the subtle shift when she rose into him, not asking… choosing. That choice undid him more thoroughly than any touch.
He lowered his forehead to hers, a brief pause, a last moment of control. “Tell me to stop,” he insisted.
She shook her head. “I don’t want to.”
That was all it took.
He lifted her easily, her legs curving around him as if they’d always known where to go.
The stone behind her was cool, the water warm.
He sank into her softness, the contrast enough to pull a sound from her throat that he caught with his mouth.
He stilled, savoring the feel of her around him.
Then he moved with intention, as if every second mattered, because it did.
Her fingers slid into his hair, her body answering his in a slow, inevitable rhythm that left no room for doubt. He followed her cues, stayed with her, until the tension he’d been carrying since the dining room—since the pedestals, the candles, the stillness—finally broke.
Rhys covered her lips, as much to capture her cries of pleasure as to smother his.
After, he stayed where he was, embedded deep, holding her there, his forehead resting against her shoulder as the water rushed around them and the night crept back in.
He drew back just enough to look at her, his hands still firm at her waist. “When this is done, we don’t hide anything. I swear it.”
Her gaze lingered on his, searching before her arms slid around his neck, and her head found his shoulder. His hands rose, one gliding up her back, the other threading gently into her damp curls, holding her.
What passed between them wasn’t clarity. It was a pause. A choice to stand together a little longer. For now, that was enough.
They lingered there for a few heartbeats, simply breathing the same moonlit air, reluctant to let the moment slip away. But they had to.
“We should get back,” he murmured.
Still silent, she nodded.
Together, they moved toward the steps, fingers loosely entwined. Before leaving the shadow of the falls, Rhys released her hand and took the lead. She fell into place behind him—Camille restored.
When they emerged dripping, they scanned the grotto for towels.
“Apparently, we drip-dry,” he said.
Right on cue, a housemaid appeared, nearly tripping in her haste, arms full of plush white towels and two glasses beaded with condensation. Too quick. Too well-timed.
Rhys passed a towel to Gaby. She turned her back, bringing her hair forward so she could wrap it around her shoulders.
The servant inhaled sharply. “Farfalla,” she whispered.
The word charged the air. They both turned to her slowly.
“What did you say?” Rhys asked.
The servant swallowed hard, eyes fixed on Gaby’s back, and retreated a step.
“My tattoo,” Gaby pressed. “You recognize it.”
The servant shook her head quickly. “Not that one. Red. Rossa.”
Rhys stepped closer to her. Not threatening, just present. Impossible to ignore. “Where?”
Fear darted across the servant’s face. “I shouldn’t say—”
“Too late,” Rhys intoned. “You’ve already spoken.”
Gaby’s breath left her in a rush. “Please. She’s only nineteen. Where can we find her?”
A shadow of guilt, maybe pity, changed her expression. Convinced, she whispered, “The east wing.”
“Behind the metal gate?” Rhys asked.
“Si. That is where he keeps them. I must go,” she said, already fleeing up the rock steps.
Gaby stood frozen, swaying slightly. “She’s here,” she said at last.
Rhys’s hand settled briefly at her back, a steady, reassuring touch. But she could tell his mind was already three moves ahead. Everything had changed. Witness verification meant probable cause. Phase Two was no longer theoretical.
He pulled her with him to their discarded clothes.
“Dress quickly,” he said, pulling on his pants and shirts without bothering with the towel.
Her hands were shaking, and he had to help her with her dress, clinging to her damp skin like plastic wrap.
He retrieved his boots without putting them on and grabbed her hand.
“Walk with me,” he murmured.
They moved past the pool and into the trees.
“This way,” a voice said from the shadows. Mateo.
“Where are we going?” she asked, confused as they followed him.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to, stopping beside Mateo, who stood over an outflow channel that wound through palms and vegetation down a slope to the sea.
Rhys dropped one boot and removed a thin vial from a compartment in his heel.
The liquid inside shimmered faintly in the dark, a pale, spectral blue.
“Bioluminescent plankton is a natural phenomenon in Costa Rica,” he said under his breath. “It blooms brighter when agitated. Once it hits the open water, it will mark this entire coastline.”
“A signal,” she breathed.
“The drones will pick up the signature,” he confirmed then emptied the vial into the flowing water.
“How long before they respond?”
“By morning,” he predicted.
For several heartbeats, it looked no different than the water around it. Then a pale glow began to bloom beneath the surface, faint at first, then brighter as it spread through the channel and flowed toward the sea.
Gaby stared at it, awe and dread tangling in her chest.
Rhys rose slowly, eyes fixed on the luminous trail diffusing into the dark water below. “There’s no turning back now.”
Despite the weight of the words, certainty settled in. They weren’t just surviving this place. They were about to end it.
***
The lights were low, the island muted to surf and wind, and the weight of what they’d discovered pressed in from every direction.
Gaby stood at the window, arms folded around herself, staring out at the dark water where the bioluminescent trail had vanished into blackness.
Rhys watched her for a moment before moving in behind her.
“You should rest,” he said softly, hands curling around her shoulders, needing to offer her reassurance, cameras be damned.
She gave a short, humorless breath. “I don’t think my body got that memo.”
He nodded, understanding without needing more.
They changed in silence, moving in parallel, exhausted, wired, and painfully aware of the day waiting on the other side of sleep.
Gaby slipped into bed first, curling instinctively toward the far edge, as though trying to leave him room he hadn’t asked for.
Rhys hesitated, staring at the space between them, feeling the weight of everything he owed her and couldn’t yet say. But not here, in the middle of the mission.
He shut off the last light and joined her. The mattress settled beneath them, and in the stillness, every breath seemed to carry.
Gaby broke the quiet first. “Rhys?”
“Yes.”
“If something goes wrong tomorrow…”
He turned his head toward her, even though he couldn’t see her clearly in the dark.
“It won’t.”
“But if it does,” she insisted.
He rolled onto his side and, slowly, carefully, drew her into him. Not a possessive pull. Not urgent. Just sheltering.
She settled against his chest, cheek resting over his heart.
He needed her closer. One arm came around her shoulders, the other anchoring at her back, holding her with a quiet resolve that had nothing to do with dominance and everything to do with protection.
“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.