Page 65 of Dangerous Obsession
“You’re willing to do that again?”
“I will if I have to,” she replied.
Dev’s gaze met Rhys’s over her head. “I’ve always said subs are steel wrapped in satin. People often mistake them as weak.”
“Stupid too,” he replied. “Especially one with a fetish for justice.”
“You see me standing here, don’t you?”
With her proving their point, they chuckled, Rhys squeezing her tighter.
Dev gave them both one last look before heading out into the steamy darkness. When the lock clicked softly behind him, Rhys didn’t move right away. Neither did she.
His hand continued to move slowly through her hair while his other remained firmly at her back, making it clear he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.
“Sure you’re okay?” he asked finally.
Gaby nodded against his chest before immediately shaking her head instead. “Not really.”
Rhys hummed quietly in acknowledgment, as if that answer made perfect sense to him.
“It would’ve been easier with someone else,” she admitted after a moment.
His hand stilled.
Gaby pulled away enough to look at him. “Not because of the scene,” she clarified quickly. “Because it was you. What we have is special. That felt… wrong.”
Understanding moved slowly over his face. And underneath it—regret.
“For me too,” Rhys murmured. He exhaled slowly and rested his forehead briefly against hers. “I hated every second of it.”
“You hid it well.”
“That was the idea.”
A tired laugh escaped her. “Oscar-worthy…” Her amusement rapidly faded. “When you changed… I knew it was part of the scene, but for a second—”
His hand brushed lightly along her spine.
“You believed it.”
She nodded.
Pain crossed his face. Rhys lifted a hand, brushing his knuckles along her cheek. “I would never take your choice away from you. Not for a scene or for a case. Not for anything.”
Emotion climbed into her throat. Even at the cross, even with half the room watching, she had known. The fake Rhys felt wrong precisely because the real Rhys never would.
“Come upstairs, love,” he said softly. “Let me take care of you properly.”
And God help her—that nearly broke her more than the scene itself had.
Chapter 17
Julia stepped out of the shower, clean at last, the sour bite from the red cooking wine Tyra had accidentally spilled all over her finally gone from her skin. Her catering blacks were already sealed in a plastic bag for the linen service; the wine-stained underwear underneath had gone straight into the trash.
She wrapped a towel around her hair, working frizz tamer through the damp waves, when a chirp cut through the bathroom. She paused mid-rub, puzzling what it was, when it chirped again.
“The smoke alarm,” she muttered.
