Was this okay? Was it okay that my body was practically begging for his touch? Was it okay that my heart was hammering not from swimming but from something way more dangerous?
Was it okay that I was forgetting this was a job? “Yeah,” I whispered. “Totally okay.”
His smile was breathtaking in its genuine happiness, transforming his serious features into something almost boyish, and he kissed me again, deeper this time. His hands slid under my thighs, supporting me effortlessly as I tightened my legs around his waist. The water made us weightless, removing the barriers between us as effectively as it had washed away my hesitations.
“Please,” I heard myself say, the word escaping without conscious thought, a naked plea that had nothing to do with my role as companion and everything to do with the desperate want building inside me. My fingers tangled in his hair, holding on as if he might disappear. “Need you,” I moaned as he pushed inside, the initial stretch and burn giving way to a fullness that made stars explode behind my closed eyelids.
As Ricard moved within me, his breath hot against my ear, his hands holding me with both strength and tenderness, I found myself caught between two conflicting truths. My body responded to him with an honesty I couldn't fake, while my mind whispered warnings about the dangers of forgetting why I was here.
Remember who you are,I told myself as pleasure built.Remember who he is. Remember the paycheck.
But as he whispered my name like I was something precious, those distinctions blurred like watercolors in the rain. I pressed my face into Ricard's shoulder, inhaling the scent of his skin, trying to memorize this moment. Right now, we weren’t duke and companion, just two people connecting in the most basic way possible.
And that, I realized as my body shuddered with release, was way more dangerous than any bondage scene could ever be.
Chapter 9
Ricard
Iswirled the amber liquid in my glass, watching the light from the chandeliers dance through the whiskey. The main restaurant at Dove Canyon was a study in understated opulence—dark wood paneling, butter-soft leather booths, and discreet lighting that cast everyone in their most flattering glow. Perfect for discretion, perfect for secrets.
“You seem distracted tonight, my dear boy,” Julius remarked, cutting into his perfectly seared ribeye with surgical precision. “Penny for your thoughts? Though I suspect they're worth considerably more.”
I smiled at my old friend and mentor across the table. I still remembered the day I'd finally admitted my sexuality to him, terrified of rejection. He'd simply poured me another brandy and shared stories of his own decades-long string of discreet male lovers. In my world of rigid protocol and expectation, Julius remained one of the few people with whom I could truly be myself.
“Just tired, perhaps,” I lied, taking a sip of my whiskey. The truth was more complicated. My thoughts kept drifting back to Theo—not just his physical appeal, but the vulnerability I'd glimpsed beneath his professional demeanor. There was something in his eyes when he'd let his guard down, something genuine that I rarely encountered in my world of diplomatic smiles and rehearsed pleasantries.
Julius raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You've never been a convincing liar, Ricard. Not to me, at any rate.” He dabbed at his lips with his napkin. “But very well, keep your secrets for now. Tell me instead how you spent your day.”
Grateful for the change of subject, I cut into my own steak, a dry-aged porterhouse that practically melted beneath my knife. “I had another massage this morning,” I said, the memory of skilled hands working the tension from my muscles still fresh in my mind. “Different masseur this time. Equally talented, if somewhat more... enthusiastic in his attention to detail.”
Julius chuckled, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “I should hope so. The services here don't come cheaply.”
“After that, I participated in a yoga session.” I took a bite of the steak, closing my eyes briefly at the exquisite flavor. “I've never been particularly flexible, but the instructor was patient. I feel remarkably loose now.”
“Yoga,” Julius mused, swirling his wine thoughtfully. “I've never understood the appeal myself. Lying about on mats, contorting oneself into unnatural positions. Though I suppose the view of one's fellow practitioners can be... inspiring.”
“Julius,” I admonished without heat. His appetites had always been legendary. “You're incorrigible.”
“At my age, my dear, incorrigible is a compliment.” He took a sip of his wine, then fixed me with a more serious look. “Speaking of incorrigible... have you heard anything from your family? Or that perpetually worried assistant of yours?”
The mention of home sent a cold wave through me, dampening my good mood. The subtle clink of silverware against fine china suddenly felt grating, the murmur of conversation from nearby tables intrusive. “No,” I admitted. “Though that might have something to do with the fact that I threw my phone in the pool.”
Julius paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, then burst into laughter. “You didn't!”
“I most certainly did.” I couldn't help but smile at the memory of my phone sinking to the bottom of the villa's pool, bubbles rising like tiny declarations of independence. “It was rather liberating.”
“I can imagine.” Julius's laughter subsided into a thoughtful expression. “Though I assume the reason for this aquatic disposal had something to do with your brother's latest... indiscretion?”
I nodded, my jaw tightening. “Headlines about Remy's supposed love child. Mother demanding I return home to 'present a united front' while simultaneously reminding me to be discreet about my 'unfortunate tendencies,' as she calls them.” I took a larger sip of my whiskey, the smoky notes burning pleasantly down my throat. “The usual.”
Julius reached across the table, his hand covering mine briefly in a gesture of support. “Living in Remy's shadow has never been easy for you, has it? But it doesn't mean you should sacrifice your own happiness.”
“Happiness is a luxury rarely afforded to those of us born to duty,” I replied automatically, echoing the sentiment my father had instilled in me since childhood.
“Horseshit,” Julius responded with characteristic bluntness. “Duty without joy becomes mere obligation, and obligation without purpose is simply a waste of a life. You deserve better than that, my boy.”
Before I could formulate a response to this unexpected philosophy, a familiar figure approached our table. Vincent Stone, the executive director of The Ranch, moved through the restaurant with the easy confidence of a man in complete control of his domain. He stoppedto exchange pleasantries with other diners as he made his way toward us, his smile warm but professional.
