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“It’s now or forever, Cole.”

I laugh. “That’s not the saying.”

“It is now. I’ve decided.”

A silly, naïve part of me hopes it isn’t her, but her eyes confirm it. Droplets of green in cornflower blue, a unique blend of sharp colors that I’ve dreamt of for so long.

Her lips part, and she stares up at me, as if trying to convince herself it isn’t me.

“Co—”

My hand closes around her throat, her neck delicate in my grasp as I pull her to me—and kiss her.

My name is lost, and she freezes, tension spilling between us. I ignore the whoops and hollers of the other men, more focused on Sunday as she relaxes into the kiss and slides her hands up my chest, her body molding into mine as if no time has passed.

As if I never left her.

As if I never broke my heart to save hers.

It’s been far too fucking long since I felt anything close to this, so I don’t fight the temptation to prolong it. I’ve forgotten where we are, why we’re here, and I cradle the back of Sunday’s head and pull back slightly to nibble her bottom lip. She lets out a quiet, breathy moan, her eyes closed, pale lashes resting against her skin.

“Well, I think it’s obvious who he’s picked!” Felton laughs, slapping me on the shoulder. “Gentlemen, meet Cage’s date.” I lift my mouth from Sunday’s, gazing into her eyes as the crowd cheers. She touches her lips, and only breaks eye contact when Felton says my fake name. “She’s yours for the weekend.”

Mine.

In a house of fucking horrors.

There isn’t time to absorb the last few minutes before someone bellows,

“I contest.”

I tear my gaze from Sunday, but I already know who spoke.

Fucking Chip.

His announcement is followed by amused heckles from the other guests, and he smirks from across the pool.

“Well, this doesn’t usually happen,” Felton says, and points his thumb at me. “You sure you want to piss him off, Chip?”

He scoffs. “He’s all fucking talk.”

“He quite literally isn’t,” someone quips, and everyone laughs.

Chip tilts his head. “So, how about it, Cage? You gonna fight me for the girl or what?”

This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. I’m supposed to make an impression but not rock the boat. Picking a fight with Chip is tipping the entire boat over. He already has it out for me and if I wound his ego, he’ll do everything in his power to tear me apart.

But like hell am I letting him have Sunday.

I pull off my suit jacket, and Felton cheers. “This is starting out fucking brilliantly! Chip, you better put your big boy pants on.” While Chip’s followers egg him on, Felton faces me and lowers his voice. “You sure you want to do this? He won’t fight fair.” My answer is tossing my jacket onto a nearby chair and unbuttoning my cuffs, rolling my sleeves to my elbows, revealing the coiled snakes around my forearms. If Sunday was doubting my identity, she won’t now. She was with me when I got them.

The other women are escorted away, and I take Sunday’s chin in my hand. Her eyes are still wide, and I nod at a seat set back from the oncoming commotion. She eyes the snakes before meeting my gaze again but doesn’t say a word before taking the seat.

“Gosh, I don’t have any games I can think of,” Felton says, looking at Darcy. “Do you, D?”

She snuggles into his side. “We could make them cut things off each other.”

He tuts. “Darling, this is Italian marble, we’re not staining it. How about a good old-fashioned fist fight?” Darcy rolls her eyes, but Felton’s mind seems made up.