Page 91 of Major Penalty

I stare at her, standing on my rug, looking so at home. The firelight catches in her eyes, and something twists in my chest. She looksrighthere.

“So, you like it?” I ask, and my voice comes out rougher than I intended. There’s something tight under my ribs.

Hope.

“I do,” she says, and it’s not casual. Not careless. She says it like she means it.

And suddenly, I want her to like it more than I’ve ever wanted anyone to like anything.

I want her towantto be here. I want her to keep coming back. I want her tostay.I’d tear this whole place down and rebuild it from the ground up if she ever asked me to. If it meant I got to make her happy to be here.

But I don’t say any of that.

Instead, I say, “Come on.”

I lead her through the house, past the glass walls that open wide with the tap of a button, and step outside.

The sun is setting just beyond the hills, covering everything in a soft, golden glow. The pool glistens under the lights embedded in the stone. There’s a sleek black patio with a full outdoor kitchen—grill, fridge, prep station, bar seating—everything custom.

The dining area is tucked under a pergola, wrapped in soft string lights. Romantic as hell. I didn’t plan that part.

I glance at her, and she looks stunned.

“Ares, this is beautiful,” she says, heading to the counter of the outdoor kitchen. “What is this?”

“This,” I say, walking over to the counter where all the ingredients have been prepped and laid out, “is dinner.”

She follows behind me, still wide-eyed, and I gesture to the ingredients.

“I had my chef prep everything so we could save time.”

“Of course, you have a private chef.” She lets out a short laugh.

I smirk, lean in, and kiss her, slow and lingering.

“Now you do, too,” I murmur against her lips.

“Wait.You’recooking?” she gapes at me, pulling away. I nod with a smile. “You know how to cook?”

“I know how to make a few things. Everything else is…debatable.”

Her laugh is soft, disbelieving. “Okay, then. Let me help.”

I cut her off by grabbing her hips and lifting her straight off the ground.

She gasps, squeals, and the next thing she knows, she’s sitting on the prep counter, legs dangling over the edge.

I step between them, crowding her space, leaning in until our mouths almost touch.

“No helping,” I murmur. “You just sit there and watch me while I cook for you.”

She flushes instantly. I bring my hand up, tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then drag my thumb along her jaw.

“And if you behave,” I whisper, “I might even give you your panties back.”

She stares at me, heat pooling in her eyes.

A mischievous smile tugs at her lips. “Which pair?”

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