“I look forward to it,” Hildebrand says, extending a hand to me.

I look at it, and I take it. Because it’s all you can do with men like him. Keep them close. Keep balance on that playing field.

“Enjoy your honeymoon, Judge,” he says.

“Thank you, Councilor.”

Epilogue

Mercedes

“Is everything to your liking, Mr. Montgomery?”

The stewardess eyes my husband like he’s a cool drink on a hot summer day. It’s the same way she’s been eyeing him all week, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it one fucking bit. Yet there’s something to be said because Judge doesn’t take his eyes off me as he responds.

“Everything is perfect.” His hand skims up over my thigh beneath the table, fingers warming my sun-kissed skin.

The stewardess lingers, waiting for his eyes to catch hers, but they never do.

“That will be all.” I grin at her, all teeth. “Unless there’s something else you’d like to ask my husband?”

She blanches, shaking her head quickly, and then scurries off.

“I swear to God,” I grumble as I squeeze Judge’s ridiculously handsome face between my palms. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true.” He leans closer, his lips brushing against mine. “I rather like seeing you this way.”

“Is that so?” I smile at him sweetly.

He nods, his hand skating further up my thigh. His eyes are dark and hot, and it wouldn’t take much to lure him below deck right now. But if there’s one thing that hasn’t changed, it’s that Judge and I still like to play games. We just play them a little differently now.

“Seriously,” Santi groans, interrupting that thought. “What have I told you about groping my sister at the breakfast table?”

“It’s our honeymoon,” Judge reminds him. “What did you expect?”

Another grunt. “I’m only here because my wife insisted we needed to come.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Ivy appears from the main salon looking freshly fucked and pleased as hell.

“It doesn’t look like you’re faring too badly yourself,” Judge remarks dryly.

“Okay now it’s my turn to gag.” I grab my mimosa and take a long sip.

Santi gives me a roguish grin and shrugs apologetically, except I know he’s not sorry. Not one bit.