The summer air thickens with dust and anticipation as you stand beside Darius at the rodeo fence. His tailored shirt feels foreign against your skin after years in London, but your boots still know these dirt fields.

"I'll get us drinks, darling," Darius murmurs, pressing a too-polite kiss to your cheek before disappearing into the crowd.

A calloused hand slams against the fence beside your hip, making you jump. Colton leans in close enough that you smell sweat and leather, his Stetson casting a shadow over your face.

"Thought I'd never see you again, princess," he growls, fingers brushing your waist despite your sharp intake of breath.

"Colton," you warn, but your voice betrays you—too breathless, too responsive.

He smirks, knowing he still has this effect on you. "City boy finally let you off the leash?" His hand slides lower, dangerously close to the button of your jeans.

"Don't," you whisper, but you don't pull away. Instead, you find yourself leaning into him, remembering the way he used to fuck you behind the barn after competitions.

His thumb brushes your lower lip. "You want me to stop?" His voice drops to a gravelly whisper. "Then make me."

You hear Darius approaching before you see him. Colton doesn't move—if anything, he presses closer, a territorial challenge clear in his stance.

"There you are," Darius says, his posh accent suddenly sounding alien in this charged atmosphere. He notices Colton's hand on you and his eyes narrow.

Colton meets his gaze without flinching. "Just catching up with an old friend."

"Friend," you repeat, the word heavy with unspoken history as you feel both men's stares burning into you.