Over the Edge (Bridge #3)(40)

I refused to believe anything like that could be possible for me.

I tried to get back to work, but Darren wouldn’t let up.

“Do you care about her?”

My stomach seemed to drop out when I considered that. Never mind I was talking about my “feelings” for Olivia with her f*cking brother. I’d taken feelings out of every hookup I’d had for years. But when I thought about Olivia, about how she responded under my touch, the way she seemed to seep under my skin, body and soul—that was a feeling I couldn’t deny.

“I do care about her. But even saying that sounds idiotic.”

Darren stopped what he was doing and leaned against the truck. “What do you have to lose, man?”

What did I have to lose? An uncomplicated lifestyle that I could rely on while I worked out the rest of my shit.

“I like to keep things simple. Straightforward. I don’t really have time for anything else.”

“You don’t have time because you’re too busy wasting it with a bunch of people you’re never going to settle down with. If this girl is different, you should be focusing on her and seeing where it can go.”

I widened my eyes. “Who said anything about settling down? For f*ck’s sake, Bridge. We’re not all waiting to be you, Mr. Domestic Bliss.”

He laughed and slapped my arm. “Don’t knock it till you try it. Happier than ever.”

I shook my head and shoved him off with a laugh. We wrapped up and returned to the kitchen, where the other guys on our crew still lingered with their coffees. I could almost guarantee Darren wouldn’t be grilling me on relationships in the present company, so for now I was safe.

Because if Darren ever found out I was sleeping with his sister, our friendship would be anything but safe.





Chapter Eleven





OLIVIA



The studio was almost unrecognizable from the last time I’d seen it. The space had been aired out. All the surfaces had been dusted and cleaned. The mountains of boxes that had lined the walls were stacked in the hallway before I entered. The concrete floor was smooth and had been painted white.

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” My tone was teasing, but I had a feeling this fresh start was an important milestone for Ian.

He hadn’t opened up to me about the details, but the pain Ian carried from his father’s death radiated off him at times. So did his passion, his hunger for me. Whatever was at the source of it, a potent energy drew me to him, to soothe, to feel, to feed…

My heart sped up when he was near, and I couldn’t blame it all on the physical chemistry that pulsed between us. I ached for his presence, his tenderness. On the outside, he was perfection—tall, gorgeous, and strapped with muscle. On the inside, he was gentle and more thoughtful than I had ever imagined. Those stormy gray eyes could see right into me at times, as if he knew parts of me that I barely knew myself.

“I think you’re going to like it even more soon.” He moved across the room, systematically relocating several gallon-sized cans from the perimeter of the room to the center, two in each hand, his biceps flexing with the effort. He straightened and walked toward me, a secretive glimmer in his eyes. “I’ve been paying the rent on this place for months, but I hadn’t decided whether I should keep it or not. When you walked in here the other day, I knew I had to.”

I scanned the room again, admiring the vibrant work that decorated the wall, imagining the countless hours that had gone into their conception inside these walls. “It’s a great place to create.”

“It will be. But it’s been little more than a shrine, and that’s why I couldn’t set foot in here for so long. It’s time to change a few things.”

I lifted my chin toward the center of the room. “You painting?”

He grinned slowly. “No, you are. This place needs some color.”

I glanced around at the walls.

“The floor,” he said.

I frowned and met his gaze. “The floor?”

“I’ve got all the colors. Trays for mixing. A dozen brushes. I want you to make it yours. Do whatever you want. Picasso, Pollack. Do your thing.”

My pulse raced, not because of the intoxicating effect he usually had on me, but because I hadn’t picked up a brush in…years. I swallowed over the knot in my throat and tucked my hands into my jeans.

“But I don’t have a plan or anything. I’d need time to come up with something.”

He shook his head, undeterred. “You don’t need one. Just do whatever you feel like. Right now.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “I’m sure I don’t need to point out that this is a huge canvas.”

He circled his arm behind me and ushered me to the center of the room. I walked stiffly, keeping my hands stuffed safely in my pockets. I stared at the clean white floor, trying to catch up with what he was asking of me.

“You can do this. Want me to help get you started?”

I nodded without making eye contact. I needed all the help I could get right now.

“All right. Pick a color.”

I stared down at the gallons of paint. Could I really not even pick out a color? I glanced up at Ian, who was waiting for my answer.

“What’s your favorite color?” I asked.