Over the Edge (Bridge #3)(57)
OLIVIA
Butterflies flitted around in my stomach as I waited for the car to arrive. I paced circles around my apartment, my high heels clicking on the hardwood. Something felt different about tonight, like maybe we were starting over. Pausing in front of a mirror, I triple-checked my makeup and ran my fingers through my hair, which fell pin-straight down my back.
My ears sparkled with tile chandelier earrings—glittering mosaics of tiny varied blue stones. Ian’s thoughtful gift had accompanied Will’s, a dress I’d unwrapped with no small amount of anticipation the second I got back home. Drawing in an anxious breath, I skimmed my hands down the sides of the sleek fabric. It had come in a silver matte box donning the Alexander McQueen logo. Undoubtedly, the dress had been designed for sex appeal. The plunging neckline was edged with tiny jewels and nearly met my navel, creating a seductive V down my chest. The hem hit at my knees, but like other dresses I’d worn when seeing Will and Ian, this one featured a slit that cut high up my thigh.
I felt expensive, sexual…and cared for. Not because of the price of the gifts, which were undeniably expensive, but because I was wrapped in expressions of Will’s and Ian’s affection for me.
On a hunch, I took another peek out the window just as a sleek black limo pulled up. My heart beat unevenly for a few counts until two gorgeous men exited the vehicle. Then the beat pulsed in my stomach. Then lower, between my thighs. Will and Ian were both dressed in suits, Will in a dark gray and Ian in jet black. They looked untouchable, too impressive to be real.
I grabbed my clutch and left my apartment, feeling a touch less steady on my feet. Ian leaned against the car while Will climbed the steps toward me. When he met me, I ran a finger down the slick lapel of his stylish suit, a different one than I’d admired him in earlier. The black shirt beneath was open at the collar. I bit my lip and imagined kissing him there, tasting and licking up the column of his neck.
“For a minute I thought I might be overdressed,” I said.
“Never. You look ravishing, as always.” He thumbed above my knee and marked a trail of fire over my skin to where the fabric split at my upper thigh.
I feathered my fingertips over his. “You seem to like this feature.”
He hummed an affirmation, his gaze fixed there. “I need easy access to your assets, princess.”
I smirked. “Do you?”
“I demand it.” He ran his tongue over his lower lip and slipped a sly feel up the inside of my thigh, shooting a sharp bullet of desire to my already pulsing clit.
Before I could catch his wandering fingers, he cuffed my wrist firmly. The slight pressure and hint of restraint made my knees weak. He pressed a hot kiss to my pulse where my bracelet hung loosely. “Are you ready?”
My breath hitched as our gazes locked. I couldn’t help but feel like he was asking me something else. Even so, I nodded. I was ready. Whatever he had in store tonight, I was confident I wanted all of it.
Without another word, he brought me down the steps.
Ian pushed off the car as we approached. Will’s hand was still in mine as Ian looped an arm around my waist and hauled me against his firm body. His other hand sifted in my hair and angled my face close to his.
A small flash of panic flitted through me at the thought of Cameron catching our embrace. The panic melted under Ian’s lips—warm and tender, yet firm and unmistakably possessive. Warmth hit my heart and bloomed over my skin where he touched me. I sighed against his lips, because I belonged in this moment. I wasn’t willing to sacrifice another second to worry.
Tonight and tomorrow and every day we chose to be together belonged to us, only us.
“I missed you,” Ian whispered, nipping gently at my lips.
“Come on, lovebirds. Dinner awaits.” Will tugged lightly, his tone teasing but laced with affection.
Ian released me, and we filed into the limo. On the short drive to dinner, we sipped champagne and made small talk, but the enclosed space after our recent absence from each other seemed to thicken the air.
I registered equal measures relief and regret when we arrived at Jean-Jacques, a swanky restaurant that I’d heard good things about but never had an occasion to visit. I was already a ball of pent-up frustration, but I was also starving, and nothing hit the spot like gourmet French cuisine.
The accented ma?tre d’ didn’t blink about my being escorted by two head-to-toe gorgeous men. He seated us in a roomy leather booth around a white-linen-covered table. The subtle light of the restaurant set an intimate and romantic atmosphere. Quiet conversation hummed through the long room, and a nearby group laughed. While I couldn’t help feeling like I wore my love of two men like a blinking sign on my back, no one paid us any mind. I let the thought slip away, shifting my focus to Will and Ian.
The server brought Perrier and wine for the table, and when it was time to order, Will did the honors, all in flawless French.
“Show off,” Ian muttered under his breath, his arm draped along the top of the booth. The posture tested the fabric of his suit, which he filled out exceptionally well.
Will grinned. “When it’s time to put out a fire, I’ll let you do the honors.”
I sipped my wine slowly, savoring every subtle flavor as the three of us slipped into a comfortable banter. Whenever silence fell on the table though, sexual tension rushed in, thick and electric, like a lightning storm rolling in from a distance.