Olivia.
She’s laughing at something Sin just said, her head tipped back, sunlight catching her hair like a halo.
When her gaze meets mine, she freezes mid-laugh, her lips curling into a slow, private smile meant only for me.
I start walking toward her. No hurry. Just pure, deliberate want.
She excuses herself from the conversation, smoothing her dress as she steps toward me. We meet halfway, the rest of the world falling away.
My hands find her waist just as hers glide up my chest. She rises on her toes to kiss the underside of my jaw.
“Hey, you.” Her voice is low and sultry.
“Hey, you. Happy birthday.” I brush my lips against her nose, earning a soft laugh.
“Thank you. I hear this place is owned by some panty-melting celebrity chef. You seen him around?”
I feign a frown. “Hmm. Haven’t spotted him. Will I do?”
“Hmmm.” She taps a finger on her lips, pretending to consider. “I don’t know. What did you say your name was again? I might need to Google you first.”
We both laugh, the sound easy and familiar, grounding in a way I can’t name. It pulls me back to the day we met—awkward, flirty, unexpected—and my chest tightens with the memory.
“You missed the appetizers.” She licks her lips. “They were incredible. I might need to skip lunch, though, or my pants won’t fit.”
Before I can reply, a familiar voice pipes up beside us.
“That’s where I come in.” Jonah grins like the smug bastard he is.
“Back off, Jonah,” I growl playfully. “She’s taken.”
Olivia’s lips twitch, clearly amused as she crosses her arms. “I can speak for myself, thank you very much.”
Jonah chuckles, turning his grin on her. “Taken, huh? That’s not what you’ll be saying when we’re sweating it out tomorrow morning.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “He means our workout.” Like I need the clarification. Then she glances between us, pretending to think. “Actually, yes. I’m taken.”
Jonah pats my shoulder with a grin. “Sorry, Sam. You’re pretty, but not my type.” He plants a quick kiss on Livvy’s cheek, winks at me, and strolls off to join Sin.
Olivia watches him go, then tilts her head up, her gaze heavy with mischief. “Too bad for him, but all the better for me.”
Before I can answer, she threads her fingers into my hair and tugs—firm, sure, devastating. My laugh dissolves into a low groan.
“Careful, Livvy,” I warn, voice husky. “You’re playing with fire.”
Her eyes darken, her lips curving into a wicked smile. “Good thing I like the burn.”
Then she kisses me, hungry, open, claiming.
The world erupts in whistles and cheers from our guests, and we break apart, breathless and laughing. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright, and I swear I fall in love with her all over again.
I glance at the crowd—our family, our friends, our life—and my grin stretches wider.
Yeah. I’ve got it all.
I lean in, whispering against her lips, “Happy birthday, mon trésor.”
And then, because I can’t not, I kiss her again. Slow this time, tender, a promise that says everything words never could.
