I’ve been in denial for the last few minutes. Trying to ignore the fact that I was aroused by Gabe. The packed press of his strength, our size difference, his capable energy. But I can’t deny it now when Banks is holding me accountable with eye contact that I can’t seem to break. My nipples are puckered inside my bra and there is a teasing tingle between my thighs that is growing harder to ignore. It was there when Gabe held me and it’s only growing more potent now that I’m in Banks’s arms. So which one of them is doing this to me? It can’t be both, right?

Banks presses a thumb into some magical pressure point at the very base of my spine and I make a breathy, whimpering sound before I know what’s happening.

All three men seem to expand in the darkness. Like they’re grown attuned to me and I’ve just turned some knob to raise the volume. This has to be a dream. I’m going to wake up any second now and be home in bed, my phone chiming on my bedside table. I’m definitely not hanging suspended over the East River with three men, two of whom my body seems powerless to ignore.

This is insane.

Try and view what’s happening as a necessity, rather than a choice.

I need body heat. They are giving it to me. We all do what we have to do to survive in the wild, right? There is no difference between me being pressed up against this gorgeous man’s gym-perfected body than stranded campers huddling together for warmth in the wilderness.

Right.

I clear my throat and try to ignore that thumb drawing circles on my lower back. “So, Banks.” I pretend I don’t notice that my voice has fallen approximately fifty-two octaves. “Are you going to tell us why you’re on Roosevelt Island?”

Chapter Three

I’m close enough to Banks that the slightest pop of muscle in his cheek is like an avalanche. But I only see it in my periphery, because he’s still holding eye contact. It boggles my mind that I haven’t looked away yet. There is something about a person looking at me too closely that is usually unnerving. Why is that not the case here? The longer this continues, the more my raving pulse seems to carry downward to the juncture of my thighs. To…everywhere. I’m an exposed nerve and he’s rubbing me more and more raw with that freaking thumb.

And his unwavering stare.

I asked Banks what brought him to Roosevelt Island. Is he going to answer?

No one inside the car seems to be breathing, our collective focus narrowed down to the two of us. The fact that we’re touching feels massive. Important.

“I’m here to see my mother,” Banks says finally—and that’s when his gaze finally flickers away from mine. It’s only a split-second loss, but it tells me there is more to the story.

“And it didn’t go well?” I only murmur the question, but we’re all so close, so in thrall with each other, that my question reaches everyone.