His protective streak is what gets me.
Rationally, I know it’s his job. He’s keeping me safe under Carter’s orders, but I ignore that detail. I like thinking he’s protective because hewantstobe, not because he has to.
No one ever took care of me; no one worried about my safety or well-being. While I’m more than capable of fending for myself, a small part of me basks in Ryder’s protectiveness.
Not that I’d ever admit it aloud.
Even if he’s protecting me out of necessity, heisprotecting me. That’s more of a turn-on than I thought possible. It makes my body and mind react in the most feral way.
I’m uncomfortably wet whenever his shoulders tense and his piercing stare assesses whether another newcomer might be a threat. And don’t get me started on how much I love him invading my personal space.
Which might be why I’m annoyed this afternoon... because he hasn’t gone near me for hours. I crave a whiff of his cologne, a moment with his big body almost leaning into me.
God, I think I’m a junkie and he’s my drug.
And so, to compensate for the lack of proximity, I keep daydreaming inappropriate scenarios.
Not once and not twice a customer’s had to drag me out of my own, filthy imagination. It runs wild whenever I assemble another bouquet. I imagine Ryder flicking the sign on the door fromopentoclosedthen stalking across the shop until he stops right behind me. I imagine his big hands full of my hips as he bends me over the workbench and has his way with me.
I’m hopeless. I didn’t dare play with my vibrator, quickly realizing how thin the walls are in my apartment.
I hear Arthur and Ryder moving about, chatting in low voices while I take a bath or settle in my bed with a book. I hear Ryder tossing and turning on the inflatable bed, so I know he’d hear my every gasp if I made myself come.
I’m frustrated. Hot, bothered, horny.
Living under one roof with a man like Ryder makes things worse because he’s always there. Handsome, broody, growly, fucking irresistible. It’s worst when I tiptoe out of my bedroom at five am and find him bare-chested, muscles on display.
This morning, he was making coffee in his boxer shorts when I left my bedroom. I stopped dead in my tracks, admiring the taut muscles on his back, the way his biceps bulged and shifted as he reached for three cups, the way his hair stuck out in all directions in the most sinful, bed-mussed way.
“Are you listening to me?” Ryder asks, the scent of his cologne targeting my nose as he nudges my shoulder with his.
A fit of shivers shakes me from head to toe, goosebumps erupting across my skin, the sudden closeness raising my pulse.
I zoned out so hard I missed him coming over. He’s right beside me, the heat of him, the bulk of him, the smell of him...
My heart stutters, the remnants of my fantasy mixing with reality. I glance at the door, disappointment like a separate living thing inside my chest. He hasn’t flipped the sign.
Of course he hasn’t.
I meet his dark stare, my cheeks burning hot.
“What’s wrong, Winter?”
Swallowing hard, I shake off the feeling his nickname induces. My body was ablaze when it first rolled off his tongue. So unique. So sweet. Then I realizedwhyhe chose it. He said it fits... I drew my own conclusions.
What does everyone associate winter with?
Coldness, ice, snow... He basically wrappedcold bitchin pretty packaging. I hate it.
“Nothing.” I snatch a few flowers to start another grab-and-go bouquet. “I’m fine.”
A muscle feathers his jaw as he grinds his teeth. “Of course. Did you hear what I said?”
“That we’re leaving straight after I close the shop.”
“We’ll be inScarletttonight. No sportswear allowed.”
“I saw what Hailey was wearing last week. I get the gist. Will there be dancing?”
