“Fun.” She leans back, craning her neck to meet my gaze, her shoulder less than an inch from my hand. “Where is she?”
“She?” I squeeze the life out of the backrest, gouging my fingers into the leather. It’s all I can do to stop myself running my knuckles over her shoulder.
“Your girlfriend,” she clarifies, ghosting the rim of her wine glass over her lips. “I thought she’d be here.”
I bend my elbows, leaning so close the heat of my breath warms the shell of her ear. “I don’t have a girlfriend and you...” I push her half-empty wine glass away from her mouth. “You should slow down if youdon’t drink.”
Hailey stops her conversation with Violet and turns in her seat, beaming at me. “She’s a big girl, Ryder. Take a night off, okay? I’ll make sure you don’t have to carry her home if she passes out. Plenty of bodyguards around.”
Like hell I’d let anyone else touch her.
19
Ryder
Carrick, a lower-ranking soldier on chauffer duty tonight, stops the car by the curb outside my condo.
He exits first, checking the street. Once satisfied, he opens the back door, letting me out first. He quickly moves away, his assessing eyes looking for possible threats.
He’s good. Most of Carter’s soldiers are good, but this one must’ve had a one-on-one lesson with Koby. It’s in his stance, in the calculated way he checks the street, section by section.
“Come on, we’re here,” I tell Bianca, holding my hand out to help her even though I’m still reeling from the show she put on not half an hour ago.
She went dancing again and some blond asshole slipped in behind her, his arm draping around her middle.
She didn’t push him away.
Oh, no. No, she fuckingstaredright at me while the fucker swayed with her in the middle of the dance floor.
Holding my instincts at bay demanded all the restraint I could muster. Those instincts that begged me to storm over there and break his hand ten different ways. That begged me to pull her close and kiss her until I’d erasedfinefrom her vocabulary. Until she showed me what hides beneath that tough exterior.
If anything...
She kept up the charade for ten minutes before she stormed back to tell me she’s tired.
I was more than happy to take her home.
She glares at my outstretched hand. “I can manage.”
Her eyes sparkle, cheeks flush pink, lips purse, anger written all over her pretty face.
Fuck knows why.
I should be the one throwing a tantrum after watching her writhe against another man fortenminutes straight.
It’s Russian roulette with this girl. Nine times out of ten, she snaps for no reason, her temper a ticking bomb, constantly shifting but not far off exploding, the cold bitch on display.
I should drag her out, take her inside, then lock her and her piss-poor attitude in the spare bedroom, but I can’t.
A big, metaphorical hand on my shoulder holds me back because Iknowthere’s more to her than this mask. Once in a blue moon, when her guard slips, a different side of her peeks through. A more human, vulnerable side.
It never stays long. Her walls snap up so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t lose balance.
She shoves my hand aside, gunning me down with a defiant stare as she scrambles out of the car and adjusts her tiny dress as if it could cover more than the bare minimum of her round ass. Goosebumps dot her skin, the chilly evening air a stark contrast from the warm interior of Carrick’s car.
Instinct kicks in before I have time to reconsider.
I shimmy out of my jacket, draping it over her shoulders.
