I neverwantmore than sex.
Until now.
Just my luck that the one man I’d consider dating is the one man who doesn’t want me the same way.
Or any other.
21
Bianca
The following week Ryder and I resume our usual routine as if nothing happened. While I work, he sits in the corner ofBloom, assesses every person who enters, and glares at me whenever he catches me staring.
We argue. More than before. He snaps faster than a whipcrack if he doesn’t like my words, my tone, or my eyes on him. Arthur’s ears are pink whenever the three of us are together because Ryder and I can’t last ten minutes without bickering.
Ryder’s on edge, whatever assignment Carter gave him chasing away his sleep. I find him in front of his laptop every morning fully dressed, usually showered. He taps the keyboard, a multitude of security feeds littering the screen.
Whatever’s happening, it’s escalating if the number of phone calls between Carter and Ryder is any indication. The conversations are clipped, almost encrypted, but the tone is always the same: nervous anticipation.
I finish arranging a bouquet for the elegant man opposite my workbench. A black, tailored suit hugs his frame, a three-day-old stubble peppers his chin, and his bright green eyes remain trained on my fingers.
My stomach hasn’t stopped churning since he walked in, blood rushing away from my face. His resemblance to Noretto at first glance made me do a double take.
He’s not Blaze, but the initial pang of fear buried itself deep under my skin. I can’t wait until he leaves.
Ryder’s in his seat, eyeing his cell. He raked his assessing glare over this guy when he entered, then quickly returned to whatever he was doing on his phone.
His lack of concern should’ve helped me relax... it didn’t. I’d prefer him hovering behind me.
He’s refrained from invading my space this week. It’s Friday but I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times Ryder came close enough that I could smell his cologne.
Last week, he was next to me ten times a day. Today, he hasn’t moved from his spot once. I wish he would. Not only because of the suit, but because I miss his proximity.
I’m not far off bursting into flames whenever he’s close. Not once and not twice I’ve bitten my tongue so hard my eyes watered to stop myself asking him for another round.
I’m frustrated beyond comprehension. So much so that I’m counting down to Saturday. Just one more day. Ryder’s spare bedroom is the only place I can ease the ache between my thighs.
“Shit,” Ryder mutters, straightening in his seat. He’s glaring at his phone, raking his free hand through his hair.
The black velvet ribbon I’m tying falls apart. Ryder looks like he’s seen a ghost, and my pulse soars once more, head filling with dark, unwanted possibilities.
Vaughn. Grey. Noretto.
“Everything okay?” I ask, my throat clenched tight.
He looks up, meeting my frightened gaze. “Close the shop, Winter. We’re going to Columbus. Now.”
I swallow hard, glancing at the suited gentleman as I finish tying the bow around his huge bouquet of blood-red roses, take his money, and follow him to the door, flipping the sign fromopentoclosed.
“What’s happening?” I ask, turning to Ryder.
He’s behind me, phone to his ear. I hear the dial tone ring out twice before Broadway’s voice comes on the line.
“Go for Broadway,” he chuckles.
“Guess who peeked his head above the parapet,” Ryder says, shouldering past me. He yanks the door open and, with a jut of his head, urges me to move.
I can’t hear what Broadway says once I’m outside the flower shop, keys jingling in hand. My breath comes out in hastened puffs, anxiety twisting my stomach.
