“Why?” she interrupts, frustration mounting in her tone. She pokes her finger into my chest. “It’s none of your business what I do or who I do it with.”
The tightly wound rubber band inside me snaps.
I grab her in half and fling her over my shoulder, marching out of the restroom. She’s so taken aback she yelps. No words leave her mouth. What’s more, she doesn’t fight like I expected. Instead of going back to the VIP area, I turn left, shove the emergency door open and carry Bianca outside.
The cool evening air hits her skin, raising goosebumps along the backs of her thighs beneath my fingertips. I’m so far gone, so fucking angry, so jealous my brain’s misfiring.
I slide her down my body when I reach my Jeep.
She sways on her feet before regaining her balance, small torches swimming in her gaze. Defiance seeps into her features, hands cross over her chest.
“What’swrongwith you?” she asks again, taking a step away. “I’m going back inside.”
“Like hell you are.” I open the passenger-side door, deposit her in the seat, and buckle her up, all the while ignoring her refrains of “Let me go,” and “You’re crazy.”
Once she’s inside, I lock the car, round the hood, then unlock it again, slipping into my seat. The engine springs to life and music blasts from the speakers, drowning out Bianca’s protests, swears, and threats.
Let her vent.
25
Ryder
By the time we get home, Bianca’s cooled off.
Either that, or she’s decided not to waste her breath on me.
As soon as we enter my condo, she kicks her heels off and marches into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Maybe she’s not as calm as I thought.
I lock the door, set the alarm, then fill a glass with Bourbon, tossing in a few ice cubes. Just as I sit down at the breakfast bar, the guest bedroom door opens again. Soft footsteps and the sound of something being dragged fills the air.
My ears perk up, eyes on the corridor until Bianca appears, wheeling her suitcase behind her.
“Going somewhere?” I ask.
“As far away from you as I can manage.” Her voice trembles, but she marshals her expression into defiance.
I hate that she’s keeping her defenses up. I’ve had a few glimpses into her vulnerable,humanside and enough time withher to read between the lines... which means staying away from her is that much harder now.
It’s not that Bianca’s a tough, independent woman. Deep inside, she’s amicable, but petrified of showing that side. Petrified of showing that she enjoys affection. That she wants to be touched, cared for, hugged, and spoiled. She’s petrified of losing control because she’s certain it’ll backfire in her face.
She’s guarding her emotions so fiercely that breaking through the walls she’s built around herself seems almost impossible. Maybe they’d crumble with the right push, but I’m already too deep to test the theory in case it’s wrong.
“You know I can’t let you leave,” I say on an exhale, doing my best not to lash out. “You’re safe here.”
“Am I?!” she booms, stomping closer. “Am I? You manhandled me out of the club, locked me in the car, and brought me home, all against my will. You—”
“I was doing my fucking job!” I snap upright, the blatant lie rolling off my tongue without a hiccup.
Hurt floods her features. “Oh...”
There, the reaction I crave, not hurt specifically, but arealreaction, not a mask. Disappointment. Vulnerability at its finest. Real emotions.
Too bad she considers this a weakness she can’t afford. Something to be ashamed of, as if needing reassurance, needing affection, is wrong somehow.
She proves me right when she squares her shoulders back and lifts her chin higher.
