Catching Bianca: A Dark Mafia Romance (Shadows of Obsession Book 4)
Catching Bianca: Chapter 13

Ryder and I lasted a whole day without snapping at each other. The short, rushed grocery shopping spree yesterday ended with me forgetting half the items I needed to prepare my favorite dish, so we ordered in… Not what I had in mind after months of surviving on store-bought ready meals.

Today, I was smarter. I made a list, and Arthur took me shopping once more. He’s a pleasant guy. Chatty, funny, sweet. A complete opposite to moody, broody Ryder, who busied himself with installing cameras till late evening yesterday and was back at it by the time I woke up this morning.

True to his word, he’s completely ignoring my existence. It shouldn’t bother me, but I can’t do much about the heat wave that crashes into me whenever I look at him and replace he’s already staring at me. His bad-boy aura, dark eyes, the tone of his voice… it all gets me hot and bothered.

His undeniable appeal vanishes when Arthur and I enter my apartment, two grocery bags hugged close to my chest.

“What the hell are you doing?!” I yell, spotting Ryder on a stepladder in my bedroom doorway, a bunch of cables in hand.

He doesn’t falter at my tone. Doesn’t even flinch, his deft fingers working overtime.

“I’m installing a camera,” he replies in a stoic, almost bored manner, my anger rolling off him like water off a duck’s back.

“In my bedroom?!”

My blood grows warmer, heating my cheeks. Not from the anger gunning through me, from my imagination running wild.

An enticing picture pops into my head: Ryder in my living room, sprawled in the loveseat, watching the screen of his laptop. With a glass of whiskey in hand, he stares, enjoying the show while I change into my night dress, desire clear in his eyes.

A shudder shakes me, my panties dampening on cue.

What the hell is wrong with me? How can I be aroused at the thought of him invading my privacy?

It’s been way too long since I had sex.

My last casual escapade happened eight months ago, and the whirlwind of the past few uncertain weeks has messed with my brain’s chemistry. Ryder doesn’t even like me very much.

He’s distant, seems annoyed with my presence, so why am I imagining him rising from the loveseat, his cock tenting his pants as he storms into my bedroom while I’m half naked?

“You were well aware of the security systems I’d be installing,” Ryder drawls, adjusting a camera right above the door inside my bedroom.

Judging by the angle, it’s pointing at the window and my bed. He could watch me indulging in my silicone friend’s skills.

I shake my head softly, stopping the fantasy before it forms, and add a playdate with my vibrator to the list of things I should do tonight. This sudden, scorching need for Ryder is easily explained: proximity. It would have been Koby if he were here.

That’s a lie.

My body didn’t react with a butterfly-wings-in-tummy effect when I first saw Koby. The same can’t be said about my reaction to Ryder towering over me outside Scarlett.

Sexual attraction is instant. At least it always has been for me. When I spot someone attractive (and I’m this sex starved) the tension racks up at once. My adrenaline spikes, my hormones go haywire, and I want.

Now, I want Ryder.

Just for a night, just one good, hard fuck that’d sate this infuriating, unnecessary need. No strings attached. There’s a difference between sexual attraction and catching feelings. I don’t do the latter. I don’t hand my heart over on a silver platter.

It always ends up backfiring.

Every time I’ve allowed myself to feel, care, trust, I’ve ended up hurt, crying, and picking up the broken pieces of my heart. My biological parents, my high school friends, my three boyfriends…

Every person I’ve ever let close has ended up breaking me further. I thought, I fucking hoped, that Vaughn would end the cruel cycle. He seemed so pleased that I ventured into his life. That he could get to know his late wife’s daughter.

I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I allowed myself an ounce of vulnerability.

And once again, I ended up hurt. Crying. Running.

That visual helps me summon my anger. “Get that thing out of my room!”

Anger helps me hide; it keeps me safe. It allows me to take what I need—a few touches, kisses, a good orgasm—while blocking the less desirable emotions. The ones that leave me in tears every time without fail.

What I want from Ryder is hiding in his pants… and while the ache throbs whenever I get a whiff of his cologne, I can easily buzz away my little problem.

“You never said you’d install a camera in my bedroom.” I drop the groceries on the counter, marching across the living space to stop a foot away from the stepladder.

“I’m installing cameras everywhere,” Ryder says, still fiddling with the wires.

He doesn’t look at me, his tone toeing the line between bored and exasperated, like he’s talking to a misbehaving child.

“Even the bathroom?!” I explode, welcoming the searing wrath burning through my veins. “I thought you were here to keep me safe, not perve on me while I shower!”

Now he stops what he’s doing, his anger matching mine and raising the stakes. He glares at me, his chest heaving.

“There’s no camera in the bathroom,” he seethes, his control dissipating. He takes a threatening step down the ladder, pinning me with those dark, stormy eyes. “You might be pretty, Winter, but trust me, I have zero interest in perving on you. I’m doing my job and if you don’t like it, take it up with Carter.”

Winter.

Koby tried out a dozen pet names and none hit the right chord, but Winter has a peculiar effect on me. As if Ryder dipped me in gas and threw a match in my face. The sensation amplifies further when you might be pretty fully sinks.

“Maybe I will,” I croak, grasping for control despite my blood flowing faster, warmer. “I doubt he’d allow Hailey’s privacy to be invaded like this, so—”

Ryder scoffs, the derisive sound halting my rant. “Hailey spent weeks in a safe house with cameras tracking her every move. She had one pointing directly at her bed and didn’t complain once.”

He stomps down the last two steps, though even when his feet are on the floor, I’m still craning my neck.

“There’s a fire escape right outside your window. And said window doesn’t have a lock. Anyone can climb into your bedroom but have it your way.” He reaches up, snapping the camera off the wall. “Enjoy your privacy.”

He doesn’t wait for another bout of arguments. No, he shoulders past me, somehow folding the steps as he heads into the living room to wire up the cameras already firmly attached to my walls.

Words are stuck in my throat. I forgot about the fire escape.

Ryder’s right, anyone could ambush me in the middle of the night. It’s happened before, a few weeks after I rented this place. The situation was harmless: a teenager from the third floor miscounted the stairs he’d climbed in the middle of the night while sneaking into his room without his parents noticing.

Yes, it was harmless… but it might not be next time.

Wringing my hands and inhaling a calming breath, I push the mortification back. I feel like an idiot for running my mouth, but I lift my chin, nonetheless.

A camera in my bedroom is crossing a line.

A camera in my bedroom is crossing a line.

A camera in my bedroom is crossing a line.

I chant inside my head until I’m certain my outburst was warranted. I could’ve asked if that particular security measure was necessary and let Ryder explain before I yelled. Oh well. It’s a little late for I could’ve.

The damage is done.

No way will I ask Ryder to put that damn camera up in my bedroom, no matter how painful the knots in my stomach are at the thought of someone opening my window in the middle of the night. I won’t admit I was wrong.

Vaughn’s in a wheelchair. How would he climb up a fire escape?

A triumphant smile stretches my lips; my protest was valid.

I turn around. Ryder’s in the opposite corner of the living room to where he started, connecting up more wires.

How long was I staring into the distance?

“Do you need any help?” Arthur asks, his attention jumping between Ryder and me as if he expects more yelling, or maybe heavy things being thrown about.

“No, I’m fine. You should take a nap before your shift.” Ryder’s drilling didn’t let Arthur get much sleep this morning. “I’ll knock at your door when the food’s ready.”

He doesn’t move for a while, standing his ground while I fill the fridge and cupboards with groceries. It’s only when Ryder’s done with the cameras and plops down in the loveseat, a laptop on his knees, that Arthur makes himself scarce.

The door to the spare bedroom closes behind him. Any semblance of a relaxed atmosphere vanishes, leaving tension so thick it’s almost choking.

Several words, sentences, and apologies dance on the tip of my tongue while I busy myself preparing my favorite meal.

None make it past my lips. The silent treatment can continue for the duration of his stay for all I care.

My stomach drops on cue, proving that’s not what I want.

I keep snapping at him for no reason. He makes me feel on edge, watched, judged… cornered.

And like a threatened animal, I lash out.

I almost scoff aloud. Ryder’s not a threat. He’s here to keep me safe. Even before Carter gave him this babysitting job, he proved that my comfort’s high on his priority list.

I pinch my lips, holding off a smile at the memory of him threatening the cab driver. The intensity in his eyes, the low, malicious tone, how his protectiveness made me feel…

Ugh, I’m hopeless.

Just horny.

Yeah, let’s go with that.

I had no opportunities for self-care while Vaughn and I were sharing a room. Nor at Noretto’s, where my bedroom door opened at all hours. I had zero privacy, and three months without an orgasm is a long time.

As soon as I take care of that pulsing ache between my legs, my inappropriate reactions to Ryder will cease.

God, he must think I’m crazy…

I swallow hard, accepting the gruesome fact: Ryder deserves an apology. I’ll probably choke on I’m sorry if I dare say it, so an olive branch is the best I can do.

“Carter doesn’t trust me, does he?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral. Cordial. “Hence the camera in my room.”

“All cameras are here for your protection. Including the one that should be in your bedroom, but you’re right. Carter doesn’t trust you.”

I’m at the stove, the smell of melted cheese, garlic, rich cream, and basil wafting the air. Mixing and sampling lets me avoid the scrutiny of his dark eyes which—judging by my scorching cheeks—are pointed at the back of my head.

“Because I didn’t tell him why I ran from Vaughn…”

Before Arthur and I left for the store earlier, Ryder said we could keep ordering in while they’re playing my bodyguards, but cooking helps me relax. I love it. I love it even more when I can feed other people. People who might appreciate the time and skill I pour into every meal.

Maybe a bowl of pasta that tastes a little bit like heaven will appease Ryder and wipe our slate clean.

“You arrived out of the blue and you’re keeping secrets,” he says, measuring every word. “Carter’s a very careful man on a normal day under normal circumstances, Bianca. He’s ten times worse when he’s worried about Hailey’s safety.”

I spin abruptly. “So what? He thinks I’ll kidnap her?”

“He doesn’t let me in on his every thought. For now, you’re a question mark. A puzzle. Your intentions aren’t clear. Whether you can be trusted is yet to be determined.”

I don’t like the sound of that. It seems the only way for them to trust me is knowing the embarrassing truth. Then again, that truth might throw a wrench between me and Hailey…

We just met but I’m looking forward to seeing her again. I want her in my life.

Shaking off the conversation, I change the topic. “What time do you guys swap your shifts?”

“Eight in the morning,” he answers. There’s no malice in his voice. No emotion at all. “Why?”

I glance over my shoulder. He’s still in the loveseat, eyes on the screen, face impassive as if our full-blown screaming contest less than an hour ago never happened.

“I’d like to open the shop as soon as possible. I usually head down to the market for flowers every morning, and I guess one of you will be escorting me.”

“You can’t reopen until the security system is in place.”

“How long will it take?”

I hear him get up, his footsteps getting closer. The intoxicating, masculine scent of his cologne grows stronger with every step he takes.

“Another couple of days. Once I finish up here, I’ll move to the shop. You could open on Wednesday.”

Three days. I want to ask why connecting a few cameras takes three days, but I catch myself before I spill any more harsh words.

We’ll live here together for God knows how long. Arguing every step of the way won’t make anyone’s life any easier. I should be grateful that they’ve dropped their own lives to look after me, but I can’t help my annoyance.

If it weren’t for people like them, criminals, I wouldn’t need any security. My life wouldn’t have been upended just because I wanted to know why my mother abandoned me.

“What time do you leave for the market?” Ryder asks, his voice so close I spin around.

He’s on the stepladder again, adjusting another camera. He took his hoodie off at some point… as if he knows the sight of his bare arms messes with my wiring. The ink marking his forearms and biceps is on display, shifting under his skin, almost dancing around the hard muscles.

My mouth waters.

How can a guy whose job is sitting on his ass and staring at a screen all day long look like him? He’s sculpted to perfection, every muscle hewn in stone, the greenish veins protruding in a sexy way. Not bulging and swollen, just… visible.

Everything about this man is sexy. The way he moves, like a panther on the hunt, those dark, penetrating eyes, his immaculate physique, the tone of his voice…

Such a fine specimen ruined by his condescending personality. He doesn’t know me, yet he treats me like a nuisance.

“Around six,” I reply, turning around before he catches me scrutinizing every inch of his too-perfect body.

“How long are you there?”

“An hour, two max.”

I regret the answer as soon as I say it. He told me Arthur finishes at eight am. Two hours from six in the morning takes us right to their shift changeover, robbing me of spending more time with Ryder.

Like I said, hopeless.

He’s not interested in me. He’s irritated when we’re in the same room, but I can’t fool my brain: I’m disappointed that he won’t be growling and glaring at me in the mornings.

Ryder doesn’t respond for a long beat.

The pause stretches, and stretches, and stretches some more. As it does, hope seizes my mind, blooming against the odds. A lone orchid peeking between concrete pavement slabs.

Maybe he’s wondering how to renegotiate their shift swap? Maybe he wants to come with me? A few rogue butterflies dare flap their wings in my tummy.

“What time does the market open?” he asks.

“Um… not sure. Five, I think.”

“Arthur will take you. Plan your trip so he’s back by eight.”

There goes hope…

Disappointment flares behind my ribs as I shove a spoonful of creamy sauce into my mouth, hoping it’ll do its job and comfort me. It tastes as good as always but fails in the comfort department. If anything, my mood sours further when Ryder opens his mouth again.

“As you’re afraid I’ll perv on you all night, like I have nothing more important or better to do, I’m installing an alarm on your bedroom window. I’ll have to disengage it when you air the room, but it’s the best I can offer.”

Nothing better to do…

Why does that sting? Hell, it hurts. He could’ve slapped me and the pain would be indistinguishable from this.

“Okay,” is all I can manage while my throat’s constricting.

I busy myself serving food, pushing the unwanted weakness out of my system. I’m not weak. Men don’t make me weak. No one does. Nothing does.

I’m the only person I trust.

The only person I can count on.

I’m fucking bulletproof.

Once the pasta is served, I knock on Arthur’s door, then snatch a bowl, sinking into the recliner tucked in the corner of the living room.

We’re out of dining table options, given that the coffee table’s bending under the weight of Ryder’s equipment, and the breakfast bar is a mess thanks to my cooking.

“Food’s served,” I tell Ryder, motioning toward the bowls on the counter.

Arthur joins us and I curl in on myself, legs tucked under my butt, mouth full of pasta. Not letting my eyes roll back into my head in pure delight proves a struggle. Containing the moan that threatens to escape is even harder.

“That smells delicious,” Arthur comments, holding his bowl in both hands as he slides down the wall onto the floor. His long legs almost touch the coffee table, making the place look even smaller than it is.

Ryder sinks into the loveseat with his share, the end of his fork tapping his laptop’s keyboard a few times. He fills his mouth with pasta, and my stomach somersaults, sinks, then riots. He chews slowly as if savoring the bite. At least that’s my wishful thinking. Wrong thinking because while Arthur’s purring his compliments, Ryder’s impassive.

I don’t know why I want him to love my food. I don’t know why a simple it’s good would mean the world.

Liar, liar.

Fine, I know why. Because cooking has always been my love language and the one thing I can share with others without fear of rejection.

I’m a great cook.

Instead of a flower shop, I should own a restaurant. Even the people who aren’t good to me, like my adopted parents, always gush about the quality of the meals I prepare.

Earning a stupid smile from Ryder would unwind this growing ball of anxiety behind my ribs… but it doesn’t come.

What’s worse, he sets his half-eaten dinner aside and doesn’t touch it again, unknowingly rejecting my olive branch.

I bite my cheek until copper pennies dance along my tongue. The self-inflicted pain chases away the sadness and strengthens my bulletproof armor.