Catching Bianca: A Dark Mafia Romance (Shadows of Obsession Book 4)
Catching Bianca: Chapter 17

What the hell is wrong with that girl?

All week, she acts like I’m evil personified, snapping at me any chance she gets, yet she’s in my apartment, getting ready for the club outing in my bathroom.

She had a shower and the sounds of water and her humming kept me half-hard the entire time. The water’s not running anymore, and the smell of coconut perfumes the air, letting me know exactly what she’s doing behind closed doors.

My head’s full of her… I wish she was full of my head, too.

I sit at the breakfast bar, ready to leave, my knee bouncing, fingers tapping against the marble counter, a glass of whiskey in my free hand. None of it takes the edge off my agitated mind.

The vulnerability in her eyes when I told her she’d be staying at Carter’s hit me harder than Cupid’s arrow could.

My immediate reaction was relief. She wants my company; she feels safe with me. Despite how much she infuriates me, I want her around. I want to be the one keeping her safe.

I take another sip of whiskey, glancing at my wristwatch. Arthur’s picking us up in ten minutes and the bathroom door cracks open, but Bianca’s footsteps don’t follow.

“Ryder?” she calls out, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Could you… could you help me in here?”

My back straightens, heat spreading through me at the thought of lathering lotion into the parts she can’t reach. I doubt that’s what she needs, but one can hope.

Setting the glass on the counter, I make my way into the bathroom. Bianca’s head peeks through the cracked door, her makeup done, straight hair tumbling down her arms. She opens the door further, one arm draped over her chest, holding her mini dress in place.

My mind soars, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth in dumb amazement. The burgundy velvet dress is tiny, ending a couple of inches below her ass, modestly flared from her waist down, snug from her waist up. It’s strapless, plain, nothing but two inches of silk at the hem to break the boredom.

Plain. Beyond sexy yet elegant in a minimalist sort of way.

Her sun-kissed skin is on display, glistening with the remnants of lotion that hasn’t yet absorbed. Gold jewelry complements the look. Her eyes and cheekbones pop thanks to the earthy-toned makeup, and four-inch stilettos make her legs go on for fucking ever.

Those heels would look phenomenal over my shoulder.

“Can you zip me up?” she asks, twirling around.

Only if I get to unzip you later.

Fuck. She wants me dead.

Her whole back is bare, not a hit of bra. Nothing but smooth, warm skin and a strip of lace further down.

Jesus wept… she’s wearing a thong.

My heart hammers in my chest, dangerously close to cardiac-arrest range. She wants me dead, and she’ll get her fucking wish at this rate. Arousal oozes out of my pores, leaks from my cock. The feeling intensifies when I grip the zipper at the small of her back, pulling it up slowly.

Goosebumps appear everywhere I touch.

It’d be so easy to spin her around and taste those pouty lips, painted to match her dress. We lock eyes in the mirror, her chin raised, satisfaction painting her face better than makeup.

“You like what you see,” she states matter-of-factly.

“I’m not blind, Winter. You’re gorgeous.”

I get a smile for that. A smile that grows more sensual when the zipper of her dress, guided by my hand, reaches the top. She spins, head tilted to scan my outfit.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” She looks up at me, not craning her neck as far back now she’s wearing heels. “It’s growing on me.”

“What is?”

“That nickname. I know you chose it because you think I’m cold, but…” She pushes away from the vanity, her fingers tiptoeing up my chest, eyes following the movement. “I assure you, there’s a time and place for hot.”

With a cheeky wink, she ducks under my arm, sauntering out of the bathroom, her hips swaying seductively.

My resolve not to have her even once is faltering fast. If she weren’t Hailey’s sister, if a one-night stand couldn’t backfire in my face, I wouldn’t hold back.

Too bad that it would backfire. We live under the same roof, whichever city we’re in, apparently. One night would get complicated and I don’t want this cold bitch more than once.

I adjust my cock in my pants before I follow her into the living room, where she fiddles with her purse.

“Where’s your jacket?” I ask.

“We’re not walking, are we? It’ll be warm inside the car and in the club.”

“But it’s not warm outside.”

“I’m not five, Ryder. If I thought I’d be cold, I’d grab a jacket.”

A knock reverberates through the apartment, cutting the conversation short.

I grind my teeth, following Bianca into the car and ignoring the way my stomach clenches when a chilly gust of air raises the fine hairs on the back of her slender neck. The same neck I’d love to wring because she’s so fucking stubborn.

The ride, like all our rides, is tense, the closed, tight space of the car trapping me in a bubble of Bianca’s scent. It’s maddening. Keeping my cock at half-mast. At least she’s tucked in the back seat where I can’t see her long legs, tiny dress, or gorgeous, delicate face that doesn’t match her personality one bit.

Arthur takes his Merc round the back of Scarlett, and once inside we head straight for the VIP bar.

“What are you drinking?” I ask Bianca, resting one elbow on the bar, eyes on her face as if my sanity depends on it.

It does. The way her dress hugs her breasts, the way their swell taunts me as if demanding caresses, slowly but surely drives me closer toward insanity. Either I keep my eyes on hers or risk peeking at her boobs and burying my face in them.

“Lemonade, please.” She shifts her weight from one leg to the other, jutting out her hip.

“No wine tonight?”

“I’m not a big drinker. In fact, I hadn’t touched alcohol for five years before last weekend.”

“Lemonade it is,” I tell the bartender. “And two whiskeys on the rocks.”

He bobs his head, scurrying away to prepare the drinks. Bianca scans the club with awe on her pretty face. Strobe lights dance across her skin, highlighting the figure-fitting velvet hugging her curves. It’s as if the universe is against me. As if everything is highlighting how gorgeous she is and saying I’m an idiot for missing out by refusing to touch her.

“There you are,” Hailey’s voice sounds behind me. “You look amazing, Bianca.”

Jealousy and relief start a war inside my head. Relief because Bianca will leave my personal space, taking her scarcely dressed body and brain-melting scent with her.

Jealousy for the same reason. I want her in my space, even though I don’t want her in my fucking space.

“Hey, Hailey,” Bianca chirps. “And thanks. I wasn’t sure if this dress was appropriate.”

It isn’t. I’ve pondered wrapping her in my jacket a thousand times since we stepped out of my apartment and Arthur’s eyes widened at the sight of her. If that means I’m a toxic, walking red flag, then oh well, I’m fresh out of fucks to give. Her dress is too short, too revealing, too head-turning, too tight-fitting. Every guy here will salivate over her all evening.

My temper might not survive this.

I straighten my spine when another unpleasant thought batters my mind. I glance over my shoulder to our usual booth, zeroing in on Koby.

As expected, he’s staring at Bianca.

The bartender places the lemonade in front of her, and the girls walk away. I keep my focus on the bottles of liquor lining the shelves straight ahead for a whole six seconds before my head turns to watch them.

Her.

The sway of her hips hidden under the flared dress, how her slim legs glisten in the dimmed lights, how her hair swings, flirting with her bare shoulder blades…

My cock stirs, my head filling with a vision of those dark strands framing my face as she leans over me for a kiss while she rides me, her legs bracketing my hips.

“Here you go.” The bartender slides a crystal glass toward me, ending the erotic clip.

Arthur lifts his glass, taking a measured sip. “You’re into her,” he says, weighing his words as if worried he’s too forward.

He is, but whatever.

“And she’s into Koby,” I grit out, snatching my glass. “Besides, she might be pretty, but she’s a pain in my ass.”

Arthur chuckles, falling into step beside me. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

My words must’ve put him at ease. Made him think he can speak his mind freely. Wrong. We’re not friends yet. We’re acquaintances. The sarcasm dripping from his voice is way too forward. I let him have it though.

Bianca, Hailey, and Violet are engrossed in conversation when I greet the men at the table, sliding in beside Koby.

He drags his attention from the girls, glancing between me and Bianca. He inches closer, dropping his volume to barely above a whisper.

“How do you live with that and not make a move?”

“Who says I didn’t?”

A slow smirk curves his mouth. “Your body language. You’d be in her space, glowering at everyone if you’d had a taste.”

“She’s… not my type.”

“Too catty?”

“Too cold.”

Koby chuckles into his glass. “She looks fucking hot.”

The muscles in my back tense on cue. My teeth clench so hard I can hardly open my mouth as I lift the crystal glass. As if sensing me staring, Bianca looks up.

She holds my gaze for a beat, then a beat longer, and longer still. I don’t back down, the little contest sending a thrill down my spine. A knowing smile blooms on her burgundy lips before she focuses back on whatever Hailey’s saying.

“Sorry.” Koby elbows my ribs. “I wouldn’t say that about Hailey or Violet so I shouldn’t say it about Bianca.”

“She’s not mine.”

“The way you two are eye-fucking each other says different.”

I refrain from rolling my eyes, any clever retorts and denials flaking on my tongue. Better he thinks I’m considering my move. It should keep him at a distance… unless he’s bored of his teeth now and would prefer to chew gum with his fingers for the rest of his life. In which case, let him try his fucking luck.