by Rynne Raines
Christ, you’re an asshole, Sinclair.
He reached the front step, paused before the coffee-colored door, and took a minute to contemplate strategy. It would have been easier if Bianca were just angry. Anger he could work with. Hurt, that was another story.
Irritated, he scrubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw, narrowed his eyes, and swore if he ever laid eyes on Barry Johnson again he’d beat the shit out of him, not only for using his sister like a bottomless green machine, cheating like a dog and breaking her heart, but for his miserable, fucking timing.
With adrenaline pumping through his veins, Cade raised his fist to the door, pounded three times and stepped back. He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and tapped the toe of his boot against the cement as he waited.
After ten minutes of repeated knocking and no answer, he braced his forehead against the door.
“Damn it—Bianca.” He pounded harder. “Bianca, answer the door.” He didn’t bother keeping his voice down. Why in the hell should the rest of Los Angeles sleep on a Sunday morning when he couldn’t?
“Christ, Bianca, just answer the goddamn door.”
“She’s not home,” a scratchy voice snapped.
Cade stepped back and settled his gaze on the nest of washed-out strawberry blonde frayed around the weathered face jutting out the door of the next duplex over. Mrs. Peterson, I presume. He arched a brow as a twist of gray smoke ringed into the air, from the long cigarette clenched between her craggy lips.
“Suppose you’re the reason the girl’s blasted machine beeped all night—the walls are thin, you know? Very thin.” Worn brown slippers scuffed against cement as she shuffled down the walk in a frumpy robe to fetch the newspaper.
“Yeah. Sorry about that.” He pulled off his shades, jogged down the steps, and beat her to the end of the sidewalk. “We had a bit of a falling out, and I wanted to talk to her as soon as possible.”
“Like I said, she’s not home.” She frowned and narrowed her pale green eyes on him before eventually taking the newspaper he held out.
“You don’t happen to know where she is?”
“That your bike?” With a long pull on her cigarette, she eyed the motorcycle and Cade caught a glimpse of approval at the corners of her mouth.
“Yeah, yeah it is. Want a closer look?”
She shrugged a little. The deep lines in her face smoothed while the slight curve of her lips appeared almost girlish. If he wanted information, this was his in.
“Come on, she won’t bite.” He flashed a smile and waved her over.
Estelle Peterson was a female who liked to talk, Cade mused an hour later. She stood on her front step and waved goodbye. In an hour, they’d discussed the schematics of his bike and her late husband’s passion for riding, but more importantly, he’d managed to pry a few morsels of information about Bianca.
He dug into the saddlebag for his cell, then flipped it open and punched numbers.
According to Estelle, Bianca did come home last night, however, she hadn’t stayed long. That she’d hopped into a cab with a duffle bag and a pint of Rocky Road didn’t help the knot in his gut. But Estelle did give him an idea of where she might be.
A call to Caitlyn for the address of Bianca’s workshop turned out a bust. He snapped the phone shut and swore. The only thing stopping him from hurtling his cell across the street was the slim chance Bianca might cool off and return his calls.
Fat chance.
He shoved a hand through his hair. Further exhaustion set in.
If she wanted to hide from him, there was jack he could do about it. He wouldn’t chase her, track her and force himself down her throat. Not his style. But neither was letting something he wanted so badly slip through his fingers. He’d waited four years for this opportunity. Waiting another twenty-four hours wouldn’t make a difference...Or would it? Shit.
****
God, she hated Mondays.
As the cab swung around the final corner and onto Highland Street, Bianca nibbled a fingernail and clutched her duffle bag to her chest. With each bump in the road, her body ached. The makeshift bed she’d set up on the floor of the workshop had been anything but comfortable. However, it suited well enough for the three short catnaps she’d taken. While her fingertips were raw and her muscles burned from hours of forming, sculpting, and glazing, the throbbing was the farthest thing from her mind.
Her legs were watery as she stepped onto the curb and slung the bag over her shoulder. Moving up the walk she sent an anxious scan around the yard. She should have been relieved when she saw her small patch of grass vacant, the front step empty and Cade nowhere in sight. Her shoulders sank. Illogical as it was, disappointment clamped its talons around her heart and squeezed hard, sucking the breath from her lungs. She paused half the distance to the door and pressed her fingers into her stinging eyes.
It was my sister, she remembered bitterly and bit back a curse. Yeah, right. The same sister he had hardly spoken to over the last two years? Perhaps she would’ve bought that story four years ago, being naïve and fresh out of the gate. But did Cade really think she was that stupid?
His absence was for the best. She chewed her lower lip. The last thing she needed was a confrontation first thing on a Monday morning. As it was, if she didn’t get her tail in motion, she’d be late for work. Again.
“Come outta hiding?”
Bianca jumped just as she’d gotten her key in the lock, then steadied her hand as the scent of cigarette smoke wafted across the yard, right on the heels of the low, scratchy voice.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there, Mrs. Peterson.”
“‘Course you didn’t, girl. Just stepped out to get me some fresh air.”
Right. She tried not to arch an eyebrow as her gaze traveled from the cigarette clamped between peach-painted lips and back to hard eyes.
“That damn machine of yours went off at least twenty times Saturday night.”
“Shoot.” She winced and readjusted her bag to her other shoulder. “Um, sorry about that. I must’ve forgotten to turn it off.”
Estelle grunted and took another long pull that had the cherry glowing.
“I’d love to chat but I’m going to be late for work. Nice seeing you, and again, I’m really sorry if my machine disturbed you.”
“Wait.”
Bianca paused on turning the key and tried not to gape as Estelle Peterson waddled down the steps and crossed the yard for the first time since they’d become neighbors three years ago.
“Your boyfriend’s got a nice bike.” One of her thick arms propped under her heavy breasts while she smoked. “He came poking around yesterday, looking for you. Pounded on your door like a goddamn maniac before the birds were up. And on a Sunday morning! Can you believe that? It’s suppose to be a day of rest.”
“Oh, God.” Bianca cringed. “I—I’m very sorry about that. It won’t happen again.”
“Looked upset, too. Said you had a falling out, wanted to talk. Now, you know me, I ain’t one of these ol’ biddies who’s got their nose pressed to the window—I’m a busy woman, got responsibility with my garden and all.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” she said quickly, and ignored the image of Estelle watching through the window when her cab pulled away Saturday evening after Cade had left her high and dry.
“Don’t like gettin’ involved in drama.” She ground the stub out on the cement before starting back to her own yard. “For what it’s worth, think you should hear him out—sweet boy. Anyways, I’ve said my piece, and the next time you decide to run away, turn that goddamn answering machine off.”
“I will.”
When the screen door slammed shut behind Estelle, she found herself staring at her own door.
Sweet boy?
Bianca gently shook her head and huffed. Apparently, among all of Cade’s God-given talents, he possessed the ability to win over crotchety old women. Then she imagined he had a way with all women…and loved every minute of it. She fought
off the pang in her chest and finally turned the key all the way.
She cut to the bedroom and dropped her bag next to the closet. There was no time to sulk. Even if she moved at the speed of light, she wouldn’t make it to work on time. Huffing, she reached into the closet, grabbed one of her standard minis and a corset, and flung it onto the bed. Her eyes locked on the navy V-neck, sitting neatly folded atop her pillow, and she froze. Images of Cade’s hard body and damp hair filled her head and, as if she were back in that shower with him, she shivered.
The problem with memories was that you couldn’t control them, Bianca thought as she sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the shirt. They came and went when they pleased. She closed her eyes and curled her fingers into the fabric clutched to her chest. A scent, a sight, a texture was all it took to cause the flash, the burst of unwanted emotion. The type of emotion that made people throw logic out the window and follow their hearts.
****
Cade slammed his office door, put his back against it, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Was it his imagination or were the twenty-one-year old bountiful Cassidy twins actually getting dumber with each subsequent class?
Enough was enough.
At the end of this week, he was done instructing. He ran a ragged hand over his face, crossed to his desk and dropped into his chair. The restaurant brought in far more income than he actually needed to live comfortably, and although he wanted to give back to the community through educating, well, every man had his limitations.
Clenching his jaw, he shoved back the next week’s schedule, then flicked a glance to the wall clock. By now, Bianca would be done with her shift at Eden and on her way home. He reached inside his desk, pulled out his cell, and scanned the screen.
No new messages.
He scowled, slammed the phone back in the drawer, then steepled his fingers against his lips. Perhaps she hadn’t spent Saturday evening sculpting in her shop. Perhaps she’d found someone else to tend to the fire that he’d started. No. She wasn’t the type for one-night stands…or was she?
She’d obviously had no problem with convenient sex the week they met. In fact, he’d made it clear their last night together he was interested in more than a quick fling, and left that ball in her court. She was the one who’d decided he was good for nothing more than a week’s worth of fucking.
Don’t be an idiot, Sinclair.
Cade shoved a hand through his hair and growled low in his throat. He knew her better than that. Regardless of what had swayed her decision to reject further contact between them, at the time she must have had her reasons. Even from the beginning she’d never struck him as the love ‘em and leave ‘em type.
But what if she was?
He sure as hell shouldn’t be judging her relationship preferences. How many years had he played the market, with only instant gratification in mind? Longer than he should have, that was for damn sure. It wasn’t until he met Bianca that things changed for him. Was it her fault if she didn’t see him in the same light?
Christ. He was making himself insane.
A soft knock sounded and before he could stop himself, Cade leapt from the chair.
Oh, yeah, real Dom-appropriate. Why not just swing the door open and drop to your knees while you’re at it?
Shaking his head, he composed himself and strolled leisurely across the office. “About time you got back to me…” his words trailed off when he stared down. Shit. The Drama Queen Extraordinaire, Karlie Summers, batted her long, fake lashes up at him.
“Expecting someone else?”
“Matter of fact, I was.” Shouldn’t you be stuck under a house so Munchkins can pry off your ruby red shoes? “What do you want?”
“Thought you might be in need of a cold one.” She wiggled two bottles of ice-cold beer and tossed long chestnut hair over her shoulder.
“I don’t drink when I have my bike with me, but thanks.” Cade fought a scowl and went to shut the door, but Karlie slipped past him. On five-inch heels, she crossed the office and took the liberty of making herself comfortable by propping her barely-covered ass on the corner of his desk. “Come right in,” he muttered and shut the door.
When he turned she’d already popped the cap off one of the beers and had her bright red lips wrapped around the opening. Although her black leather skirt easily rode past upper thigh, her legs weren’t crossed but spread shoulder-width apart, displaying a flash of white lace panties. He fought not to roll his eyes.
Real classy.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding from me all day?”
“Actually I’ve been working. That’s what I do here, I work.” He crossed his arms on his chest and tried to keep his tone neutral, but her coy tone irritated the hell out of him. Over the course of six months, he’d watched her destroy more than three relationships inside the community. It was sport to her. If it were up to him, he’d have tossed her out on her ass the first night they met.
“Oh, c’mon, Cade. That can’t be all you’re interested in doing here. All work and no play?” She set the bottle, dripping with condensation, directly on his desk—another thing that pissed him off. Then she joined him where he stood near the door. She moved close enough that the stinging scent of her perfume burned his nostrils.
“Actually, I was off five minutes ago, so if you don’t mind—”
“Why do you do this to me?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Do what?”
“Torment me this way.” She ran an artificial fingernail along his bicep and his skin crawled. “You’re the only Dom here who knows what he’s doing, how to master a woman. Granted, everyone can go through the motions, play the part, but you… Oh, I can tell, you’re the real deal.”
“Flattered,” he said in a dry tone. “Is that the line you used on Marcel, Patrick, and Stewart? Gotta say, the innocent expression is top notch, but the sincerity of your delivery needs a bit of work.”
Anger flashed in her eyes, but only for a split second. Her lips curved into a slow smile.
“Jealous, Cade?”
“Delusional, Karlie?”
“We’d be great together,” she insisted, and took a step closer. “I’d be the perfect submissive for you, Master.”
“I am not your Master.” Cade gripped her wrists and held her back. “Do you honestly think I don’t see through your game? How you slither from man to man, feeding on the fact you’ve the power to make a few of them stray from their partners, and once you’ve destroyed any chance they might have at happiness, you move on to the next victim? You’re pathetic. I will never be your Master. If it makes it any easier on your fragile ego, I’m involved. So back…the fuck…off.”
Her cheeks scalded as if he’d slapped her across the face, but he didn’t give a damn anymore. He’d tolerated her antics for the last six months and wasn’t in the mood to be diplomatic.
“Get out.” He flung open the door. His chest tightened at the sight of the tall, lean silhouette standing in the archway.
Bianca.
Chapter Nine
Mother always told her the eyes were a window into the soul, and if you looked into a pair long and hard, you might find yourself lucky enough to glimpse the truth of a person. Tonight, the truth came in the form of a vivid storm of green framed by dark lashes. Staring into Cade’s eyes, Bianca swallowed hard. If Mother had been right, she thought, shivering as the air crackled with electricity, then Cade Sinclair was far more dangerous to her heart than she’d realized.
Anger. Relief. Understanding. Regret.
Though she knew Cade frequently masked his emotions, this time, when their eyes locked and held, his expression somehow spoke a thousand words. There was no mask now. Only raw, overwhelming emotion. The kind of emotion most people ran from, yet searched for all their lives.
She didn’t noticed the other set of eyes watching her, until the owner of them loudly cleared her throat.
“S—Sorry,” Bianca stuttered and finally broke eye contact. “I’m
interrupting.”
“You aren’t,” Cade said simply. “Karlie was just leaving.” He braced one hand on the door, waved her out with the other. The curvy brunette’s large eyes narrowed on Bianca for a second before she flashed a last glance at Cade and stormed out.
“Tense.” She winced. “Sure I wasn’t interrupting? I could come back if you—”
“Unsatisfied customer—it happens.” He sauntered to his desk, leaned against it, and shoved his hands deep inside the pockets of his jeans.
That he didn’t ask her to come in shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did. After all, she’d been the one dodging his calls the last two days while hiding at her shop like a coward. She refused to be a coward now.
Realizing he wasn’t offering an invite regardless of how long she stood in the door way, she swallowed her pride and showed herself in.
“Thought you’d want this back.” She held up the navy sweatshirt.
“How considerate of you.”
When his hands remained shoved deep inside his pockets, she awkwardly placed the shirt on the desk and cleared her throat. “It’s not the only reason I’m here.”
“I didn’t assume it was.”
She met his eyes and lifted her chin a measure. He wasn’t going to make this easy but she could accept that.
“I need to apologize.” Uncomfortable with the quickening rhythm of her pulse, Bianca hugged herself and shifted her gaze to a coffee cup on his ultra-tidy desk. “I don’t normally do things like this—hide from people, I mean.”
“I regret making you feel the need to hide.” He uncrossed his ankles and straightened.
Thankfully, he didn’t step toward her. Had he, she might have thrown herself against him, buried her face in his chest and begged him to never let go.
