The Bishop Affair

by Jennifer Simms

  The Bishop Affair

  Part One

  by

  Jennifer Simms

  Copyright © 2013

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Copyright © 2013

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Warning: This work contains scenes of graphic sexual nature and it is written for adults only(18+). All characters depicted in this story are over 18 years of age.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 1

  "You just wait, one night at the clubs and you'll have a different boyfriend for every day of the week."

  I rolled my eyes at my roommate making her way over with a fresh bowl of popcorn from the small kitchen area we had in our cozy Manhattan apartment. In her other hand was a copy of The Notebook, our favorite movie. Samantha Clark looked like your typical blonde, blue-eyed bombshell that would have men stampeding one another to buy her a drink whenever she went out to a club or bar. And although most wouldn’t guess it from first impression, she was as smart as she was pretty. I’d be jealous of her if she wasn’t my best friend since high school. Well, maybe just more jealous.

  "I’m not like you. I’d be lucky to even get one," I said, reclining into the beige leather couch she had bought when I moved in two weeks ago. With her previous roommate leaving to pursue a modeling career overseas and me miraculously landing a personal assistant position in the city after months of searching for a job, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to become roommates. “Besides, that’s your fantasy, not mine.”

  “Oh please, Lori.” Sam threw a handful of popcorn at me. "For one, you’re so gorgeous it makes me crazy to hear you say things like that about yourself, and two, that's every girl's fantasy."

  I managed to catch one of the flying kernels and popped it into my mouth. "Don't you think one failed relationship’s enough for me? What would I do with seven?" I laughed, but my heart wasn't in it.

  It'd been half a year since I broke up with Eric, but the hurt still felt fresh. I sometimes wished I'd never gone to that stupid party. That was the whole thing; I hardly ever went to the booze-soaked soirees in college. My English courses kept me too busy. But this time, Eric had begged me, and I went to surprise him. I ended up being the one surprised—finding my boyfriend with his tongue in another girl's mouth. If only I’d stayed home, completed the paper I was supposed to finish, then maybe I would’ve never found out about Eric's indiscretion. Maybe we would still be together.

  I blinked as another handful of popcorn hit my face. "You've got that look again. That 'maybe I should get back with him' look."

  "Don't be stupid." I waved my hand at her. "Eric cheated on me. I know there's no going back from that."

  "Uh huh.” She raised an eyebrow. “I know every girl needs a mourning period after a breakup, but don't you think six months is pushing it?"

  "Sam, we were high school—"

  "Sweethearts. I know, I was there."

  "So you understand how it's hard for me just to cut him from my life?”

  I still talked to Eric on a regular basis despite Sam’s disapprovals. Even though we broke up, we still remained close friends at his insistence. Losing a boyfriend was hard enough, so losing one of my closest friends on top of that just wasn’t something I was willing to face. As much as it hurt to have the incident brew in the back of my mind every time I talked to him, it was also comforting to be able to continue sharing laughs and conversations together.

  "I understand how it’s hard dwelling in the past all the time.” She paused for a moment and then sighed. "I don't want to fight about it, Lori, but I want you to be happy. You have to put yourself back out there, you deserve someone better."

  It was my turn to sigh. Sam was right and we both knew it.

  "This city’s going to be my fresh start, and tomorrow’s my first day of work. Who knows maybe I’ll meet some cute guys there."

  "That’s the spirit." She comically pumped her fist in the air. "I knew you'd come around."

  "You think it's so easy." I threw my own handful of popcorn at her. "You already have your whole life figured out."

  "As if having my whole life figured out just means having a good job..."

  It was a sure start, anyway. Sam landed a high-paying analyst position at one of the top financial companies in New York City. We had both gone to Binghamton University but whereas I studied English, she studied business and economics. It figured she would get the better end of the stick in the post-graduation job market. And here I was, twenty-four years old and starting a brand new life — one I hadn't planned on having. As silly as it sounds, I thought that by now Eric and I would’ve had a small house together, comfortable jobs, and, above all, each other. I couldn't help but be a little envious of Sam's financial security and her carefree attitude about men when I felt like I was drifting out to sea.

  With the sudden urge to pull myself from a mental funk, I clapped my hands together and stood up from the couch, dusting a few stray crumbs from my lap. "You know, I'm going to head over to the gym."

  “What happened to girls’ night and watching the movie?”

  "Watching a movie isn’t going to help me get a celebrity body to impress my seven new boyfriends."

  Sam threw her head back and laughed. "Now that’s what I like to hear! I’d join you, but Ryan Gosling’s butt isn’t going to ogle itself you know."

  “So true.” I giggled. “Maybe I can ogle some myself at the gym. Checking out the website, it’s supposed to be very upscale, might even see some celebrities there.”

  After a few more laughs, I waved to Sam, grabbed my tote, and headed out the door. Taking the three flights of stairs down, I reached the bustling streets of Manhattan.

  Even in the evening, the sidewalks were lined with briskly walking people, some in suits and skirts arguing with their cell phones, while others in jeans and t-shirts making jokes with their friends. Cars packed the streets and not a minute went by when I didn’t hear the distinct honking of a taxi. I could tell autumn was beginning to assert itself in the city when I spotted a few individuals already wearing jackets while munching on hot dogs. The gym was just a few blocks over, but along the way I passed by high-end fashion stores, fancy restaurants, and tall buildings with more than a few office lights still on despite being Sunday. Just one block of Manhattan had more going on than the entire city of Binghamton where I grew up.

  A gruffy-looking older man held out a cup asking for money, and I plopped in the change I had in my pocket from eating out with Sam earlier. I couldn’t help but think that if my mom was here, she’d freak out. “Lori, don’t give him money. If he knows you have money, he might follow you home and kill you!” I could practically hear her mouth the words with her signature disapproving stare. She was paranoid of a lot of things not least of which was city people, having experienced a lot of crime growing up in the rough parts of Chicago before moving to Binghamton after meeting my dad, where she hasn’t strayed far from since. She tried her best to convince me to decline the job offer and to continue searching for one back home even going so far as to send out my resume to places without my knowledge or permission. But there just weren’t any opportunities. We argued back and forth, and fortunately my dad was open-minded about the idea of me exploring the world and gaini
ng more life experience. He helped convince my mom that it was going to be okay, that Sam was going to be here with me, and that I would promise to check in with them regularly. And now here I was, excited to be living in Manhattan, at the center of all the action.

  Crossing the street, I stared up at a large sleek building not unlike the office buildings surrounding it. If it wasn’t for the enormous logo of the gym near the entrance, I would have doubted this was the right place. Eager to check out the interior, I bounded the steps and upon reaching the reception desk, was greeted by a perky brunette who introduced herself as Christina and offered to show me around.

  She led me to the women’s locker room, highlighting the various amenities including the cherry wood lockers for storing your belongings, a handy device for instantly drying your wet swimsuit, and best of all, the heated marble floor that kept your bare feet toasty while walking to and from the shower or sauna. With the warm lighting, scent of fresh flowers, and luxurious decor, it felt more like a living room than a locker room. As if that wasn’t impressive enough to convince me to join, we then made a quick tour of the first floor, walking past the reception desk and making stops at the rock climbing wall, the Olympic sized swimming pool (how did they fit that in here?), the juice bar, and the salon. The only thing missing was a room for beds, otherwise I would seriously consider living here.

  Up a flight of stairs were free weights, state-of-the-art machines—half of which I’d never seen before and didn’t have the slightest idea how to use—and all the other goodies you would expect from a typical gym. Not too shabby.

  “So that concludes our tour of the facilities. Any questions for me?” Christina gave me the same perky smile as when I walked in, which made me wonder if that was part of their employee training or if that was just her natural personality. Either way, it was definitely welcoming.

  I politely said no, still trying to process everything I’d seen already. Just going through the tour made me feel like I accomplished something today; I could just go home, forget about the workout, and give myself a pat on the back.

  “Well, as you know, you’re free to try us out for a week before deciding to join. Please let me know if you have any...more...questions...” Her voice unexpectedly trailed off, and her eyes appeared to fix on to something behind me.

  Behind Christina, a woman running on a treadmill with her head pivoted in my direction, forgot to keep her legs moving and nearly fell off the end of the machine but managed to grab the safety rail at the last moment. Near her, a pair of small dumbbells clanged by the feet of a gentleman wearing bright spandex, his eyes wide and mouth agape. What were they looking at?

  Following their stares, I swiveled around to face the free weight area, and was suddenly hit by a vision of maleness so intense, so undeniably potent, I nearly toppled over. A pair of fresh orange-striped sneakers sat at the base of thick, tanned calves that flexed hard lines as he bent down, reaching for the rack of weights that looked small compared to his tall and wide frame. Delicious, bulging thighs peeked out from beneath red mesh shorts ending just above the knee, and rugged, barrel-like arms strained to pick up the heaviest plate while chiseled pecs stretched against a fitted grey tank that hung loosely around a slim waist. As he straightened, I saw ash-brown hair framed a lightly stubbled face that could drop panties with a smile.

  Who. Is. That?

  I stared, hypnotized by his efficient movements as he loaded plate after plate onto the bar for the benchpress. Men and women nearby ceased working out, mesmerized by the sight of this man. Man? No, he was closer to a Greek god. At a quick glance, I might have mistaken him for one of those typical meathead types that frequently populate gyms, but he was somehow too refined and too rugged at the same time, and something in the purposeful way he carried himself put him in a whole different league of male altogether.

  Lying back and gripping the bar that bent with the load on each side, he unracked the weight with ease and began heaving it up and down, each rep showcasing a perfectly developed torso that strangely had my legs feeling weak. He didn’t have a spotter, but I don’t think it would’ve mattered since no one around would’ve been able to help with lifting that amount of weight.

  Standing and staring for what must have been a full minute, I had already lost count of the number of reps he completed before I heard a deep, throaty, purely masculine grunt as he pushed up one final rep. It brought sex to mind. Primal, sweaty—the kind that ended in torn garments and broken furniture—sex.

  As I watched him rest, someone bumped into me from behind, breaking me from my trance. They apologized for their inattention, and I exhaled, trying to collect what was left of my scrambled brain. Not only had I forgotten that I was here to workout, I’d even forgotten to breathe. Lingering long enough to see him vanish around the corner to probably get a drink, I thanked Christina who was still mentally recovering herself and made my way over to the cardio machines with renewed conviction to whip myself into shape. I wasn’t going to benchpress a thousand pounds, but I sure as hell planned to run my butt off (literally) after watching that demonstration.

  Immediately cranking the speed up to high, I began my workout. I was pumped and didn’t need a warm up—my heart was already beating fast and my whole body felt hot. In front of the cardio machines was a glass wall that gave a clear view to the swimming pool below. Settling into a comfortable but challenging pace, I watched swimmers dive off the ridiculously high springboard and do laps back and forth as my mind replayed images of the sizzling beefcake I just spotted. I’d never seen anyone like that. He was like a rare species of male that a professional observer of men only gets to see once in a lifetime.

  He must’ve been a celebrity or model. Or both. Although I couldn’t recall seeing him anywhere before, nobody looked that gorgeous unless it was their job to be. I thought about Eric and remembered how I admired his physique in high school. He was decently muscular without being too cut like a long distance runner or too bulky like a football player. He was just the right balance between the extremes of each but started to put on a gut with all the drinking he did in college. Little did I know, it was possible to be both big and lean in one mindblowing package. I always thought that a body like that was all airbrush and cinema magic like the ripped Spartans from the film 300—not actually something attainable in real life. Too bad he probably had a girlfriend, someone who looked like Sam and starred in big blockbuster movies opposite Orlando Bloom, not someone who ate a few too many bowls of ice cream grieving over her stupid, cheating ex-boyfriend.

  I hit the button to increase the speed on the machine. I could see my reflection in the glass sweating, breathing heavily, face red, and ponytail bobbing up and down in rhythm to the pounding of my shoes.

  It felt good pushing myself; it had been months since my last workout. The breakup had been hell on me, and I silently promised myself never to sink that low again. I really missed the sensation of burning muscles and that rush of endorphins I got from exercising. I was determined to start a regular routine once I got settled into my new job, maybe take some Les Mills classes to mix things up. This place was perfect for my fitness goals but the only problem was the cost. Most of the members here were pretty wealthy from what I could tell and that made sense given this was Manhattan. It’s a shame, but after my trial ends, I’d probably have to go to one of the more economical gyms further away. It’d be more inconvenient but on the bright side, the longer walk could help me burn some extra calories.

  Just as I was getting into a groove listening to Rihanna sing about diamonds on my Ipod, someone in my periphery climbed up the diving board, stepped to the edge and jumped, doing at least three twists and a flip before gracefully splashing into the water.

  Holy cow. Was that a professional diver? More than a little curious, I followed the dark blurry figure beneath the ripples as it elegantly swam to the ladder by the side of the pool. Gripping onto the handrails, he emerged in slow motion. Beads of water trickled from strands of da
rk, neck-length hair rolling down broad sculpted shoulders, sliding over a sword tattoo etched into a smooth muscular chest, cascading between rows of rock hard abs, and finally disappearing into tight, black Speedo trunks.

  Damn that guy is lean. Lean. The word was as prominent in my head as the ‘V’ shaped lines around his hips that directed me towards the hefty bulge in his swimwear. And packing serious goods.

  A surge of heat rose to my already warm cheeks. My mouth suddenly felt dry, and I licked my lips, imagining what it would be like to gingerly peel down those trunks with my fingertips, slowly exposing the delectable contents beneath.

  He slicked his hair back and yanked his goggles to his forehead, revealing magnificent steely blue eyes that aside from pushing all my hot buttons, immediately set off an alarm. He had the look of someone my mother had warned me to stay away from in the city. Someone dangerous. It wasn’t just those cold eyes; the tattoo on his chest and a faded scar across his cheek suggested this guy was trouble. Was he a mobster? A trained assassin that kills little kittens in his spare time just for fun? A mixture of fear and excitement shot through my system as I flashed on the thought of meeting this man in a dark alley one night while walking back from the gym. Him pushing me up against a wall, cornering me with those toned abs, firm lips inches from mine...