by Susan Stoker
Would it have his dark hair? My brown eyes? Some perfect combination and—Oh my lord, stop thinking about this! Reminding myself I didn't care, I was only here for the job I desperately needed, I pushed through the front door.
Letting the pups off their leashes, I headed through the hallway and into the grand foyer. Just beyond, I could hear voices; several feminine ones. Curious, and needing to find Miss Callehurst, I leaned around the corner.
The guests—all beautiful women—were strewn out on plush leather chairs or couches. Bishop was sandwiched on both sides by them. They stared at him with thick lashes fluttering, simpering and sanguine. He was being worshiped like some ancient god. No longer in his workout gear, he was dressed in a suit jacket lined in rich emerald green. It hung open, the button-down shirt beneath doing little to hide his muscles. Rich, midnight pants hugged his strong legs.
He cleans up good, but he's no god, I reminded myself quickly. I was halfway through rolling my eyes when I glimpsed his face—his empty smile. I'd only spent a few minutes with the man, but I could tell there was a difference in the energy he'd displayed to me in the kitchen, and this. Earlier he'd been having fun. But right now...
He was miserable.
“Oh! Good—someone to refill my drink,” a young woman said. She was dressed in a low-cut dress the color of blood. Her body was leaning towards Bishop, and if I looked closely, I could tell he was subtly leaning away.
She was staring at me. That was when I realized who the “someone to refill her drink” was. Clearing her throat, she wagged a glass full of ice. “Go on,” she said curtly. “Get me a new mimosa.”
Before I could stop myself, I said, “I'm not a maid. Also, no good mimosa is served with ice in it.”
Bishop didn't muffle his snort of laughter. The women were all aghast at my response; I didn't really understand the weight of it. The woman with her empty glass was turning redder than her dress.
Miss Callehurst rounded the corner. “Ah, there you are, Nellie. Get the dogs into the kitchen and give them some water, they must be parched.”
Happy to get away from these stuck-up socialites, I clicked my tongue at the dogs so they'd follow me from the room. As I went, I spotted Bishop still smiling at me. His reaction had my stomach doing cartwheels.
Once I'd settled the dogs with fresh water, I hung the leashes where I'd found them earlier. Unsure what else to do, I sat on a squishy stool by the granite island. It felt odd to be alone in the spacious kitchen. I imagined that any second a fancy chef would bust through the doors with an exquisite tasting menu just for me.
I jumped up when Bishop pushed into the room. He was no chef, that was for sure. “You're still here,” he said.
“I'm waiting for your mom to tell me if I've got the job or not.”
“Well, of course you've got it.”
“How do you know?”
Bishop leaned over the opposite side of the island. His hands were folded on top, just a foot away from my own. “Mom isn't the type to waste time. If she didn't like the way Jaws and Cujo responded to you from the start, she wouldn't have let you leave with them.”
“That's kind of intimidating,” I said with a laugh.
His eyebrow moved lower. “Speaking of... I think you gave Iris quite a scare out there.”
“Iris?” My forehead tightened. “Oh, her. I wasn't trying to be rude, but what kind of person assumes a stranger must be the maid?”
“A girl who's used to being waited on hand and foot her whole life.” He muffled a yawn. He was clearly exhausted; was it from entertaining those women? Then he looked at me, suddenly refreshed. “I thought it was hilarious how upset she got. You should be careful, though. She's going to hate you now.”
“Because I corrected her?” I shook my head sharply. “That's kind of an overreaction.”
“Overreaction is Iris in a nutshell.” Stretching his arms over his head, his muscles strained against the shirt he was wearing. The jacket had vanished—I tried not to stare. I really did. “You're not used to this world, are you?”
I unstuck my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “You mean the world of the rich and famous. Nope. Don't plan to get used to it, either.”
“You're not into power or money?” he asked, doubt plain on his face.
“I'm into doing a good job and hanging out with cute dogs.” I glanced over at the Pomeranians where they were stretched out in the warm sun on the tile. “Animals are straightforward in what they need. What they want. I like that. I need that in my life right now.”
When I looked back at Bishop, his lips were in a strained line. The glimmer in his smoky eyes was mysterious—compelling. My heart crawled into my belly to hide.
His hands closed the distance on the counter-top and brushed over mine. “You're pretty complex for a dog walker.”
Bristling, I narrowed my eyes. “I'll tuck that line away in my list of 'Things Guys Say That Totally Get Me Into Their Bed.' ”
Bishop's smirk warmed my core; he tightened his hold on my fingers. “You're playing, I get it, but if you're asking me to try and seduce you... I'm not sure you could survive it.”
My mouth was so dry that my attempt at a sarcastic laugh failed. “That's bold. You'd fumble at that attempt, trust me.”
“You're wrong. Very wrong.” Standing, he leaned over the counter, his nose nearly touching mine. His fragrance was burning charcoal and rich earth—the scent of a devil. “If I wanted to make you spread your thighs for me, offer me your sweet pussy, it wouldn't be an attempt. I always succeed when I go after something I want, Nellie.”
The rigid iron in my spine cracked in two. Telling him to back off wasn't in the cards. It wasn't even an option. And in that split second, when I did nothing but stand there while he gripped my fingers, I made it clear to us both that I was interested in what he could do to me.
Bishop shut his eyes, inhaling. “Fuck. Your fragrance is amazing.”
“My... what?”
His gray irises were a turmoil of storms. “You're already wet for me. I can smell it.”
Blushing hot, I yanked my hands away. Someone as gorgeous as Bishop talking bluntly about my pussy was erotic. When I stepped back, my thighs scissoring, I knew my panties were soaked through.
He stared me in the eye, his smirk patient but ever growing. One finger of his stroked my wrist, then two. My clit and lips swelled, a sharp inhale giving my attraction away. “Wait,” I whispered.
Bishop circled the island, forcing me up against the nearest object—the fridge. “Wait?” he repeated, blocking me in. “You think I'm going to grip your plump ass and fuck you right here, right now? Oh, Nell. That's not how a prince behaves.”
His fingertips settled on my jaw, drifting along my throat to feel my rapid pulse. His voice was a thick growl. “Unless that's what you ask for,” he said. “Because if you beg me, how could I say no?” Grinding his nose along my temple so suddenly it made me shiver, he pushed his other hand onto my hip and just held it there. The lack of movement was torture.
My ears were ringing, as if my heart was screaming through my body. Every cell was hot with desire. In mere minutes, Bishop had made me crave him.
Something hot and firm rubbed along my thigh—his cock through his pants. “This... we can't do this, not here,” I stammered.
“Not here?” he teased. His lips brushed my skin, sending a bolt of electricity right to my clitoris. “Then you know it is going to happen. Good. I want it to be very clear. I need you to understand that I want you, Nell.” Bishop rolled his hips, his shaft almost painful in its hardness. “Like I said before, I always get what I want. Comes with the territory.”
When he said “comes” my pussy clenched. How had this happened? One second we were bantering over a granite island, and now, here I was pushed against a cold fridge while a man I'd met just this morning ruined my panties.
My brain buzzed, recalling all the women who'd sat with him earlier. I didn't think I was ugly, but they were way
out of my league in poise and power. His mom wants him to marry one of them, right? I'd understood that from just a few snippets of conversation. He was supposed to pick some high-end lady to wed and bed.
So why the hell was he saying he wanted me?
“Bishop!” his mother shouted, seconds before pushing into the kitchen. In that moment, Bishop slid off of me, behaving like the fog that colored his eyes. His grin was wide, sharing a secret with me as he leaned on the counter, pretending he hadn't been inches away from sticking his hand down my jeans to finger me.
Bracing myself against the fridge, eyes bugging out, I gaped at him. I must have looked ridiculous. Miss Callehurst didn't act like she noticed, she just swept inside, beaming at her son. “The guests just left. How did it go? Wonderful, right?” He went to speak—she answered for him. “Yes! Exactly! Iris was enamored by you, as she should be.”
“Mm,” he said, shrugging. “If you say so.”
Breathing heavily, I pushed off the fridge and forced my heart to slow down. It was good that she was so distracted by her son, it let me gather my pieces of dignity off the floor.
Miss Callehurst spotted me, startled. “Nellie! Why, you blend right in with the walls sometimes.” Laughing into the back of her hand, she slid something from her purse; a checkbook. “Let me get this to you; I've got much to do today. Please be here tomorrow at the same time. I'll have a key made for you so you can come and go as needed. I can't be sure anyone will be around all the time to let you in to get the dogs.”
Swallowing, I stepped closer. “Wait. You're saying I've got the job?”
Her eyes flicked up at me from where she was writing in perfect script on the check. “Yes, dear. Of course. Unless you've decided you suddenly don't want it?”
Over her shoulder, Bishop winked at me.
Did I want the job? I didn't know anymore. The realization that I'd have to interact with Bishop every day had given this once innocent job a new spin. His mother was watching me; she couldn't see him rub his palm over his erection, drawing my eye and making my insides pulse.
This man was shameless. And used to getting what he wanted.
Being near him would be torture... but what could I do? I needed the money if I had any intention of getting my life back on track.
“Yes,” I said, reaching out to take the check. “I'd love the job.”
“Good. Glad to have you.”
Bishop chuckled darkly. “Yes,” he agreed, folding his arms over his broad chest. “We're both very glad to have you, Nell.”
I joined in with their smiling. But deep down, my stomach was a mass of knots.
How many pairs of panties was I going to destroy in Bishop's presence?
Chapter Three
Nellie
It was hot enough outside that the city below looked smeared with Vaseline, and it was only seven in the morning. Each time I wiped my eyes, I burned them with more sweat. The dogs were handling it fine; they trotted along by my sneakers as we climbed the sloped street back towards their house.
I didn't mind cramps growing in my muscles as I pushed along. Exerting myself was helping me keep my mind from wandering. Because when it started waltzing off, it inevitably headed right towards the super-sexy-punchable-face of Bishop.
Just what was he thinking? I asked myself for the hundredth time. I'd almost asked my roommate about it last night, but in the end, decided that was a bad call. If I brought Bishop up, it gave him power. I wanted to forget everything he'd said.
Forget the way he'd made me shiver in his kitchen.
Dammit.
It's okay, I told myself, spotting the row of cactus plants that served as a landmark just three blocks from the house. If you just get in and out each day, you won't run into him again. Besides, a man like him—a prince—was probably rarely home. He'd have important things to do.
Things like... meetings, or uh... signing things. Big stuff. Stuff I definitely had no clue about, because the only people who deal with royalty are rich, stuck-up people—like those women simpering for Bishop yesterday.
Why had he looked so put out by the experience? I'd gotten the vibe that he was a serious flirt. That was how he'd behaved with me in the first minute of our meeting, anyway. By all logic he should have been all over those girls. His serious face as he reclined in his chair had stuck out to me.
But it sounded like his mother thought the event had gone well... that Iris person was going to “win” his hand or something. The memory tightened my guts into the shape of a boulder. So I pushed harder, chased the dogs, and reconfirmed my decision to forget all about that handsome jerk. Him, and the array of women who were eager to marry him.
“Hey there!”
Bishop was jogging my way. He waved, showing off the shape of his biceps, giving me a peek at his chest through the loose opening of his tank top. He was covered in sweat but, unlike me, he didn't look like a suffering cow.
I pulled up short. The dogs barked, tugging me forward right into his path—they wanted to play with their master. I kind of understood, especially when he grinned and leaned down to pet their heads.
“Morning,” I said. “Didn't see you when I showed up to grab Cujo and Jaws.”
He glanced up at me, hair in his eyes and a smirk as unmovable as the sky. “I usually go out early to run. How are you feeling today?”
“A little tired. You seem to be in good spirits.”
Winking, he stood up to his full height. “I am. I had great dreams about you all night long.”
My mouth slid open. “Oh, uh.” Unsure what to say, I went for the escape route. In my hurry to get away, I promptly tripped over my own two feet. “Shit!” I blurted, folding my arms under me to brace myself. Luckily, the landing wasn't bad. There was less dirt on my forearms than there was on the fancy sneakers I was getting a personal view of.
I was lying right at Bishop's feet.
What a start to my day, I thought bitterly. Scalding from humiliation, I kept my forehead on the pavement. The dogs promptly swarmed me with their tongues and tiny paws, like they'd decided humans were now food. Were they going to kill and eat me? That would be a relief.
Hooking his hands under my elbows, Bishop lifted me upwards. I weighed nothing in his grip. “Whoa, you okay?”
“I'm fine,” I said, struggling to meet his eyes. He was too concerned—and it's hard to dislike people like that. I needed to hate him to handle him. The longer he held me close, searching my face, the more I forgot why I wanted to hate him. My ribs were sore from my heart punching them. His body radiated heat; he was so close, so damn close.
I want to kiss him, I realized with a start.
Oh.
Oh no.
The dogs yanked on the leashes, throwing me off balance all over again. Bishop held me tight until I got my control back. Gently, I guided his hands away. “I should get the dogs inside,” I mumbled. “Hot out here. For them, I mean.”
Bishop glanced down the road. “I'll keep you company.”
My smile was coy. “In case I get lost walking a few yards?”
“Or in trouble. Never know what could happen out here on the streets.”
I gave a slow-as-syrup pointed look around the cute and quiet area. “Oh yes, super dangerous. I appreciate you going out of the way to keep me safe—”
“You're welcome,” he said over me.
“—But I have these guard dogs.” I jiggled the leashes. The two puff balls yipped, hurrying as they got closer to their home.
Bishop laughed, the sound tickling me in the depths of my heart. I found myself watching him curiously, my snarkiness vanishing under his rich, genuine smile. “They're pretty scary,” he admitted. “I just think a woman like you deserves all the protection in the world.”
A rush of heat moved up my neck. “What does that mean?”
When he walked beside me, he managed to block the sun out. His features darkened with shadows, and still, his smile glowed. “I can tell you have a good heart. But t
he reality is that people with good hearts get hurt the most often.”
A flutter crept upwards, threatening to smother my ever-weakening hate-monster. Taking his compliment at face value was exactly the kind of dumb shit I used to do with my ex. So I stuck out my chin and put on my bitch-face. “Not hurt. Just taken advantage of until we learn better.”
Bishop hesitated; it was enough for me to skip ahead of him and climb the steps to his front door. He followed me inside, saying nothing as I power-walked into the kitchen. His silence pricked at my guilt. Maybe I was being too rude; he was only joking around. Flirting, at worse.
Flirting is a bad thing! I told myself, unclipping the dogs. I strung their leashes on the wall hooks by the pantry. Bishop was still quiet, his presence speaking volumes as he hovered in the kitchen doorway. Filling the silver bowls on the floor with fresh water, I watched the two thirsty dogs scramble into each other as they drank.
Their energy sapped mine. I stifled a yawn, wondering how quickly I'd get used to these early mornings.
“You're tired,” he said, breaking his silence. “You should stay for breakfast. Get some coffee in you.”
“Oh, no.” I waved away his offer. “I can just grab a cup at Starbuuuuwhaat are you doing?” I'd faced him, which gave me a front row seat to him peeling his tight shirt over his head.
Bishop caught the waistband of his jogging pants. Inch by inch he guided them down past his slim hips; the top of his moss-green briefs peeked at me. “I'm undressing so I can take a shower.”
“In what! Your kitchen sink?”
“Of course not.” He stepped out of his pants. “The shower is upstairs.”
Covering my eyes so I was blind, I froze on the spot. “Quit stripping in front of me!”
“Why?” he laughed. “Terrified you'll do something awful if you catch a look at me naked?” He chuckled darkly. But then, he was quiet. Way too quiet.
“Hello?” I asked. “Did you... leave?”
Nothing.
Spreading my fingers, I spotted him standing there proudly in his briefs, hands on his hips as if to say, “Like the view?”