Bishop's Queen

by Cristin Harber

  She looked to the side as though she were considering what seemed so simple.

  “If you have to say a specific place, say it as you leave. That way you’re there, but we get in the car and roll out.”

  She nodded, rolling her lower lip into her mouth. “Makes sense.”

  “Will you delete it?”

  “What I just posted?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.”

  “Then later you can be as authentic as it gets and safe.” Okay, that was about as deep as Bishop could go. “Let’s go.”

  He turned for the door, wishing he had the ability to down a six-pack, but the woman kept him on his toes, and he was on the clock. His drink would be a nice, tall glass of nothing with a kick.

  “Bishop?”

  He turned. She hadn’t moved.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t think of the world the way you do. I put too much trust in people I can’t see who have said they think like me, and maybe I shouldn’t do that.”

  Finally, they were on the same page. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

  “And sometimes, it seems pretend. I live here, just me in Virginia. Not Hollywood, not NYC. Nothing flashy.”

  “It’s real, babe.” He shifted, and she did too.

  Her tongue darted out, licking her bottom lip. “And honestly… forget it.” She laughed quietly. “Can we make it liquor instead?”

  “Is there something eco-friendlier about liquor over beer?” Because if there was, he was about to love his beer even more.

  “No.” A genuine smile warmed her eyes, replaced by an edge of amusement. “I just like the way it feels, especially after a conversation like this.”

  Not a crazy-girl answer. That was as all-American as he could’ve wanted. “Now you’re talking my language.” He walked back to her, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward the door. “Let’s go. You’ve had a shitty few days.”

  “Weeks,” she corrected him. “And I need a drink.”

  “Hell yeah, you do.”

  She brushed against him, leaning on him and not letting go. The scent of her lavender plants caught in the air as she stepped to the door. It was the closest they’d been in years, and at that moment, he was hyperaware of her skin on his and her soft hair touching him. The front hallway was too small for them to pause side by side. But they did.

  Lavender and mint clung to them, and she lingered against him. The day had been emotional. Maybe it justified their closeness. He didn’t know. And the job would never allow such things. But they had a history. If they hadn’t known each other, though, that conversation would never have happened.

  Ella let go of the arm that had needlessly guided her to the door. Her fingers drifted down his forearm, their tips not quite breaking contact, skimming over his arm hair that spiked to attention. Awareness crested as their touch finally broke.

  When she turned, the white skirt swayed. The material was softer than air and light enough that even with the slightest change of direction, it swished. He swallowed over the lump in his throat. Once the alarm was set, they had only seconds to vacate, but in his mind, the dark-blue tank top and long white skirt were a sudden tease.

  With crystal clear clarity, it was easy to imagine her pressed against her front door instead of setting the alarm. Not an appropriate thought for him to have as she readied to punch in the code. At least she was doing that… but that wasn’t where his mind was. He was wondering how it would feel to spread her sandaled feet apart. One hand on her back, holding her still, and with the other hand, he could reach all the way down to her ankle. Had a long skirt ever been so sexy? It covered so much and made him so curious. If he ran his palm up her calf, dragging that fabric up, how would her skin feel? If her legs were anything like her arms and shoulders, they would be smooth and athletic, something to hold on to, to flex his fingers into.

  His mouth watered. If he wasn’t working, if she weren’t his to watch out for… if this wasn’t an arrangement like it were, he would keep walking, press her breasts against the door, and his erection against her ass.

  It’d been years since he last stole her breath, yet he could remember the sound as if it was last week. The sighs she made. The way her chest would heave and her eyes would flutter when they were in bed, as he readied to take her. Hell…

  He let out a breath, and it shook. The alarm beeped, signaling they had to leave, and Ella turned around, unaware of the knot in his throat and his semi-hardening cock, but she met his hungry stare and had to have known in a hot second where his mind had been.

  Damn it.

  A quick fire hit her cheeks, and Bishop backed away, swallowing away urges that should have been more hidden, impulses that should’ve been non-existent.

  “Ready?” He twisted the knob and exited into the hall first, giving a quick sweep that didn’t distract him, but at least toned down his arousal.

  She followed behind, turning a key in the lock. “We’ll grab the herbs after dinner.” Her eyes were everywhere but near him, and without a doubt, the woman was a mind reader. “And—”

  Shit. Damn it. He needed to fix this now. “Hey, wait.” Bishop stood in the hallway. Ella’s pink cheeks and lack of eye contact were all the confirmation he needed to know he’d been busted checking her out. “Part of my gig with you is you have to always feel safe with me.”

  She moved her purse from one shoulder to the next. “I know.”

  “I’m here to watch out for you, no questions asked. You have to rely on me, without hesitation. That’s the way it works. You have to trust me.”

  She lifted her chin, finally meeting his gaze. “I know. Jared explained that to me.”

  “We’re good?”

  “Yes.”

  “No matter the past.” Or no matter if he had just ogled her, which would never happen again.

  “No matter what happened all those years ago.”

  “Or…” How did he word this without sounding like a crass pervert?

  “You’re like the asshole older brother I never had, making sure I do what I’m supposed to do. Right?”

  Asshole older brother. Brother. Couldn’t get any less sexy than that, could he? “Right. Just like that,” he agreed, hating the description and embracing it simultaneously.

  “Great!” She marched toward the elevator, and he let her lead. Ella punched the button for the elevator, and she was almost chipper. “Drinking with my grumpy, grouchy, older brother babysitter. Then we get to run errands. Fun.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ella’s nerves were in her throat as Bishop opened the door to the Bistro Lounge. How stupid could she have been? Clinging to him at the front door of her condo? She squeezed her eyes shut for the thousandth time. When he had grabbed her hand to leave, she’d lost her mind. She’d simply forgotten anything except for the simple art of breathing.

  And those breaths… they felt delicious. The kind that tickled her pressure points and slipped up and down in her throat. They made her heart race with each step toward the front door, and when they stopped, she was drunk on Bishop.

  That was absurd—being aroused without doing a thing. He didn’t touch her seductively, didn’t even have anything that nice to say. But what he did do was something that hadn’t happened in a long time. He told her the truth. He acted with what felt like her best interest in mind. Not her blog or her business, but her safety. Ella hadn’t thought about that in… ever.

  Then he walked her across the room, like a man.

  So simple.

  But her nipples hardened and surely, he had to notice.

  Her cheeks heated again, and she couldn’t look him in the eye. Was she so easy to fall for such domineering commands? But there was a selflessness to Bishop, which made him even more attractive—except he absolutely didn’t want to be there.

  And there was that small part in which he was paid to be by her side.

  Ugh.

  The Bistro Lounge was one of her favorite vegan spots, and bonus, it was within
walking distance to her condo. Those were the only two things she had in mind when she picked the location. But with Bishop at her side, she noticed the lights were dark, a stark contrast to the sunshine that had warmed her back. Jazz played low. This bistro was a place to get in the mood, and she didn’t mean for that to happen at all. Another strike against her. They had been playing games earlier. Three rounds to her, one to him. Did he think this was a setup? That she was trying to seduce him or make up for what had happened before?

  “Trendy, huh?” He took the lead to the bar, where she couldn’t have been more out of place if she had tried.

  “Something like that. Closest place for a vodka soda.”

  He pulled the barstool out for her, and she hopped up. As he lumbered himself onto the velvet-covered seat, he leaned back, looking at ease, but taking in the room. Was he inspecting it or judging it? Watching for stalker boy or making an assessment of where she had chosen?

  And why did she care?

  Ha.

  The man in charge of her safety had given her the warm fuzzies. Except they were the hot tinglies. They had a boatload of unaddressed things to say that neither were apparently going to touch, and he had said a ton about what Eco-Ella had become. Celebrity culture, no matter what niche corner it was, was still hard to embrace. She hadn’t figured it out, and he was judgmental.

  He shifted, still eyeing the various parts of the bar and table section, then put his hand on her back. “You good?”

  A thousand nerve endings jumped up and down, screaming yes, while her mind shook a scolding finger at them all to stand down. “Can you flag the bartender?”

  He laughed and grabbed a menu. “Easy, Thirsty.”

  The bartender appeared a blink of a second later, tossing two cocktail napkins out with a tip-winning grin. “Hey, Ella. It’s nice to have you stop in again. Last time was great for business. Thanks!”

  Bishop gave her a look.

  “Hi. I’m glad you remember.” She ignored Bishop. That wouldn’t be happening tonight since she’d deleted the post. “It’s hard to get good vegan food sometimes.”

  “We try. What’ll you start with?”

  “Grey Goose and soda.”

  The bartender turned to Bishop. “Anything for you?”

  He flipped the menu back and forth. “Are the burgers any good?”

  “Nope.” The bartender shook his head, waiting expectantly.

  She agreed, mostly because she didn’t want to smell it, though she knew this place did order from a sustainable, animal-friendly producer. “But the shiitake Nori rolls are to die for.”

  The bartender pointed at Ella. “Our fave girl is correct.”

  Bishop lifted a brow. “When in Rome. And a water.”

  “Water?” she asked.

  “On the clock, babe.”

  Oh. Right. She was work. “Ah, right.”

  “Give me a few, and it’ll be right out.” The bartender smiled and left.

  Bishop twisted her way. “Doubtful that rolled-up mushrooms are better than a burger. But yeah, okay, if you’re wrong, I’m grabbing a point in our game.”

  “Our game is back on?”

  “Never stopped, babe.” His gaze pivoted through the room, landed on her—lingered—then went back on patrol.

  Bishop casually rotated on his stool. The night-watch act was methodical and unhurried as it breezed across the bar. A chance observer wouldn’t pick up on his actions, but every few minutes in their conversation, the rotation hit all points of the room and landed back on her face. Silly, but Ella found herself eagerly awaiting his organized, premeditated cycle. Here his glance came. On her again.

  Mmmm. Her reaction was unintentional. Everything about him annoyed her. His too-large muscles were obvious, and his hair looked as if she shouldn’t touch it, though she wanted to. The dark room was in shadows, but she could still tell how his green eyes held a fire. One that brightened…

  And when his head pivoted, his gaze stayed with her, holding onto her for one micro-blink of a second too long. It felt so familiar… just like it had before, when she hadn’t let go of him, when he’d freely given her that same look but let it linger.

  Or was it in her head?

  Maybe it was a combination of both. Something had to be uncontrollable when a man was that virile, that manly. All muscle and girth and width, and… strength. Someone like Bishop had to have a deadly, intoxicating amount of testosterone pumping through his veins.

  His rotating observation stopped on her again. “Your hair’s longer.” His simple observation made her shiver, prickling until her nipples hardened. “Your skirts are too.”

  Ella pushed a stray strand of hair off her cheek. “I like how it feels.”

  He rolled his lip into his mouth. “I like them both too.”

  It was just conversation, but her lungs took every word and made it hard to breathe. “I—oh, thanks.” She focused on the vodka soda that arrived and gulped a sip, then another.

  “Easy, Ella,” Bishop teased. “Bad day and all, but I think we opted for lightly toasted. Not slammed.”

  She put it down, and he pushed the drink back an inch. Part of her wanted to elbow him for the alpha dick move. She could take care of herself, thank you very much, and the presumptuous bodyguard act could keep to the parameters of stalkers, not alcohol, except he was correct. She needed to slow down.

  “Guess I was thirsty.” Or seeking refuge under the deceptively protective arm of liquid courage.

  “Did you want to order a water and…” Bishop grabbed the menu and perused, clearly at a loss for what some items were. “Some of these falafel things as well? The tahini sauce sounds solid. And vegan.”

  Might not be a bad idea. “In a few.”

  He’d thought about her food preferences. That struck her as sweet. Oh, come on. She was searching for cutesy actions, thinking like she had when they were younger—what a bittersweet memory.

  “Right.” He tossed the menu, and she scooted her drink closer, slugging another sip.

  “Seriously,” he said. “I promise it’s not going anywhere.”

  Correct, and it was also starting to hit her empty stomach. That was both a good and bad thing as she started to relax. “How’d you get stuck babysitting me?”

  The bartender placed Bishop’s water in front of him.

  “She’ll have a water also,” Bishop added.

  “Bossy.” She eased back, dropping her head and letting the liquor warm her from the inside out. “But thanks.”

  The effect was marvelous, if just for the moment. He was right, though. She needed to chill, lest she puke on his jeans.

  “A water for Ella,” the bartender said. “Anything else?”

  “Double the order of nori rolls. And throw in some bread or something.”

  “We don’t have bread.”

  Ella’s laugh slipped out when she saw Bishop’s expression. She could imagine what he thought at that revelation.

  “Oh, really?” he muttered.

  The bartender didn’t laugh.

  Bishop patted her hand. “Falafel us.”

  With a quick nod, the bartender went to punch in their order.

  She giggled. “Your face was comical.”

  He smiled. “When?”

  “Just now. No bread, and it was like your world shattered.”

  “Nah.” He tilted his head, a questioning look loosening his face. “Though, really? No bread.”

  “I promise.” She finished her drink and reveled in the buzz from slamming her cocktail. “If I had known you were such a carb guy—”

  “It was for you, babe.” He rotated on his quick check through the bar. “You warned me; I was prepared for a lightweight. Though a pleasant, giggling Ella has me off guard.”

  “I just…” She sighed, now feeling the vodka in her blood. Both false courage and the uncanny inability to shut up were edging close. She wished the falafel or nori rolls had arrived as soon as he ordered, but magic was impossible. “T
ruth is…”

  He didn’t say a word.

  “The stalker thing… sucks.”

  Bishop nodded.

  “I don’t let anyone know. Everyone thinks I’m rock solid. But it’s all…” She shrugged. “How do you know what you’re looking for when you do that thing?”

  “Thing?” he asked.

  “When you check the room. Look over here and there, but casually. You have a pattern.”

  A moment of surprise washed away, and Bishop studied her. He rolled his bottom lip into his mouth and let it go. “Sometimes, people behave certain ways. Sit or act in a particular manner. But primarily, I’m a solid reader of people.”

  She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, curling her finger for him to lean in.

  He chuckled but inched closer. “What?”

  “I heard you call me Crazy under your breath. You can’t be that good.”

  He laughed, tossing his head back. “You do some crazy-ass shit, Ella.” But then he put an arm around her shoulder and huddled them close again. “I can tell you have a strong backbone, stronger will, and an inner strength that some men I’ve served alongside would kill to have.”

  Her mouth parted, and a tingle of electricity ran along her neck.

  “That’s why you have the following you do.” Bishop ran his hand up and down her back before sitting upright. “You’re the real deal.”

  His belief in her sent tingles cascading across her skin. Even the little hairs on her arms stood up, as though they believed him too. Bishop needed to give a few of these lines to Tara. She hadn’t called or texted with any helpful advice in the last two days.

  Bishop winked. “I didn’t expect to leave you speechless.”

  She shut her mouth and squared herself. “You didn’t, Muscles.” But he so had. “I haven’t told anyone that the stalker thing has me spooked.”

  Their food arrived, and her mouth watered. “Smells amazing.”

  “I can’t smell a thing.” Wary would be the best way to describe Bishop, though. But after a questioning look, he turned his attention back to her. “You were always hypersensitive with your senses.”

  “Including how my heeby-jeeby alert is in overdrive.”