Bishop's Queen

by Cristin Harber

  ***

  The shower was hot, but it couldn’t wash away his irritation. The soap did its job, and the slime was gone. Breathing in the steam, Bishop tried to ignore how Ella pushed his buttons and his memories, but he couldn’t. The soft towel smelled like her, and that served only to irritate him. This was a job. Titan was his dream. Distraction made him useless. Kissing her was stupid. And hot. He pulled his jeans back on and slung the towel around his neck. Damn it.

  “Ella?”

  Padding down the hall, he didn’t see her. There was a bottle of all-natural cleaner on the counter, an emptied landfill can without a liner, and a bright-pink Post-it with Ella’s cursive scrawl.

  Had to walk Furry Baby. Potty emergency. DON’T BE MAD. Things were happening everywhere. Be back.

  He crumbled the note and threw it. “Are you kidding me?” What was the point of trying to keep her safe? He pinched the bridge of his nose. She was hell-bent on doing whatever she wanted.

  “Screw it.” In five minutes, he would know if he’d lost his client to the dark world of pet walking and stalkers. Or she would bop back in as if venturing out was no big thing. Either way, she was calling the shots at the moment.

  DON’T BE MAD.

  He shook his head. Not mad. Furious! Her dog had the shits, and Ella might die. All because he took a shower.

  Bishop pulled his towel off his neck and stomped down the hall, slamming doors open. Why not? Everyone else on earth had seen this place. Where the hell was her washer-dryer? He would throw his shirt in the dryer and decide if this job was too much for his sanity, with all the back and forth.

  He twisted a doorknob and discovered a room that was all new to him, completely sight unseen. Never on her blog. Relief slammed over him as he took in the second bedroom, as did an insatiable curiosity. This was the real Ella? Private life, uncensored?

  Holding his breath, Bishop took a barefoot step into her sanctuary. The space wasn’t as matched as the rest of the condo, and it looked lived in. His skin tingled as if the air had shifted, as if the air inside her hideaway was in and of itself, sweeter. He gulped.

  This was messed up.

  Him. In here.

  But still, he crept in until he had no excuse. He stood in the middle of Ella’s private escape, uninvited. And it was nothing like the rest of her condo. A doggie bed and cat tower lined one wall, and he ran his fingers along a weathered white dresser, stopping in front of a bookshelf filled with DVD cases. They were labeled with locations and years, arranged chronologically on the shelf.

  “Busted.” Ella’s voice made him jump.

  He spun around, feeling guiltier than hell at being caught red-handed. “Shit, sorry.” His cheeks heated. He was surprised to have been so lost that he didn’t hear her approach. “I wasn’t snooping.”

  Her blue eyes narrowed. “You totally were.”

  He totally was. “I mean… sorry.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Is FB doing better?”

  “I think so. He’s knocked out with Little Kitty on the couch.”

  “You can’t run out, El. Just because he has to go—”

  “I—”

  “I’m serious.” He gave her a once-over, and surprisingly, she looked better than she did before he’d gotten in the shower. “You’re feeling better, I guess?”

  Ella shrugged. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve seen. Just caught me off guard, while at home. You know? I didn’t expect it.”

  Bishop chewed the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t expect to see this.”

  “What? A real space that wasn’t perfect and ready to go live on video?”

  He shifted, taking in the comfortably uncoordinated room. “Well, yeah.”

  “My job is a lifestyle. I live it. But I also need some time off too. You’re not always Titan, are you?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  She put up her hand as if she couldn’t handle his world. “Don’t answer that.”

  “You don’t sleep in that other bedroom?”

  “It’s a guest room. Technically, the master. Even though people think it’s my room. I never outright say it’s mine. I don’t know…” She bit her lip.

  Their conversation about authenticity came to mind. “El. That’s safe and smart. And it makes me ten kinds of thrilled.”

  She looked up. Her eyes dropped to his bare chest, and her cheeks heated. Then her gaze shot back to his again. “Well… good. Thanks.”

  He’d forgotten that he was half-dressed, but he hadn’t missed the way her eyes raked across his chest. He didn’t work out for anyone but himself. But for the hungry look she had just fought, he would do it every day. Too bad she now looked everywhere but at him. Color pinkened her cheeks, making her irresistible. Even her nipples had pearled against the front of her shirt. Her distraction-worthy breasts were a weakness of his, and the thought of them in her personal space with just that thin shirt as a barrier? Torture.

  Years ago… it had been so long. She would sit in his lap, and he could have her chest in his face. He would lick and love her tits, letting the hard tips roll on his tongue. He vividly remembered how she sounded when his teeth tugged.

  He inhaled deeply, not needing to go there. “Is… my shirt dry yet? I can throw it in—”

  “I just threw it in. So no.”

  “Right.” God, she was beautiful and off limits—a reminder he needed to say over and over, apparently. He took another deep breath and searched for a new direction, turning to look at her DVD collection. “Which video to watch first?”

  “Oh! None.” Her cheeks reheated for an entirely different reason.

  He grinned. “Now we’re definitely going to watch one. Let’s see, we can start at the beginning.”

  He scanned row after row of DVD dustjackets with homemade labels. Each listed a location and a year. His eyes went to the far corner, to the one that looked to be the oldest. Bishop wondered what Costa Rica almost a decade ago would have in store for him.

  “That’s so old,” she protested.

  “That’s why we’re starting here.” He popped the plastic open and flipped on the television. Then he slid the disc into a DVD player and hit play.

  The tropics lit up the screen, exactly like he could’ve guessed. Water and sand. Boring enough.

  Bishop hit the fast-forward button until he caught a glimpse of Ella in a bikini. She was clearly working, and it wasn’t the right time to gawk. Still, he hit play to slow the fast-forward. The screen lit with her smile, and the speakers trilled to life with magic that could only be her laughter. Bishop watched, mesmerized as she danced in the water.

  The beauty on the screen rocked his world. That Ella was so close to the one he’d been in love with before. It reminded him of that quality that made him want to walk through hell for her. He hadn’t been able to place his finger on it… until now.

  Ella was on fire.

  With passion.

  With determination.

  She still had that inner determination he had known and loved, and she’d applied it to this world. That was more attractive than her sun-kissed shoulders or beach-bleached hair. Though he wouldn’t lie, that bikini was nice. But not as arousing as the fight she conveyed on-screen with just a glance.

  He was in way more trouble than he’d initially realized.

  “Where are you?” an off-screen voice asked.

  “Costa Rica.”

  “And what are you doing?”

  “Saving the sea turtles.”

  Bishop grumbled to himself. The environmentalist saving sea turtles struck him as cliché, except he was mesmerized by the screen—her smile, the light in her eyes, the passion they held. But more than just that, it was—

  “And how are you going to do that?”

  She threaded her fingers into her much lighter, sun-bleached hair, not answering. Instead, she was tying her hair into a bun on her head.

  “Ella?”

  Bishop knew that voice.

  On screen, Ella turned. �
��I’m going to take them down. Destroy them. I’m going to tell the world that grown men are destroying babies so they can make a quick buck. I’m going to fight them. With my words. Maybe with my fists. And one day, I’m going to win.”

  Shivers ran down Bishop’s back. Her words, her fire, were wildly intoxicating. He blindly stared at the woman on the TV and couldn’t have respected her any more. He couldn’t have wanted her any more, and it had nothing to do with the swell of her tan breasts in her bathing suit top or the nice shot of her ass when she spun.

  Ella self-consciously took the remote from his hand. “Well, enough of these old things. Why are you looking at me like that?”

  His heart beat in his throat, and Bishop wanted to listen to her talk now. About bees or herbs or whatever would make her dance in the water and level him with a stare so fierce he would be able to feel it years later on a video. “What makes you fight, Ella?”

  Her head tilted as her laughter and words carried in the background as the video continued. “What do you mean?”

  Swallowing away the need to touch her, he stood his ground and clarified his question. “What makes you as fiery as this video?”

  She looked over his shoulder. “Everything does. Nothing. I don’t…” She shrugged, but he saw through her self-effacing downplay. “I fight for the cause.”

  “Bullshit.” He took a step forward, needing to pull back, needing to run away, but doing no such thing. “What makes you want it so bad?”

  “It’s an incredible job. I’m lucky to have this opportunity—”

  “What about your work makes you like that.” He snatched the remote back and hit fast-forward until he saw her burning passion again, then he hit play.

  Carefully, as though she were unsure of how to watch, she sidled next to him. The screen panned close to a cordoned-off area with a sign that she’d marked: STAY AWAY. SEA TURTLE EGGS. UNDER SURVEILLANCE.

  “You have to tell me.” His throat hurt from how quiet his words were.

  “The innocent,” she whispered. “They can’t help the monsters who want to hurt them.”

  He nodded, understanding more about her in the last fifteen seconds than he ever had. “No, they can’t.”

  What she fought for had nothing to do with air quality or bees or Smart Cars. He could put aside all of her sass and veganism for right now, because the woman on the screen and the woman in front of him were the same person. She was his innocent, who had a monster hunting her in the wild. And she had found her own innocents to care for. For as much as he and Ella had grown as opposites, they were the same as protectors.

  “You put your life in danger to rescue turtles.” His quiet voice didn’t ask what he knew, more like repeated what he wanted to remember.

  “It’s more than that, Bishop. Whatever I could, and that’s what I do now with the videos and blog. It’s just different. That’s how you need to see Eco-Ella.” She leaned against his arm, reminding him again he was still bare-chested.

  Everything he knew and assumed about Eloise-turned-Ella was wrong. “Maybe I’m starting to.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  One week had gone by without any incidents, but today was her big day. The Bloggies were a big deal in Ella’s world, and as Bishop took a bite of his hoagie, he watched Ella pace. Her publicist had reminded her too many times to count that the awards show was huge, and he wanted to shove the foot-long sub down Tara’s throat if she mentioned one more thing that could go wrong and that Ella should be prepared for.

  “I’m not nervous.”

  He took another bite. “I didn’t say you were.”

  “Tara thinks I might be.”

  “That’s because Tara told you that you were nervous seventy-five times.” He pointed the sandwich at her. “There’s being prepared, over-preparing, and then there’s Tara.”

  Ding. Ding.

  “What’s that?” Ella spun toward the front door, and FB didn’t move. Not the greatest guard dog. Brick would’ve torn down the wall to search and destroy that noise.

  “The intercom on your souped-up security system. Take a deep breath, babe.”

  “Right.” She walked to the wall and pressed the touchscreen that connected to the doorman. “Hi, there. Can I help you?”

  “Miss Leighton.” The scratch of the man’s voice immediately made Bishop’s senses prickle. He dropped the sandwich onto the wrapper and met Ella by the speaker in a few short strides as she listened. “You have a delivery. But I think it’s one of these things that’s better left down here.”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Flowers…?” the man offered.

  Shit. That didn’t sound good. “I’ll be down in a minute.” Bishop raised his brows. “You stay here. Let no one in until I’m back. I don’t care if it’s Manny, pet walker to the stars—”

  “Manny has a key.”

  He groaned. “Deadbolt the door, Ella. No one comes in. Not Tara. Not Jay. Not a person with dying animals and a corporate truce from Vamanato. Don’t live blog. Just sit still. I don’t care if FB gets the runs and has to go outside. Can you stay put?”

  “Yes.” She bit her lip. “Of course I can.”

  Thank God. He shouldn’t have asked a question he didn’t know the answer to. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Ella, I’m not joking about your team. Please understand the seriousness here. They show up, they wait in the hall.”

  “I heard you.” Her chin jutted out. “Just because you disagree with everyone I work with doesn’t mean I’m not going to listen.”

  On top of that, he wasn’t pleased with the FBI’s lack of arrests this week. He let his hands slide down her biceps. “I’m going downstairs to check out your flowers.”

  “And then what?”

  “If you have a nice delivery, I’ll come bearing roses.”

  She smirked. “And if not?”

  “Then we call back your FBI friend.”

  Ella took her wheatgrass smoothie from the counter and got comfy on her couch. Bishop locked her in, inspected her hall, and took off for the stairs. The look on the doorman’s face said enough, but as he stepped to the side, Bishop smelled the problem as soon as he saw her delivery. A dozen dead roses, covered in a stench he could only attribute to a sewer, waited on the counter, wrapped in twisted plastic.

  All right, they had cameras everywhere now. Surely, one of the angles had picked up the courier. “Make sure not to touch them—”

  “I can’t leave them here.”

  “It’s an active crime scene investigation.” Bishop cracked his knuckles and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you want me to sit here until someone shows up? Or can you follow the simple instructions not to touch them again?”

  The doorman’s wrinkled nose matched his green pallor. “They stink.”

  “Sometimes, life stinks.” Bishop pointed to two cameras. “Do something stupid with those flowers, I’ll have your ass for obstruction.”

  Not that he could… seeing as Titan wasn’t law enforcement. But the doorman didn’t know that. Bishop wanted to get back to Ella, and this guy wasn’t a bad dude. This arrangement just stunk.

  The doorman hemmed and hawed but didn’t touch the stinking flowers. “Did you want to see the card?”

  “It came with a card?”

  Using a pen to shove over a piece of paper on the desk, the guy sent it Bishop’s way. He’d assumed the delivery had been couriered for a specific name. Maybe this was why he wasn’t an investigator. Stepping forward, his stomach dropped at the message.

  Good luck at the Bloggies. Tonight will be your best awards show ever.

  It wasn’t an outright threat, but in his mind, hell yeah, it was. “Thanks.”

  Bishop ground his molars together and called the situation into Titan along with a couple of pictures. Rocco and Parker could contact the FBI.

  Whatever was going on with Ella’s stalker, Bishop didn’t get it. Psychobabble wasn’t anywhere near his expertise, but whoever wanted to mess
with her was doing a decent job of creeping him out.

  And for that, Bishop wanted to nail the fucker.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “If we don’t leave this second, we will never leave,” Tara demanded from the hallway of the hotel suite living room.

  Ella looked in the mirror affixed to the wall, staring at Manny, who sat on the king-size bed. “My marching orders are at an all-time high.”

  “Demanding, but she means well.” Manny pushed off the bed and stood. “Everything about this is perfect. Makeup, hair, and dress. All flawless. I wouldn’t have let the stylist leave if I didn’t agree. And Tara would have killed her. That sweet makeup artist too.” He clucked. “Just go have fun. I’ve got your babies taken care of; just text me when you’re home.”

  “Seriously, Ella!” Tara yelled.

  “Coming,” she returned at a lesser volume, giving Manny the look, which he returned.

  “Kiss me,” he demanded. “I’ll go first and feed her some lines to keep her happy. Ella’s so pretty. Ella’s gonna win.”

  “Ella’s going to kick your pretty butt if you don’t stop.” Laughing, she shooed him out and turned back to the mirror, listening to them chat down the hall. “Tonight will be fine.”

  With that, she headed to the living area, balancing in the heavy dress and killer shoes. Her hair looked au naturel, though it took hours to make it stay exactly that way. “I’m ready.”

  “Finally. Let me run next door to check on another client.” Tara was halfway out the hotel hallway door as Bishop walked in.

  And everything slowed—except for her heart, which sped to the point that it might have been hatching a plan to escape and throw itself at his feet. There he stood, a towering force of nature, clad in a tuxedo with a simple black tie in place of a bowtie. His broad shoulders were covered in what had to be tailor-made perfection, and she didn’t know men’s fashion, but she did know that what Bishop wore worked. Freshly shaven, and more handsome than she could possibly have imagined, Ella froze in place and watched him do the same.