Bishop changed lanes, looking for her exit.
Jay was a classic dickhead, whether Ella wanted to admit it or not. Bishop was going to have a long discussion with her FBI agent. Jay had stalker practically tattooed on his forehead. Tara cared less about Ella and more about success than any publicist he’d ever come across. Though, truthfully, he didn’t know many.
Bishop slowed as he pulled off the highway. A few turns into the trendy ex-urban neighborhood, and he decelerated onto her street. It was late, and the lack of street parking was expected. Bishop’s eyes roamed, looking for another option.
“Hey, babe. Which one is your parking garage?” There were two entrances ahead, so it was heads or tails.
Ella murmured and sleepily batted his words away with her hand.
“Cute. Not helpful, but cute.” He circled around the block and double-parked in front of her building. Green slime coated the front door, the brick facade, and the sidewalk.
What the hell? More of the slime. Hadn’t they been through that before?
He pulled his phone from his hip, dialing the kid who had slimed him before. No answer. Bishop redialed, and the guy answered on the third ring.
“Hello?” He sounded sleepy and annoyed.
“Bishop O’Kane here. Did you visit Ella Leighton’s building again?”
“What?” He cleared his throat. “No, sir.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.” The guy was now awake and sounded as though he could be believed. “I haven’t seen other messages on the boards, either. No one private messaged me. Nothing.”
“Then who did this?”
“I don’t know!”
Bishop ended the call and called the front desk at Ella’s building, watching the doorman answer.
“Good evening—”
“Bishop O’Kane calling on behalf of Ella Leighton.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What happened outside?”
“We’re sorry, sir. Maintenance will be here in the morning to clean it up.”
“What happened?”
“Er, we don’t know. Paintball? But it will be clean first thing in the morning. Ms. Leighton did have a message.”
He cringed. “What does it say?”
“Congratulations on your big night.”
“Thank you.” Bishop ended the call.
She wasn’t going inside there, and Bishop wasn’t high enough on the chain of command to drop the hand of God into the FBI investigation. He didn’t want to be part of the investigative arm, and he was certainly not thrilled to report a second problem at her residence.
He swiped the screen on his phone and hit Rocco’s number. His boss picked up on the second ring. “It’s quarter past two in the morning. What’s wrong?”
After an awkward explanation of the second slime situation, Rocco remained quiet.
“Yeah, so, what do you want me to do with her?” Bishop pushed.
“Where is she?”
“Asleep in the passenger seat of my truck.”
“Right. Okay. So, two options. Give me an hour to make arrangements for a safe house or find a hotel, following alpha-red protocol.”
Easy enough. Check in. Cash only. False name. And get some shut-eye. “Roger that. Option number two.”
“All right. Check in tomorrow. We’ll hash things out with her FBI POC.”
“Thanks.” Bishop eased his truck out of Park and headed south, exiting on a random thoroughfare. He crisscrossed traffic a half dozen times, ensuring he wasn’t followed, then pulled into the nicest hotel the town had. Not too shabby.
After doing a drive around the perimeter, he decided that it would more than work for the night. The place looked safe, and there were good cars in the parking lot. All around, a decent place to crash. He unbuckled his seat belt and carefully brushed her arm. “Ella. Time to wake up.”
She stirred but didn’t rise.
“Ella. Hey, babe. Eyes open.” This girl could sleep through a tornado. He unbuckled her seat belt, hoping the shift would jostle her. No. She readjusted, apparently pleased with less restriction. He chuckled and, with a firmer grasp, ran his hand along her forearm. “Rise and shine.”
“Hmm?”
Her drowsy, sweet sound struck him in the gut with the strength of a mortar explosion. It was innocent, sweet, and breathy, pulling him all the way back to the years when she used to wake up in his arms. He hadn’t realized it was a sound he liked, or one that he missed, until he heard it again, and it knocked him sideways. With his hand frozen on her arm, he regrouped and calmed the hard crescendo of his heart. “Change of plan. Eyes open.”
She blinked awake. “What’s—” Ella stretched, leaning against the door, and her T-shirt dress slipped up to the top of her thighs. “Why aren’t we at my condo?”
Staring at her bare thighs wasn’t right. But all the blood in his body diverted to his cock the second he focused on her legs and began to wonder if that shirt would move higher, what it would take to move it higher. Would she balk if he leaned across and dragged his tongue up her leg? Would she moan if he shouldered her legs wide, spreading her thighs? And what would he find under that shirt? Would her panties be wet? Would he feel her arousal through the fabric that rubbed against her clit, against that pussy that had driven him to distraction?
Growing erect, he throbbed. All night, he’d tried to ignore her, and now there was nothing to think about except burying his face between her legs. He wanted to tear whatever shred of underwear off that served as a barrier, and he wanted to feast. Damn it. What would she say…
“Bishop?” She twisted in the seat, oblivious that the shirt inched just a little higher. “What do you want to do?”
Everything. He wanted to kiss her until he choked on her moans. He wanted to shove his hands down her underwear and feel her ride his hand, fingers inside her, pumping her sweet canal until she exploded. He needed it—to crush the climax out of her, kissing her while she tried to cry his name. And when she was panting and spent, incapable of begging for more, he wanted to tell Ella that he would do the same thing with his tongue and then his cock. They wouldn’t stop until she looked at him the way she had once before.
Bishop pulled back. That was the problem. He’d hurt her, and he didn’t deserve another chance. Damn it. He opened the door, needing the cool air’s help. “I can explain later.” Pushing out of the truck only did the bare minimum to alleviate his hard-on. “But more slime, basically.”
“Oh.”
“Until we figure it out, room service and housekeeping.” He offered her a smile that was meant to be encouraging; one to offer comfort. But it was dark, and his attempt failed because her demeanor didn’t change. “It’s the middle of the night, so we missed the good perks.”
Her eyes went to his. “Um…”
“I’ll be right next door. You need anything, just knock. Kick the wall. Whatever. It’ll be fine.”
She nodded. “No slime problems.” As if breaking through her sleepy fog, she tugged at her shirt-dress. “Fine. Okay.” Then she laughed. “Heels and a T-shirt. People are going to love my outfit.”
“It’s like two a.m. No one is going to be around.”
He rounded his truck and helped her out as she held the shirt down, shivering. “Wow, it got cold.”
He grabbed his tuxedo jacket from where he’d thrown it in the backseat. “Wear this.” He draped it over her shoulders and rubbed her arms, creating friction. “Better?”
“Much.” Ella leaned into him, fitting perfectly under his arm. “You don’t want it?”
He laughed, not even answering. An arctic blast could have chilled the parking lot, and he wouldn’t have been any less hot to trot for the woman under his arm. As soon as they had a wall between them, he would finally be able to function. Until then, he would let himself fall into the fantasy that he and she were still a “they.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“What do you mean that you don’t have any other
rooms?” Bishop evil-eyed the lady at the counter. She was asking him to tempt the devil by putting him and Ella in the same room. There was only so much he could handle.
“I’m sorry,” the desk clerk said. “You’re lucky. We had someone go home, and one happens to be available. A big convention is in our neck of the woods, and every hotel in town is booked.”
They could hop back in the truck and drive down the next exit. Or—
“It’s fine,” Ella mumbled. “I’m exhausted. We don’t have cooties and have obviously slept in the same room before.”
The sane, rational thing to do was go to the room and sleep. He could control himself. It was pure selfishness that he wanted a little breathing room. “Yeah. Of course.”
He paid in cash, using fake identification, and took the key. Rocco’s name appeared on his phone as they walked through the door to their room, and Bishop listened to the recount of everything Titan had learned by hacking Ella’s building security and talking to the FBI.
It wasn’t great. But the good news was that Titan and the FBI were now on the same page. Unfortunately, they were still one step behind. This was more than a juvenile delinquent with an attitude problem. It was a smart, calculating sadist.
Bishop threw the phone on the king-size bed, loosened his tie, and let it hang. He unbuttoned his top button and watched Ella crawl next to the phone. “What did they tell you?”
“We can talk about it in the morning. You’re spent.”
“Agreed. But I’m… I stink. I’m jumping in the shower.” She kicked off the bed and left him alone. The water turned on, and he finally had time to think. Hell, there wasn’t anything to think about. Nothing to decide. The job was the job. Ella was Ella. He was hot for her—if the erection he’d been sporting since the day they crashed back together was any indication. But Rocco had clearly said not to fuck her.
The way his boss had said that… Bishop balled his fists. That order had downplayed their history and didn’t do justice to his reaction to her now. As much as he wanted to get her naked, he had enjoyed taking her to that coffee shop tonight.
Bishop rubbed his chest. He wanted to protect Ella far more than he wanted to kiss her again. All of this—the history, the emotions, the possibilities of a job he would die for, and a girl he would die for regardless of payment—all of that rolled together. And his mind spun in circles.
The water shut off. He paced, knowing she was dripping wet and drying off and that he wanted in there too. He was torn in too many directions.
The door slipped open, and steam wafted out. “I hate this.”
His ears prickled as he turned to Ella. That wasn’t the voice of a relaxed woman coming out of a shower. A white towel was wrapped around her breasts, and her semi-dried hair hung on her bare shoulders. She had a hint of makeup under her eyes, which were red and tearing.
“El?”
“I hate this. I hate this. I hate this,” Ella whispered. “I brought this on myself. I know. I get it. You told me. But now I can’t even go home.” She sniffed and had clearly cried in the shower. “I’m tired. So exhausted. And stressed. And I don’t tell anyone ever. And I’m just done. I want my own bed.”
“I know, babe. You can get through this.”
“Why? Tara yells at me. Jay yells at me. You’re none too pleased with things I do.”
Well, hell. Not the group he wanted to be lumped into. “I’m not them. I’m on your team.”
She threw her head back. “Ha! They are my team!”
“Ella,” he warned. “I’m different.”
“I just want to go home and sleep in my bed. I don’t want to have a panic attack in the shower that Manny might not have Furry Baby and Little Kitty handled for breakfast—”
“He has them all weekend until you say otherwise.”
“I know. But I forgot. I’m just stressed. And I’m scared. I want this all done.” She let out a little sob.
His inability to protect her tore at his insides. He carefully stepped closer, knowing that it was a danger zone—her in a towel and crying. She was his weakness, and he couldn’t handle her seemingly so vulnerable and hurt. “We’ll get it figured out.”
“No. We won’t. No one takes this seriously.” She covered her face.
Bishop gathered her into his arms. Her skin was semi-damp and warm from the shower, and Ella smelled like soap. She leaned into his arms, dropping her hands, and clung to him as though no one had hugged her in ages.
“You’re getting worked up. It’s fine. Get some shut-eye. It’ll seem less overwhelming in the morning.” He kissed the top of her head, wishing he could dissolve her fear. If only there were a way to drop-kick away every bad memory, every fear. He wanted to just absorb her pain and, God, he wanted to keep her close.
Shit. He was in deep. The tighter she held onto him, the more he needed to make it right.
She burrowed against him, her wet hair dampening his shirt. “I don’t want to sleep.”
He stifled a groan. Now wasn’t the time to follow through on every urge. Never was actually the time. But with her rubbing and swaying against him, this was painful. Maybe when everything cooled down. But for damn sure, not when she was a breath away from tears and clinging to him for support and friendship.
“Titan will keep you safe.”
“You will keep me safe,” she corrected.
Hell yeah, he would. Selfishly, he dropped a kiss on top of her head… and another one. It was the only thing he would allow himself to do. He shouldn’t. But damn it, some things were out of his control. He kept his lips there, breathing her in.
“I want more of you than that, Bishop.” She shifted so that his mouth moved against her forehead.
He groaned, inwardly at war. Ella hugged him tighter, her fists grabbing onto his shirt, delving back and forth against his chest, and taunting him with only her towel and his shirt as barriers.
“El.” Her name caught in his throat. “Ella.”
Arousal choked his airway, keeping a stronghold on his lungs. Each breath teased and tortured him as though every inhalation was an exercise in staying alive.
“Don’t let go of me, Bishop.” She squeezed. “Whatever you do tonight, don’t take your arms off me.”
Fucking hell. “El, you’re in a bad spot. You need to sleep.”
“I’m spent. Upset. And I’m telling you, I need you to make it better.” She eased back, and her fingers started at the top of his shirt, unbuttoning on a nimble search-and-destroy mission. The last of the buttons loosened, and Ella lifted her chin. “Do you understand?”
Damn it, he was going down this road. He untucked the shirt and gathered her into his hold. Then he backed into a chair, carefully dropping himself into it and holding her against him. His palms grazed against her bare bottom, and his dick jumped to life, as though it were not already wide awake.
“Do you remember that shirt I got you?” she asked, her hands running beneath the inside of his white undershirt.
A smile crackled onto his face. How could he forget? Both their parents had about killed them. “The one that said ‘I liked to spoon’?”
Her sexy laughter brightened her face, and the red eyes began to soften. “Yes.”
“I had to explain a few things to my mom after yours called.”
She laughed again. “Sorry.”
“You’re not sorry.”
“Not one bit.”
The air danced around them, heavy with want and wishes, sparks and sizzle. He shifted, unable to hide his erection, unable to keep his hands from holding her in place.
“A lot of time has passed, El.”
She nodded slowly, her lips parting.
“What do you want?” It was obvious what they both were after. As soon as he’d held her in a towel on his lap, Ella had been drawing imaginary doodles on his chest. But there were some things people couldn’t recover from. They had one of those things.
Ella’s hand froze on his shirt. “Take off the dress shirt.�
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He shrugged, letting his unbuttoned shirt fall behind him.
Her fingers bit into his undershirt. “Take off this shirt too.”
Rolling his bottom lip into his mouth, he let it go, enjoying how his cock turned to steel under her orders. “Can do.” He pulled it over his head, barely breaking their eyelock. “That’s all you want, babe?”
Ella inhaled, maybe to fortify herself, then loosened her towel. She didn’t unwrap it, just slackened it enough to drive him insane.
“I want your mouth,” she whispered. “All over me. Kissing me hard and deep until I can’t remember the difference between light and sound, and hot and cold.”
His possessive hand splayed on her side, and her short breaths burned in his ears.
“I want you to hold me, control me, take over this night. Bishop, I want you to own everything about us right now.” Ella leaned close to his ear. “That’s what I want. To forget about this day, to be treated like you need me.”
“El, if there was ever a doubt…” He pulled the corner of the loosened towel, baring her breasts and stomach, letting the cotton pool in her lap. “I’ve had too many dirty thoughts about you.”
Her eyes shot to his.
“And now you’ll have to indulge me.” He peeled back the rest of the towel, unwrapping her like a present.
The hardened tips of Ella’s nipples reached for him, and the heavy mounds of her breasts were swollen. A trim triangle of hair led to the pussy he’d wanted in a hundred different ways, and now she lay in his arms, naked, flushed, and beautiful.
With his hand behind her neck, he brought her to meet his kiss. Sweeping her mouth with his tongue, he explored, listening to her mew and moan, feeling her rock and writhe as their slow burn heated.
Bishop massaged her breast, squeezing and making her back arch. Ella bit his bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Mm-hmm.”
That sound, this woman. He pinched her nipple, twisting and tugging. Her reaction was exactly what he wanted. Ella writhed as he smoothed his palm down her stomach, smoothing over her soft skin.
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