by Piper Trace
Her pulse racing, she settled in to read, fastidiously ignoring Bishop when he came in at his usual time. She peeked through her eyelashes as he opened his book and the lingerie fell into his lap. With a quiet exhalation, he picked them up and brought them close to his face so his eyes could focus on them. He seemed puzzled at first, but it was clear the moment he realized what he was holding in his hand.
He sucked in a breath and flicked his gaze to her so quickly that their eyes met for a moment before she looked down at her book. Slowly, her heart pounding against her ribcage, she raised her head to look at him again.
He was still staring at her in that intense, dark way he had. That look, though a little unsettling, always made her core clench with a small thrill. In bed at night, she imagined that was the same look Bishop would give her if he was bracing himself on top of her, just one thrust away from taking her for his own. She felt her cheeks color at the thought.
Her guardian could own her with that look, and she wondered if he knew that.
She inhaled a shaky breath as she fought not to give in and look away, no matter how overwhelming was his penetrating gaze. Without breaking eye contact, Bishop crushed the bit of lace in his fist and shoved the panties into his pocket.
Penelope frowned. She hadn’t actually expected him to keep them. She liked those underwear.
He held her look a heartbeat longer, and then settled in to read as if the incident hadn’t happened. Pen looked down too, staring at the pages of her book, only now she was too keyed up to read.
She huffed and dropped the book into her lap, but he ignored her as if he hadn’t noticed.
The tightlipped truce they’d been maintaining was ridiculous, and even though she’d started it, she wasn’t sure she could endure it for another minute. She considered a dozen things she could blurt out. She could be friendly. She could start a fight. She could bust out in the Cooper College fight song and march around the room pumping an invisible baton.
Anything but this heavy, loaded silence.
Finally, she settled for sighing again, theatrically, and opened her book back up to a page she’d probably just stare at.
“What are you reading, Penelope?”
She jumped when the sudden, deep timbre of Bishop’s voice cut through her thoughts. It took a moment to remember which book she was holding.
Ah, yes. The same book she’d been reading over and over again since a few days after her eighteenth birthday.
“Ethan Frome,” she answered, with forced nonchalance. She flipped a page and didn’t look up.
“You’ve read that already.”
Now she raised her head, surprised that he remembered. “I’ve read it many times.” She held it up so he could see the cover. “This is a first edition printing. I bought it with my birthday money.”
He made a noise of disapproval. Her brows knit.
“Not an Edith Wharton fan?” she asked icily.
“Not an Ethan Frome fan.” He scowled. “That’s a dreadful book. It’s depressing. Why would you read it more than once?” He gestured toward one of the walls of bookshelves the library boasted. “You should be reading Jane Austen or Lucy Maud Montgomery.” He shook his head, still frowning, and flipped a page in his own book as if he wanted to rip it from the binding.
“You always think you know what’s best for me, don’t you? Gentlemen heroes? You think that’s what I should be swooning over? Men who treat women like fragile china dolls?” She slammed her book shut. “Perhaps you haven’t met me, Professor Cole, but I am hardly a precious flower with delicate sensibilities.”
He glared at her. “You are precious to me,” he said, each syllable heavy and precise, his eyes boring into her.
Not able to control her mouth, as usual, one of her many flaws she couldn’t give a damn about, she went in for the kill. “You know what? I like you better when you’re making me gag on your cock.”
He shot to standing, his book forgotten, fury emanating from him like the blast of an atomic bomb. She actually flinched before she caught herself.
“Don’t talk like that. Don’t bring that up,” he barked at her, a general admonishing a lousy soldier.
She’d gone too far. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, meaning it. “I know you’re sensitive about that. I shouldn’t have said it.”
He glowered at her, not acknowledging her apology.
“Sorry, Bishop! Seriously. That was totally below the belt.”
Gaze still locked with his angry eyes, she realized what she’d said and couldn’t help the giggle that suddenly bubbled up. One giggle turned into three, and soon she was holding her stomach, laughing full out.
His stern face seemed to crack and a corner of his mouth twitched up. Finally, he collapsed back onto the couch and snorted a laugh out his nose before giving in to a full-on gale with her.
“Below the belt,” Penelope wheezed, barely able to take a breath between guffaws. “No pun intended, Bishop.” She collapsed again, crying with laughter.
When their fit of merriment ended, she wiped her eyes, feeling more relaxed than she’d felt since the night of her date, and the ensuing fight she’d had with Bishop.
He sat on his side of the couch, his posture finally casual, almost friendly. His hair was wild, but still fantastic, as usual, and his eyes sparkled with a gaiety that made her soul sing. She was struck in that moment with just how perfect he looked. Dressed in his typical uniform of long-sleeved black shirt, dark jeans and socked feet, Bishop could have just stepped out of an ad for a hip clothing company.
God, she loved him.
She stopped breathing. Fuck. Fuck! Where had that come from?
But there it was. She was in love with him, and the realization hit her like a sonic boom. Suddenly, it was if she’d been unknowingly storing up all these secret feelings for him, and now that her brain had finally caught up with her heart, they’d all come pouring out, flooding her with too much emotion at once.
Her longing for him nearly choked her. She swallowed an inexplicable sob that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside. It was the wail of that stashed-away girl, staring at the floor in her distant dorm room. The girl with no family, who thought she’d be lonely forever, but who’d finally found the matching other half of her soul.
Pen had suppressed the cry, but maybe she shouldn’t have. Those tears were fucking warranted. Because she was still that lonely girl, even though now she had a room in her father’s home. She’d been through enough. Being denied the one person who made her happy, made her feel complete—the man who made her feel a love she never dreamed she’d have—well, that was just goddammed unfair.
Why was her relationship with Bishop always a roller-coaster of anger, despair, lust and love?
Picking her book back up, she trailed her fingers along the antique cover. There was a long list of books she loved, but there was a reason she’d been fixated on this one lately.
“Do you remember what Ethan Frome is about?” she asked Bishop.
He glanced up, brows drawn. “I remember it’s gloomy,” he offered.
She ignored his critique. “Ethan Frome is a story about a young woman desperately in love with an older man she lives with. A man she can’t have.”
She glanced up. Bishop had lowered his book to his lap.
“I relate to Mattie,” she added softly. “I understand that kind of hopelessness.”
Bishop’s face saddened, and then Pen was looking into those shadowed, wounded eyes that drew her to him in the first place.
“But if I remember correctly,” his deep voice was tinged with huskiness, “Mattie and Ethan’s attempt to be together destroyed the young woman’s life in the end.”
So, he did remember the book.
Pen blinked rapidly as tears threatened. That would not be the end of her story. It would not.
She looked down at the small volume and clutched it tightly with both hands. “You’re wrong,” she stated. Taking a deep breath, she hoped to keep
her voice from shaking. “The fates of Ethan and Mattie were sealed by his refusal to be with her, in spite of their love.” She loosened her grip on the book, not wanting to harm the binding. “Besides, I don’t read the epilogue. That’s the awful part. I just pretend it didn’t happen.”
She glanced at him to see he was looking at her wryly, one eyebrow raised.
“So, you rewrite the ending to suit you?” he asked, bemused.
“No,” she answered in a prim tone. “I don’t have to read that ending if I don’t want to. I just choose love. There’s never anything wrong with choosing love.”
He curled one side of his mouth, seeming to consider her words, but his expression reflected doubt at the sentiment.
She sighed in exaggerated fashion. “Look, let’s not argue about hundred-year-old literature. I hate fighting with you. I miss you when we don’t talk.”
Now his mouth curved into a charming, almost shy smile. “Me too.”
As happy as she was that they were talking again, she just couldn’t look at his sensuous mouth without needing to crawl over and kiss it. She stood up instead. She couldn’t bear one of his rejections in the vulnerable mood she was in. “Goodnight, Bishop.”
As she passed by him he reached out and grabbed her arm, sliding his hand down to tangle his fingers into hers. She stopped and looked down at him as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. Her knees nearly melted beneath her.
She studied his eyes, knowing exactly where this could lead, and that it would never be far enough for her. She bent and kissed him on the cheek, dangerously close to his lips. The scruff of his face bit into her skin, and every part of her awoke in a cascade of tingles.
Hesitating, her mouth just a few centimeters from his, she ran through all the things she wanted to do in that moment. But in the end, the thought of the typical pattern between them, and the disappointment and hurt she’d have to deal with, brought any thoughts of seduction to a halt.
Feeling more mature than she’d ever felt, and not liking it one bit, she straightened, pulled her hand from Bishop’s, and left the room.
*****
Bishop
As they read in the library the next evening, Bishop couldn’t even pretend to keep his mind on his book. He had to find a way to tell Penelope of the plans he’d made for her. Presumptive, heavy-handed plans she would surely be upset he’d arranged. He was involving himself in something he had no business meddling in—his ward’s sex life. And she would be justified in being royally pissed at him.
But after the news he’d received yesterday, he hadn’t known what else to do.
Even now, the thought of the phone call made him sick to his stomach. A colleague of Penelope’s father had called to warn him. He’d heard talk of Professor Warner trying to get close to his late friend’s daughter. Warner had been seen walking across campus with her more than a few times. Worse, the colleague had overheard Warner bragging to another teacher about “extra credit” he’d nearly convinced the beautiful freshman to come to his house to earn.
He had to keep Pen away from Professor Warner, and the upcoming fall break provided just the opportunity. He’d have to escalate things for Penelope and Bryce. Steer her in the right direction.
After he’d talked to Bryce and made the arrangements, he’d swiped the books off the laboratory table and collapsed onto his arms, his forehead pressed against the metal surface. He hadn’t wanted to take this step, but either alternative—him or Professor Warner—were out of the question. He had to put Penelope’s future before his desires, like any good guardian would.
Now he had to tell her about what he’d put in motion, and worse, he had to accept it himself. So, he would ask for one selfish concession. He loved her, and he was giving her away. Before he made that sacrifice, was it so wrong to ask for one lovely evening with her?
He put down his book and stared at her until she looked up.
“What?” She grinned. “Why are you being a creepster?
“My birthday’s on Friday,” he answered, ignoring her jibe.
A smile crawled across her face and she leaned forward. “Really? You’re already too old for me, and now you’re twenty-seven? Even more scandalous, Professor Cole.”
“Would you like to go to dinner to celebrate?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Like a date?”
He canted his head. “More like a dinner between friends.”
“Sure,” she said, around an eye-roll.
“Because of the long weekend, my driver’s taking off, and Ann won’t be around either. Would you mind driving?”
“Of course I can drive.” She beamed. “I have a fantastic car. You’re going to love it.”
He smiled back at her, pleased she liked the gift he’d given her for her eighteenth birthday.
“Great,” he said. “Pick me up at seven.”
As they returned to their reading, Bishop found himself going over the same paragraph repeatedly without ever remembering the words. He closed his eyes.
His idea had seemed simple, but as soon as he began to think of where they’d go to eat, something gnawed at his stomach. He was disgusted at the idea of taking her somewhere Bryce had already taken her.
When Bishop took Penelope out this first time, they should have their own place, where her memories would not be of Bryce, but of him. Bishop knew the perfect place, and it was somewhere a college kid would never think to take a young lady.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Bishop
BISHOP DIRECTED PENELOPE to a restaurant just out of town—a cozy, dark place where Cooper College instructors brought their dates so they wouldn’t run into students. Of course, some less reputable professors brought students, when they needed discretion, away from the prying eyes of the campus.
Even the name of the place—The Hideaway—seemed to telegraph why couples went there. The place was romantic, dimly-lit, and secluded. It was everything Bishop should avoid with the temptation bomb of Penelope on his arm, but after the plans he’d made for her and Bryce, Bishop had picked up the phone and booked reservations before he’d let himself reconsider.
God, those gut-wrenching plans. He had chosen to gift everything he most desperately wanted to another man. So why shouldn’t Bishop have at least one pseudo-date with the woman he loved before he lost her forever to other men?
Bishop’s nerves were singing as he sat in the passenger seat and watched her drive. She mouthed the words along to some song on the college radio station, and tapped her thumb against the steering wheel.
She’d worn a dress that was either a long, button-down shirt, or a short, button-up dress. Either way, it was sexy as hell. He leaned toward her, bringing into focus as best he could the spot where the hem of the dress hit her bare thigh. Too high.
Her knees were spread slightly, and she didn’t seem aware that the soft fabric of the dress had ridden up her legs, barely hiding the crotch of her panties. As she drove, and her leg moved, the material slipped even higher.
Sitting in the car with Pen, surrounded by her scent in a dark lit only by dashboard lights, Bishop could almost convince himself he’d entered some wrinkle of time and space, where anything goes and tomorrow didn’t matter.
He stared at that spot where the dress had risen so high. He wasn’t sure if he could see her panties now…or, was she even wearing any? He willed his eyes to focus, but he wasn’t close enough to make out the details, and the car was too dark.
He gave up and let his eyes travel up to her profile. Her delicate cheekbones and pert nose were just two of the thousand lovely parts of Penelope he had memorized. As he thought of how precious she was to him, and of what she’d be doing next week, his agitation grew.
So, why not him?
In the dark car, with Cooper College and Sullivan Manor becoming only a memory behind them, something visceral and selfish roared to the surface, overtaking all rational thought.
He was responsible for Pen. He had looked after
her and taken care of her. Shouldn’t he be the one to initiate her into the world of sex? She’d made it clear that was what she wanted. So why shouldn’t he be the one to make love to her?
After Bishop gave her that first experience, then she could move on to an appropriate partner. After him, though. After him. He should be the one to be with her first.
He closed his eyes, blotting her from his view, and took a shaky breath.
He couldn’t do that. That was too far. That logic was insanity.
Besides, things were already in motion. He’d taken care of the arrangements, and Bryce would be the man who took that position in Pen’s life. Wasn’t that why Bishop was even allowing himself this evening with her?
Soon, Penelope’s world would be bigger and freer than the world she had with her guardian. She’d have the sexual experience and satisfaction she was looking for. She’d be a woman in every way, and surely, she’d leave him behind.
When she experienced more than he had to offer her, she’d move on from the crush she had on him, and somehow, Bishop would learn to keep living anyway.
“We’re here.”
Penelope shifted the car into park and gave him a questioning look, jarring him from his thoughts.
“You okay?” she asked. She turned the car off and they were instantly plunged into silence. Her eyes flicked to his mouth and she reached up to click off the interior light, cloaking them in the private darkness of the small space again. “You’re…close,” she whispered, as if she wasn’t sure what was going on, but was afraid to break the spell.
He was close, because even in the dim glow from the distant parking lot lights, he could see her eyes search his face.
He dropped his gaze to the hem of her skirt again, his heart thudding in his ears. There was still the unanswered question of whether she was wearing underwear, and his thoughts focused to a pinpoint on that one mystery. Suddenly, knowing was the most important thing in the world.
From the corner of his vision, he saw her shoulders flinch when he reached over and placed his hand on her bare, upper thigh, the creamy softness of her skin in that intimate spot nearly enough to make him groan.