Page 187 of Bishop

I shake my head, trying to keep my thoughts clear even though the riotous emotions from what I’ve been through begin to shift to desire. “I have nothing on underneath it.”

“That much is clear,” he mutters. “But we’re not leaving until I get a visual on that kick to your stomach. And anything else Geppet might have inflicted.”

I open my mouth to protest.

“Don’t,” he warns. “I’m just as loath to do this as you are, but it needs to be done.”

“Loath?” I whisper.

“You heard me. Now stop dragging this out, belladonna. The adrenaline currently poisoning my veins has me hard as stone.”

I’m so confused. My body is too, all my erogenous zones thrumming for attention despite a man dying in the next room. “Then why say you’re loath to look at me?”

His eyes harden. “Because my foolishness in letting you do this your way is the reason I have to inspect injuries that never should’ve been inflicted.” He leans closer, trying to intimidate me into compliance. “I’m loath because even though I know you’re hurting, and after what you just witnessed, I still can’t stop myself from picturing how I want to turn you over, plaster you to that fucking countertop, and sink into you from behind.”

My throat dries, the yearning for what he described overwhelming me. Is it due to the stress hormones currently flooding my system? Obviously.

Does understanding that make me want him any less due to the inopportune timing and location? Not one little bit.

“I’m not in pain.” I can’t feel anything other than quickly surging lust.

“Then hurry up and take your top off to prove it.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” It can’t be when my breasts are now aching for his touch. I want him. I’m dying to have his hands back on me. His fingers stoking the fire crackling to life in my veins.

But that’s not what he wants or needs.

The stress-hormone high is the only reason he’s thinking about sex, and I don’t want this moment to be the catalyst that breaks his years of abstinence.

I really, really don’t…even though my body really, really does.

“Are you worried I’ll force you after what I just did?” He scowls. “I’m not a monster. Not that type at least.”

“I’m not worried you’ll take me, Bishop. My fear is that you won’t.”

34

ABRI

His nostrils flare. “We’re not doing this here.”

He’s right. It’s ridiculous to even contemplate. So why can’t I quit longing for him to touch me? To wipe all the destruction from my mind with his possessive grip?

“Abri, we’re not fucking at a crime scene with blood still on my goddamn hands.”

“I know.” I nod.

“Then quit looking at me like that and get your fucking top off so we can leave.”

I swallow, my heart thunderous as I lean back against the counter and obey, pulling the material over my scarf and head to let it hang limp at my side.

He turns rigid, his chin arrogantly high, his jaw tense as he blatantly ignores my breasts and lowers his attention to my stomach.

My skin comes alive under his gaze, every inch of me breaking out in feverish goosebumps.

“That son of a fucking bitch.” He reaches out, running his fingertips over the reddened shoe print marking my abdomen. “I should’ve made him suffer.”

“You did.”

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