Page 126 of Bishop

“You are my son,” he continues. “A Cappelletti at heart. And Cappellettis treasure their women.”

“She’s not my woman.”

“Well, she’s no longer your job either. So make the decision—stay and claim her as your own. Or leave and let me take care of my niece.”

I scowl at the house—scowl so hard my teeth ache.

He’s not going to let this go.

“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll fly out in the morning.”

“Okay.” He nods and opens his door. “If that’s what you want, I’ll make sure the jet is ready at first light.”

It’s not what I want and that fucker knows it, but I keep my mouth shut as he climbs from the car, closes the door behind him, then hobbles his way back into the house.

I should just leave now. Pack my shit and go.

And maybe I would if Abri didn’t need me.

Lorenzo isn’t as strategic as he was in his glory days. His mind is slower. The once sharp edge of his malice has dulled with fatigue.

Movement catches my periphery and I turn my attention to the right of the house, roughly half a mile into the field of thick grass as Abri walks toward a towering tree at the bottom of the rolling hills.

Once she reaches the thick trunk she disappears around the other side, denying me the sight of her.

It was a mistake to kiss her. To etch her deeper under my skin.

Not only is she an earworm now, with her voice constantly humming through my mind, but the feel of her lips is there, too. I’m haunted by the recollection of our bodies becoming too goddamn familiar with each other too fucking quickly. By the intricate details of her sexuality that I’m sure no other man has bothered to acknowledge.

I noticed how she prefers to come around three fingers, not two. How she responds to movement over her clit but prefers pressure. And how she breathes through her orgasms when some women tend to hold their breath.

Fuck, I worship her sounds. Her frantic gasps. The rushed frenzy.

I remain in the car, waiting for her to get whatever space she needs before returning to the house to sort her shit out with her family. But she doesn’t come back into view.

Ten minutes pass without sight of her.

Twenty.

The longer I sit without a visual, the more impatient I become until I can’t take it anymore.

I shove from the car and make my way across the yard. By the time I reach the middle of the field, my suit pants are prickled with burrs, my shoes dusty as fuck. The closer I get, the more my pulse increases, as if proximity to her is enough to rile my blood.

I round the tree, finding her seated on the ground, her back resting against the trunk as she picks the petals off a wildflower.

“Nice hiding spot,” I mutter.

“Well, the driver’s seat of my car was already taken so…” She shrugs.

“You could’ve sat in shotgun.”

“Kinda defeats the purpose of hiding if you’re sitting next to the person you want to get away from.”

So she still wants to fight. How surprising.

“You’re not worried about snakes?” I do a visual scan of the grass around us.

“Why would I be when I’ve been sharing a bed with one?” She throws another petal to the ground, her expression blank even though she has to be proud of all the right hooks she’s landing.

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