Page 86 of Bishop

“I’ve definitely had assignments I’m better suited for.” His eyes scan mine, stoic and calm. “I’m going to need you to stop crying now, belladonna. It’s not good to rely on someone like me for comfort. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

“You’re doing just fine.” I force a somber smile. “Then again, this whole comfort thing is new to me, so maybe you’re really bad at it and I just don’t know any better.”

One side of his lips kicks in a smirk, the sight pausing my pulse.

The expression is transformative, changing him from sterile to sinful in a blink, before it vanishes just as fast.

“Do you really not have a frame of reference?” he asks.

“No.” I drag in a breath and distract myself by playing with his lapels. “My role within the family has never allowed for a romantic relationship. And even paternal comfort wasn’t a thing when both my parents lack nurturing instincts.”

He keeps his arms around me, showing no sign of letting go. “So all that shit you tried to manipulate me with last night in the kitchen rings true to you, too.”

It’s not a question. It’s clear my life lacks the intimacy I taunted him with. All I’ve ever known is sexual exploitation, both giving and receiving.

“As sad as it might sound,” I say to his chest, “I think the only compassion I’ve been given from a man came from Cole Torian the night I received the scar on my throat.”

His muscles tense beneath my palms. “Is he the one who cut you?”

“No, but he should’ve. Instead, I did it to myself as a cover after he staged a hostage situation where he told my brothers he’d cut me. Cole had sliced his hand instead and held it against my throat, claiming his blood was mine. It would’ve been safer for him to make it real.”

“So why didn’t he?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Was it because he’d already taken what he wanted from you?”

I give a somber shake of my head. “No.”

Bishop grips my chin and forces my gaze to his. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.” I bask under the weight of his ferocity, wishing his response was due to jealousy and not just some threat of a tarnished reputation to my uncle. “I never slept with Cole. He was in love with someone else and wanted nothing to do with me.”

“He’s lucky then,” he mutters.

“I’m glad you approve.”

“I’m not that asshole’s biggest fan.”

“I can see that.”

He releases my chin, his hand returning to my lower back.

We fall quiet, his hard eyes fixed on mine through the silence.

It’s far more intimate than anything I’ve experience before. I feel vulnerable and exposed. But in a non-threatening way.

I stand there, learning the intricacies of his expression. Seeing the different shades of blond in his growing stubble. Capturing how the dark blue of his irises are bordered with thick black. And how his forehead bears the faintest frown lines.

“You don’t usually have a beard, do you?” I reach out, unabashed as I trail my fingertips along his jaw.

His shoulders tense. “Not like this, no.”

“It looks good on you.”

“Everything looks good on me,” he mutters with such understated confidence I can’t help but grin. “Now are there any more compliments you want to share before we call this quits? Dinner is getting cold.”

I ignore his question, not ready for this to end. I keep dragging my touch down to his chin. Slow. Lethargic.

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