Page 69 of Bishop's Queen

“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 tomove ithigher. 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.”

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