Page 70 of Bishop's Queen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“What do you mean that you don’t have any other rooms?” Bishop evil-eyed the lady at the counter. She was asking him to tempt the devil by putting him and Ella in the same room. There was only so much he could handle.

“I’m sorry,” the desk clerk said. “You’re lucky. We had someone go home, and one happens to be available. A big convention is in our neck of the woods, and every hotel in town is booked.”

They could hop back in the truck and drive down the next exit. Or—

“It’s fine,” Ella mumbled. “I’m exhausted. We don’t have cooties and have obviously slept in the same room before.”

The sane, rational thing to do was go to the room and sleep. He could control himself. It was pure selfishness that he wanted a little breathing room. “Yeah. Of course.”

He paid in cash, using fake identification, and took the key. Rocco’s name appeared on his phone as they walked through the door to their room, and Bishop listened to the recount of everything Titan had learned by hacking Ella’s building security and talking to the FBI.

It wasn’t great. But the good news was that Titan and the FBI were now on the same page. Unfortunately, they were still one step behind. This was more than a juvenile delinquent with an attitude problem. It was a smart, calculating sadist.

Bishop threw the phone on the king-size bed, loosened his tie, and let it hang. He unbuttoned his top button and watched Ella crawl next to the phone. “What did they tell you?”

“We can talk about it in the morning. You’re spent.”

“Agreed. But I’m… I stink. I’m jumping in the shower.” She kicked off the bed and left him alone. The water turned on, and he finally had time to think. Hell, there wasn’t anything to think about. Nothing to decide. The job was the job. Ella was Ella. He was hot for her—if the erection he’d been sporting since the day they crashed back together was any indication. But Rocco had clearly said not to fuck her.

The way his boss had said that… Bishop balled his fists. That order had downplayed their history and didn’t do justice to his reaction to her now. As much as he wanted to get her naked, he had enjoyed taking her to that coffee shop tonight.

Bishop rubbed his chest. He wanted to protect Ella far more than he wanted to kiss her again. All of this—the history, the emotions, the possibilities of a job he would die for, and a girl he would die for regardless of payment—all of that rolled together. And his mind spun in circles.

The water shut off. He paced, knowing she was dripping wet and drying off and that he wanted in there too. He was torn in too many directions.

The door slipped open, and steam wafted out. “I hate this.”

His ears prickled as he turned to Ella. That wasn’t the voice of a relaxed woman coming out of a shower. A white towel was wrapped around her breasts, and her semi-dried hair hung on her bare shoulders. She had a hint of makeup under her eyes, which were red and tearing.

“El?”

“I hate this. I hate this. I hate this,” Ella whispered. “I brought this on myself. I know. I get it. You told me. But now I can’t even go home.” She sniffed and had clearly cried in the shower. “I’m tired. So exhausted. And stressed. And I don’t tell anyone ever. And I’m just done. I want my own bed.”

“I know, babe. You can get through this.”

“Why? Tara yells at me. Jay yells at me. You’re none too pleased with things I do.”

Well, hell. Not the group he wanted to be lumped into. “I’m not them. I’m on your team.”

She threw her head back. “Ha! Theyaremy team!”

“Ella,” he warned. “I’m different.”

“I just want to go home and sleep in my bed. I don’t want to have a panic attack in the shower that Manny might not have Furry Baby and Little Kitty handled for breakfast—”

“He has them all weekend until you say otherwise.”

“I know. But I forgot. I’m just stressed. And I’m scared. I want this all done.” She let out a little sob.

His inability to protect her tore at his insides. He carefully stepped closer, knowing that it was a danger zone—her in a towel and crying. She was his weakness, and he couldn’t handle her seemingly so vulnerable and hurt. “We’ll get it figured out.”

“No. We won’t. No one takes this seriously.” She covered her face.

Bishop gathered her into his arms. Her skin was damp and warm from the shower, and Ella smelled like soap. She leaned into his arms, dropping her hands, and clung to him as though no one had hugged her in ages.

“You’re getting worked up. It’s fine. Get some shut-eye. It’ll seem less overwhelming in the morning.” He kissed the top of her head, wishing he could dissolve her fear. If only there were a way to drop-kick away every bad memory, every fear. He wanted to just absorb her pain and,God, he wanted to keep her close.

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