"Well," I explained. "If you do something different because of the cards told you, you'll change your outcome, and then you have to start over."
"Good thing I have my own little fortune-teller," he said.
His own. Something about those words, and the way he said them, made butterflies dance in my stomach. "So," I said, smiling over at him, "what kind of reading do you want?"
"I dunno. What are my choices?"
"Well, there's the ten-card Celtic Cross, a three-card past-present-future." I laughed. "A one-card winner takes all."
"What's that?"
"Actually," I said, "I normally call it a contemplation card. You pick one card, and it gives you something to think about."
"That's the one I want," he said.
"Living on the edge, huh?"
"Something like that."
I stopped shuffling and fanned out the cards across the quilt. "Alright, pick your card."
With a half-smile, he looked down, studying the cards longer than I'd have expected. Finally, he picked one and flipped it over.
Together, we studied the image. A youthful man in colorful clothing traipsed along a rocky cliff while a small white dog yipped at his heels.
"The Fool," Bishop said. "Is that supposed to be me?"
"Sort of." I reached out, running a finger along the card. "There are two types of cards in any Tarot deck. Some are Major Arcana, and some are Minor Arcana. This one's a major, so you might call it a fate card."
Bishop looked to the card. "So what's that guy's fate?"
I glanced down. "Obviously, he's off on some new adventure." I pointed to the cliff. "But he's not really thinking about where he's going."
"So he's gonna fall, huh?"
"Maybe." I pointed to the number at the top of the card. "See this?" I said. "There are twenty-two cards in the Major Arcana. This one is the first. Number zero, actually. So he's at the beginning of his journey."
"Yeah?" Bishop glanced at the card. "He looks happy."
"Maybe a little too happy." I looked up. "If you ask me, the guy needs to be more careful."
Bishop's voice was quiet. "Sorry, not gonna happen."
"Why not"
"Because," Bishop said, "he's already fallen."
Chapter 41
My breath caught. "He has?"
Slowly, Bishop nodded.
I crawled over the cards and burrowed into his arms. They closed around me, pulling me close. I craned my neck and pressed my lips to his neck. I trailed kisses downward until I hit the cotton of his shirt. I tugged it downward and kissed his collarbone.
I trailed a hand along his chest, savoring the shift of his muscles and the sound of his breath against my hair. I moved my hand lower, feeling his hard torso and flat abs. I slid my hand around his back and up underneath his shirt. His back muscles contracted, making me catch my breath.
Then his hand was on my back. His fingertips trailed across my skin. I was wearing faded little shorts and a thin pink T-shirt. His hand slipped upward, reaching for the clasp of my bra. With one smooth motion, my bra came loose underneath my shirt. His hand drifted from my back to my front.
Soon I felt his fingers trailing along the underside of my right breast. The touch was light and steady, making me yearn for more. Silently, I begged him to move higher, to cup my breasts in both hands and tease my nipples between his fingertips.
I moaned softly into his T-shirt, wanting more, needing more. When his hand crept higher, my breath caught again. His fingers closed around my right nipple, giving it the gentlest of squeezes, sending a flood of heat straight to my core.
I arched into him, and slid my hand around to flatten my palm against the bulge in his jeans.
He stifled a groan and pulled away.
I looked up. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said. "You sleepy?"
I stared at him. "No."
He glanced toward the playing cards, discarded in the corner. "Wanna finish our game?" he asked.
I bit my lip. "Are you planning to stay over?" I asked.
"Unless you want me to leave."
Pulling away, he reached for the deck of playing cards and handed them over. "Your deal."
Embarrassed, I set the cards on the quilt and, using both hands, reached behind my back to re-clasp my bra. When I glanced at Bishop, he was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed.
"Are you sleepy?" I asked.
"Nope."
My voice sounded way too hesitant when I asked, "Is something wrong?"
Slowly, his eyes opened. Our gazes locked and held. He gave me a smile. "No. Nothing's wrong." He flicked his head toward the cards. "Go on. Deal."
I picked up the cards and started shuffling. "Bishop?"
"Hmm."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
I looked down, shuffling the cards. "You have gone all the way before, right?"
When he didn't answer, I looked up.
His tone was teasing. "Is that a hint?"
My face grew warm. "It's just a question, that's all."
"I think you know the answer to that."
"So, uh, lots of times?" I asked. "Or just a few?"
"Define 'lots'," he said.
"Um, I dunno, twenty times? Fifty times?"
He gave a low chuckle. "Okay."
"Okay what?"
"Okay. I've done it lots of times."
My brow furrowed. "Closer to twenty? Or closer to fifty?"
With his free hand, he reached around to rub the back of his neck. "Are we talking number of girls? Or number of actual…" he blew out a breath. "…incidents."
He looked so uncomfortable that I had to laugh, not at him, but with him. Somehow, it made me feel just a little bit better to think I wasn't the only one feeling my way around whatever this was.
I laughed. "Did you just call them 'incidents'?"
"What should I them?"
"Encounters?"
He pushed a hand through his hair. "What was your question again?"
"Well, like with Cat, I'm sure you guys were together in that way, right?"
His tone was wary. "Yeah?"
"So, did you know each other a long time before that happened?"
"What do you consider a long time?"
"I don't know," I said. "Were you dating a few weeks? A few months? Or what?"
"It's the 'or what'," he said.
"So longer than a few months?"
"No. Shorter than a few weeks."
"How much shorter?"
"A few weeks shorter."
I shook my head. "That doesn't add up. Unless–" I glanced up at the ceiling. "–you jumped into bed the minute you met."
"Not a bed," he said.
"Then where?"
"The back seat of her friend's Chevy."
"Oh." I cleared my throat. "And you knew each other how long?"
He shrugged. "Maybe an hour."
"Oh." I forced out a laugh. "So, she must've really put the moves on you, huh?"
He reached out, taking the playing-cards and setting them off to the side. "What's on your mind?"
"Nothing."
He lifted a single brow.
"Oh alright," I said. "I guess I'm just wondering if you feel that way about me."
"What way?"
Oh God. Was he going to make me spell it out. I looked down and reached for the cards. "Never mind."
His hand closed over mine. When I looked up, he said, "You wanna know if I want you?" He made a sound I couldn't quite decipher, half-scoff, half-groan. "Selena, you have no idea."
"Really?"
He met my gaze. "You've gotta ask?"
"So why do you always pull away whenever–" I shrugged, not sure how to put it.
"Like tonight?" he said.
I nodded.
"You wanna talk about it?" he said.
"I guess, but–" I heard myself laugh. "– you probably don't normally plan these things out ahead of time, huh?"
>
Again, he pushed his free hand through his hair. His lips parted, but he remained silent.
Embarrassed, I plunged forward. "I mean, you probably just do it. Like that slogan. Because if you talk about it first, like if I told you that I was on birth control, not for sex reasons, but for other reasons, it would just feel all weird, right?" By now, my face was flaming-hot. "I mean, the sex wouldn't feel weird, but–"
I looked down at our still-joined hands. Mine was clammy. His was strong and cool.
"You know what?" I said, pulling away. "I think I'm just gonna go upstairs and throw myself off the balcony." I started to stand.
He tugged me back down, and I tumbled into his strong arms. They closed around me, pulling me close. I burrowed closer, pressing my face against his muscular chest. Into my hair, he said, "You don't have a balcony."
"But I have a roof," I said.
He squeezed me tighter. "Too late for that now."
Speaking into his chest muffled my voice. "Can we just erase the last ten minutes?" I gave an awkward little laugh. "Pretend I was talking about the weather or something?"
"Nope. Sorry."
"Damn it," I muttered.
As I snuggled into him, he reached under the back of my T-shirt, stroking my bare skin in a way that was oddly soothing, and arousing as hell. My eyes drifted shut, and I relaxed into the rhythm of his light caress.
And then he spoke. "So you wanna know why I haven't made the moves on you, huh?"
"Maybe." I gave another nervous laugh. "Or let me make the moves on you."
"Two reasons," he said. "One – like I told you before, I asked around about you."
"So?"
"So I know you like to take things slow. And I don't want to rush you."
I felt myself smile. "But you've thought about it?"
His voice was low. "You could say that."
"And what's the other reason?" I said.
"Wanna know the truth?" he said, squeezing me just a little bit tighter. "I'm scared as hell of hurting you."
Chapter 42
I pulled back to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, and his lips were barely parted. Looking at him, as he looked at me, the stupidity of my earlier questions hit me like a hot tidal wave.
Whether he had never allowed me to see it, or whether I'd been blind all along, the question of him wanting me was answered wordlessly just by the expression on his heart-stopping face.
I felt myself swallow. I wanted to press my lips against his, to feel our tongues intertwined, to have our breaths mingle. I wanted to feel his hands on my bare ass, and to run my fingers through his dark hair. I wanted to tug off his shirt and feel his muscles shift under my hands.
And then his words hit home, splashing me with reason just when insanity was starting to take hold.
I bit my lip. "Hurting me?" I said. "Like emotionally, or–"?
"No."
"Oh," I said, feeling my face grow warm yet again. "You mean because I haven't done it before?"
"That's part of it," he said.
"If it makes you feel better," I said, "I don't think I'm technically – I mean physically – that way anymore, so, uh, it should be fine." I glanced away. "I mean, I have been to third base."
To my infinite relief, he didn't ask for details.
"Wait a minute," I said as my brain caught up with my mouth. "What's the other part?"
His gaze shifted toward his pelvis. I followed his gaze. The bulge in his jeans was unmistakable, and in truth, noticeably bigger than what I'd seen – or felt – with other guys.
When my gaze returned to his face, his skin was looking a little warmer now too.
"Are you blushing?" I said.
He gave a small, choked laugh. "No."
I heard myself giggle. "You are too."
"Did you just giggle?"
"No."
He grinned. "You did too."
"Oh shut up," I said.
His voice was low in the quiet room. "You wanna make me?"
"How?"
His gaze dipped to my lips. "However you want."
Slowly, I felt myself nod. I didn't care that I'd only known him a few weeks. And I didn't care that he was so wrong for me in so many ways. And I didn't care that he was a hundred times more experienced than I was.
I wanted him. Right here, right now.
It was funny really. All along, I'd been saving this for someone special. Maybe Bishop wasn't exactly what I envisioned. He was a little bit wilder, a whole lot less stable, and much more secretive than I cared to admit. I'd never been inside his house, and I'd never met his family.
But there was something about him that I couldn’t resist.
"I think you know what I want," I said. "Meaning, I want you."
He pulled me close, and our lips met in a kiss so tender, I almost wanted to cry. But then a flame took hold and built. Tender gave way to frantic, and I heard myself moan against him when his tongue slipped into my mouth.
His hands slipped beneath the waistband of my faded little shorts, then slid underneath my panties. A surge of heat shot straight through me, making me grind against him like my hips had ideas all their own.
As the kiss ebbed and flowed, his hands played across my skin, pulling me closer. I felt his hardness press against me, savoring the feel of his chest rising and falling in time with our breathing.
Almost before I knew what was happening, he rocked us sideways until we were side-by-side, facing each other on the floor.
"Wait," I said.
Slowly, he pulled away, his gaze curious, but restrained.
I glanced at the door. "Did we lock it?"
"Hang on," he said and pushed himself up to check the doorknob. He gave it an experimental twist. When it didn't open, he fell back beside me.
His gaze drifted over the bare walls. "It shouldn't be here," he said.
I looked around. "What shouldn't be here?"
He reclaimed his spot next to me, pulling me into a tender embrace. "Your first time."
I smiled against him. "It's better than the backseat of a Chevy."
"You deserve better."
"I have you," I said, pulling back to meet his gaze. "What could be better than that?"
And I meant every word. Just looking at him, he was a fantasy come to life. I let my gaze run the length of him, starting at his gorgeous face and drifting downward, past his strong chest, flat stomach, his lean waist, and long legs. When my gaze upward, his eyes were troubled.
"What is it?" I said.
"You're the first one," he said.
"The first what?" And then it hit me. "The first–" I bit my lip "–virgin?"
As I waited for his answer, the longing in his eyes was enough to break my heart. He shook his head. "No. The first girl I've ever loved."
My voice was breathless. "Really?"
He closed the distance between us. "You're supposed to say that you love me too."
I smiled against him. "I do. I love you." It was funny. Until that moment, I'd been trying to deny it. I knew exactly why. The idea of him loving me back seemed so ludicrous that my brain refused to go there.
I felt his lips on my neck and his hand in my hair.
Then he said it again. "I love you, Selena. I swear to you, I'll always love you."
The logical part of me wanted to ask how he could be sure? He'd obviously been with lots of girls. Why would I be so special?
But just when I started to go down that road, I put on the mental brakes. He loved me. And he wanted me. And come or hell or high water, when I woke up tomorrow, I wouldn't be a virgin anymore.
Chapter 43
His voice was low in my makeshift bedroom. "Promise me something?" he said.
Already, my heart was hammering. "What?"
"If you want to stop at any time, just say the word." He reached out to stroke my face with the back of his palm. "I don't care how close we are, or how far. I'll wait. As long as it takes. I mean it."
He leaned o
ver to give me a kiss so soft and sweet that I closed my eyes to savor it. Then his lips left mine and trailed lower. I reached under the back of his shirt and ran my palm over his trim waist.
Then, unable to resist, I opened my eyes and reached down, pulling on the hem of his shirt and tugging it upward. He lifted his arms, letting me pull the shirt over his head. My gaze strayed to the area just above his right hip, where the bullet-wound was scarring over.
"Are you sure you're okay to–?"
"I'm sure."
Already, I'd seen him shirtless lots of times. But until now, I hadn't allowed myself to stare. Tonight, I didn't care about the bounds of decorum. I wanted to memorize everything, every line of his magnificent body, every ridge of every muscle, and every scar.
His pecs were a work of art, trailing down to tight, washboard abs. I reached up, running both palms down the front of him. His eyes drifted shut for the briefest moment before they opened again, meeting my gaze with an intensity that suggested I wasn't the only one cataloguing everything for future memories.
He reached for my T-shirt and gently tugged it over my head. After tossing it aside, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to my neck. I felt his hand slip behind my back. I arched into him as he released the clasp of my bra and pulled the straps aside until my breasts were free and exposed.
He placed his palm over my right breast, working the nipple between two fingers as he lowered his head to kiss me full on the lips. When the kiss deepened, his fingers tightened, capturing that sensitive pebble in a firmer embrace, shifting his fingers until I thought I'd go crazy from just that small motion alone.
I moaned against him, feeling my body grow hot and my stomach clench in rhythm with his tantalizing touch. Just when I thought I was in danger of begging him for more, he sat up and trailed his hands down my side, inching his fingers downward until they met the waistband of my shorts.
His hands kept moving, dragging my shorts down until they reached my knees. In a burst of eagerness, I used my right heel to push them down to my ankles, and then with one flick of my ankle, I sent the shorts airborne a few feet away.
Grinning, he looked down on me. "Nice move," he said.
"Um, thanks?"
As I looked up at him, his amusement morphed into something else. His gaze dipped from my face to my body as I lay half naked on a bed of old quilts. I should've felt self-conscious, laying there in nothing but thin pink panties and a bra that was barely on.
Illegal Fortunes Page 16
