We had a twenty-four-hour drive ahead of us, and not much time to make it. Still, it made sense to stop somewhere along the way. It might as well be Alabama, the half-way point. Besides, it was long past time for Riley and Bishop to meet.
After twelve hours on the road, we pulled up to my condo. It was nearly midnight, and Riley was nowhere in sight, the typical scenario for a Saturday night. Bishop's gaze took in the empty rooms. "Your roommate's out?" he asked.
"Yup," I said. "Probably with her boyfriend." I set down my suitcase. "Or the guy who'll take his place."
"Who's that?"
"Too soon to tell," I said.
Edgar stood unsteadily at the door, looking like he’d had one drink too many. I grabbed his elbow. "C'mon, we have a guest room," I said, hustling him toward the back of the condo.
I threw open the guest room door, and Edgar stumbled past me, toward the bed. He flopped onto the comforter, shoes and all. Slowly, I shut the guest room door. I paused to listen and soon heard the sounds of broken snoring.
I turned to Bishop. "I bet we have to drag him out of bed tomorrow."
Bishop dropped his duffel and dug through it. "We'll see," he said, pulling out a small electronic device. He hit a few buttons and positioned the device over Edgar's doorknob.
"What's that?" I asked.
"An alarm."
"Not very trusting, are you?" I said.
"Only so far as I can throw him," Bishop said.
We slipped away, and I gave Bishop a tour of our condo, starting in the bedroom area and ending in the living room. "Nice place," he said, looking around.
"I can't take the credit," I said. "Riley's the decorator, not me."
"So how'd you end up as roommates?"
"A weird story," I said. "You know how I left Michigan kind of suddenly?"
His voice was deadpan. "It rings a bell."
"Yeah, well anyway, I was heading to Florida State. I knew I'd never get admitted for the next semester. But, I figured that getting down there was the first step, right?"
Bishop shrugged.
"So I'm like twelve hours into this twenty-four-hour drive when I stop in this coffee shop, and—" I glanced down. "—I'm kind of upset and having a hard time holding it together. And Riley plops down at this table with me. She's so nice, and she's trying to cheer me up, and we get to talking. One thing leads to another, and she tells me she's looking for a roommate, just for a couple months, until the wedding."
"She's married?"
"Nah, the wedding never happened." I gave a small laugh. "Or the next two weddings after that. And I never moved."
"Why not?"
"For one thing," I said, "I enrolled in college here, just to get a few classes out of the way." I felt myself smile. "And then, believe it or not, I ended up getting a full-ride scholarship."
"You were always smart," he said.
I looked up, meeting his gaze. "Not always."
Bishop made his way toward the far wall, where several framed photos hung near the balcony doors. He studied the largest photo, a framed shot of Riley in a string bikini. She was perched on the hood of a vintage Ferrari.
Bishop became very still. "Nice car," he said. "Whose is it?"
I laughed. "Alright, what's up?"
His eyes remained trained on the photo. "What?"
"I mean," I said, "You don't notice the girl on the car?"
His voice was a monotone. "It's your roommate."
"Yup, that's Riley."
"Whose car is it?" he asked again.
"It belonged to the guy Riley was going to marry," I said. "The first one."
Bishop said nothing. I waved my hand in front of his face. He made no response. "Okay," I said, "You're starting to creep me out. What's wrong?"
He pulled his gaze from the photo. "Nothing." He made his way to the next framed shot, one of me dressed as an old-fashioned fortune teller.
"Where was this taken?" he asked, his tone more conversational.
"A psychic fair in Nashville."
"Where's your bikini?" he asked.
"The way you're acting," I said, "you probably wouldn't even notice."
"Oh, I'd notice."
"Not if I were sitting on a Ferrari," I said.
Bishop turned to face me. I saw something in his eyes. Sadness maybe? Regret? It might've been anger, but it didn't seem to be directed at me. Whatever it was, I couldn't place it. "There's something I've gotta tell you," he said.
I waited, wondering what he'd say. From the look on his face, it wouldn't be good. I steeled myself, vowing that no matter what he said, I'd take it in stride.
The wait was agonizing as Bishop seemed to try on, then discard, several versions of what he had to tell me. At last, something seemed to click. His face relaxed, and he closed the distance between us.
When finally he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. "All these years," he said, "I never stopped loving you."
Chapter 88
Looking up at him, my lips parted. He lowered his face to mine, sealing my mouth with a kiss so desperate that I clung to him, lost in everything except the feeling of having him near me.
Somehow, we made it to my bedroom, and together we tumbled onto the bed, tugging at each other's clothes until there was nothing left but bare skin. Lying side-by-side, his powerful hands roamed the length of me – skimming my back, my hips, my outer thighs.
Reaching for him, I ran my palms over his back, savoring the feel of his muscles shifting and tensing beneath my warm fingertips. He felt so real and so solid, from his wide shoulders to his narrow waist.
For a long moment, we stared into each other's eyes. And then he spoke, telling me in a voice so tender, "I love you. I swear, I've never stopped, though God knows I tried."
"I love you too." My breath hitched. "I love you so much that it scares me sometimes."
As the words left my lips, I felt an incredible release. I'd been thinking them so long, afraid to tell him, and maybe even more afraid of having him tell me. But now, there was no fear, just the pure ecstasy of something that felt like fate, impossible to deny no matter how hard we tried.
His right hand traced my hips, caressing my skin with slow tender movements. His left hand drifted between us, skimming my stomach and moving downward, toward the intersection of my thighs. As if by instinct, my thighs parted, opening to his touch.
Simultaneously, I reached between us, taking his massively rigid cock into my hand, and sliding my warm grip up and down the length of it. He groaned my name, and his eyes drifted shut.
Savoring the feel of him, I stroked him with slow, steady movements, feeling myself grow hotter and wetter as he tenderly stroked me in return. Our previous haste all but forgotten, time seemed to slow. It was like a dream, a leisurely rhythm that promised an eternity of pure bliss.
His eyes drifted open, and he met my gaze. "I still remember," he said.
My voice was breathy as I asked, "Remember what?"
"How you looked the night we met, standing in that field, in that silver dress." He circled my clit, teasing and tempting. "Even then," he said, "when I didn't even know who you were, I couldn't stay away."
I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock and gave him a long, leisurely stroke. He pulsed in my grip. When I stroked him again, and again, he moved his hips in a slow deliberate motion that made my stomach contract with and my breathing grow shallow.
"I'm glad you didn't stay away," I said.
Did I mean then? Or now? What did it matter? No matter when or where, without him, I was utterly lost.
"And then," he said, "when I stopped the bike, and you hit me with those eyes of yours, I was so done for."
I slid my hand slowly up and down the length of him, savoring the feel of his hard, hot flesh in my hungry grip. "So," I teased, "it was my eyes, huh? Not my keen fashion sense?" All too well, I remembered how I looked, barefoot and grubby in a torn dress. No one's dream girl, that's for sure.
"You were beauti
ful," he said. "Like a gift, wrapped up just for me."
"No," I said, "you were the gift." I gave a small laugh. "Who knows, if it weren't for you, I might still be in that field."
"Nah," he said. "I'd have found you eventually."
"Except you weren't even looking."
"Yes I was," he said. "I just didn't know it."
When at last, he slid his massive length inside me, I sighed with contentment. I wrapped my legs around his hips and pressed my lips to his neck, feeling a deep fullness settle over me, not just my body, but my mind and soul.
Time stood still as we moved together in a tender, unhurried pace, like we had all eternity ahead of us, with no more lies, no more secrets, no more lonely nights wondering where the other one was, or who they were with.
I swear, if I'd died at that moment, I'd have died a very happy girl.
I woke early the next morning, amid a tangle of sheets, blankets and discarded undergarments. I sat up and looked around. I was alone. In my bathroom, I heard the shower running. I smiled at the thought of Bishop all lathery.
I sank back onto the bed and relived the previous night. I closed my eyes and replayed some of my favorite parts. It was hard to pick out the best, but fun to try.
I was drifting off again when I smelled coffee. Chocolate raspberry, Riley's favorite. I jumped out of bed and threw on shorts and a T-shirt. I found Riley sitting at the kitchen table, coffee cup in hand.
She took one look at me and smiled. "Somebody had a great night."
"I'll never tell," I said.
"Yes you will."
"Yeah, you're right." I poured myself a cup of coffee and told her everything she'd missed in the couple days since we spoke.
When I finished, she said, "It's good to see you happy."
"I shouldn't be," I said. "My life's in the toilet." I cupped my hands around the cup and smiled. "Except for Bishop."
Riley was grinning too. "Well, you know I always say. It's just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one."
"Oh stop it," I said. "He's not that poor."
Her smile faded. "I'm not following."
"It's not like he's living on the street or anything." I laughed. "At least, not that I know of."
She had me thinking though. Where was he living? Was it really at the hardware store? If so, was he there legally?
"Screw it," I said. "If he's living on the street, that's okay too. I mean, we'll make it work somehow. After all, I've got a decent job, right?"
Riley opened her mouth to speak, and then thought better of it. She clamped her mouth shut and looked out the window.
"What is it?" I said.
"Nothing." She stood to fetch more coffee. I had seen her cup. It wasn't empty.
I joined her at the counter. "What's wrong?" I asked. "You and Kenny have a fight?"
Riley shook her head. "It's not about Kenny."
"Someone new?"
"There is no one new," she said.
"Then what is it?"
Riley leaned against the counter and gave me a sideways glance. "It's about Bishop."
"What about him?"
She cleared her throat and looked down at her bare feet. "Remember when I said it was just as easy to fall in love with a rich man?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, I was talking about him."
"Bishop? But he's not rich."
Riley's voice was quiet. "Yes he is."
"You mean through his brother?"
"No. I mean him. Personally."
"Huh?"
"Actually," she said, "when it comes to net worth, they're not all that far apart."
I shook my head. His brother was a billionaire. Riley's information had to be mixed up. "I think you've got the wrong brother. Bishop? He's just an ordinary guy."
Riley gave me a look.
"Alright," I said, "So he's not exactly ordinary. But he's not wealthy. If he were, he'd have told me."
Even as I said it, doubt was starting to seep in. I looked down, gathering my thoughts. I knew Bishop had been hiding something. I should've pressed harder. Maybe I hadn't wanted to know – not because I didn't care, but because I'd been afraid of what he might say.
I looked up, meeting Riley's gaze. "Are you sure?" I asked.
"I'm sure," she said. "That condo development? He could probably write a check for the whole thing tomorrow and not even flinch."
"How is that possible?" I said. "He said he does security stuff, probably like a bouncer or something."
"No," she said. "He invents security stuff, and sells the manufacturing rights."
"To who?" I asked.
"Security firms, the government…" She gave a small laugh. "Hell, I bet you could find some of his stuff on the internet."
I leaned against the counter, considering what Riley had just told me. "So," I said, "you did a background check on him?"
She nodded.
"I asked you not to."
"I know," she said.
"Then why did you?"
"I was worried about you." She gazed into her coffee cup and said, "I'm sorry."
As if in a trance, I wandered back to the kitchen table. I sank into my chair. Riley followed, reclaiming her seat across from me. She looked so miserable that my heart went out to her.
"Don't be sorry," I said. "If the situation were reversed, I'd have probably done the same thing."
Riley took in my glum expression. "But this is good news, right?"
"I guess so."
"So why don't you look happy?"
I shrugged. "I don't get it."
"What?"
"Why didn't he tell me?" I mentally replayed all our conversations. He'd had many chances to tell me about himself and his life. Instead, he'd misled me at every turn. What did that say about him? And what did it say about how he really felt?
I struggled to put it into context. And then it hit me.
I looked up. "He thinks I'm some kind of gold-digger."
"Come on," Riley said. "No one could think that."
"You haven't heard him," I said. "All the innuendos, veiled accusations. It's all making sense." Suddenly, I felt like throwing up.
Riley's expression changed. She looked like she might be a little queasy too. But she wasn't looking at me. She was looking at something over my shoulder. I turned around and saw Bishop, his hair still wet, standing at the entryway to the kitchen. His expression suggested he might be feeling a little sick himself.
Chapter 89
Back in my bedroom, I was hastily packing my bags.
Bishop sat on the edge of the bed, watching with wary eyes. "Aren't you going to say something?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Nothing to say."
"I should've told you."
"Then why didn't you?" I asked. "I don't get it."
"What?"
"Why someone would lie about that," I said. "Not just to me. But to anyone."
Bishop picked up my pillow and turned over it in his hands. "When you have money," he said, "people treat you differently. They kiss your ass and tell you what you want to hear."
"So?"
"So, it makes it hard to tell what's real." He looked up. "And what isn't."
With every word, Bishop was confirming my worst fears. "So I was right," I said. "That's what you think of me?"
"No." Setting aside the pillow, he reached for my hand. "Baby, you've got to believe me. That's not what I'm saying."
Standing beside the bed, I looked down at our hands, joined, but for how long? "Then why'd you lie to me?" I said.
"I didn't lie."
"Only by a technicality," I pointed out. "You misled me. Isn't that the same thing?"
"I'd have told you."
"When?"
"Today, I swear."
I smirked. "How convenient."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I mean, how can I be sure?"
"By trusting me." He squeezed my hand. "Is that so hard?"
"Li
ke you trusted me?" I slid my hand from his. "There are plenty of rich guys around here. You know that, right?"
"So?"
"So if that's all I cared about, I'd be with one of them."
His voice grew fierce. "You're with me. Not them."
I glanced away.
His voice rose. "You said money didn't matter. And now it does? So what? I have a shitload of it. What's the big deal?"
"Look," I said, "I know the script calls for me to be thrilled."
"Yeah? Then why aren't you?"
When I didn't answer, he added, "Maybe you need to make up your mind."
"What do you mean?"
"First you're mad that I'm some kind of loser," he said. "Now you're mad that I'm not."
"I never called you a loser."
"But you thought it."
"No, I didn't. Never."
"Yeah? What about now?"
I shook my head. "I don't know what to think." I sank onto the bed beside him. "I know you love me." I turned to meet his gaze, trying desperately to understand. "But what is it? You don't like me? You don't trust me? What?"
His jaw tightened. "Has it ever occurred to you that I'm the one who should be mad?"
"Why's that?
"Your friend pried into my business."
"Because she cares."
"So do I."
"I guess," I said.
"I would die for you. And you know that."
"But I don’t want you to die for me," I said. "I want you to be honest with me."
"You want me to be honest?" he said. "I love you. I swear, I've loved you from the first moment I saw you. I've always loved you."
My voice grew quiet. "Saying you love someone is easy."
"No," he said. "Not for me. You're the only one I've said that to. Ever."
I bit my lip. "I love you too, but–"
"I'd have told you."
"When?"
He gazed at me with hollow eyes. "Thanks to your friend, you'll never know."
"Thanks to my friend, I know plenty."
Just then, a piercing, electronic sound filled the condo. Bishop jumped to his feet. I followed suit. We threw open the door to my bedroom and looked across the hall, where Edgar stood, suitcase in hand, looking wild-eyed around the small hallway.
Bishop lunged for the alarm. A moment later, all was silent.
Illegal Fortunes Page 36
