Among the Flames (Kisses and Crimes Book 3)
Page 22
For all I know, I muse… he could be the maniac who shot me.
I pick at the spaghetti he’s made, barely able to hold it down.
“Do you not like it?”
I glance over, surprised by Bishop’s question. He never lifts his gaze from where it’s fixated on his plate, but I know he’s talking about the food.
And I have to admit: it looks damn good… but I’ll be damned if I let him know I think so.
“Depends,” I say, staring down into my plate. “D’ya poison it?”
He laughs, a sound that is soft and strangely seductive.
“C’mon... give me more credit that that. If I wanted to kill you… I’d feed you some of your own cooking. You never did know your way around a kitchen.”
That explains the three burned pots of long-lost spaghetti.
I look over at Bishop and he raises an eyebrow at me. A hint of a smile dances on his full and stubble-framed lips, and it does something to me.
It tugs at a sense of humor I seem to have forgotten.
“Too soon?” he asks.
I dig my fork back into my plate, taking my first real bite.
“Way, way too soon. So what if your spaghetti is a little more edible than the batch I whipped up? Big deal.”
I start eating from my plate, holding back the first urge to laugh that I’ve felt in three days.
“A little?” Bishop asks. “I’ve seen dog shit more appetizing than what you just made.”
I grin. “You eat dog shit a lot?”
He laughs, placing his fork back into his food. He looks at me, and I can tell that his mind is moving a million miles a minute.
He squints at me.
“No… and to answer your question, kitten, I could never poison you. I could never hurt you.” Bishop declares, his voice staying level despite an undercurrent of curiosity.
I don’t answer his unspoken question, instead choosing to eat more, so that my mouth is occupied with meatballs and spaghetti sauce.
“You know that, don’t you?” he presses.
I chew soundlessly, swallowing hard with each forced bite.
“This is crazy,” Bishop says, shaking his head, seemingly speaking to himself. “I close my eyes just a few nights ago, and you’re sleeping like a baby. I wake up and you’re wigging the fuck out with no memory of me. I didn’t think our situation could get any worse…”
I find my voice, devouring my last bit of food.
“Our situation?” I scoff. “What would you do if you woke up to a strange, half-naked man in your bedroom?”
Bishop gazes off into space, seemingly considering it.
“I’d seriously question my sexuality…”
I crack a smile. Dammit. And just when I thought I could stay stoic…
Bishop picks up my now-empty dish. He stands, placing my plate atop his own before heading, without another word, to the kitchen sink where he begins to run the faucet water.
I jump up from where I’m seated, feeling somewhat guilty.
“You don’t…” I call after him. “You don’t have to do that.”
He looks up at me with self-assured eyes, his large fingers beginning to scrub at a dish.
“Of course I do.”
But somehow, Dani, the woman somewhere deep inside, won’t let that be it. She and I are up out of our seat, pushing away from the tiny dining room table to join Bishop’s side, where we grab a towel and start drying.
Nothing else happens for the next God-knows-how many seconds.
Bishop and I work without exchanging words, busying our hands while our minds undoubtedly go nuts.
I realize now, while clearing the kitchen, that every minute—every moment that passes—is another hurdle I must surmount in order to stop the panic—a panic that creeps in every time I allow myself the opportunity to think.
To think and to remember… that I truly remember nothing at all…
I settle in, growing slowly comfortable in Bishop’s presence… which is probably even worse than the panic.
I dry my last dish.
“Well,” I comment awkwardly. “I guess it’s getting late.”
Bishop takes the last utensil from my hand, putting it away.
“Mm.”
“Guess I’ll go upstairs…”
“Sure.”
“Food made me a little sleepy…”
Nothing. Dead silence.
Doesn’t take me long to realize that I’m engaging in a one-person conversation. What I expect from Bishop, I don’t know… but I can’t help but wonder…
“Where will you sleep?” I say to Bishop’s turned back as he wipes the counters down.
“Where do you think?”
My breathing grows shallow.
He turns to me. “On the couch, of course…”
“The one down here, right?”
Bishop almost grins. “Yeah… What’d ya think I’d do?”
I expel a breath, feeling foolish as my eyes drift to his arms, which are still moving. Flexing and bending and contracting as he continues to tidy up.
The tail-end of his tattoo—long, black and intricate—catches my eye for the second time as Bishop’s white sleeve drifts up and down his hardened bicep.
I look into Bishop’s face and wonder if he can see in my eyes what I feel.
“Nothing. I just… Nothing.”
“Good,” he says quietly, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. He says nothing else.
He turns from me, and when he does, whatever I was going to say next dies a quick death on the edge of my lips. I want to talk to him, but just being beside him makes me nervous.
He speaks so roughly to me… and part of me likes the way he does.
Disappointment, unfounded and unexpected, places the tiniest ball in my throat.
“Well, then I guess I’ll say good night.”
Hesitantly, I raise a hand in a semi-wave. And just as I spin around to head towards the stairs, I feel Bishop’s hand. Swiping gently across my lower back.
I turn around.
“Wait…” He steps into me, his determined eyes locking onto mine.
Irises, the color of sunburnt ivy, travel from the top of my head down to the tip of my chin.
He places a hand there finally, tilting my face towards him, and just when I fear the worse (or best)—just when I think Bishop might place his mouth on mine—he swoops in with his other roughened hand, sweeping my hair behind my ear.
The ear just below the bullet wound.
I flinch… but not from fear. I flinch from something I can’t identify… something I won’t even admit to myself.
I stand silently in wait.
“Dani, let me make a few things clear to you,” he comments softly. “And listen to me when I say this… I need you to really fucking hear me,” he emphasizes, holding my gaze.
My mouth turns dry. I nod without even realizing what I’m doing. Bishop continues.
“I don’t know what’s happened to you. I don’t know what the fuck could be going through your head right now or what you feel. I don’t know if you even want to hear this shit from me…” He takes a deep breath. “But I hate that this happened to you.
“I hate that someone hurt you… And I…” He cuts himself off, grinding his teeth together.
“And I hate that I fucking let it happen. But you need to—you need to understand that… protecting you is the most important thing to me, and I won’t ever give anyone a chance to hurt you again. You have my fucking word. You have my…” Bishops stops, and his golden-green eyes turn somber, serious—blazing.
And in that instant, I want to be there. I watch to reach right into them… and be cloaked in their unwavering warmth.
“You have my everything, Dani—everything I have to give,” he finishes.
He lets me go, and I instantly feel cold without his touch. His serious face breaks out into a lopsided grin, one that keeps my skin from turning to ice.
“But don’t ever ins
ult my food again,” he comments off-handedly, widening his smirk. “Now go and get some sleep, kitten.”
He walks off.
“Who knows what Hell tomorrow will bring…?”
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