Bishop's Queen

by Cristin Harber

  “I won’t tell a soul. As long as you promise to trust me.”

  “Of course.” She should say more, but whatever it was wouldn’t come.

  “Time to try my first mushroom wrap.”

  Painting on her best face, she grabbed one too. “If you don’t love it, I’ll take you anyplace else, your choice, my treat. You can have anything you want until you’re completely satisfied.”

  He paused, dark-green eyes burrowing into hers until she needed to squirm. What she said was innocent, but his look was loaded. It wasn’t dirty, but damn…

  He stabbed a bite of the nori roll and put it in his mouth. “Tasty.”

  “Good. I’m glad.” Ella let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her heart pounded in her ears.

  “El…” He took a sip of his water and leaned forward as if to tell her a secret. They were cheek to cheek, and Bishop’s warm skin grazed hers as his hand touched her back.

  His touch was more intoxicating than the vodka on an empty stomach, better than any memory of sex. Just his touch, his lips and breath tickling her skin, caused her stomach to flutter. Ella leaned into him, bracing herself with a hand on his hard, denim-covered thigh. Even relaxed, the muscle was so broad and cut that it surprised her. What kind of power could Bishop unfurl in bed?

  Heart racing, she tilted toward his chest, and her hair fell, a curtain hiding them from the dark world.

  “Your three o’clock, babe. Is that your ex-slash-assistant sitting at a table, eyeballing the shit out of you?” Bishop eased back.

  Devastated that it was a diversion and shocked at her sheer visceral reaction, Ella crashed as though she couldn’t let go of her lead-lined disappointment. But as she twisted to see Jay actually sitting at a table in the bar, watching them, a new wave of irritation quickly cropped up.

  For a moment, she had pretended this was real—that Bishop cared about her without being paid, and the chemistry and body positioning were more than him scanning for threats. And for all that was holy on this green planet, what was Jay doing there?

  Bishop put a hand on her cheek, directing her attention to him. “Yes or no?”

  “That’s Jay.”

  Bishop pulled back. “That is one angry-looking assistant you have.”

  “Well…” She gave Bishop a pointed look, dropped her eyes back and forth between them, then raised her eyebrows. “We used to date. This looks… not what it is. No one’s a perfect saint.”

  “Something’s off,” Bishop countered.

  Ella almost laughed, inching back, but Bishop huddled them close again. Her stomach dropped at the ruse. “Jay’s harmless. We work together. Our schedules match up; our eating habits do too. Not a lot of places serve awesome vegan. So”—she shrugged—“no conspiracy.”

  Bishop stood up. “He’s your ex and coworker, and lucky us, he’s here.”

  “Don’t cause a problem.” Ella placed her hand on Bishop’s side to stop him and—whoa, not the time to notice a solid sheet of muscle—she stood up too. “We’ll go say hi. No big deal.”

  “Let’s.”

  “Oh, brother,” she groused.

  “For the sake of argument, no explanation as to who I am.” With his hand on her back, he guided her to a glaring Jay.

  “All right.” A few steps later, they were beside the table of her displeased friend. “Hi, Jay.”

  Jay stood, staring at Bishop as though his buck-fifty frame could take the man who had his hand on Ella’s back. Not a chance. Not even if Bishop were twenty sheets to the wind and didn’t see it coming. But leave it to Jay to act like an asshole.

  Bishop threw his hand out to shake. “Hey, man. Ella said you were a friend of hers.”

  “I am.” His tone of voice could’ve frozen the Kalahari Desert.

  “The name’s Bishop.” His hand remained out.

  “Jay,” Ella hissed.

  Jay darted his eyes to her then met Bishop’s grip and didn’t say a word. Only then did she realize that in all the time she had dated Jay, they’d never talked about meaningful life outside of work, never talked about growing up, about old flames or whatnot, because the name Bishop would’ve stuck out to Jay, and she would’ve remembered telling anyone about what had happened. But no. If she had realized that before now, it would have been a clue that they were nowhere near as serious as the amount of time they’d spent together would indicate.

  “Nice to meet you,” Bishop continued. “Do you want to join us?”

  “No.”

  “All right, then. You were staring like you wanted an invite.” Now it was Bishop’s turn to change his tone of voice. Though it wasn’t cold, it was a warning. “If you change your mind, walk over and pull up a stool. I’d love to get to know you.”

  Jay dropped to his chair as his good-bye. “I’ll see you later, Ella.”

  Jeez, Jay. “See you at work.”

  Bishop turned them toward the bar, placed his hand on her back, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jay throw cash on the table and leave. “What’s his problem?”

  Bishop’s jaw flexed. “That dude is a problem.”

  “He’s not used to seeing me around other guys—not that… obviously you’re another guy. I mean—”

  “I’m aware how we looked to him.”

  “Right.” Bishop gave a hand as she lifted herself onto her barstool, annoyed that Jay had worked his way into her time with Bishop—not her time with Bishop. What was she thinking? This was not a get-to-know-him-again date. This was food before errands with her brother-like protector. Alpha extraordinaire, who happened to be hot… and nice… and many of the things she remembered from before.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Sure.” She brushed off his question. Bishop hadn’t changed like she had. He’d always been caring; that quality defined him. It might not have been apparent, but she’d had behind-the-stage access. He’d always been the first one to stand up and say something. Judging by his introduction to Jay tonight, that hadn’t changed.

  And she vividly remembered Bishop’s lips. Not that his lips had anything to do with who he was or what he had to say. But they were powerful in many, many ways.

  His words and kisses had held meaning. They both had the ability to drive her wild. Now his lips were just as full, as pink, and as delicious as she had ever seen. With years of growing up on their side, they were likely more talented than she knew.

  A flush ran to her core.

  Back on his stool, Bishop was closer than before, and she chose to power down her water rather than concentrate on what it would feel like to kiss him. She pushed her vodka soda glass farther back.

  She motioned to the water. “I think I need to order another one of these babies.”

  Bishop’s doubtful once-over didn’t earn her a quick drink order. “Or we could wrap up and go deliver your plants.”

  “Herbs.”

  Bishop’s brows bit together as his stare focused over her shoulder. His hand went possessively to her thigh, and before she could read his face, a harsh hand landed on her shoulder.

  “Ella,” Jay snapped.

  She twisted to see Jay’s tight face. “What?”

  His fingers flexed into her bare skin. “I was checking if you need anything before I leave.”

  Ella pulled out of his grip. “No.”

  “No,” Jay repeated. He glared at Bishop. “Is this a date?”

  “Jay!”

  Bishop tossed his arm over her shoulder. “Why don’t you go home, buddy.”

  “Is it?” Jay asked.

  “It’s none of your business,” she snapped, leaning into Bishop. “Really.”

  Jay’s face darkened, but he turned, shoving a barstool out of the way and grumbling loudly as he left.

  She turned into Bishop, close to his face, close to everything she liked about him, and whispered, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into him.”

  Bishop’s green eyes had darkened. “He’s not ready to let you g
o.”

  “I’ve been old news.” With the slightest of head shakes, Ella wondered out loud. “I’m so blown away by his behavior right now. And embarrassed.”

  “Old news, only for one of you.”

  Ella inched back on her barstool, mortified. “I’m sorry. You have, I’m sure, a real job. And here you are, stuck with me and this drama. I’ve literally never seen him behave like this.”

  Bishop put his hand on her back. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Still, she shook her head. “When Titan showed up at Tara’s office, they wore SWAT gear. Face masks and guns and vests and things strapped to all their body parts. That’s what you do, and this has to be the worst job ever.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “And I’m the biggest headache ever.”

  “I like a little crazy sometimes. Nothing I can’t deal with.” He elbowed her then pulled her close. “Kidding, kidding.”

  “Seriously, you’ve got what I’m sure is a stellar military career, and here you are, eating nori rolls and dealing with my ex.”

  “Honestly, it’s fine.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Ella—”

  She closed the distance and pressed her lips to his. His lips were fuller than she ever would’ve dreamed, and his mouth more potent than she could’ve imagined a man’s being.

  Bishop edged away, but she leaned in, unable to break from the kiss. A tiny, remorseful sigh started at the back of her throat as she pulled away—but Bishop kissed back. Finally. His lips melted, and his tongue sliced to hers. He pulled her closer. Her blood rushed, and her mind raced—all of her did. It was a kiss in the middle of a bar, but the room drifted until she would have sworn they were alone.

  Then he stilled again, slowly giving her a squeeze. It was a hug that said so much. She squeezed her eyes shut as his lips left hers, and gently, he gave a careful peck before letting their foreheads touch.

  “Ella…” He breathed her name.

  For those few seconds, he had her, held her, their foreheads kissing. Then he broke away with another squeeze.

  God, she was so stupid.

  “I shouldn’t have done that.” He brought his bottom lip into his mouth and shook his head, looking away, but then came back stronger than before. Classic Bishop. “If you want someone else on the job, I’ll have him here in twenty minutes. No questions.”

  “That was me.” Heart in her throat, she wanted to cry. “I’m sorry.”

  “No. Don’t say that.”

  How bad did she just screw everything up? “Really—”

  “El, come on. No big deal.”

  No tears! But they welled. “I shouldn’t have done that, and you shouldn’t have offered what you just did.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “I won’t do that again. I swear.” Please don’t leave. She hadn’t told a soul she was scared and didn’t want to trust anyone else with that.

  His eyes were unreadable, and his jaw flexed. The sinew in his neck showed when he turned away, and her heart sank. Bishop reached for his water and took a long drink. “Your falafel are cold.”

  “I don’t think it matters,” she whispered.

  He grabbed a bite from the ignored plate. “Not quite beef jerky level of delicious, but it’ll make do.”

  She buried her face in her hand. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”

  “Ease up. Here. Wait.”

  She unburied her face and watched him slug back the rest of his water. “What?”

  With a hand on her cheek, he pushed a strand of rogue hair back into place and dipped his head to hers. Bishop pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her, giving her a tease of what had happened before, enough to steal her breath and show her who was in charge.

  His hand cupped the back of her head, tilting it where he wanted. Then, just as startling and perfunctory as it started, he ended the kiss. “Now we’re even.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  With late summer crawling into fall in Virginia, sometimes the days were hot, and sometimes Ella froze. But nights were another story. The temperature had dropped, and so had Bishop’s arm as they walked out of the bar. If she’d been thinking about anything besides her distraction-worthy ex-boyfriend bodyguard, then she would’ve remembered a sweater. Though at the moment, she wasn’t complaining as he rubbed her arm.

  He guided her through the gaggle of people crushed together at the front of the trendy bistro, but as they hit the open sidewalk, he put a regrettable amount of space between them. Which was what he should have done. This was not a date, no matter what Jay’s impressions were or where her mind went.

  But that kiss…

  Ugh. That kiss. It was a pity kiss, an even-the-score kiss. The damn thing had singed her lips and scorched her mind. Ella had nearly melted to the barstool. The fire alarms were lucky they hadn’t blared for how much smokin’ hot heat had to have rolled off of her when he cupped her cheek. Could there be a worse reason for a man to press his lips to hers?

  “I didn’t get you toasted,” he said, trying to break through the awkward tension that pulsed between them on the empty sidewalk.

  Did she want his hands on her or not? Did he? Did the kiss count toward their back-and-forth game?

  “No. But I did get you fed.” They rounded the corner. “We both accomplished our goals—Oh!”

  A man jumped toward them.

  Bishop reacted before she could process what was happening. He pushed her against the wall, stepping between her and the fast-moving man. Bricks abraded her arm as her elbow hit, funny bone stinging. Stars shined, while her temple throbbed.

  The sound of splashes and a pop rained around her, and Ella stumbled, lost her footing in her long skirt, her sandal catching on the cotton. But she spun, still on her feet, and Bishop’s strong hands caught her, twirling her in a fluid motion, so fast and fierce that she wasn’t in control. One shoe on, the other bare, Ella’s face was pressed to his back, and her shoulders were pushed against the wall all before she could gasp out, “What the hell!”

  “Hands in the air,” Bishop growled out, grabbing his gun. He looked as if he were right out of a movie, though he was so broad, and she was so pinned, that she couldn’t see. But his stance was deadly, and his weapon was in play.

  “Hey! Hey!” The first hey had been playful, the second one concerned. “What are you doing?”

  Ella had no idea who the young guy was, nor why he was confused. Bishop’s tense body relaxed, and his arms dropped enough that she could tell he was assessing the situation rather than reacting in a defending role.

  “Put your hands in the air,” he ordered again, stepping away from her.

  Only then did she see the dark, wet marks on the sidewalk. Ella took a cursory step to the side. Oh! Even in the early night light and streetlamp glow, she could see that Bishop was covered in green goo.

  Across from him was a messy-headed guy with a messenger bag, easily college-aged, who had his hands semi-tossed up.

  Bishop holstered the gun back on his hip. “Geez, I’m not getting paid enough to do this.”

  The guy dipped his hand into the bag and pulled out what looked like a water balloon.

  Bishop’s fist flew before the guy could take aim, knocking the green-blob-throwing jerk on his butt in one solid punch. The balloon bounced and popped on the sidewalk. The same thick green goo that covered Bishop now formed a circle of demarcation between the men.

  “What is going on?” she shrieked.

  Bishop grabbed the guy by his T-shirt collar, lifted him, then slammed him against the wall. He removed the bag from the guy’s shoulder and tossed it. Two additional balloons rolled out of the bag’s flap.

  “Ella.” Bishop ran his hands along the man’s pockets, from his stomach to armpits, then along his shorts. “Call the cops.”

  “Hey, man,” their attacker whined. “Don’t do that. That wasn’t part of the gig. Come on.”

  Part of what? Her mind reeled to make sense of what w
as happening.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Bishop spun the man to face Ella and him then pushed the guy back against the wall. “What are you talking about?”

  “The game.”

  “What game?” Bishop took a step forward, and when he was in protector mode, there was nothing sweet and gentle about him. Scary and lethal were the two best descriptors that came to mind.

  “Are you not playing? I thought you were who I was supposed to…” The guy’s confusion scored across his forehead. “No. You are. I saw her picture.”

  “Explain,” he growled.

  “I don’t know, seemed like your buddy was cheating, but whatever, easy cash.”

  “For what?” Bishop roared.

  “Whatever you guys called it, hand-to-hand paintball. Or whatever this crap is.”

  Bishop snarled. His chest rumbled low and deadly. She watched his eyes dart around the empty street, and if she’d been on the receiving end of his wrath, she might’ve peed or passed out. Part of her wanted to chirp up that violence wasn’t the answer, but she wasn’t the one covered in who-knew-what, and the cops were the reasonable answer.

  Bishop inched closer to the man. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The other team paid me,” he sputtered. “I thought it was all fun.” He looked at her, his eyes narrowing. “And… games.”

  “Eyes on me.” Bishop leaned even closer. “Keep explaining.”

  “On Monarch. I grabbed the gig in the DC-Northern Virginia IRL forum.”

  “IRL?” Bishop asked.

  “In real life,” she said.

  The guy nodded. “Moolah came through up front.” His voice wavered. “With directions and where to get her.” He paused. “Sorry. I thought it was a thing. A game.”

  “How much?”

  “Hundred bucks.”

  “How?”

  “MonarchMoney,” their goo-thrower volunteered.

  Ella bit her lip. Again with the untraceable cash sent through social media.

  “Christ,” Bishop grumbled.

  “Call your FBI contact, Ella.”

  “What?” The guy’s eyes bulged. “I honestly just thought it was fun times. I read the whole thing wrong. Look, I’m sorry. Your name is Ella? Ella, I’m sorry. I—oh my freakin’ God. Are you Eco-Ella?” He took a step forward. “You’re Ella Leighton.”