Bishop's Queen

by Cristin Harber

  “Let’s go. Time to get in the truck.” He picked up the pace.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Call it a bad feeling.”

  Her heels clicked with each step.

  “Over here.” Bishop rotated her and put his hand on the small of her back, leading her farther into the garage.

  Two voices screeched through the parking level. “Oh my God!”

  Bishop moved her again, securing her safely as though she were in danger. But those were the familiar squeals of a fangirl. The sound echoed and bounced off the low garage ceiling and floors, reverberating. It was a cacophony of “Oh my God, there she is.” But the way that Bishop had tensed, they might as well have said, “There is our target; go grab her.”

  “Stop right there,” he ordered. He had one arm outstretched, and the other arm was bent, his hand reaching for his weapon.

  “No, no, wait.” Ella stepped to his side, panic seeping into her words that he would unwittingly take excitement for derangement.

  The girls’ squealing didn’t stop as they ran. There was no reason for her fans to assume she had armed security. And from the way they carried on, Ella guessed they’d pregamed the Bloggies with a bottle of something strong, hoping to drink up the courage to approach their idols. Now that they’d stumbled across someone they deemed worthy at the end of the night? Disaster was unfolding in three, two, one… She grabbed Bishop’s shooting arm. “Wait.”

  “Are you crazy?” If looks could kill, he would have to explain why she was in a body bag too. He tried to gather her behind him.

  She tugged on his arm. “Look! They’re fans!”

  The truth registered on his face, and a frustrated kill-the-world, protect-the-girl growl matched the irritation set in his jaw.

  “They’re my people.” Ella reached her arm toward them as they reached for her. “Harmless. And drunk.”

  He studied the girls then backed down. “Why the hell are your people standing in a garage?”

  “Coincidence. We’re all parked in the same place.”

  “Nothing is coincidence.”

  “Sometimes—”

  The two girls squeed in unison. “We cannot believe it’s you!”

  Bishop’s hand rested on his weapon, but he took a wary step back.

  “Hi!” Ella chimed in the high-octave conversation.

  “Oh my God. He is so much hotter than Jay, the sidekick!” The girl on the right with deep-blue streaks dyed in her hair leaned against the other girl, pointing at Bishop. “We saw your video. You should’ve showed him. So much hotter.”

  Ella turned, amused. “True.”

  “I’m not her sidekick,” he grumbled.

  The other girl shifted an overstuffed bag from one shoulder to the other in order to support her slightly more drunk friend. “But he is way hotter.”

  They both giggled, and Ella watched Bishop blush. “Are you going to dispute that?”

  “Ella,” he warned.

  “Oh, he’s so cute!”

  “He is! You should put him on!”

  “I like his voice. It’s very low.” Blue Streaks made a deep wannabe-baritone. “Manly.”

  “He doesn’t like to be on the videos,” Ella volunteered, giving Bishop a wink. “I tried.”

  “Sidekicks do the videos.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a sidekick.”

  Ella laughed. “He’s my muscle. Aren’t you, Muscles?”

  That made his blush deepen! She loved it. Who knew Mister Tough Guy could get a little rosy-cheeked?

  Bishop backed away to give them space. “I’ll let you guys do your thing.”

  “He’s got a really cute ass too.” Bag Girl gave Ella a you-go-girl approving look.

  “Super,” Blue Streaks slurred. “Tight. I bet he works out.”

  Ella couldn’t stop her laughter. “The tux shows it off nicely, huh?”

  Bishop paced. “I can hear you three.”

  Blue Streaks and Bag Girl erupted into a fit of giggles.

  Ella couldn’t help but join them. “All right. I’ll see what I can do about getting him on a video sometime.”

  Two minutes later, after the girls had listed their favorite videos, posts, and places she’d gone that they had loved and treasured, Ella’s heart was full. The two girls had adequately turned their attention from a very good-looking Bishop O’Kane, which Ella admitted was hard to do, to talk about Eco-Ella posts. She had a heart-to-heart with the girls, who confirmed that they wanted to be warriors for the world.

  They weren’t discussing just the blog or the videos. Eco-Ella was only the catalyst and the vehicle for getting their message out. For all the headaches, the stalker, and everything that came with moving Eco-Ella to the next level, it was worth it.

  The two girls staggered away, drunk dialing their sober friend, giggling into the phone about who they’d just met. Bishop hadn’t batted an eye when asked to take pictures with both their phones despite for, what he’d explained, was his complete disdain for cell phones in general.

  Ella and Bishop walked to his truck in silence. He opened her door and helped her in, lifting the train of her skirt and tucking it on the floorboard. He started to shut the door but caught it before it closed and leaned against the frame.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  He glanced through the quiet garage. The lights were low, the spaces sporadically taken. “I called that one wrong. Sorry.”

  She shrugged. “In the military, you were a…?”

  “Army Ranger.”

  “An Army Ranger.” Wow, how their lives had gone separate ways once they’d parted. “And you mentioned Titan is a new gig?”

  “That’s affirmative, babe. One I’d like to keep.”

  “My dad explained, and Jared also, that this isn’t normally what Titan Group does.”

  “No, it’s not. But you’re important, and your father did something for my boss when he was in a pinch. Now we’re returning the favor. Truth is, our protective detail runs the lot of heads of nations, not celebrities. Everything is a threat until deemed otherwise.”

  “I’d rather you be too protective of me than not at all.” She would rather he be anything with her at this point than not at all.

  “I promise you, El. You’re safe.”

  “I didn’t doubt that. I never doubt you.”

  “You have.”

  She looked away and shook her head. “It’s not you I doubted, Bishop. I promise you.”

  He touched her chin and brought her face back toward him, letting his green eyes hold hers. “Good.”

  This was a moment when she wanted him to step closer, to dissolve the distance and put his strong hands on her bare shoulders and slide them down. Ella wanted the power and strength he exuded over the most mundane things to be worked over her. She would die to feel the starched crunch of his tuxedo shirt pressed against her silky dress, to run her fingertips along his shirt buttons, to push her hands into the warmth of his jacket and slide it away.

  Ella brushed her hair away from her face and—oh. She sniffed and realized the Vicks was wearing off. Buzzkill.

  “Still stinks?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Can I have my bottle?”

  He patted his pocket. “Damn. I’m pretty sure that’s somewhere in the interview room.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “The meat is back, huh?”

  “Laugh all you want. It’s in the dress. At least I could wipe it off my skin and pull my hair back. But the dress and no Vicks?” She fake-gagged. Not the most attractive thing, but definitely the most real. “Best case, it stinks. Worst case, I’ll have a migraine all weekend long and puke on you.”

  “Change of plan.” He laughed, shutting her in the truck, and she watched him hustle to the driver’s seat. “We’re not headed home yet. That’ll take an hour, and I’d like to avoid worst-case scenarios.”

  He meant her home. But headed home with him wouldn’t be so bad. Except she couldn’t
stand how she smelled. Not sexy. And she was so tired. “I just said I was—”

  “Trust me.” They pulled out of the parking garage. He turned down a maze of streets then floored it before sliding his big truck into a tiny street spot with no effort. “Let’s go.”

  Bishop jumped out of his truck, rounded the hood, and opened her door before she could process where they were or what was open on the Georgetown strip of bars and restaurants.

  “Grab your skirt.” He took her hand, dragging her the opposite way of his car. “Come on, slowpoke. I saw how fast you could hustle out of a packed auditorium in those heels. Move your ass, babe. One, two. One, two.”

  “I—”

  “Smell like a shish kebab. We’ve been over that.”

  Jutting across traffic, she trotted behind him in the killer heels, trying to keep up. “You’re supposed to keep me alive.”

  “Hurry, and that won’t be a problem.”

  Her heel hooked on a mini-pothole, and right when he expected her to speed up, she went down. Almost.

  Her hand was still in his, and his other hand wrapped around her lightning fast. Before her knees hit the asphalt and she became roadkill, Bishop lifted her. He had one powerful forearm under her butt, and the dress that stunk like a vegan’s nightmare hung down over his arm. Now was the time for paparazzi. If there ever was a picture to be taken, it was this one. Her knight in shining armor carried her, while she was dressed like royalty, and her expensive clothing trailed in the night.

  Every pitter-patter of her heart raced. Her mouth went dry, and her mind shattered as he held her close and jogged them to the safety of a nearby sidewalk.

  The late-night crowd milled, and some clapped. What an entrance. But with her head ducked close to him, no one had recognized her, and the applause were for the save and chivalry displayed by Bishop. He didn’t notice.

  “There.” He pulled her from the tuxedoed cover of his chest and put her down gently. His hands lingered on her sides as though neither one of them trusted her to remain standing.

  The word thanks should have rolled off her tongue, but her pounding heart had simply stopped all semblance of manners. Cool, confident Eco-Ella was tongue-tied. But if he took a step forward and wrapped his arms around her again, she would melt away from this crowded bar scene.

  He took a step back, dropping his hands, then tilted his head. “Time to teeter-totter your cute vegan butt in there.”

  His words sliced the tension. She turned to take in the coffee shop’s sign. “More coffee?”

  “Like I said, trust me. And go sit down at a table. Try not to get yourself into any trouble. No videos. No check-ins. No whatever else.”

  “Ha, ha. Tara had my purse stashed when we left, and I didn’t grab it. No phone. Didn’t you notice?”

  His gaze raked across her. “That thing’s like an appendage, and somehow not what I was looking at. No. I didn’t.”

  Whoa. What?

  Stunned from whatever this rollercoaster was, she turned and pulled the twenty-four-hour coffee shop’s door open, walked in, and sat down as Bishop went to the counter. What exactly had he meant by that? What else could he mean?

  His tuxedo creases showed wear from the day and night’s hours on the job, but that did nothing to dampen how absurdly attractive he was. The two garage girls had been right. He was hot with a tight ass.

  Tearing her eyes away from him, she realized they were in an all-organic coffee shop. There were a half dozen national chain coffee shops within a stone’s throw from here. She knew them by heart, having blogged about them on a fairly regular basis, questioning the carcinogen levels of their additives. Had he picked this place on purpose? She glanced out the window, and saw they had parked adjacent to a coffee shop with a MADE HOT AND FRESH sign glowing in the window before he’d carried her across the street.

  He’d chosen this place on purpose.

  “Hey.” He approached the table. “I didn’t check in and status update my GPS coordinates. Thought you should know how most normal folks roll.”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny.” She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. A cascade of her meat-scented hair fell over her face. “God, I’ve got to strip out of this dress and get in a shower.”

  Bishop was silent, but his face wasn’t.

  Shower. Naked. Sex. The words were written all over the color in his face and the hunger in her eyes. There was something addictive about his protection, about how he claimed to know best and then did, about how he wanted to take care of her. But it wasn’t just an act. He’d literally carried her like some sort of pothole-saving kamikaze street-crosser.

  His chiseled jaw set and didn’t budge, and his green eyes were a pool of emotion. It seemed as though they always warmed when she made him angry, when she irritated him, when she turned him on…

  Right now, they were very, very green. And her heartbeat matched the fast pace of the deepening hue. For all of her concern that what she felt was one-sided, his eyes said otherwise.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Ella.” His words rumbled so quietly, they scratched across her senses.

  He’d said it so quietly that she felt the rumble of each word graze down her neckline. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, either.” He pulled out a chair, dropping into it.

  “We’re here for more coffee?”

  Bishop shook his head. “Almost.”

  She hadn’t realized he had something tucked under his arm until he put it on the counter. “Go change.”

  “Um, what?” She studied it. “You bought me a T-shirt?”

  “I thought it might help. If the dress is holding on to the smell, then ditch the dress.”

  “This is a thousand-dollar dress.” Or something like that.

  “And this is a twenty-dollar shirt. Put it on. No one cares what you’re wearing anymore, babe. You’d be beautiful in a trash bag, so who cares?”

  “Bishop, that’s…”

  “Go change. Heels and an oversize shirt. Kinda hot, if you ask me. But I’m not a Bloggie red-carpet dude.” He leaned back, balancing the chair on two legs. “We’ll grab a cup of coffee beans to go. I’m pulling out all my tricks tonight. We have an hour’s drive out of town, so might as well get as comfortable as you can. Right?”

  Ella stood up, clutching her new shirt. His thoughtfulness gave her a moment of heart pangs that she didn’t want to admit, and she pecked him on the cheek. “Thanks.”

  He leaned into her, and she let her lips linger, dragging them against his cheek.

  The air zipped and zapped. She wanted him to turn his head, to let his mouth linger against hers again, and not because he wanted to make things even. But they were in the middle of a coffee shop and, together, they smelled like the dinner-scented auditorium. Though that was starting to be forgettable…

  “Go change, Ella.” Bishop turned her around and patted her upper back.

  Damn. Cringing, she backed away, disgusted with herself. Flirting with him again! And shut down again!

  Yes, there’d been a look. But so what! Or maybe she’d dreamt it. He couldn’t have been more clear. She was work. He loved his job, and Bishop was the opposite of her entire world. Yet with each footstep away from him, she dreaded the space.

  Finding the bathroom down the hall, Ella stripped off the scent-stained dress and pulled on the double-XL T-shirt. The massive tent swallowed her in black cotton. From far away, no one would be able to tell it was a T-shirt. Her eyes dropped to the front of the shirt.

  “Organic Lovers Do It Better.”

  God. It was funny. Bishop was funny. He was witty and smart on his feet. She couldn’t hide the smile tugging on her cheeks.

  A rap sounded on the door. “Let’s see it, Crazy.”

  Might as well own the title he had bestowed upon her. She threw the door open, grabbed her stinky dress, and tossed it to him as she strutted her stuff past Bishop, swinging her hips and catwalking as though she was on a Milan runway.

  The ov
ersized shirt easily hung to her knees, but she bunched it in one hand and turned. “What do you think, Muscles?”

  A one-sided grin played on his lips, and his green eyes danced. “Best. Dress. Ever.”

  A blush hit her cheeks, and it seemed like ages ago that the guy had attacked her with a stick of beef jerky. He’d certainly made up for all things meat-related tonight. “Do it better, huh?”

  “Don’t you?” They turned to leave the coffee shop. Bishop was already holding a to-go cup of coffee beans. Her rolled-up dress was tucked under his elbow, and he guided her toward the door, a hand placed low on her back. “At least in my experience, that’s been the case.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The city lights fell behind them as they sped down Interstate 66, leaving Washington, DC and heading west. Her condo was nestled in a booming part of northern Virginia. The area’s growth was planned and smart. Very green. Very Eco-Ella. Bishop preferred more space than she had. Everything of Ella’s was tiny—small dog, small cat, little condo. She even boxed up her trash into tiny-ass pieces to fit into her already microscopic trash—landfill—can.

  “Your schedule is clear this weekend, right?”

  No answer.

  He glanced over, and… Ella was asleep. How about that?

  For as lost in thought as he was over her, she had simply fallen asleep. Hell, she’d had a big night. Draping his wrist over the steering wheel, he took it as a compliment that she could relax enough to zone out. And she had to be tired after being on point all night. Her acceptance speech had been funny, almost self-deprecating in a good-natured way, and had genuinely pushed her cause. She was definitely a true believer. Not many of them out there anymore, especially once they reached a certain level of success.

  Did she even realize the success she’d achieved?

  Realistically, she knew she had done well. But had it really occurred to her? He took his eyes off the road and stared at her. Ella’s heels were kicked off, and the T-shirt-turned-dress rode high on her legs. Maybe not. Maybe she was naive to it all. Simply oblivious to the force she’d created around her.

  Bishop’s chest tightened. Good for her for staying grounded, but damn, she needed to be more careful. The people around her were no help.