Page 172 of Harbinger

But both Shea and I stare at her.

I mean, she’s not wrong.

“What? I have eyes.” She holds up a palm like she thinks I’m some kind of feral dog that needs a firm hand. “Relax. He’s not my type.”

“I’m not jealous,” I say a little too quickly, beginning to reach for the final dress. They’ve left me the most daring option. Naturally. “And it’s not like … I mean, we’re not …”

But I can’t quite force the lie out. Not after the bathhouse. Not when the memory of his body pressing against mine is still so fresh. Just thinking about it starts a low pulse thrumming at my core.

Shea tilts her head, biting her lip but not managing to cover her smirk. “It isn’t? Because it sure looks like—”

A knock at the door saves me from further embarrassment. I have no idea who else wants to join our little party. Taliesin probably sensed three women were in the same room and ran here as fast as he could.

“Nothing is going on with Bishop and me,” I say smoothly, the lie easier with my back turned to them.

But when I open the door, he’s on the other side.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is so low that I recall the sound he made the moment his cock slid inside me, and something clenches hard between my legs. He leans against the doorframe, already dressed for the evening. He isn’t wearing a uniform, but rather a dark coat tailored high at the neck and cut close to showcase the powerful lines of his body. It’s sinfully brutal despite how it covers his skin and hides his vestiges.

He looks like temptation and salvation collided with each other and he was the glorious result. He takes a single step toward me as if he knows exactly how close my knees are to buckling. How much my fingers itch to reach for him.

Get it together. You have an audience. I suck down a steadying breath. “Bishop, I—”

I stop short, glancing back to where Shea is carefully laying her gown on the bed. Vessica is inspecting hers by the window. Both far too absorbed in their dresses to be believed.

Bishop hesitates when he sees them. He doesn’t just pause. He actually falters, looking more frazzled than I’ve ever seen him.

Not that I’ve ever seen him frazzled.

Except when I reached below the water and …

I shut out the tiny, unhelpful voice that seems determined to force another reckless decision from me.

He braces his hands on the doorframe as if he’s choosing how to retreat.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, but this time he adds, “I thought you were alone.”

The blue in his eyes burns as bright as the tip of a flame, the heat there warming my own skin—and I know exactly what would have happened if I had been alone.

His gaze flicks past me to the mirror, the discarded boots, the open wardrobe, then back to skim over the mixed and matched secondhand uniform I’m wearing. A muscle strains in his neck. “Are you coming to the party?”

Suddenly, I’m not sure if I should. I don’t know how I’m going to survive it, orbiting the room around him, pretending that there’s nothing between us.

How I’m going to keep the promise I made at Kieren’s grave.

I swallow the raw feeling. “Yes. We’re getting dressed now.”

He nods once. Then again. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else, but he leans closer, still clutching the doorframe, his knuckles going white. So close that I remember how his lips taste.

“Tonight … I …” He stops, exhaling through his nose, and tries again. “Save me the Turning.”

I forget how to breathe. Forget how to speak. Every word I know is replaced by this one request to start the new year. Together.

“As friends, as whatever you need,” he says, already stepping back like he can’t stay a moment longer. “I’ll wait for you.”

His eyes linger on mine for a beat too long to pretend he’s speaking only about tonight. Heat pools low in my belly, and when Bishop closes the door softly, I stare at it long enough that Shea clears her throat. The sound startles me, freeing me from whatever spell he just cast.

When I finally turn, Vessica’s dark brows lift a fraction, but she says nothing.