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Thank God Bishop won’t be back until tomorrow because I can’t imagine having these feelings while he’s across the hall instead of hundreds of miles away.
CHAPTER FIVE
DELANEY
“What the fuck!” A deep rumble of a man's voice echoing through the apartment jerks me from my sleep.
Every nerve in my body snaps awake. For one disoriented second, I have no idea where I am.
Dark room. Strange ceiling. Chicago glowing through the windows. For a split second, I worry I’m back at the haunted hotel, then remember I’m in Hayes Bishop’s West Loop penthouse.
It haunts me in a whole different way.
I’m not sure whether to get up, fake sleep, or call Henry.
Then a dull, heavy thud breaks the silence, and it doesn’t sound like my cat. I sit up and glance around my room, looking for Darcy.
“Where are you?” I whisper-shout for my stubborn cat to make his grand appearance, but he never comes.
“Great!” I fall back into the memory foam mattress and pull the covers over my head. “I’m going to die.”
Figures this is how it would go. I tried hard the past couple of days to pick up after myself, and now Bishop is going to come home to a bloody mess.
Chill, Laney!
I take a deep breath. “It’s all in your head. It’s just Darcy.” I glance over at the time. It’s 2:17 a.m. Yeah, it had to have been a dream, my cat, or both.
Then explain the shouting.
“What the actual fuck.” The voice roars.
Bishop?
“This is not going to work.” He sighs so hard and long it almost sounds like someone letting air out of a swimming raft.
Definitely Bishop!
“He’s home already?” I whisper to myself and throw back the covers, scrambling out of bed before my brain catches up.
He’s not supposed to be here. I yank open my door and rush across the hall to see what the heck is going on.
“Bishop?”
I stop in his doorway.
Oh.
He’s definitely here. And he’s pissed.
Bishop stands beside his bed in a wrinkled dark suit, his tie hanging loose around his neck, and the top button of his shirt undone. His blond hair looks like he’s spent the last several hours dragging his hands through it, and stubble shadows a jaw that’s currently clenched.
A black Phoenixes duffel sits on the floor near his feet, but his eyes are on his massive bed, shooting daggers at the cantankerous cat currently stretched across the pillow like he owns the place.
“Darcy!” I rush into the room to grab my little furry headache and stop short.
“Why is that demon in my bed?” Bishop turns his glare my way, and the moment his eyes land on me, I become painfully aware of the cool air against my bare legs.
Oh. Right.
