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She glanced back over her shoulder, and the look of absolute helplessness made me feel like I was going to vomit there on the Martelli’s floor.
“I think it’s also time for us to leave,” Bishop insisted, making his way across the hall to me and brushing my hair back from my face, his eyes meeting mine, silently questioning if I was all right. When he was satisfied, he leaned in, his lips brushed the top of my head, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’m going to kill you myself when we get home.”
It made me smile, my body sinking into his arms.
Though I knew he wasn’t completely being dramatic.
I wasn’t going to hear the end of this.
Chapter Twenty-One
SHAY
The ride home was torturous.
Bishop said nothing, and I couldn’t catch a read on the energy that was practically palpitating off him. I wondered if it was anger. It would be justified given how I’d told him I would stay out of trouble and instead had incited an argument. Thankfully, one we were on the right side of.
Bishop was adamant about Frank Martelli’s dark side, and I tried not to question it, but it was even harder to imagine now after I’d twirled across the floor with him for five or ten minutes. The man had been polite, gracious, and understanding.
Hell, he’d had my side over his own son’s, and I wasn’t sure if that meant that Vince was the shittiest child in history or if I’d pulled off an innocent act that was Grammy-Award-worthy.
I guess we’d soon find out.
I let out a longing sigh as we pulled into the driveway, eager to get the heels off my feet and climb into a long, hot shower.
We’d only been out for a few hours—most of that being travel time there and back—but I felt hot and achy.
We climbed the stairs to the porch, and Bishop unlocked the door, walking through ahead of me. I followed, pulling it closed and flicking the lock back again. When I turned, ready to head for the kitchen to grab some water before I attempted to sleep, Bishop was still right there in the foyer.
The air was charged and crackling with anticipation as he watched me with an intensity that made my heart quicken. “What?”
“Seeing Vince so close to you, murder in his eyes…” he uttered, his usually harsh and gritty tone was, instead, thick with vulnerability.
“I know. You’re mad. I should have—”
“I’m not mad at you,” he cut in, one hand grabbing the staircase’s banister and squeezing the life out of it. “I’m mad at myself for wasting all this time.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought I was going to take this slow but fuck it,” he cursed, the space between us disappearing as our bodies suddenly came together in a collision of longing and pent-up emotions. His mouth found mine, and the world around us ceased to exist.
It was just him, me, and this intoxicating kiss that marked the beginning of something new.
Something I’d wanted for so damn long.
“I’ve wanted this since the moment I first fucking saw you,” he announced, his fingers twisting in my hair, pulling it back so I was looking up at him.
Guess I wasn’t the only one.
“What took you so long?” I pressed up on my toes, my hands holding tight to the collar of his cut.
He pressed his forehead to mine, one arm circling my waist. “I told myself I’d wait until this problem was sorted. I didn’t want you to think there were any strings attached to this.”
This man.
He didn’t want me to think that I had to fuck him as some kind of return for him saving my ass.
“I want you because you make me feel alive, not because you kept me alive.”
