Chapter 13
BISHOP
Most women would probably be thrilled to wake in the strong, tattooed arms of a man like Gage Newhart, who just fucked her into an orgasm-coma, but I’m not most women.
After everything he did to me, his hold on me, keeping me pressed against his body suddenly feels too restrictive.
Like I’m being suffocated by all the muscle and that spicy rich leathery scent.
Because you’re unhinged.
I let this man tie me up, but having him hold me after sex is enough to make my chest tighten painfully around my lungs.
Too close.
Too intense.
Too intimate.
It’s too much…everything.
There’s a reason I don’t do this. Why I don’t allow myself to actually care about anyone I’m with. Because it always ends up feeling like I’m going to implode with the weight of what that might mean.
Caring about someone means worrying about them, and I already have enough to worry about to fill ten lifetimes. Maybe twenty now that Satriano is back.
I don’t have room for Gage Newhart and his expectations of me.
I can’t give him what he wants, and I don’t have the energy to try.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I force a deep breath into my lungs, dragging with it that spice and leather that’s even more overpowering now mixed with the heady, potent scent of sex.
I force myself to release it slowly, then glance over my shoulder at him to find those perfect lips of his slightly parted, his eyes closed, soft, steady breaths slipping out in his slumber.
Thank God…
Let’s hope he’s a really deep sleeper.
Because I have to get out of here.
I can’t spend the night in Gage’s bed.
He’s just…too damn much.
More than I am ready for or maybe ever will be.
I grab his wrist and start to slowly lift his arm from around me, but my eyes snag on the ink there. If I had ever seen him without that leather jacket on before for longer than a few minutes at the gym, I might have noticed that the tattoos aren’t random.
His left forearm bears a list of names and dates etched over an American flag waving in the wind.
Bile climbs up my throat at the thought that they’re probably comrades who died in combat.
If I took the time to examine every inked inch of his body, I’d probably find other images that hold deep, sentimental meaning for him.
Because that’s the type of person he is.
He cares deeply for other people.
His cocky charm and gregarious nature cover a man with deep wounds and scars.
I saw them tonight.
Puckered skin beneath the ink on his chest.
Jagged pink lines moving through the words and images.
And those are only the physical ones…
Even thinking about what he must have witnessed and experienced in his years in the Rangers makes that vise around my chest tighten and the bile force its way farther up.
I swallow it down and lift his arm fully off me so I can slide out to the edge of the bed. It creaks slightly, and I cringe, glancing back at him, but he hasn’t moved an inch.
After all the work he put in tonight, hopefully he’ll be out for a while.
Long enough for me to do what I need to.
I slide off the mattress, my bare feet hitting the old wooden floor, and I tiptoe over to where he tossed my clothes and tug on my jeans, wincing at the stickiness between my legs.
What I wouldn’t give for a hot shower right now…
But that can wait until I get home.
Keeping my eye on the bed, I grab my bra and shirt and put them back on, watching for any signs that he might be awake, but that strong, inked chest of his just rises and falls steadily.
Those long, thick, dark eyelashes stay down, spread across his cheeks hiding those warm blue eyes I so easily threw myself into, regardless of how easy it was to drown in them—and him.
Christ, he’s beautiful.
Even like this, when he’s so vulnerable, his strength radiates from him. All that lean, hard-earned muscle, strong hands and immaculately built body.
The way he took charge of me so completely—that isn’t something I’ve ever let anyone do.
So why the hell did you let him?
That question rattles around my head as I tiptoe over to the small desk against the far wall. I scan the papers strewn across the top—a phone bill, a few receipts for gas and parts for the shop, several other scraps containing random notes of things to remember to pick up at the store.
Nothing of importance.
A photo on the corner of the desk of him with his arm around a slightly older dark-haired man catches my eye, and I reach out and snag it. My eyes drift over Gage’s easy smile despite the setting in the background. Clearly taken during a deployment, the man must be one of his military buddies.
One of the men listed on his arm, maybe?
I peek back at him, but he hasn’t stirred.
The urge to sneak back over there and examine every spot of ink covering his body tries to pull me that direction, but learning more personal things about Gage won’t do anything but complicate my feelings for him even more.
I release a heavy sigh.
Given his background, he probably will be a benefit to our security team, but I don’t like the idea of having him around, of having to deal with this electricity and attraction between us when I need to be concentrating on the family and keeping them safe.
It’s a distraction.
And distractions open the door for danger I can’t let slip in.
Which is why I’m sneaking around his place like a common thief after he just fucked me into oblivion.
I return the picture to its place and tug open the top drawer, rifling through a few random papers and other items but coming up short of anything interesting or incriminating.
Because ultimately, that’s what I’m looking for.
I know he has secrets, just like I do, despite what he said earlier about us coming clean with each other about everything. Everyone has secrets. Things they hold close to their chests and never reveal due to fear or embarrassment or guilt.
But the problem is, secrets can get you killed, or someone you love could get caught in the crossfire. Which means I have to find out everything I can about the man I just slept with while I have the opportunity.
I dig through every drawer, then do the same in the small kitchenette in the corner that only tells me he orders in most of the time instead of cooking for himself.
He rolls on the bed, spreading out on his back in a way that makes the sheet he pulled up over us shift to the side and expose his cock. I freeze, holding my breath, waiting to see if he’s awake, but he resettles and I release the air from my lungs in a rush.
My clit pulses seeing him like this, and his earlier statement echoes in my head.
“I can’t wait to fuck this pretty mouth of yours, too.”
Lord…
That man’s mouth is as lethal as his decorated cock.
And if I don’t get out of here soon, I’ll be tempted to climb back into bed with him.
I return to searching his dresser and every other inch of the tiny apartment, but there’s nothing here that suggests he isn’t exactly who he says he is or that he’s lied about what he’s doing here or his interest in me.
That should be a relief, but it only makes my gut tighten more.
Because it means he’s the real deal.
And men like that don’t exist in my world.
They can’t.
There isn’t room for them.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I wince, scrambling to pull it out as the sound seems to echo through the room.
I glance at the screen.
Shit.
Hitting answer as I bring it to my ear, I slip into the bathroom off to the side of the loft and ease the door partially closed. “What?”
Isaac snorts. “Hello to you, too.”
“I’m busy.”
“Why are you whispering?”
I peek out the cracked door, but Gage hasn’t stirred again. “Because I’m fucking busy.”
“Well, get unbusy.” His voice loses all humor. “You need to come over to the penthouse.”
“Why?”
“Just fucking do it.”
He ends the call, and I release an annoyed groan.
So much for my hot shower.
Instead, I have to go see Isaac about whatever the fuck is going on with the reminder and evidence of what I did with Gage—or should I say, what he did to me—still dripping from me.
But if he’s at the penthouse with Coen and Allegra instead of at home with Jack, Vivi, and Gio at almost midnight, then something is very wrong.
Sucking in a long, deep breath, I slip out the bathroom door and make my way over to the nightstand to grab my gun and slide it into the holster. I snag my boots and socks and carry them down, refusing to risk the sound they might make on the metal treads.
I freeze with each step I take, watching the bed until I’m so far down I can’t see it anymore, then I book it across the shop, past his Harley and Indian, to the small pedestrian door next to the large rolling one.
The few seconds it takes to pull on my socks and boots feels like an eternity while glancing up to ensure he isn’t watching.
I scan the dimly lit shop as I lace my boots.
I’d love to search down here, too, given the time, but whatever Isaac called about was urgent. And when it comes to the Hawkes, urgent doesn’t usually mean good. Especially with Satriano back in town.
With one last look to the loft, I unlock the door, then slip out into the warm, damp New Orleans late evening air and fire off a text to Isaac.
I’m on my way, but I’m on the other side of town so it’ll be a bit.
He immediately returns my text.
Just get here.
Asshole.
I scowl at it, then I slide my phone back inside my pocket as I rush toward the car.
My hand trembles digging for my keys and pressing the unlock button, and as soon as it’s open, I slide in and fire it up quickly, as if that big sliding door could open at any moment and Gage might come out and try to do something to stop me.
One look is honestly all it would take…
And that realization is terrifying.
But there’s no movement from the building, no sound to suggest he woke, and for some reason, slipping out secretly in the dead of night like this makes what we just did feel even more wrong.
Even as my body sings with the memory of it and craves more.