“Oh, and just when I thought we were getting along.”
He shrugs. “I’m not doing it for you.”
I don’t know why, but that hurts. Because I’m stupid, that’s why. I swallow, my throat swollen and hoarse. “You can leave then.”
“If I said it was for you—” He walks toward my balcony door and looks out the curtain. “—would you say stay?”
I turn toward him, my hair sprawling out underneath me. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Why are you looking out my door?”
“Why do you ask so many fucking questions?” he shoots back, stepping away from the door.
“You can leave,” I repeat.
“I’ll leave when Nate gets here.”
“That could be two minutes, or it could be days. Depending on how many women he’s found.”
Bishop drops down onto the chair that sits beside my bed, his legs spread out and his finger running over his upper lip. His eyes rake over my body in a way that makes my heartbeat speed up and butterflies erupt.
“We could make this more fun?” He grins.
My mouth snaps shut. “You confuse me. I thought you hated me.” I roll my eyes, kick off my shoes, and then get to my feet. Dying to get out of this damn dress, I walk into my closet, closing the door slightly, and reach for my zipper. Then I laugh under my breath. “Of fucking course.” Peeking around the door, I smile at Bishop. “Can you help me?”
He doesn’t say anything, just gets to his feet and walks toward me. Turning around, I scoop my hair out of the way and close my eyes. He takes the zipper and slides it down slowly, his rough knuckles skimming over my spine in the progress. Pulling my bottom lip into my mouth, I bite down hard to try to distract myself from the amazing feel of his skin on mine.
“Thanks,” I whisper breathlessly once he’s hit the bottom of my dress. I let the straps fall off my shoulders and then shimmy it down to pool at my feet. Laughing, I spin around, ready to tell him to get out, but as soon as his eyes lock onto mine, his arm wraps around my waist, and he pulls me into him. His lips smash against mine, and all oxygen and sense leave at his invasion. I fight it at first, confusion cloaking me, until he walks me backward and my back smashes against the wall, our kiss never breaking.
I open my mouth, allowing his tongue to slip in. He licks the inside of my mouth skillfully, expertly, enough to blow my fucking mind, and that’s when I tap out and my hormones take charge. I wrap my hands around the back of his tanned, muscled neck, my tongue caressing his gently. He groans into my mouth while his hands clench around my upper thighs and lift me off the ground. I squeeze my legs around his waist as his hands come up to either side of my face, while his groin pushes me harder against the wall. Shit. I feel my stomach clench with unease and uncertainty, fueled by fire. Pure, hot, untouched, and lit-the-fuck-up fire.
His tongue slides across my bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth and bites down on it roughly, pulling on it until it pops out of his mouth. He looks at me, his dark green eyes searching both of mine. “Fuck.” He stops, looking down to my mouth and then back to my eyes.
“Don’t.” I shake my head. “Don’t think about it.” What the hell am I saying? I circle the back of his neck like a needy fucking cat would caress its owner to get attention. Jesus, I need help.
He groans again, shutting his eyes. “We had a rule.”
“A rule?” I bait, my head tilting.
“Yeah. Actually, more like a pact.”
“This pact.” I gesture with my fingers. “Does it involve me?”
He looks at me. “Don’t try to be cute, Madison. You know damn well it involves you.”
“What is it?”
“Fuck,” he whispers. “There’s so much you don’t fucking know, and you won’t fucking know. This is already thin ice we’re walking on.”
I look into his eyes, studying them. The way his dark green eyes have an even darker ring around the lighter color, and how his tanned skin glistens under my dim closet light. How his lips are slightly plump, delicious, and enough to make you fight a strong inner urge to bite down on them. Or his damn just-fucked hair. Bishop is intense and drop-dead gorgeous, but has an air of danger that hovers over him—and his damn Maserati. If that isn’t enough to fuck with your morals, the fact he’s an unattainable asshole would.
I grind over him slightly, lean down to his ear, and whisper, “Then we’ll run.” I lean back, seeing the shift in his eyes. Shit, I might still be drunk, but there’s—