Page 17 of Royal Baby Maker

Like the time I'd seen him surrounded by women who wanted his surname, he was wearing a fine suit jacket and dark pants that glided over his strong thighs and firm ass. We both knew I was staring, but he wasn't expecting me to hold his gaze, making a face as if to say,Yeah, you're hot, but what happens next?

Holding out the bag to him, I said, “Your mom asked me to bring this to you.”

“She sent me a text or twenty about how I'd forgotten it.”

He reached for the bag. I let him take it, clinging to it a second longer. “You do seem like you're forgetful lately.”

His face went rigid—so did his grip. “Maybe. Or maybe I'm just putting my energy into something very important.”

Was that a jab at how Iwasn'timportant? Studying his hard-set jaw, I watched it relax, saw how his fingers loosened at his sides. He wasn't upset with me... he was stressed. Following where his eyes flicked to, I saw the man sitting at the other end of the table.

He was staring at us.

No... at me.

His skin was caramel brown, only a bit lighter than his hair. He was dressed in just a loose white shirt, but somehow, he seemed more opulent than everyone else. I spotted his Apple watch, the newest smart phone resting on the table, and the cocky, inquisitive smile as he looked me over.

I didn't know him, but I knew men like him.

“Bishop,” he called, motioning with two fingers. “Who is this lovely woman who's joined us?”

Lines passed across Bishop's forehead. Then they were gone and he was taking me by the elbow towards the other man. His grip was firm—welcome. It sparked the too-real memory of our shower encounter, reminding my body how talented his fingers could be when they tried.

Everyone else had quieted, watching curiously, listening in. They, too, wanted to learn who I was. This attention was new for me. It made my skin sticky, my mouth so dry I was tempted to snatch an unfinished drink off the table and chug it.

Letting me go, Bishop folded his arms. “This is Nellie Pinewood. Nell, this is Corriane Flemish, a diplomat from Jordan and the biggest cheat in Black Jack that I know.”

“Tsk, flattery,” Corriane said, looking too amused. He reached out for me and, compelled by all the movies I'd seen, I offered him my hand. He kissed it; his lips were much scratchier than Bishop's. “It's a pleasure to meet the woman who's managed to steal the fickle heart of Bishop Callehurst.”

“Oh, no, that's not...” I almost saidI'm just the dog walker!Before I could, Bishop wrapped his arms around my middle from behind, his chin settling on my head. I was blushing and I could do nothing to fix it.

“I'm not fickle,” Bishop said into my hair. “I'm just picky.”

Not so picky. He chose me after one quick fuck.

My own callous thoughts burned me like acid.

Corriane was still smiling. I could see the shape of it behind the tall glass he'd picked up to sip. “I'd love to learn more about such a special woman. Join us for lunch, Nellie. Please.”

****

Day became night, andnot once did the restaurant try to usher us out. How could they? The bill this group of men was racking up was immense. They ordered bottles of scotch older than me, demanding that the waitresses join in for a sip or four.

The celebration winded down until it was only me, Bishop, Corriane and the two men I learned were his bodyguards. They weren't impressing me—both were red faced and drunk.

“Now that it's quieter,” Corriane said, leaning forward to speak to us privately, “I suggest we go have somerealfun.”

Bishop eyed me with something dark and wary. It was a look that didn't fit him, like a coat two sizes too small. “Not tonight.”

Both men shared a look, then Corriane smiled sweetly at me. “Could I have a moment with my friend?”

“Oh, sure. I'll just...” Motioning at nothing, I stood and hurried to the bathroom. The buzz of alcohol had made me unsteady. I wasn't drunk, just loose in my knees; grateful for my sneakers. I'd seen the heels most of the women in this place were wearing. I'd envied them until now.

Wasting time doing nothing, I looked into the silver, sleek toilet in the restroom stall. It spoke to me in a sweet voice that had my hair standing on end. “How may I serve you?”

Even their toilets drip money,I mused. Facing the gigantic mirror, I tried to fix my hair. I really needed to clean up—did I smell like sweat? Was that why they were reluctant to go out with me?

Washing my face, I tied my hair back and decided that was good enough. Whatever Bishop and Corriane wanted to do, I'd go as is... or I'd just head home. It was late, anyway.

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