Page 65 of Renegade Ruin

Panic grips my spine and I search his face for clarity, finding absolutely none. “Why?”

“You needed this,” he says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “And trust me, getting you off does wonders for setting my mind straight.”

Relief fills me. Well, mostly. He isn’t saying he changed his mind about the arrangement, just about fucking me senseless. But the truth is, I want him to. I want to make him feel good too. For both of us.

“Bishop,” I protest, the need to make sure he is okay setting off alarms in my head.

“I’m good. I promise. Demons at bay.” He turns and pads toward the front door.

It takes me a moment to get my ass in gear and slide from the counter, haphazardly pulling my clothes back into place. I hurry after him, catching up as he opens the door.

He hesitates, and glances over his shoulder, looking too incredible for words with his finger-tousled hair and a satisfied grin. “I still hate the idea of using the kids, but I understand this partnership with the league could mean incredible thingsfor Renegade Hearts. Instead of having them attend, have them record something that can be played throughout. Have the donors each sponsor one kid. Make them their own player's cards.”

“I—” I’m speechless. Not only did he make me forget the problems plaguing my mind with his tongue, but he’s managed to come up with a solution. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“I know,” he replies smugly. Giving me a stern look, he raises his hand in a mock two-finger salute. “I’ll see you tomorrow, boss.”

I groan. “Nope. You can’t call me that with my come still painting your lips.”

The last thing I need is a reminder we could both lose our jobs if anyone found out about this fucked up little arrangement we have going on.

“No promises.”

And then he’s gone, leaving me standing dumbstruck in my foyer trying to piece together a single coherent thought about what just happened.

I retreat to my father’s office and immediately draft a memo to the board, incorporating Bishop’s plan for the gala. The more I think about it, the more I believe it could actually work.

The doorbell rings thirty minutes later and my heart jumps, hoping Bishop came back to finish what he started.

Instead, I open the door and find three giant reusable grocery bags filled with food and a note taped to one.

You need to take care of yourself, Kitten. Think of it as taking care of what’s mine.

Next time I’ll make you breakfast in bed after having you as mine.

-B

Butterflies take flight in my chest and my thighs clench.

I’m so royally screwed.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BISHOP: You’re not in your office.

WILLOW: That’s a very astute observation. Am I supposed to be?

BISHOP: Our first game is in a few hours, so I assumed it was a given.

WILLOW: You know what they say about assuming.

BISHOP: Where are you?

WILLOW: I’m in Miami this week speaking at a conference. Where are you?

BISHOP:Your office. You hate public speaking.

WILLOW: And you hate me, yet sometimes we have to do things we don’t like. Get out of my office.

---