Page 10 of Hexbound
"Well," she murmured under her breath as she pressed close to his side. "I didn't realize you wanted me to get that close to you. Perhaps if you smiled a little more, I might consider wrapping myselfallover you. Like ivy, as you say. You do have pretty eyes, after all."
Someone could have knocked him over with a feather. Bishop stared down at her, at that pretty heart-shaped face and those teasing eyes, and realized that he'd stopped in his tracks. She was an outrageous flirt and he... he had little defense against such notions.
It wasn't the first time a woman had propositioned him. It was the first time, however, when he'd felt any sort of answering stir below the belt. As if aware of every thought that was currently occupying his head—if he could be said to be thinking at all in this moment—she reached out, fiddling with the edges of his coat. Glorious mischief filled those almond-shaped eyes, one shoulder lifting coyly.
"Look at that," Miss Hawkins whispered. "Cat got your tongue, Mr. Bishop? Or are you struck dumb just imagining all of the things I could do to you?"
"You're incorrigible." Somehow he forced himself to catch hold of her wrists, just in case she decided to explore further. He wasn't certain he'd have the willpower to protest.
"Be honest with me," she whispered, taking a step forward. Somehow his back met the wall, but there was no escape, for she was right in front of him, skirts brushing against his trousers, the faint perfume of her soap—his soap—warming the air around her. "That night when you were chasing me... did you ever think about what you'd do with me, if you caught me?"
Every. Damn. Night.Bishop stared down at her, swallowing hard.
Sound intruded: the door swinging open. Bishop pushed away as the butler clattered into the kitchen. Maxwell let out a sigh of relief when he realized who was standing there. "Master Bishop. You could use the front door, you know?"
"I know." As he reached the door, Miss Hawkins gasped, and he looked around to find her staggering after him, drawn by the shackle around her wrist.
"I thought this kept me in the same room as you?" Miss Hawkins threw all of her body weight against it and he had the bizarre thought that if he took off his own shackle, she'd fall straight onto her delectable little backside.
"It's not the room. With this on, I'm the Anchor. Step lively."
The look she shot him wasn't nice. "I've never heard of such a thing."
"That's because I created it." Something to do in the dark hours of the night, when he couldn't sleep. Although his sorcerous talents ran toward destruction and death, he'd always been driven by the urge to create. It helped to assuage the dark hunger that gnawed at him as the call grew worse. It was something every practitioner of the Grave Arts had to watch for, and so far, creating devices in the depths of his laboratory was the only thing that took his mind off that dark hunger, even if it was only for a few hours. Offering his arm, Bishop quirked a brow. "Would you care to follow me?"
"Care?" Miss Hawkins growled under her breath, pointedly ignoring his arm. "It's not as though I have a choice, is it? Besides, I should hardly wish to be dragged and bumped up the stairs like some carpet bag."
Bishop leaned closer, his gaze drifting to the soft curve of that dangerous mouth. "The second I can trust you is the second I release you."
"And when will that be?"
"Most likely never." Holding open the door, he gestured her through it. "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, however...."
"That sounds like a challenge," Miss Hawkins murmured, and this time her gaze slid down his coat, locking on the powerful planes of his chest. She looked up swiftly, catching his flustered gaze. Those gloved fingertips brushed against his shirt, directly over his heart. "I like playing games, sir. And I like stealing more than just pretty baubles and strange relics."
"I don't have a heart."
The smile grew. Turned dangerous. Bishop's breath caught and those fingers marched down his chest, turning into a slow glide before he caught her wrist just above the glint of his belt buckle.
Shit. Every thought rushed out of his head as his blood ran south.
"I've often found the way to a man's wits lies in other areas of his body, my lord." Verity glanced up from beneath thick, dark lashes. "Who said I was talking about your heart?"
Bloody hell. "I'm not interested," he lied.
"Mmm." That purr was dangerously smug. "We'll see."
Pushing away from him, she reached up to unclip her jaunty black hat as she swept through the doors.
Not much to do but follow her, and Bishop cursed as he realized just how neatly she'd turned the tables on him. Bloody, rotting hell. He'd never been much adept at polite conversation or flirtation, but the feeling of being distinctly out of his depth left him unsettled.
And aroused.
"Upstairs?" Miss Hawkins asked, waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase.
"Follow me," he growled, and her laugh floated up the stairs behind him.
The scent of patchouli and the soft murmur of voices lured him toward the private sitting room that Agatha often preferred.
