“You smell almost too good to eat.”
Smiling, she dissolved against him. “Almost too good?”
His big hands measured her waist then slid higher. They didn’t stop until long lean fingers were splashed over her back and a thumb rested beneath the fall of each breast. His head angled more. She shivered uncontrollably as his teeth nipped the sensitive sweep of her throat. The pads of his thumbs grazed her nipples as he murmured, low and deep, against her skin.
“You heard me.”
That syrupy I-can’t-get-enough-of-you feeling sizzled like sparking gunpowder through her system. Her knees threatened to buckle and her lungs labored, unable to get enough air. When her hand drove up his arm, over the sinewy rock of one shoulder, her eyes drifting closed, she sighed as he nipped and his morning beard grazed.
“Are you suggesting we stay in today?” she asked, sounding drugged and feeling that way, too.
“I’m saying you can make me lose my mind.”
“That can’t be a bad thing.”
His face tipped up. His eyes were so hooded, she could barely see the blue.
He blinked once then asked, “Promise?”
She laughed. It was meant to be light, but he’d said that word with such earnestness … she wasn’t certain how to respond.
For once too overwhelmed by his intensity, she touched a kiss to his cheek and, winding out of his hold, moved to the galley kitchen. There were times she felt completely consumed by him. That wasn’t a complaint, but she wondered whether another woman might be able to handle his brute magnetism better. She didn’t see his innate power ever diminishing.
She didn’t want it to.
“I had blueberry pancakes sent up,” he said, reaching for a casual shirt resting on the back of the lounge.
Her gaze darted to the meals area and her previously distracted senses picked up on the smell. Feeling guilty after that slab of cheesecake last night, she held her stomach.
“You’re trying to make me fat.”
“Fat, thin …” He strolled to the table to remove the silver dome. “I’ll take you any way you come.”
Inhaling again, eyeing the fluffy discs dotted with berries and dusted with icing sugar, she conceded. She had lost some weight, after all.
Joining him, she collected a fork, cut a portion off the top offering and slid the cake into her mouth. She chewed slowly, savoring the divine butter and fruit textures and flavors. Swallowing, she groaned with appreciation as well as disappointment.
“I wish mine turned out as good as this.”
“Have I ever complained about your cooking?”
She gave a coy grin. “Never.”
“The benefit with room service is …” He curled over her and stole a kiss from her ice-sugared lips. “More time for us.”
More than tempted, she touched her lips where he’d tasted hers as she sliced off a little more cake. “You really do want to stay in, don’t you?”
“That’s a given. But there’s also that surprise I had planned.”
Her mouth was full again but, needing to know, she talked almost incoherently around it. “Wha ith it?”
He laughed and pulled out her chair. “Finish your breakfast and you’ll find out.”
Ten minutes later, he and Laura were walking through the hotel lobby. He had the ticket out, ready for the concierge to retrieve his car, when he recognized a figure standing in front of the lofty automatic glass doors.
Bishop’s step faltered.
What was Willis doing here?
When his second-in-charge recognized him too, he waved and came forward. Bishop slid a sidelong glance at Laura. He and Willis were friends. Willis knew he’d been married and how badly it had ended. But he didn’t want to explain this to the younger man here or now.
As Willis joined them, Bishop made succinct introductions. “Willis McKee, this is Laura.”
Willis took her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Bishop tells me you’re his new assistant,” Laura inquired.
Willis cocked a brow. “I wouldn’t have said new.”
“Willis and I have known each other a while now,” Bishop chipped in. “Laura, can you excuse us for a minute?” Taking Willis’s elbow, he led him off to a quiet corner.
When they were alone, Bishop’s no-problem exterior cracked. He never had a day off. Now he was being hounded by the man he knew could handle the job, and for more than twenty-four hours. Nothing could be this important.
“What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t answer your phone or emails last night,” Willis replied, no sign of a tail between his legs. “And these guys are keen, Sam. Dead keen. They’ve been on the phone yesterday and already this morning. They want to look at the books as soon as possible.” Willis’s eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms. “You’re still interested, right? I mean, I understand—” he flicked a glance Laura’s way “—you’re busy. But Laura? I thought you were seeing an Annabelle.”
“Laura’s my wife. Ex-wife to be precise.”
Willis’s jaw hit the ground. “Your what? From what you’d told me, I got the impression there was more chance of a blizzard descending on the Simpson than you two getting back together.”
Bishop rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, it’s complicated.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, the vibes I get are more of the plain and simple variety.”
“Laura had an accident Friday,” he explained. “That’s why I left early.”
Willis took another longer look. “She seems fine now.”
“She’s great … except for the fact that two years of her life have been erased.”
Willis took a moment. “You mean amnesia? And she thinks you and she …” Groaning, Willis held his brow. “Oh, man.”
Bishop nodded. “Complicated.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“I went along at first because I didn’t have much choice. Laura thought we were still married. The doctor said if I kept a close eye on her, she could go home. So we spent some time together, and as the hours and days went on …” He rolled back his shoulders, forming the words carefully in his mind before uttering a one. “I’m wondering whether we might not be able to save what we had.”
Bishop respected this man; they were friends, but this was extremely private. Should he have been this open? It wasn’t usually his style. Still, now the words were out, he knew he’d needed to say them out loud. Maybe then he’d be able to see how ridiculous this all was.
“Save your marriage?” Willis’s hands dug into his pockets. “That would be if she remembers, or if she doesn’t?”
“That part’s a little up in the air.”
“It’s none of my business, and you probably don’t need me to tell you, but you should tread carefully. If you decide to go that way, the road will be full of potholes, deep and wide.”
Bishop grunted. No kidding.
“I’m going to book her in to see a neurologist midweek. See what can be done. In the meantime—”
“You have a beautiful bride who’s all doe-eyed