Page 17 of Branded By Bishop

"What else?" he asks, his thumb drifting over my bottom lip again.

"I dreamed about you," I blurt without even meaning to say it.

Desire flares in his eyes, brighter than the sun. A pleased groan rumbles on his lips. "Yeah? You want to know a secret?"

My mouth is so dry, all I can do is nod.

He turns his head slightly, his lips ghosting across my cheek. They land at my ear, his breath blowing warm across the shell. "I dreamed about you all fucking night, Callie. And I was mad as hell when I woke up this morning without you in my bed."

My knees shake so hard, I grab for his chest to keep myself upright. I whimper, too. There's no hiding the sound. It just tumbles out, pulled from some place deep inside.

He groans when he hears it, his teeth closing gently around my earlobe. "Don't care what excuses you came up with," he breathes against my skin. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Bishop."

"You don't really want me to go anyway."

He's right, dammit. And that's the whole problem, isn't it? He makes me nervous because he makes my body sing and my blood steam. He makes me nervous because he makes me want things I never want. He makes me nervous because, despite every reason I came up with to fire him, they all feel like thin excuses to avoid dealing with the fact that he makes me fucking nervous. I don't have time for him, for this. But part of me aches for whatever this is anyway. It aches in a way that's new, exciting, and terrifying.

But my best friend just betrayed me, and that betrayal broke my heart. I'm not sure I can deal with getting close to this man only to have it shattered completely. And that's where this will end. It's the only possible conclusion.

He already knows what it's like to love a woman who belongs on stage. He already carries the scars from doing it. Getting involved with him now, when we both know that he belongs here while my future is somewhere else, wouldn't be fair to either of us.

Not doing it doesn't seem particularly fair, either.

"Bishop, I—"

He cuts me off with his lips on mine, his kiss sweet and searing. His lips are soft against mine, his taste tangy. He groans into my mouth, his hand cradling the back of my head. Just like yesterday, I don't mean to kiss him back, but I do anyway, with my fingers clutching his flannel right above his heart.

I feel it pounding beneath my fingertips, strong and steady. Everything about him is strong and steady, as unyielding as the fucking mountains. Everything about him is wild and beautiful, too, even the way he kisses me.

He's rough and sweet at the same time, trying to lick deeper, to steal my taste and make it his own. And then he backs off a little, taking tiny sips of my lips as if he's exploring before he groans and goes deeper again.

I cling to him, dizzy and aching for something I'm not even sure I know how to name. I've felt desire before. Who hasn't? But this is something new. This is something bigger. And that's fucking terrifying.

I pull back with a gasp, my fingers against my lips as if I can press the memory of his taste into my psyche with them. My eyes meet his. For a long moment, neither of us says anything. We just stare at each other.

In the silence, I want him so damn badly, it scares me.

"We can't do this," I whisper, shaking a little. "I…I won't even be here long. After the show next weekend, I'll be leaving." My gaze drops from his. "I'm sorry."

He's silent for a moment, and then he sighs. "My pops spent his whole life chasing after my mom," he says, his voice a soft rumble of sound. "I always promised myself I wouldn't end up the same way. That I wouldn't go chasing a woman who wanted her career more than she wanted me." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb stroking my cheek. "But damn if you don't make me want to do it anyway, songbird."

My heart clenches. "Bishop, I…"

"You should get back in there, Callie. Everyone is waiting for you," he murmurs, tipping his head forward to brush his lips across my forehead. "I've got some things I need to do anyway."

"Bishop, I—"

"Hey." He tips my head back, his smile soft. "It's okay, songbird. You just met me. You don't owe me anything."

Except I feel like I owe him everything. And I feel like letting him leave now is wrong on every level.

He turns me gently, nudging me toward the studio. "Go on, now."

I stumble, then stop, torn. I don't want to go. I don't want to leave it like this. For the first time since my dreams started coming true, I'm not sure what the fuck I'm doing or where I'm going. I just know that I want him.

But when I glance back at him, he's already climbing in his truck. He's already leaving. He's giving me exactly what I told him I wanted.