Page 16 of Branded By Bishop

"I didn't know about your mom," I say softly as we walk.

"I know. She's not something I talk about often."

"Oh. Why not?"

"I guess because I know how much her career meant to her and I don't want to sully it," he mutters, glancing at his boots. "But that's exactly what I'd do, songbird. It's hard to talk about someone who preferred the stage to her family."

"Bishop," I whisper, my heart clenching.

"It's all good, baby. It is what it is."

It isn't okay, though. I hear the pain in his voice, even though he tries to mask it. He's spent his whole life feeling like his mom preferred dancing to him. That's awful.

I stop walking, only to immediately start pacing along the faded white line of a parking spot, thinking. I don't understand why he's here. After everything he went through with his mom, why is he here helping me?

"You talked yourself into firing me last night, huh?" he asks a moment later.

I spin to face him, only to find him leaning up against the side of a truck, watching me intently.

"How do you know that?" I ask, then flinch as he immediately grins. Dammit. Now he knows for sure that was my plan. "I mean…who said anything about firing you?"

"Your face said it for you back in that studio, songbird," he says with a chuckle. "You're itching to get rid of me, aren't you?"

"Yes. No." I huff out a breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. Why does he make me so fucking nervous? It's ridiculous! "I mean, I just don't think I—"

"You really need another demonstration about why you absolutely do need a bodyguard, baby?" he growls, one brow arched.

I snap my mouth closed, a wave of heat rolling through me. "That's not what I was going to say."

"Liar." His lips twitch before he takes a step toward me. And then another. For some reason, I don't back up. I just stand there like my feet are rooted in place, even when he's right in front of me, so close I smell the sweat and cologne on his skin. I feel the heat of his big body searing into me, too.

He hooks a finger into my waistband, tugging me closer to him. I stumble, but I don't try to stop him from reeling me toward him. I don't even really complain when I'm pressed up against his chest, my tits crushed to more muscles than I can even comprehend.

I've always been soft and overweight. No matter how much time I spend at the gym or how many hours my sister spends torturing me with new choreography, my body never really changes. I learned to love my curves, stretch marks, and imperfections a long time ago. But pressed up against him, I can't help but wonder just how much exhausting work it really takes to look like him. More than I'll ever be willing to put in, that's for sure.

"Let me guess," he murmurs, dipping his head until his lips hover right above mine. There's a tiny white scar above his upper lip, so faint it's all but invisible until he's this close. I want to lick it. "You spent all night coming up with reasons why having me around is a terrible idea, didn't you?"

"Yes," I whisper, unable to lie to him when he's standing this close, when I feel him everywhere.

"Mm. Tell me what you decided," he says, tucking strands of hair behind my ears. "What reasons sounded the most logical to you, songbird?"

"I…um…" My tongue flicks out, wetting my bottom lip. "You make me nervous."

"You're afraid of me?"

"No," I whisper. "Not a single time since I met you."

"Good, because hell will freeze over before I hurt you."

I know he means it. I see the truth glinting in his sage eyes, and that's what makes me so fucking nervous.

"Tell me why," he murmurs. His thumb brushes my bottom lip, and I shiver, swaying into him.

"You…you just do."

"You make me nervous, too."

I think I already knew that, and I don't think having it confirmed helps at all. If anything, it makes me more nervous, especially now that I know about his mom.