Wicked Kiss (Nightwatchers) - By Michelle Rowen Page 0,60
against the wall and slid his hand down my side and over my thigh. “What are you doing?”
“Checking something.”
My heart slammed hard against my rib cage and the delicious scent of him, of his soul, was slowly driving me crazy. He was so close. And his touch, even if it was through my jeans, not against my bare skin, had helped shut off my senses to everything around us—no music, no voices, no crowd, nobody else—only this moment.
“Good,” he whispered as his fingers trailed over the weapon and sheath hidden beneath my loose jeans. “Although, it’ll be too hard to access quickly unless you start wearing short skirts.”
I struggled to breathe normally. “Is that a request?”
“A suggestion.” His now-heated gaze locked with mine and held. “Damn it, Samantha. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“Like what?”
“You were not supposed to be part of my problem.”
On the surface, word for word, it almost sounded like an insult. But the way he said it, low and throaty...me being problematic for an angel of death—it was the sexiest thing I’d ever heard in my entire life.
My hunger swirled around me, ever tightening like a cool silk scarf binding me in place. Everything else faded into the background—my future, my survival, the safety of everyone in the city, even the fate of my best friend trapped in the Hollow.
I didn’t care about anything else.
Only Bishop.
“Kraven’s right.” His breath was warm against my cheek. “When I’m this close to you...it’s like being a fly trapped in a spider’s web. I can’t seem to free myself.”
“I want to kiss you right now.” I was completely unashamed by the truth spilling from inside me. “So much. It’s driving me crazy.”
He didn’t reply; he just nodded slowly, his gaze fully fixed on my lips.
“I won’t take it all. I can stop myself before it’s too late.” My hunger turned me into something other than myself, other than the shy and awkward kid who’d only allowed herself crushes on a couple of guys before. The girl who shielded her heart to keep it from being broken. The one who looked in the mirror and still only saw a skinny girl with long, wild hair and barely enough chest to stuff in the smallest bra on the rack.
But Bishop had never looked at me like I was that girl. He looked at me like I was something amazing. Something beautiful beyond words. Something he wanted more than anything or anyone else.
And, at the moment, with the sounds of Ambrosia now only a distant echo, I knew he was every bit as lost as I was.
He drew closer, closer until finally...finally, his lips brushed against mine.
Chapter 16
I literally groaned with pleasure to be able to touch him, to taste him. Bishop’s breath was so warm, so sweet. I wanted more...
“Please,” I whispered, staring deep into his blue eyes. “Bishop, please—”
Snap!
It’s done.
The knife in my hand clatters to the ground. The blood wells beside his body. He stares up at me as he gasps for his last breath. He stares at me as if looking at a stranger instead of his own brother.
“Why would you do this?” he whispers. “Why?”
“Because you had to die today.” I would think I should feel something at this moment, some form of regret, but I feel nothing. Nothing at all.
“You know what happens to me now. Don’t you care?”
“No, I don’t.”
“What did she promise you? What’s your reward?” The pain in his gaze that I would surprise him like this, that I’d stab my own brother in the back without warning, is deeper than his physical pain.
“Goodbye, James.” I turn from him toward the door.
“You’ll burn for this, you stupid son of a bitch.”
I glance over my shoulder to see the shadows already rising up to claim him. “No. You will.”
Snap!
Bishop staggered back from me, his eyes wide. I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth, stifling a scream.
“What did you—?” he began, but then his words broke off. There must have been something in my eyes, some shock and horror, that stopped him from asking what I’d seen.
“Stay here,” he said sharply, averting his gaze. “I’m going to search the club for Stephen.”
He knew I’d seen another memory of his past, but I didn’t think he knew which one in particular. Any memory, according to Bishop, was an invasion of his privacy, of his mind. And it could lead to jarring revelations.