CHAPTER FIVE
Fifteen minutes after leaving the bar, the hog rumbled into the motel's parking lot. The U-shaped, squat building nestled in the armpit of a highway ramp. Like everything in Grand River, it owned by someone in town. And, like all motels, it was a scummy, cheap, and great for frequent fliers or possible prostitution rings.
Stella wasn't thinking about any of the motel's issues as the motorcycle rolled to a stop. Her thoughts were painfully focusing on Bishop's body. His thick torso, the way his muscles moved beneath his skin, the bulge protruding against his jeans. Her thoughts were muzzy with hormones. The woman found herself shifting and flexing her fingers, shamefully enjoying his body heat and fighting off the urge to let her hands drift southward. Hormones didn't give her a break. They took the reins in her mind, replaying his attractive smirks that made her insides boil or bringing ghostly tingles over her body wherever her body touched his.
The man wasn't faring much better. Stella's soft breasts against his back and her supple thighs pressed flushed to his legs brought plenty of x-rated thoughts to his mind. Throughout the whole ride, Bishop couldn't stop imagining her naked body, how she'd sound beneath him, how he could make her scream. He had almost run through a red light thanks to those distractions.
The engine's rumble died away, and the lights flickered off as he twisted the key. The sudden vacuum of sound roused their thoughts away from the gutter. Stella immediately tore her arms away from his body. She wrenched the spare helmet from her head and, as she climbed off the chopper, returned it to Bishop's hands.
Distance. She needed distance. Now. If she didn't get it, she would do something she'd regret. Or, worse, something she wouldn't regret.
“Thank you, Mr. Bishop,” the woman gasped, flashing him a smile. She prayed he didn't notice the red flush of her cheeks. With heart thrumming loudly and fingertips itching for a touch – just one – Stella all but ran to her door.
The keys jangled in her hands as Stella bumbled, the nervous energy making her fingers shake. Just as the lock clicked and the tumblers sounded, a swell of relief hit her. Now, all she had to do was duck into the room, away from Bishop and–
A large hand grabbed her by the wrist, ceasing her retreat. Suddenly, she became aware of a broad chest pressed against her back. The air in her lungs locked in place as Bishop leaned further down. His hot breath played over the back of her neck, “You're very welcome, Miss Holmes, but I told you to call me Art.”
“And I told you to call me Agent Holmes, didn't I?” Stella swallowed, trying to cling to annoyance and frustration. She refused to turn and meet his gaze. Her shaky resolve would shatter under his intense grey gaze and his perpetual smirk.
Bishop chuckled, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on her wrist. Stella steeled herself, delight bubbling in her blood, straining to hear Bishop's next words, “Fair enough, Agent.”
“Did-did you want something?” The woman closed her eyes, taking deep breaths through her nose. The urge to flirt, to turn, to touch was overwhelming. It was a complete spectrum change from earlier with Stan. In fact, Stella couldn't remember the last time a man had her feeling so unhinged. The continual reminder – he's a criminal, he's a criminal, he's a criminal – acted as a mantra for her resolve.
“No, I suppose not.” After a moment of silence, Bishop's defeated reply felt like a cold stab to Stella's guts. He had given up. Stella wasn't sure how to think of the newest occurrence. His warm, calloused hand pulled away from her wrist, leaving her all the colder. “Good night.”
The woman remained facing the door, her hand still grasping the doorknob. Something nudged against her restraint and it shook unsteadily.
Overhead, the sky rumbled and the atmosphere shifted. The sudden tattoo of torrential rainfall rattled off the metal canopy that shielded the walkway. Stella opened the door, but glanced over her shoulder before ducking into the room. Bishop stood at the edge of the dry area, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lip, staring at the falling rain. Something clenched inside of Stella, and her resolution fell.
“Bishop.” The word came out soft on her lips. Stella was surprised when the man turned, eyebrow cocked. She leaned in the doorjamb, her eyes flickering from the rain and the biker. Tingling heat nipped at her cheeks. “You can stay until the rain stops.”