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I don't want just one taste. I want her shattered apart for me. I want her, dammit. Any way I can have her. And I don't want to quit when she's in my bed, coming all over me. I don't think I want to quit at all.

I break from her lips, breathing hard as I stride across the room to put a little distance between me and temptation. For long moments, I stand with my hand against the wall, trying to get myself under control. My dick throbs in my jeans, my heart racing.

She's dead silent behind me.

"You said you need to pick up a contract at Park Avenue and take it to your dad's lawyer?" I finally ask, my voice rough.

"Y-yes," she whispers, her voice shaking.

"If you'll promise to lock the door behind me, I'll go handle it."

"You don't have to do that, Bishop."

I spin to face her, letting her see just how badly I do need to do that. Right now, actually.

I'm not sure exactly what she sees on my face, but she whimpers again, her fists clenching like she's trying to keep herself from launching at me.

I stomp toward the door before I decide not to go at all. "Lock the door behind me, Callie," I growl.

"Okay," she whispers. "Bye, Bishop."

"Bye, baby."

Chapter Five

Callie

Iknow the minute Bishop walks into the studio the following afternoon, not because I see him, but because everyone goes silent at the same exact second.

I peek in the mirror to confirm my suspicions and shiver when I see him standing just inside the door to the studio, his hat pulled low over his face, dressed in tight, faded jeans and another flannel shirt. Only, the sleeves are rolled up his forearms this time, showing off the tattoos running wild up and down his arms. He looks like he just stepped out of my dirty cowboy dreams.

Hell, maybe he did. I certainly had enough of them last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I dreamed about his body pressed to mine while he growled filth in my ear, his calloused fingers wreaking havoc between my legs.

I got myself off twice last night, and I still feel overheated, like a fire burns beneath my skin. I still ache.

It's dangerous. He's dangerous.

And yet…my heart still leaps the second I see him.

Every justification I came up with to fire him today crumbles like the pathetic excuses they were.

"Damn," Grady O'Ryan whispers, running his gaze up and down Bishop's giant body. "He looks like something to climb."

I snort indelicately.

Bishop hears me, his green eyes finding mine across the room.

For a second, we're the only two people alive. And I'm burning with the same fever that struck me yesterday, the one that hasn't broken since he kissed me.

And then my sister elbows me in the ribs. "You didn't tell me that he looked like he stepped out of a fucking wet dream, you dirty whore," she hisses, a little too loudly.

Everyone in the studio hears her…including Bishop. The dancers laugh. His lips twitch. And I want to sink through the floor.

I don't get a chance.

He saunters across the studio toward me, every heavy step vibrating the wooden floor beneath his boots. "Hey, songbird," he rumbles when he's less than a foot away, his eyes locked on my face. "Having fun?"

"Um…" What is it about him that makes me feel like an awkward teenager again? I'm twenty-four. I outgrew that phase years ago, but as soon as he's in front of me, I start stumbling over my words like I'm that shy, nerdy high school girl again.