Page 78

Eden

I couldn’t find any paper in the kitchen because Bishop was obviously a monster and didn’t have a junk drawer. That shouldn’t have surprised me, not with how prepared for everything he was. I needed paper … and a pen.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, thinking.

His office! There’d be paper in there, surely.

My wine-soaked mind shoved away the tiny voice that told me he’d said not to go in there. It was only paper. There was bound to be some on the desk … if there was a desk in there. He might be one of those crazy people who stood up to work.

I screwed up my nose.

No, he’d have a desk. I’d sneak in, grab paper and be out again long before he got home.

Home . When did I start thinking about the house I was living in as home?

I hurried down the hallway and turned the handle on the door to his office. It swung open silently and I stepped inside.

Paper. Where would he keep the paper?

Think like Bishop!

The thought made me snicker, and I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. Drawing myself up to my full height, I adopted what felt like a stern expression and scanned the room.

There . A pile of blank paper on the corner of his desk. That was easy.

I snatched up a couple of sheets and a pen, then turned … just as male voices sounded. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I recognized them both.

Bishop was home.

Oh no.

I looked around.

I could hide or …

I frowned.

What was that?

On the desk was a small pile of paper, with a photograph on the top. I edged closer. The image was blurred, so I squinted, waiting until it came back into focus.

It was me.

Pushing the photograph to one side, I looked at the sheets beneath to reveal the marriage contract we’d signed.

Why did he have it on his desk?

“Eden?” His voice echoed along the corridor, and I bit my lip. “Eden?” My name preceded the door opening.

His head tilted when he found me beside his desk.

“What are you doing in here?” There was nothing other than curiosity in his voice.

I waved the paper I was clutching at him. “I need paper.”

“Magdalena said as much. What do you need it for?”

“What kind of crazy person doesn’t have a junk drawer in their kitchen?” I blurted the question.

“A … what?”

“A junk drawer. You know … somewhere to keep all the random things you collect that have no real home.”

“I don’t collect random things.” He closed the door and leaned against it.

“You collected me,” I muttered. “Why do you have our contract on your desk?”

“I just haven’t put it away yet. Why did you need paper, Eden?” He took a step toward me.

“Because we need a new contract.” My gaze shifted to the printed sheets on his desk, and I frowned.

“A new contract?”

I picked up the existing one and flicked through it, then lifted my head and looked at the man in front of me. He was watching me, his expression quizzical, and it struck me how easy I found it to read him now. Where once his features had been a study in blankness, now I could pick out the tiny micro-expressions hinting to his mood. And his mood right now was curious.

“What would you do if I tore this up?”

“Do you want to tear it up?”

I put down the blank paper and pen, took the contract between both hands and held it up. Holding his gaze, my heart hammering so much I was surprised it didn’t break through my ribs, I tore it in half. Bishop didn’t move, his eyes following the movement of my hands. When it was in two halves, I tore them again.

Tilting my head up, I met his gaze. “If you don’t have the receipt, you can’t return the goods.”

One eyebrow shot up.

I tossed the torn-up contract into the air and watched the pieces fall to the ground.

“Eden, look at me.” His voice came from directly in front of me.

I dragged my gaze away from the paper and found him less than a foot away from me.

“Are you drunk?”

I shook my head. “I’ve never been so sober in my life.” And I was. The slight tipsiness I’d been feeling had gone, leaving me stone cold sober.

“You understand that tearing up the contract changes nothing. It’s just a copy.”

“There you go being all logical again.” I shook my head.

“It’s who I am.” His fingers found my chin and lifted my head. “Is this your way of asking me to void the contract?”

“I want to live in your junk drawer,” I whispered. Heat filled my cheeks. That had sounded less stupid in my head.

His brows pulled together. “Allow me to make a counteroffer.”

“What kind of counteroffer?”

“How about you start your own junk drawer? You can fill it with whatever you please.” He pressed a kiss to one corner of my mouth. “After all, you’ve already started your collection of random things.”

“I have?”

His smile was slow and warm. My heart rate hiked, and butterflies took off in my stomach.

“You have.” His arms looped around my waist, and his head lowered. “The first thing you can put in your drawer is my heart. You picked that up and pocketed it the day you married me. It just took me a while to realize.” His lips brushed over mine. “I can’t promise spontaneity, that’s not who I am. But I can promise to protect you, keep you safe, and love you.”

I blinked. “Love me?” The words came out as a startled croak.

“That’s what this is, isn’t it? Or am I reading it wrong?”

“You’re not reading it wrong.”

His mouth crashed down onto mine, sending the butterflies in my stomach into frenzied spins. When his lips moved from mine to track a path of kisses over my jaw, I let my head fall back and sighed in pleasure.

“Can I have it in writing?”

He chuckled against my throat. “Have what in writing?”

“That you love me.”

“As soon as you confirm your response.”

“Oh!” My eyes snapped open.

“I made an educated guess about your feelings from the way you aggressively tore up the contract. But I’d really like to hear it.” His voice was a lazy growl next to my ear.

I placed a hand against his chest and gave him a gentle push. He took a step away, and looked at me, one eyebrow raised. I smoothed my hand down the front of his shirt, and the light caught the stone in my engagement ring, making it shine.

“I never expected to fall in love with my husband, but I did.” I pressed my hand against his cheek and leaned up to find his lips with mine. “I love you, Bishop Chambers, and if you’ll let me, I’d really like to bring some spontaneity to your life.”

Thank you for reading Bishop.

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