Damson Rapture

Published by: eXtasy Books

ISBN :0000639

Page :25

Word Count :5396

Publication Date :2013-05-20

Series : #

Heat Level :

Available Formats : Damson Rapture (pdf) , Damson Rapture (prc) , Damson Rapture (epub) , Damson Rapture (mobi)

Category : Erotica , Mainstream Fiction , Science Fiction , Fantasy

Product Code: 0000639

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Dinner at Tavern On The Green or menage a trois? Did Twila ever really have any doubt which it would be?

"It's edgy, Twila. It's Soho."

"It's terrible!"

"It's…"

"Have you lost your mind, Bishop McBride?" Twila Greaves fixed him with the most furious-eyed glare she could manage under the circumstances.

And what circumstances they were…terrible circumstances!

He stood back. Several paces back, regarding her reflection in the viewing room mirror with beautiful dark eyes lit from within by some kind of strange and wild light she didn't want to contemplate because…Bishop's eyes might be asparkle with some kind of perverse, pleased amusement she didn't want to consider. Not when the circumstances were so…well, terrible.

"I should sue. That's what I should do."

Something definitely flickered in Bishop's eyes that time. "You wouldn't."

"Watch me." She started to get up.

Immediately, Bishop stepped forward. To hold her gently down, gently against the quilted lavender cushions of the viewing room's large and circular, almost bed-like divan.

Alarmingly bed-like divan.

And once he succeeded, only after he succeeded, he touched the creation he'd wrought at the top of Twila's head. Not to disassemble or to alter in any way that might make the thing less…outrageous.

No, indeed.

Bishop touched her hair in a way that seemed to want to possess it. He touched it in a way that expressed in no uncertain terms his admiration of it and all he'd done with it. He touched it quite possibly with full intent of enhancing it. Though Twila thought even the most fevered imagination of the most deranged madman would have to concede enhancement was scarcely possible.

"I thought you, of all people, would appreciate." Bishop sounded like he thought he should be starting to sound aggrieved. Though he didn't actually sound aggrieved yet. If that made any sense at all.

Twila guessed it did.

She guessed everything Bishop had said so far made perfect, inarguable sense, in a perverted kind of way.

Under normal circumstances, any other circumstances, she would no doubt have been the first to exclaim in delight at the magnitude of his creation. There seemed no doubt at all that she would have been the first to flaunt it boldly and openly. To every gawking stare and disbelieving gaze she encountered.

It was edgy.

It was Soho.

It was her.

Under any other circumstances.

But not today.

Dear God, not today!

"What am I going to do now, Bishop? I'm supposed to meet my soon-to-be in-laws in a few hours at Tavern On The Green. For the first time. Ever."

"You want to make an impression, don't you?"

She wasn't mistaken that time. She saw a definite twinkle…wicked and self-serving, mixed with more of that strange and hot delirium she didn't want to examine too closely…in Bishop McBride's eyes.

Not that kind of impression.

"What have you done to me?"

He opened his mouth. For a minute Twila felt certain she knew everything he was about to say.

She'd heard it before. All of it. All too painfully often. From just about everyone she'd ever considered a friend or an acquaintance. She'd even lost a few of those friends, those acquaintances over it, including one or two she'd previously counted among her best and most faithful.

All over the issue of Bob Larson.

More commonly and widely known to her circle of friends and acquaintances as ‘Beige Bob' or ‘Bland Bob'. Or quite often ‘Boring Bob'.

‘What the living hell do you see in that man?' had to be the most commonly asked question of the past year. Of any year. Followed usually, very closely, by ‘why the hell are you so damned determined to rush into this? You, who could do so much better than Beige-and-Boring?'

Twila snorted. Aloud.

She actually did.

Around the side of her decidedly Soho-and-edgy new hairdo, Bishop's dark gaze met hers in the steel-pipe framed viewing room mirror.

He smiled. A little. A little knowingly.

She, who could do so much better?

Now, wasn't that a laugh?