“We must talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you.” Spine stiff and chin lifted, one could choke on such thick arrogance. From a timid field mouse to a haughty duchess. He much preferred her confident side, even if it made her more of a challenge.
“Very well. I’ll speak and you can listen.” He paced at the foot of the bed, ignoring the way she scowled at him. “You’re angry. I understand that. However, I hoped we could each employ a level of diplomacy and have a mature discussion—as equals.”
“You and I both know I’m not entitled to speak as your equal, nor will I ever be.”
“I permit you to speak to me as such.”
Her eyes narrowed beneath a tumble of dark, raven hair. “Ah, but if we were true equals, I wouldn’t need your permission.”
“Clever mouse.”
“I’m no mouse, but I’m clever enough to know better than to address you as an equal, only to be punished for my words later once your edict expires.”
“I give you my word, I will not punish you for anything you say to me. I only want truth between us, and I want us to speak as equals.”
She raised a brow. “Fine. I find you to be a self-righteous, intrusive, pious pain.” She smirked. “There, was that equal and truthful enough for you?”
“No. I find your tone disrespectful, where mine was not.”
“As if you are the epitome of manners and propriety, breaking into my private quarters and allowing your filthy thoughts to wake me from sleep.”
He would not apologize for wanting her. “Are you typically a light sleeper, Larissa?”
“I have not slept soundly since I became Silus’s property.”
“You are not his property.”
“No? Try telling him that.”
He was beginning to hate Silus Hostetler’s existence and his link to Larissa’s life. “No individual, male or female, is the property of another. Even mates do not own one another, they merely make one complete soul. If Silus informed you otherwise, he lied.”
“And how exactly does one contest the lie of a husband under the bounds of Family Law, Bishop?”
His jaw clenched so tightly the muscles popped. “The law was created to protect members of The Order, not infringe on their rights as individuals.”
“Well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
“This is getting us nowhere.”
“Nor will it ever.”
They both scowled. His stare shifted only at the moment the sheet slipped down the slope of her creamy shoulder.
She followed his gaze and scoffed. “Get out!”
Needing to clear his head, he stormed out.
After several minutes of pacing the den, she finally emerged from the bedroom fully clothed in an Amish shift and apron.
All moisture left his throat. Despite her simple clothing, there was nothing plain about her. Long, ebony hair, still slightly tousled from sleep, tumbled in loose waves down her back.
“I see no reason for us drawing out our return. If you don’t mind, I would like to be on our way.” She moved to the chair in the den and picked up the rose-colored sweater draped over the back of it.
He wasn’t ready to leave yet. They had privacy here. Once they returned to the farm, things would become chaotic.
She slipped her feet into plain black boots and stood. “Are you ready?”
He lost the ability to blink.
She flicked her long hair over her shoulder impatiently. “Bishop King?”
“Call me Eleazar,” he rasped. His fingers twitched with the desire to touch her.
She frowned. “Excuse me?”
“I want you to call me Eleazar.”
“No.”
“Please.” His gravelly voice was unrecognizable to his own ears. “Say my name, Larissa.”
“Bishop—”
“Eleazar. Say it.”
She drew back and scowled. “Fine, Eleazar, can we go?”
Her tongue stroked over his name like a caress. “No.”
She tilted her head at him in concern. “Are you all right?”
“No.”
“Is there something you need?”
“Patience. I need patience.”
Her brow creased even more. “Bishop—”
“Eleazar.”
She shook her head. “Eleazar, perhaps you should sit.”
Perhaps she was right.
“Larissa,” he whispered, lowering to the sofa.
Wringing her hands, she cautiously approached. “Yes, Bishop?”
He swallowed, his control slipping. “I need…” She smelled incredible. He couldn’t think. “I need…” He shook his head as if he could not save her from the truth. “You.”
She darted back a step, spine ramrod straight.
Suddenly on his feet, his animal instincts excited at the idea of a chase, he stepped forward. She rushed back but he followed her every retreating step with a pursuant one of his own.
Her hand lifted as if she could stay him with such a meager gesture. “Bishop, stop. What are you doing?”
“I asked you to call me by my name.”
“I’m not comfortable with that.”
“I suggest you become comfortable with it.”
She took another step back, and her shoulders pressed into the wall. He had her now.
“I think it’s best if we use our formal titles, Bishop King.”
“There will be no formalities between us. Only raw honesty and trust.”
“Have you lost your senses?”
He crowded her body, caging her in with his size. “No, but I’ve found the other half of my soul.”