The Bishop: A Tanglewood Novellaby Skye Warren
Kindle Edition, 97 pages
Published January 14th 2020 by 1001 Dark Nights Press
ASINB07TN1525H
A million dollar chess piece goes missing hours before the auction.
Anders Sorenson will do anything to get it back. His family name and fortune rests on finding two inches of medieval ivory. Instead he finds an injured woman with terrible secrets.
He isn't letting her go until she helps him find the piece. But there's more at stake in this strategic game of lust and danger. When she confesses everything, he might lose more than his future. He might lose his heart.
Excerpt:
A slender woman studies the same painting. “Do you like it?” she asks, a musical lilt softening the consonants in her words.
“Better than the other ones. Is it supposed to be a city?”
“It’s whatever you’d like it to be.”
I give her a sideways look, which lets me see her aristocratic profile and snug black dress. I wouldn’t be a man if I didn’t admire the way it pushes up her tits. I think most of us trapped in tuxedos appreciate the women in slinky dresses more than what’s on the walls. “You’re one of those.”
“One of what?” She sounds amused.
“One of the people who think art means anything. Which really means nothing, doesn’t it?”
“Very Orwellian. However, I don’t think the viewer can be discounted from the equation. If the artist wanted to keep control over the canvas, he should have kept it in his studio. Once it’s on display, it’s meant to be seen, meant to be interpreted—even in unexpected ways.”
Her voice flows over me like cool water on a burning summer afternoon. I want her to keep talking, even if it’s about something as useless as art. “I like things that have clear answers. Mathematical equations. Scientific hypotheses. I like things to make sense.”
“What about right and wrong? Do those have clear answers?”
It seems like she’s actually interested in what I have to say. As if she’s actually been wondering about this. It’s a kind of seduction, this challenge. An intellectual lure that I’m swimming toward hard and fast. Flirtation I could have resisted easily. A logical proof is impossible to ignore.
Which means she’s dangerous, of course.
“There are moral absolutes,” I say. “Don’t you think so?”
“Yes,” she says, a little sadly. “I think so.”
“Do you work for Damon Scott?”
Her eyebrows raise. Dark eyes shine with twinkling lights, as glorious as the gold flecks on the dark painting. “What makes you think that?”
“You know about art.”
“Not really. Not about this painting. It suits you, however. There’s something very contained about it, as if it holds mysteries that we can only see in shadow.” Deep ruby lips make me imagine what we could do in those shadows.
A slender woman studies the same painting. “Do you like it?” she asks, a musical lilt softening the consonants in her words.
“Better than the other ones. Is it supposed to be a city?”
“It’s whatever you’d like it to be.”
I give her a sideways look, which lets me see her aristocratic profile and snug black dress. I wouldn’t be a man if I didn’t admire the way it pushes up her tits. I think most of us trapped in tuxedos appreciate the women in slinky dresses more than what’s on the walls. “You’re one of those.”
“One of what?” She sounds amused.
“One of the people who think art means anything. Which really means nothing, doesn’t it?”
“Very Orwellian. However, I don’t think the viewer can be discounted from the equation. If the artist wanted to keep control over the canvas, he should have kept it in his studio. Once it’s on display, it’s meant to be seen, meant to be interpreted—even in unexpected ways.”
Her voice flows over me like cool water on a burning summer afternoon. I want her to keep talking, even if it’s about something as useless as art. “I like things that have clear answers. Mathematical equations. Scientific hypotheses. I like things to make sense.”
“What about right and wrong? Do those have clear answers?”
It seems like she’s actually interested in what I have to say. As if she’s actually been wondering about this. It’s a kind of seduction, this challenge. An intellectual lure that I’m swimming toward hard and fast. Flirtation I could have resisted easily. A logical proof is impossible to ignore.
Which means she’s dangerous, of course.
“There are moral absolutes,” I say. “Don’t you think so?”
“Yes,” she says, a little sadly. “I think so.”
“Do you work for Damon Scott?”
Her eyebrows raise. Dark eyes shine with twinkling lights, as glorious as the gold flecks on the dark painting. “What makes you think that?”
“You know about art.”
“Not really. Not about this painting. It suits you, however. There’s something very contained about it, as if it holds mysteries that we can only see in shadow.” Deep ruby lips make me imagine what we could do in those shadows.
About the Author:
Skye Warren is the New York Times bestselling author of dangerous romance. Her books have sold over one million copies. She makes her home in Texas with her loving family, sweet dogs, and evil cat. http://www.skyewarren.com/
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