Summer Fling, page 43
She nods. “I’ve only tried to make the world a happier place with my songs.”
At that, she falls apart. It’s not unexpected. She feels betrayed by violence coming from people she tried to entertain. Plus, the adrenaline crash is a bitch.
Against me, her whole body trembles. I press her closer and wrap an arm around her. I don’t say anything. Empty assurances are pointless. I can’t promise her I can get her out of this mess in one piece; I can only promise to try my damnedest.
We stay that way for so long we begin to sweat together. Neither of us cares. She lays her head on my chest. Her bent knee creeps onto my leg. It seems automatic to take her bare thigh in my grip and pull her closer. The slow motion of the buggy rolls our bodies rhythmically against each other. She probably feels every inch of my reaction to having her so close. I’m harder than I ever fucking remember. Sophie is lost in her own fear, and I’m a heel for even noticing how beautiful she is, much less entertaining thoughts of sex. But I can’t help wanting her. It’s agonizing.
I grit my teeth and suffer in silence.
Finally, Dustin slows the horse-drawn wagon. “There’s a group of cops ahead. What do you want me to do?”
“Stay under the blanket,” I murmur to Sophie, then cautiously peek out.
Just like he said, we’re a hundred feet from the barricades originally set for the parade. They’re not allowing any vehicles in or out. Fuck.
“Get us as close as you can without attracting attention. I’ll handle the rest.”
“Okay.”
Moments later, the cart rolls to a stop. It’s nothing Dustin says or does, but I feel his panic. “They’re staring.”
And he doesn’t know what to do. Any moment, they’ll approach and tell him he can’t go through the barricade without being interrogated. I can’t claim that either Sophie or I need medical attention. They’ll rustle up an EMT, who will debunk our excuse for leaving the area.
I have to come up with a Plan B.
“What’s going on?” Sophie asks from under the blanket.
“You better now?”
“Somewhat. Thanks. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. We have a problem. We have to get away from here fast…and I only have one idea how.”
“What is it?”
“Play along.”
Before she can ask more questions, I shove the blanket down to her waist, haul her against my chest, and kiss her.
She stiffens, sucking in a shocked little gasp. Then she softens, slowly opening to me, one breath, one moment at a time. Because she remembers our situation? Or because she likes it? I can’t mind-fuck myself by answering that. Right now, I have to focus on getting her to safety.
But the temptation to press myself onto the softness of her pillowy red lips is one I can’t resist. Jesus, they’re like a cushion for my questing mouth.
It’s overkill for the situation, but I nudge her lips apart and sink inside. Then I step even farther over the line and plunge deep.
Holy shit.
Sophie is fucking sweet. I detect a hint of cherry flavor I can’t help but chase with my tongue. She’s sensual as she pulls me in, welcoming me and clutching my shoulders with a breathy moan. I grab her tighter, gripping her closer, and sink completely into her waiting mouth, desperate to be inside her in any way she’ll let me.
“There a problem?” I hear a deep, unfamiliar voice ask.
“Um…” Dustin croaks. “I was just giving a ride to these folks who, ah…”
“Want some privacy,” I say as I reluctantly twist myself from Sophie’s lush lips and bury her too-familiar face in my shoulder. “Can we get by? Please, man. Please.”
He sends me a disapproving stare. “Did you see the shooting? Or anyone suspicious?”
“No. I was, um…involved with my girlfriend.” I cradle Sophie’s head, covering her face.
“You got any ID?”
I pretend to pat my pockets, then huff. “Son of a bitch. I left my wallet in my car.”
“What about your girlfriend? She got her driver’s license?”
Sophie wisely shakes her head but doesn’t lift it or say a word. Instead, she pretends interest in me, trailing her lips up my neck.
It’s all I can do to keep my head in the game and not shudder in pleasure. But I feel her touch all the way down my spine.
“She didn’t bring a purse.” I curl my arms around her again. “Dude, really. I just want to be alone with my girl. You know how it is. C’mon… If I knew anything, I’d tell you.”
The young cop takes in the fact I have a half-dressed blonde on my lap and sighs as he turns to his fellow officers. “Let ’em through.”
As the other cops move the barricades, I settle my cheek against Sophie’s. “We’re almost out of here.”
“Thank you.” Her voice shakes.
Her fear cools the boil from my blood. I feel like an asshole for aching to take Sophie to bed.
You can’t. Suck it up. Do your job. She’s a client.
Unfortunately, she feels like more than that.
It seems to take forever, but Dustin clicks at the horse and slaps the reins, finally hauling us from the scene. I keep Sophie curled against me until we’re past the cops and heading toward my truck.
The kid and I exchange a few more words, and I point toward the lot in question. It’s busy. Other people have managed to escape the parade route on foot and are rushing to their vehicles. There’s no way Dustin can maneuver the cart between all the drivers peeling out and skidding away.
He pulls onto an adjacent sidewalk instead and turns to face us. “Here you go.”
“You did great, Dustin. Can’t thank you enough.” I hand him a hundred bucks.
He pushes it back in my direction. “I don’t want any money, just…” Dustin looks at Sophie like he’s lovestruck. “Could I have your autograph?”
She smiles. “I owe you more than that. How about something better? Something for now…”
Sophie smiles and leans in, pressing a butterfly-soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for everything. Really.”
“Oh, my god.” He presses his fingers to his face.
“And I want to give you something for later. If you’ll write down your phone number, I’ll make sure you have the best backstage tickets to my concert the next time I’m in town. Bring a few friends. I’ll send a limo for you, ensure you have one of the best meals of your life, and we’ll sit down to talk when I’m less of a mess so I can tell you how truly grateful I am.”
“No shit?” Dustin’s eyes bug out.
“Absolutely.”
The kid scrambles to find a piece of paper and a pen, then jots his digits and thrusts them her way. “That would be amazing.”
She palms it. “My pleasure. You’ll hear from me soon, Dustin.”
“Wow. Amazing.” A loopy grin covers his face. “No one will believe me.”
I have an idea how to solve that problem. “Sophie, are you attached to your shoes?”
She scowls. “They’re actually worse than the dress.”
“Why don’t you let Dustin keep them?” I look his way. “Social media can verify she was wearing these shoes when the performance started. Just…wait a few days, huh? So the danger dies down.”
Sophie slips off her shoes and hands them to Dustin. He’s barely paying attention to me as he takes them from her. “Yeah. Sure. Oh, my sister is going to flip shit when she sees these.”
I jump to the sidewalk with a chuckle. Still in the buggy, Sophie frowns. “Um, Rand. The pavement is too hot for my feet.”
Does she think I haven’t realized that? “I got you. Come here.”
When I hold out my hand, she only hesitates a second before she takes it.
Sophie trusts me—mostly. I’ve gotten her this far. If I had more time with her, if she were mine, it would be heady to win her trust, nudge her comfort zone, then push her boundaries slowly, one seductive inch at a time.
But she’s not yours and she’s probably not that sort of woman. Get your brains out of your dick.
While she’s perched at the edge of the buggy, I settle an arm around her waist, then wedge the other under her knees and haul her against my chest.
She grabs my neck and squeaks in protest. “You can’t carry me.”
“News flash: I’m doing it,” I point out. “Thanks again, Dustin.”
“Thank you!”
Satisfied we made the cleanest getaway possible, I carry her to my truck, ignoring the curious stares of other drivers passing by.
When I reach my black Chevy, I slide Sophie down my body. “Stand on my feet.”
She does. Every inch of her is pressed against every inch of me. It’s impossible to ignore our closeness as I fish for my keys in my pocket and press the fob to unlock the door. Then I sweep her back into my arms.
“What are you doing now?” she squeaks.
“Open the door.”
She does, and a blast of unbearable heat rolls from the cab of the truck. I love the sleekness of black vehicles…but they make summer in Texas a real bitch.
“I’ll get the air going in a minute.” I slide her into the driver’s seat. “Scoot to the passenger’s side and we’ll be out of here.”
“Going where?” she asks as she shimmies over, doing her best to pull my big shirt down so she doesn’t expose her thighs and everything in between. Too late. I’ve seen it all—and it’s indelibly burned into my brain. Not because she’s a celebrity. I’ve protected lots of famous folks; I’m past that BS. But if my fantasy was real, she’d look like Sophie Larsen, and all I can think about is kissing her again, getting her underneath me, and giving her every inch I’ve got.
I clear my throat and start the truck. “I’m figuring that out.”
We can’t go to my place. Too many people know she was with me before the shit hit the fan, and if the killer is connected to her, that’s the first place they’ll look.
“Do you have a phone? I can call David and—”
“Tell him where to find you? He knew where you were thirty minutes ago. How did that work out?”
“That’s not fair. He couldn’t possibly have known some crackpot would shoot at me.”
“Are you willing to risk your life on that?”
She scowls. “Why should I trust you over him? We just met.”
It’s entirely possible Sophie will slap me for what I’m about to do, but I have to make her understand.
I wrap my fingers around her nape, pull her face inches from mine—and fight not to kiss her again. “Honey, if I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead. And I wouldn’t have wasted my time and risked my skin to get you away from that parade safely.”
She blinks at me, and it’s difficult as fuck not to be hypnotized by those eyes that celebrity gossip rags have gushed about since she first hit the scene. I always thought she was hot, but pictures don’t do Sophie justice.
“I see your point,” she murmurs.
Reluctantly, I release her and ease away. “The way I look at it, someone who knew when and where you’d be took shots at you.”
“But I doubt David wants to hurt me. He hired you.”
“Not exactly. When Rob got sick, he called me and asked me to step in. He didn’t like this whole parade setup. He told David that. Your agent said he was overreacting. Clearly not.”
“Still, that doesn’t mean…” She sighs. “But I get what you’re saying. As long as no one knows where to find me, it buys us time to figure out what’s going on.”
“Yeah. I have an idea where we can lie low. Sit back. We’ll be in the car for a while.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Think hard and honestly about who might want you dead.”
Sophie
I’m still shaking, but somehow I keep myself together by a thread as we speed west on I-20, south of Ft. Worth, then connect with Highway 377. We pass a lake and disappear into the country.
“Where are we going?” I ask finally.
“Someplace safe. Think of anyone who might want you dead?”
I’ve been pondering that while Rand drives, fast and steady, down the road, controlling the vehicle with his firm grip and cannon-sized biceps. But between the trauma of being shot at and our narrow escape, the uncertainty ahead, the hyperawareness of being basically naked under his shirt, and the memory of his shockingly commanding kiss, my brain is mush.
“Nothing yet,” I murmur.
“It’ll come. It’s barely noon and it’s been a terrible day. You hungry?” he asks as the freeway turns into a two-lane road that runs through a little town that can’t be more than a speck on a map.
It’s crazy to me this place is less than an hour from the city where I grew up, and yet it’s nothing like my former neighborhood. It’s a hodgepodge of mom-and-pop businesses with a regional grocery store and a few fast-food restaurants. That’s it. But people live their entire lives in close-knit towns like this. They’re born here. They work and live and fall in love and have children before they die here. I’ve had such a global, nomadic life for the past dozen years. It seems crazy to me—in a good way—to spend your life in one place. I’m jealous of people who have a sense of permanence and belonging.
“Not really.”
He nods. “Let me know.”
“You from around here?”
“No, just been here a few times.”
End of conversation. He’s really not a talker.
But he’s an amazing kisser. I bet he’d be fantastic at plenty of other things, too.
I stare out the window at the last of the little town sliding by. If I don’t, I’ll just stare at Rand and silently wish he would touch me.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Fine.”
“I’ve got to make a phone call.” He slides the device from his pocket and scrolls through his contacts while the road is empty. The person on the other end of the connection answers quickly. “Hey, Joe. I’ve got a favor to ask.”
The reply is short and muffled. I hear nothing but a deep voice.
“That little place you had by the lake available for a few days?”
This time a longer, more animated reply.
“Perfect. Key still in the same spot?”
Another answer, even shorter, followed by a laugh.
“You’re a lifesaver, man. I’ll explain when I can. Just don’t tell anyone you’ve heard from me. I’ll call my brothers so they don’t freak and you won’t have to deal.”
The voice on the other end replies once more, this time sounding final.
“Thanks. Hey, I owe you a beer next time I see you,” he says just before he ends the call.
“A friend?” I ask.
“Of my brother, yeah. Joe is a good guy. He hooked us up.”
Rand falls quiet again, and it’s not much longer before we roll into another town, this one bigger than the last. I’ve heard of Granbury, but I’ve never been.
All the old buildings around the square have been converted into quaint little shops and restaurants. In the middle stands the county courthouse. It’s French style, made of white bricks, with a clocktower, circa 1890.
The town is charming. I’m immediately enthralled. “Wow.”
“You like this place? I didn’t think it would be your speed.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I pegged you for more of a Paris-London-Milan type.”
“It was cool…the first few times. Now I just prefer home.” Well, I did. I don’t really have one anymore. I own a house in LA, but it’s never felt like home to me.
He nods like he’s mildly surprised by my answer. “Do you have any family who will panic if you don’t surface for a few days?”
I used to, but… “No.”
Rand stops at another light and whips his stare my way. “No one?”
“My parents divorced about a year after my first top-ten single. My mom remarried and had more kids. My dad…” I shrug. “I haven’t heard from him in about five years.”
Something crosses his face. It’s not exactly pity. Compassion? Definitely. Still, I see more. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. I’m over it.”
His glance says he doesn’t believe me. It feels as if this man can see through me when no one else can. I hate it. It’s unnerving. Yet it’s weirdly comforting to be even slightly understood.
“How often do you talk to your mom?” he asks.
“Once a month or so.” For the past couple of years, the “or so” has been the norm. I think I last spoke to her in February.
He shakes his head and accelerates through the now-green light. Traffic is congested in the town square since they’re kicking off their local Fourth of July festival. Through the windows, I smell the savory scent of barbeque. Maybe I spoke too soon when I said I wasn’t hungry, but I can’t exactly hop out of Rand’s truck wearing barely more than his shirt in a crowd full of people who will likely recognize me.
“Sorry.” He takes my hand.
I’m shocked, but I don’t pull free. “Why?”
“I’ve got a big-ass family. If I don’t check in soon, they’ll all start looking for me.”
“You said you have brothers?”
“Three of them. Ransom is the oldest. I’m second. Then Rush, followed by Ridge. We’re tight.”
I’m envious. My half siblings are all more than ten years younger than me. One of them, I’ve never even met. “That must be nice.”
“Mostly. Inconvenient at times, but I wouldn’t do life without them.”
Suddenly, Rand is even more mysterious. How old is he? Where did he grow up? What else is important to him? Who else?
Oh, shit. Is he married?
I release his hand. He plants it on the steering wheel and makes a left, heading into a residential neighborhood full of houses painted in soft colors with mature trees and well-manicured lawns.
He pulls up in front of a yellow cottage with a wraparound porch and a pair of rocking chairs. In the gravel driveway, he stops the truck and hops out, shoves aside some bushes, then punches in a code to unlock a wide iron gate. Moments later, he pulls through the opening and parks under a carport adjacent to the backyard. The big lake shimmers beyond the chain-link fence straight ahead.
