Page 10 of Forbidden Confessions, Volume 2 (The Forbidden Volumes #1)

“I also rounded up the extras you asked for.” Hal smiles, then glances my way as he hands over a paper bag. The neck of what seems like a wine bottle sticks up. “Good luck.”

Rand takes it and sets it between us. “Thanks.”

Then he rolls up the window and we’re off, heading back to the cottage. I’m fascinated by the mystery bag. “What’s that?”

“Something for later.”

He’s intentionally vague, and I find myself more curious than ever. “Meaning?”

He turns to me, dark brow raised in subtle rebuke. “Meaning you’ll find out later.”

It’s high-handed. Maybe I should be mad. But his hint of dominance makes me shiver.

Once we arrive back at the cheerful yellow cottage, he takes the mystery bag, in addition to most of the other groceries. I bring in the rest and start putting things away.

“I guessed what we might need, but there should be enough supplies for a few days.”

“Totally.” From what I can tell, he thought of everything. “Can you grill?”

“Do I have a Y chromosome?” he shoots back with a grin.

“Obviously. Let’s do that for dinner.”

“Deal. In the meantime, I’m going to hole up in the kids’ bedroom and do some research. I’ve got a few thoughts about who might be after you, but I want to do my homework first.”

He’s being responsible, and I shouldn’t be so disappointed for wishing… But no. “I’ll, um, sit at the kitchen table with a paper and pen, maybe try to write something for a future album.”

“You write your own songs?”

“Sometimes.” But I’ve been a little dry on material lately. Life has been dull. So much of the same. Record, appear, travel, pose—in an endless loop over and over. “Anyway, that’s where I’ll be if you have questions.”

He nods, checks the doors and windows again, then disappears to the back of the house.

I find a pencil and a piece of paper, then sit…

but the words don’t come. Instead, I turn on some cable channel that’s playing game shows and start chopping melons for a fruit salad and fixings for our burgers.

I slap together patties and season them.

Preparing dinner feels domestic. What if I cooked for Rand every day?

That fantasy plays dangerously in my head until the sun slants through the room and dusk begins to draw near. He steps into the kitchen, big body taut, face tense. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I say as I ready the meat on a platter and start baked beans on the stove.

“Looks good.”

I almost make some quip about the man thinking with his stomach, but when I look at where he’s fastened his stare, the too-tight sweater has slid away from my nipples. He hasn’t once blinked.

Rand suddenly clears his throat. “I’ll go start the grill.”

Then he’s gone.

Dinner is a quiet affair. He pulls out a bottle of merlot from the mystery bag that so intrigued me at the grocery store and pours me a glass as we sit to eat.

“You’re not having one?”

“I don’t drink on the job. You go ahead. After the day you’ve had, you’re due some liquid relaxation.”

Normally, I wouldn’t. But I have a suspicion I’m going to need booze to make it through an evening this close to Rand… Every hour that ticks by, I’m more aware of him. The tension turns thicker. My body feels achier.

What would he do if I kissed him right now?

When he reaches around me to grab a plate, his chest brushes my back and I have to bite my lip to keep from leaning against him. The scent of his cologne mixed with something purely masculine makes me want to turn in his arms and?—

“Talk to me about your previous agent,” he insists as he spoons up baked beans from the pan.

I cover my unflagging awareness of Rand by tossing some lettuce and ketchup on my burger.

This isn’t where I thought the conversation would head next, but it’s probably for the best. “Dorinda? We started in the business together, really. I was young and green. So was she. I got ‘discovered’ at a school talent show, did you know that?”

“I didn’t.”

I nod. “I sang some Kelly Clarkson song with Kristi and another one of our friends. I had all the high notes and the powerhouse ending. In the audience, the uncle of my piano-playing classmate was watching. He was from LA and knew some people… A couple of weeks later, I was recording demos and getting interest from record labels. Everything happened so fast after that. But when my parents’ divorce went down, Mom was absent a lot.

Dorinda stepped in as a surrogate mother figure.

When I eventually left her, the guilt almost killed me, but she just didn’t have the contacts I needed to rehab my image from child star to serious adult musician. ”

“That’s where David came in?”

“Yes. Dorinda made a lot of my early deals. She got me into the right doors…but she also sold me really short. David negotiated better terms for me and raised my profile significantly in all the right ways.”

“So you’re happy now?”

“I’m happy with David. But professionally?” I shrug, then sip at my wine. “I don’t know. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about taking a break.”

Well, about walking away. But I haven’t told anyone yet.

“Why don’t you?”

“I’ve worked for over a dozen years to get here. It seems foolish to let up now.”

“But you want to?”

I swallow another sip of wine. “What’s the point of all this money if I never have time to enjoy it?”

He nods. “Good point.”

“Tell me about you.”

“Not much to say. I’m thirty-two and single. I left the Dallas Police Department recently to become Bartonville’s chief. For a while now, I’ve wanted to join a smaller force where I could make a real difference. I start next month.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I’m excited. I’m looking forward to moving out to the country and getting some peace without neighbors stacked on top of me. I move into my new place next week.”

“I’m envious. I’d love some peace. This career chose me before I was even old enough to grasp what it entailed.”

He nods as if he understands. “Is there anything else you can tell me about Dorinda? What’s her financial situation?”

“I made us both rich, and now she reps other up-and-coming child stars.”

“She married? Have kids?”

“No. She always said she was married to her job and her clients were like her children. Why? Do you suspect her?”

He shrugs. “I suspect everyone until I can prove otherwise.”

When we’re done eating, we wash the dishes together. Since the kitchen is old-fashioned, there’s no dishwasher. As I clean the plates, he dries them. Rubbing arms as we tidy up feels even more domestic. And every time we bump or touch, I swear my body revs higher.

After he slides the last of the forks into the drawer and I put away the clean pots, he turns my way. “Want to head down to the lake and watch the fireworks? They should start shortly, and it’s almost dark so no one should see us.”

Might as well enjoy the holiday. It beats sitting around here, trying not to stare at him and wondering what the night might bring. “Sure.”

I make a last-minute trip to the bathroom and brush on a bit of the red lipstick for panache.

My vivid mouth on my otherwise bare face demands attention, and I’m suddenly glad my stylist insisted I take the tube with me.

When Rand sees it, will he remember how my lips felt under his?

Will he want to mess up this perfect red with another kiss?

When I emerge again, Rand has poured me some wine into a plastic cup.

I shed the sweater it’s way too hot to wear before he takes my hand and leads me out the back of the house, across the yard, then through a gate to a pair of enormous oak trees with a bench swing suspended between them by a thick rope.

The sun slips closer to the horizon as the vivid purples, pinks, oranges, and yellows paint the sky. Rand settles me on the bench and hands me my cup, scanning every inch of our surroundings before he sits beside me. I can’t see it, but I’m betting his gun is tucked into his holster.

Even in protection mode, he’s devastatingly attractive. The way his thighs spread wide on the bench, the casual strength in his posture—everything about him screams danger and safety all at once.

“Thanks for everything. I feel really safe with you.”

“You don’t have to keep thanking me.”

“I just want you to know. Besides Dorinda, who are your other suspects?”

“I still haven’t written off David.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

He shrugs. “You’re entitled to that since you know him better. Hell, you’re probably right. But you’re not defending Dorinda?”

“I would because in the last few years she’s mostly treated me like I’m beneath her notice since she has other fish to fry…

but the day I ended things with her was really ugly.

She called me a fucking bitch and said I owed her and that she’d given me everything, which I repaid by stabbing her in the back.

She low-key threatened me. Of course, she called the next day and left me a message with a stiff apology, but the whole episode left a bitter taste in my mouth. ”

Rand nods. “Last call on former lovers. Want to tell me about them so I can decide whether they belong on the list?”

I take another sip of my wine. Maybe I’ve had enough liquid courage to be bold.

Maybe I’m just too aroused to care how I sound anymore, but I finally say what’s going through my head.

“Do you really want to know about my exes to make a suspect list or because you want to know the kind of guy I’m into? ”

He sends me a hot, direct stare. “What if I said both?”