Page 5 of Forbidden Confessions, Volume 2 (The Forbidden Volumes #1)

Sophie

“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 .

The memory of his mouth on mine, the way he settled himself between my legs and rocked his erection right against my neglected pussy as if he belonged there, sends heat pooling low in my belly. I shift in my seat, hyperaware of every place he touched me.

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 do it again.

“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.”

His deep-voiced reply is short and muffled.

“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—and I mean anyone—you’ve heard from me. This situation is dangerous as fuck. But 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,” 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, there’s 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 barbecue.

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.

“We’re here.” He hops out. “Hang tight.”

I do, watching as he jogs to the gate and closes it again, giving it a tug to ensure it’s secure.

I can’t help but notice how tall and broad he is.

How strong the steely bulges of his shoulders and arms are.

How utterly gorgeous he looks when the Texas sun bounces off the slight waves of his blue-black hair.

Every movement reminds me of how easily he lifted me, how solid and warm his chest felt against mine. I wonder how those hands would explore me when we aren’t running for our lives.

Then he turns and heads for me before offering me a hand out of the truck. As he leads me to the back door, flanked by a flagstone patio and a garden with colorful summery flowers, I try not to stare.

He stops beside the barbecue, opens the door around back, lifts the propane tank, then produces a key. “We’re in.”

Thank goodness. Now that we’ve reached relative safety, all I want is a shower, clean clothes, and I’m sad to say, a good cry.

But I buck up. “You lead. I’ll follow.”

His stare lingers on me for a disarmingly long moment before he inserts the key and turns the knob.

Inside, the place is homey with what looks like original wide-plank pine floors.

A comfortable brown sofa takes up the far corner of the room.

There are a few other mismatched chairs, all facing a massive TV on the nearest wall.

A ceiling fan spins lazily above us, and the midday sun pours in through a bay window.

“Come in. I’ll give you a tour. It’ll be quick because the place isn’t big.”

“Sure.”

“Half bath through that door.” He points beyond the sofa. “And the kitchen…”

I follow to find it situated behind the far wall. The white cabinets and matching tile counters are from another age, but the range is new. I could cook here, for sure. Adjacent to that is a farm table in the nook space that seats six.

In the hallway, across from a pair of wide windows that show off the side yard, sits a state-of-the-art washer and dryer behind a pair of distressed doors that tell me the utility cubby was once a closet.

At the end of the hall is the first of the cottage’s two bedrooms. It’s inescapably romantic.

The wall behind the bed is a floor-to-ceiling rustic wood detail with a wrought iron filagree design hanging just above the massive cherry-wood headboard.

The bed itself looks like a queen-size cushion of white fluff, accompanied by a mountain of dreamy, lacy pillows.

A chandelier completes the look, along with a petite bedside table that serves as both a nightstand and a desk.

The attached bath is small and painted in soft shades of gray, reminding me that this house was probably built a hundred years ago, maybe more.

Whoever owns it has spruced up the bathroom with a pedestal sink, a stylish framed mirror, and a big claw-foot tub with an old-fashioned faucet.

But I also see a shower head jutting from the wall.

A little shelf nearby holds a stack of clean white towels.

“Except for the bedroom at the other end of the house with a set of bunk beds, that’s it.” Rand shrugs.

I’m fascinated by the way his massive shoulders work and the rippling of his arms. Hell, I’m fascinated by him in general.

But he’s not the reason I’m here, and I need to start thinking about things that are truly important, like who wants me dead.

“It’s cute.”

“Ransom’s friend sometimes rents it out to people he knows. During a holiday, he would usually be here, but he’s in the middle of a divorce…so it’s a no on the fun family getaways.”