Page 8 of Forbidden Confessions, Volume 2 (The Forbidden Volumes #1)

She shakes her head. “I got good advice early on to make fans feel important but to keep them at arm’s length.

I do backstage meet-and-greets but rarely invite the same person twice.

I almost never respond to people on social media except with a vague ‘thanks’ or ‘glad you enjoyed it.’ I never engage the haters or the crazies.

And until today, I’ve never had a serious problem. ”

“Sounds like you’ve done a good job. This shooter didn’t function like someone acting out of emotion. He was too organized. He had a plan, a backup, and an exit strategy, which is the hallmark of someone experienced. He may even be a professional.”

Sophie sucks in a breath. “A professional? Who would pay to have me killed?”

“Someone who feels you’ve done them wrong, who can’t afford to get their hands dirty, and who has the cash to throw at an assassin. That should narrow your list. Anyone who feels you’ve stabbed them financially?”

“Other than a change of agents a few years ago, I’ve been doing business with essentially the same people since I started. Same label, same producers…”

“How’s your relationship with David?”

“It’s great.”

“And your former agent? How did he or she take the split?”

“She was pissed, but after an initial outburst, she reined it in because she’s getting residuals from my older material, which still racks up airplay and downloads.”

Sophie has a point, but I’m not writing off either agent yet. “Former lovers?”

“There aren’t that many, and I still speak to all of them.” She wrinkles her nose. “In some ways, the music industry is like living in a small town.”

“Everyone knows everyone?”

“Mostly.”

I think back to the list of men who have been associated with Sophie in gossip rags, but their public personas come off like the sensitive coffeehouse sorts, not anyone dangerous. But I’m not judging a book by its cover. “Ever felt unsafe with any of them?”

“No.”

“Have you ever been involved with a noncelebrity?”

“Not really.”

“Not sexually?” I feel guilty for probing her sex life. It’s not strictly necessary…but it also can’t hurt to be thorough, right?

Fuck, I’m rationalizing and I know it.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“So you can’t think of a former ex who might want you dead?”

“None of those relationships were very serious. We’d meet at a music festival, pose for a few pictures at a party or a restaurant, and be seen together at an awards ceremony.

I mean, sure, we tried to make a personal life work, but when you’re recording and on the road and constantly busy, trying to find time to be with your significant someone who has the same challenges is next to impossible. ”

It both makes sense and sounds lonely. It also narrows my list of potential suspects. “What about your boyfriend? That British guy… Graham What’s-His-Name?”

“Normoth. No.” She bites her lip. When she releases it, the plumpest part of her mouth goes from pink to rosy red and tempts the fuck out of me.

She tempts the fuck out of me.

I shift in my chair, trying to get comfortable, but between her mouth and the way that cardigan keeps slipping off one shoulder, revealing more of that see-through tank, thinking about anything except carrying her to bed, peeling off those skin-tight shorts, and burying myself inside her is a losing battle.

I take a deep breath and force myself to focus. “No…you don’t think it’s him?”

“I don’t. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

Now she’s lying. “There were pictures of you on social media kissing him two weeks ago with the caption that you’re planning to buy a house together. Try again.”

“The relationship is all for show. We have the same agent. He’s coming off a hot tour and his first album was a bestseller.

I’ve been lying low and recording for months, gearing up for a tour.

Dating me gives him the appearance of being established.

Dating him gives me the appearance of still being hip and hot and right-now.

But we’ve never…” She shakes her head. “He’s not interested. ”

“Gay?”

“No. He likes women…but he’s, um, got a thing about cougars. I’m only twenty-four. According to him, I don’t have enough ‘mileage’ and I don’t know what I want yet.”

“Out of a relationship?”

“Out of sex. He prefers a woman who asserts herself between the sheets.”

“And that’s not you?” Does she want a man to take charge in bed? Would she be soft and submissive, the way I like women? The way she’s looking at me right now, with those wide eyes and slightly parted lips, suggests she might be.

Sophie rolls her eyes. “Can we focus on who might want to kill me? It’s not Graham. Trust me. He benefits financially from our fake relationship continuing, so my death would hurt his career trajectory. And I provide him plausible deniability about the fact he’d way rather fuck women over forty.”

It doesn’t sound as if he fits the mold. “Who are the other people in your life?”

“I have an assistant, but Tania just had a baby, so she’s back in Cali with her husband and her mom. Oh, then there’s my best friend.” She winces. “Kristi is going to be pissed I haven’t called to tell her I’m okay.”

“Is she in LA, too?”

“No. Frisco.”

“San Francisco?”

She shakes her head. “Texas. You know, not far from the giant IKEA store? We were supposed to get together tonight. Can I call her?”

No doubt my refusal is all over my face before I answer. “It would be better if we waited long enough to home in on who would want you dead. Kristi doesn’t have a jealousy problem?”

“God, no. The one time I tried to drag her onstage with me, she ran off puking. She wouldn’t want my life. And she wouldn’t want me six feet under.”

Another dead end. “Who gets your money if you’re gone?”

“I provided a flat amount for my mother that should make her happy. The rest goes to various charities I’m passionate about.”

In other words, no one seems motivated to off her for cash. “Can you think of anyone you’ve pissed off? Tell me more about your relationship with David.”

“It’s fine. He’s one of the best, and he’s taken my career to another level since I hired him four years ago. I consider him a friend. Hell, I was one of his attendants when he married his husband, Allen, last year. They’re lovely.”

And I’m frustrated. “There’s someone out there who?—”

A knock on the door interrupts me. Sophie stiffens as I grab my weapon with one hand and gesture her to the back bedroom with the other. No one can see her.

As she gets up to head to the back room, I watch those tiny shorts hug every curve.

But it’s just the kid delivering pizza, happy for the tip I give him and the cool air conditioning wafting his way from the cottage. I follow him out to the gate and lock it behind him, then holler for Sophie when I return.

When she emerges from the back, I have to look away because seeing her pad barefoot back to me, all soft curves and barely there clothes, makes me want to forget every professional boundary. Because I damn sure can’t forget our kiss. Or the purely sexual curiosity I’ve glimpsed in her stare.

Tonight is going to be a long fucking night.

Less than a minute later, we open the piping-hot pizza and the fizzy soda and dig in. It’s decent. Or maybe I think that because I’m hungry. But I lose my appetite for food quicker than I should when I hear Sophie moaning with every bite.

“It would be better if you didn’t do that.”

She looks perplexed. “Do what?”

“Moan while you eat.”

“It’s a bad habit I have whenever I eat something I love. If you think this is loud, you should hear me with white chocolate truffles.” She cocks her head. “Sorry. Does it bother you?”

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Of course.”

Might as well get the truth out in the open. She’ll probably figure it out, anyway. “When you make those noises, all I think about is fucking you.”

Her eyes go wide. “That’s really honest.”

“I typically am. So, eat quietly. Otherwise, I’ll fixate about dragging you to bed, ripping off everything you’re wearing, and kissing my way between your legs.”