Page 9 of Forbidden Confessions, Volume 2 (The Forbidden Volumes #1)

Sophie

H eat flashes through my body. One look into his dark eyes tells me he’s serious.

Suddenly, I can’t think about anything except him naked, on top of me, pleasuring me before I please him in return.

Don’t be crazy. You barely know him. What if he’s the type to kiss and tweet?

“Actually, I’m full.” I set my pizza crust aside and rinse my plate.

“I shocked you. I’m sorry.” He approaches from behind, maintaining a professional distance.

But I’m painfully aware that all I have to do is turn and take a few steps to have my hands and lips on him.

I swallow back the impulse. I might not care much about putting my image in jeopardy anymore, but we’re two ships whose paths will probably never cross again. If I weren’t famous and I wasn’t running for my life, I’d jump on him—here and now. But I shouldn’t distract him.

“I”— wish I could say yes —“think I’ll take a nap. It’s not even two o’clock and it’s been a long day.”

“Can’t argue with that. Groceries will be ready in an hour.”

“Thanks.” I nod and head to the back bedroom—anything to put distance between us.

As soon as I’m alone, I shut the door and tear off the slightly scratchy sweater, then crawl between the sheets and close my eyes.

I’m tired, but sleep won’t come. I can’t erase the pandemonium of the parade—or its terror.

I also can’t escape the fact that Rand is in the next room, and I’ve never been more attracted to a man in my life.

Sleep isn’t happening.

What the hell am I going to do? I can’t hide in Granbury forever.

How soon will this killer come after me again?

I hate being a sitting duck, but it’s not safe in public until I find out who’s after me.

And resisting my desire for Rand isn’t easy.

Maybe I could do it for a few days…but what if our seclusion turns into weeks?

I close my eyes again. His face swims in my head—his dark, intent eyes. His scar. His brutally sensual mouth. I tingle when I remember the way he kissed me. I shudder at the memory of his hot stare when he said he thought about fucking me.

Maybe it’s all the stress, but I’m ready to explode. My options for relief are sorely limited.

I roll over. My hard-as-nails nipples drag across the blanket, and I can’t help but moan.

I bite my lip and swallow the sound, but there’s no getting around the fact I’m wound unbearably tight.

The need coiled between my legs keeps clenching and throbbing.

I can barely remember the last time I had sex. It wasn’t memorable.

Or maybe I only feel that way because I’m fixated on Rand.

I need relief—now.

I tell myself I shouldn’t…but I cup my breasts and squeeze. Excitement flares. My fingers slide over my sensitive flesh until I’m pinching the tight nubs.

It isn’t enough.

I focus on my nipples through the thin cotton, grasping harder. Pleasure jolts straight to my clit. I gasp, then bite back the sound and squeeze again.

Everything between my legs demands attention, so I slide one palm over my skin, down my abdomen, and inside the tighter-than-hell shorts.

I’m beyond wet, and when I press a pair of fingers against my needy nub, desire shoots through my veins.

I arch into the sensation. This time, there’s no stopping my moan.

One hand rubs, the other clutches. Everything sharpens. My blood boils. The ecstasy is so thick I’m in a haze. I want orgasm. I need orgasm.

It comes fast and hot with deep pants and helpless moans.

But my relief is short-lived. A killer is still after me.

Rand is in the next room. And my body isn’t at all satisfied.

It keeps pulsing, my thoughts on a nonstop loop of Rand toeing off his boots, peeling off his shirt, then joining me on the bed as he works his jeans open, spreads me wide, and impales me deep.

Damn, I need to stop panting for him and start considering my next moves.

A soft knock has me scrambling.

I drag the sheet over my body and tuck it under my neck. “Yes?”

Slowly, the door opens. Rand fills the opening, standing almost as tall, shoulders almost as wide. “You okay?”

“Of course.” But I’m not. I’m sure I look guilty as sin.

His expression tells me he knows exactly what I was up to.

“David called. I let it go to voicemail. I wanted to talk to you again before I decide how or if I should respond.”

“Give me a minute to”— stop aching for you —“get up. I’ll meet you in the living room.”

“Sure.” He ducks out and shuts the door.

I let out a breath. Damn it, my self-inflicted orgasm only made me crave him more. And we’ll be here together—alone—for who knows how long.

I’m in deep trouble.

With a sigh, I shrug into the gray sweater I’d peeled off earlier and stretch.

How am I going to face Rand?

Buck up and brazen it out, sister. The show must go on.

I pad down the hall and find him prowling the living room. When I enter, he stops and turns to me. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

No way am I asking how he knows that. “No. What did David say?”

“He wants to know if you’re all right and where you are. He’s fielding questions from the press and he doesn’t know how to answer.”

Rand is asking me if I’m willing to risk my life on my hunch that David doesn’t want me dead.

I am. My gut tells me David would never harm me.

Hell, he cried for days when he and Allen had to put their cat down a few months back.

He’s a gentle soul…except when it comes to fame and fortune.

Would he claw, punch, lie, cheat, and steal for it? Absolutely. But kill for it? No.

“I admit David is ruthless, but he’s not violent. I trust him.”

“Then we have to be strategic. Whatever we tell David will be what the public—and your shooter—knows.”

Rand is right. “Maybe we shouldn’t answer. I don’t want to hurt your reputation as a bodyguard?—”

“It’s not my main gig anymore.” He shrugs. “I was doing this as a favor to Rob. But that doesn’t mean I’m not damn good at it.”

Rand has already proven that. “So what’s your recommendation?”

“Let David and the world wonder if you’re dead for now, at least until we compile a list of suspects and start running them down.” Rand darkens his phone and tucks it away.

“Thanks. I’ll try not to be too much of a hassle and take too much of your time. I’ll make sure you get paid incredibly well for all you’ve done?—”

“That’s nice but not my number one priority. This is personal now.”

Because someone tried to off me on his watch? Or because I actually mean something to him?

Silence fills the room and stretches between us. Rand stares, compelling me to gaze back. My body, totally unimpressed by my earlier climax, tightens and throbs again.

What is it about this man that makes me so desperate for him?

“So…if you don’t cook, how do you feed yourself?” It’s the most roundabout way I can think of to ask if there’s a woman in his life.

“A combination of takeout, rotisserie chicken, and well-meaning friends. Why?”

“Just curious.” But my reply comes too fast.

“Because?” He steps closer. “What is it you really want to know?”

Of course he sees through my silly question. The longer I don’t answer, the more he pins me in place with his dark, hot eyes.

“Nothing,” I mumble. “Making conversation.”

He doesn’t move or blink for long moments. I find myself holding my breath, waiting on his every move and word.

Finally, he pulls his keys from his pocket and tosses me the ball cap from the nearby table. “That’s fine. But if you were wondering if there’s any woman in my life who cooks for me, the answer is no.”

The way he says it—low, possessive, with that hint of a threat—reminds me that I’m completely alone with a man I barely know. A man whose job involves violence, who carries a gun like an extension of himself. The smart thing would be to feel afraid. Instead, I’m shamefully aroused.

“Then again, if that’s what you were trying to find out and you weren’t honest with me, I’d toss you over my knee and spank your ass red for lying. So it’s good you weren’t fishing to find out.” He shrugs. “Put the cap on, find the flip-flops, and let’s go.”

“Sure,” I say automatically as I don the hat. But in my head, there’s an entirely different litany. Spank me? Yes, he’d spank me!

Shock and excitement both ping my overstimulated body as I slide into the kid’s sandals. My heels hang slightly over the back, but it doesn’t matter since I probably won’t exit the truck.

Then he ushers me to his vehicle. His hand on the small of my back does crazy things to my libido.

The trip to the grocery store is quiet. Rand concentrates on the road, but the tension in the cab is thick.

Ignoring it is impossible. The longer I’m close to him, the more the fine hairs on my arms stand up.

I suspect he senses it, too. Nothing he says or does tells me that, but the awareness between us is both undeniable and unbearable.

When we arrive at the store, he pulls into a spot at the edge of the lot and whips out his phone, types a message, then taps his thumb impatiently on the steering wheel. He’s keyed up.

Me, too.

What will happen once the sun falls, darkness sweeps in, and temptation rises? I steal a glance at Rand’s profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hands grip the steering wheel. Does he feel this pull between us, or am I losing my mind?

I’m still picturing every delicious possibility when someone knocks on Rand’s tinted window. He lowers it halfway. “Hal?”

“Yeah,” the older man replies, then gestures to a shopping cart behind him. “I got everything you asked for.”

“Thanks. Can you load it in the back seat?” He thumbs behind him at the empty bench.

“Sure.”

Rand hands over some cash, and Hal piles the plastic-bagged groceries behind our seats. I keep my face turned away, pressed down toward my shoulder as if I’m half asleep. As far as I can tell, he barely gives me a second glance.