Page 10 of Forbidden Confessions: Vol. 2
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.
Before I pull out of my parking spot, I yank my phone free and quickly disable location services. If someone captured me on video at the parade—and they probably did—it won’t take long for them to figure out who I am. The last thing I need is for someone to track my phone and lead them straight to Sophie.
“Can I borrow your phone to 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. For a split second, fear flickers in her eyes—not of the situation, but of me. She’s smart enough to recognize that the man sitting beside her has killed before and would do it again without hesitation. Good. She should understand exactly what kind of protection she’s getting…but I don’t want her afraid of me.
“Honey, if I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.” The words come out rougher than I intended. “And I wouldn’t have wasted my time and risked my skin to get you away from that parade safely.”
She blinks at me, her pupils slightly dilated, as if she’s realizing she’s completely at my mercy—that if I wanted to hurt her, no one would ever find her body. But 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?”
