Page 23 of Sweet Obsession
There was no time to think. Her toes were curling and her arms looped around Blake’s neck. Deepening the kiss, Blake slid his arms around her waist and eased her even closer. She had no idea what heaven would be like, but it couldn’t possibly be better than wrapped in Blake’s arms.
A throat cleared behind them. Maybe if she ignored whoever it was, they would simply go away. Once again, the throat cleared more loudly, followed by her mother’s voice. “Excuse me.”
Her mother? Dropping her arms to her side, Jillian sprang back faster than if someone had set her on fire.
Standing behind her daughter, Alice Sweet wore a smile that was almost as wide as her face. “Mildred McEntire called for you.”
“What does Mildred need with me?” The kiss had Jillian’s brain all fogged. She couldn’t think of why the bling queen of Honeysuckle would need her.
Her mother shook her head. “Not you. Blake.”
“Me?” The man’s eyes rounded in surprise.
Before Alice could say anything more, high heels clacking against the wooden floors inside echoed loudly, the sound growing closer until the screen door flew open and hands on herhips, toes tapping, Iris Hathaway stood in the doorway. “You’re going to have to figure something out. And fast. There are at least ten different reporters snooping around downtown.”
“How did you know he was here?” Jillian blurted out.
Iris shot her ayou’re-kiddingglare. “Blake, honey, if you think wearing a cowboy hat and not shaving would keep your presence in town a secret, you’ve got anotherthinkcoming.”
“Excuse me?”
“We figure you must have your reasons for not wanting anyone to know you’re back home and hiding out at the Sweet Ranch, but you can’t go slinking around town in a hoodie, climb into your grandmother’s window, drive a flashy car out of town, and no one knows what you’re up to.”
“I, uh, see,” Blake muttered softly.
Jillian felt her cheeks burn. The entire town had been watching Blake, and no one had said a word?
“Does the whole town know I’m here?” Blake ran a hand through his hair.
“Since about five minutes after you climbed through your grandmother’s window,” Iris said matter-of-factly. “Honey, this is Honeysuckle. A stranger can’t sneeze downtown without half the town knowing about it by supper. You think a famous rock star can break into his own grandmother’s house in broad daylight and we wouldn’t notice?”
Alice stepped forward, her expression gentle. “The whole town’s been protecting you, Blake. We figured you had your reasons for wanting privacy.”
“But now we’ve got reporters sniffing around.” Iris’s voice took on a more urgent tone. “They’re asking questions, showing pictures, offering money for information about where you are. It’s only a matter of time before someone talks, whether they mean to or not.”
“Pictures?” Blake asked.
“All kinds of photos. You with the band, you on stage, you with some blond in a strappy top, another with a redhead, uh, on, your lap. You know, typical rock star stuff.”
“Hmm.” Blake’s gaze darted to Jillian and back, his fingers raking through his hair with more pressure. “Marvy. Just marvy.”
Jillian’s stomach dropped. It hadn’t occurred to her how things were going to go this year with him on the road, supposedly married to her, and all the groupies hanging all over him. Knots formed in her stomach.
“What I don’t understand is,” Iris said, “why are you hiding out?”
“Trying to avoid exactly what’s happening now. Paparazzi crawling all over town, bothering people, making sh…stuff up. They’re always making stuff up. Like those photos of women.” He turned to Jillian, leveling his eyes with hers. “There are no women in my life, not anymore. No groupies. Nothing. Those photos are either older than Moses or artificially generated—which, again, is why I wanted to keep paparazzi away.”
“What kind of questions?” Jillian asked Iris, wanting to desperately believe what Blake was telling her.
“The usual.” Iris shrugged. “Where you’re staying, are you sick, are your parents sick, are you on a binge, do we think you’ve checked into rehab.”
“Rehab?” He spun around, clenching his fists at his sides. “Where do they come up with this crap!”
“Hey,” Iris held up her hands, “don’t shoot the messenger.”
Nudging Iris aside, Kade stepped forward, his expression grim. He looked from Blake to Jillian, then to the rest of his siblings who had slowly followed him onto the back porch. “She’s right. We can’t just hide him. This isn’t a game; reporters don’t give up, they dig. If we don’t give them a story, they’ll invent one. And theirs will be a hell of a lot worse than the truth.”
“The truth?” Blake let out a humorless laugh. “The truth is I’m here because my grandmother is showing signs of dementia and I’m terrified. You think I want that splashed across the tabloids?”
