We’ve got to get out of this alley—and this fucking vicinity—fast. Then we need a safe location without anyone knowing where Sophie is hiding. Only then can I figure out who wants her dead and why.

  I scan our surroundings and come up with an idea. “Take off your dress.”

  “What?” A whole lot of hell no crosses her face.

  Does she think I’m propositioning her right now? Don’t get me wrong. In a less dangerous situation, if she was willing, I’d be more than game. Sophie may have been a pretty girl who burst on the music scene when she was still in pigtails, but she’s a hella beautiful woman now. I certainly wouldn’t turn her down. But that’s not why I’m asking her to disrobe.

  “Your red spangly dress is a bright, shiny target to this shooter.”

  “Oh.” She frowns. “But I can’t run around naked.”

  As much as I might like the view, she’s right. Everyone has a camera on their cell phones these days, and she doesn’t need that kind of exposure. Hell, we’re lucky that everyone is too busy running for their lives to notice us tucked into this narrow alley.

  I yank my T-shirt from my waistband and jerk it over my head, leaving my torso covered in a thin wifebeater. The T-shirt is damp with my sweat and it smells like me, but that’s all I’ve got to give her. “Put this on.”

  Sophie takes the shirt from my hand, her gaze glued to mine. “Where am I supposed to change?”

  But she knows the answer; I see it on her face.

  “I’ll block you.” After all, she’s tiny. I’m pretty big. We’ll make it work. “But we don’t have time for modesty.”

  She hesitates an instant, then drops one strap of her low, scoop-necked dress down her arm, followed by the other. As she does, one thing becomes obvious: Sophie Larsen isn’t wearing a bra.

  I start to sweat again, and this time it has nothing to do with heat or danger.

  Holy shit.

  Jerking my gaze back to the street, I give her what privacy I can. I’m sure weirdos and jackoffs say skeevy things to her all the time. If not, she would never need to hire a guy like me.

  From my peripheral vision, I see her lower her dress to her waist and catch her lipstick in her hand. She’s wearing some sort of nude-colored stickers over her nipples that adhere to the upper swells and lift her obviously full rack. But I’m not staring. Really, I’m not. But…they’re right there. I blow out a breath as she shimmies from the dress to reveal she’s wearing one of the tiniest, most transparent thongs I’ve ever seen. A single glance—damn, I did not mean to look—and I can tell she’s a natural blonde.

  Seconds later, she whisks my shirt over her head, covering everything. It swallows her small frame and hangs to the middle of her thighs. It conceals way more than the dress she had on.

  “Are you attached to this?” I fist the red fabric.

  She shakes her head. “It’s horrible.”

  Grateful for the nearby dumpster, I toss it, glad when the bright, glittery ball of sequins clears the rim and disappears into the heap. “What about your shoes? Can you run in bare feet?”

  She steps out of one stiletto. The instant her foot touches the hot asphalt, she hisses and jerks away. “No.”

  “Understood. Let’s do something about your hair.” Because pale curls hanging nearly to her pretty, swaying ass definitely draws attention.

  She had mine the moment I set eyes on her.

  “How?”

  I rummage in my pocket. I’ve got a rubber band I used to hold together a couple of boxes of ammo I loaded into their magazines on my way here. “This work?”

  “Yes. Will you hold this?” She hands me her lipstick.

  As I pocket it, she grabs her hair and shoves it without much care into a messy bun, then twists the rubber band around it until the pale mass stays. It’s not optimal, and I wish like hell she had a hat and athletic shoes, but this will have to do. At least she’ll be a less obvious target now.

  And we’ve been in the alley too long. We’re sitting ducks.

  I jerk my head to the side. “Up for running? We have to get across the street.”

  She nods. “Let’s go.”

  I take her hand again and slink to the edge of the building. Pandemonium still rules the streets. With the mad dash of people and all the barricades closing off the parade route, I imagine local law enforcement is having a difficult time getting their vehicles into the area. Instead, police are pouring in on foot, but we can’t afford to be swept up in the crowd. It’s not safe for Sophie since I have no idea who’s behind this attempt on her life. We can’t get separated. It’s my job to lead her to safety, and I intend to do it.

  Since I haven’t heard anymore gunfire, I suspect the shooter has closed up shop and is doing his best to blend in with the crowd. We need to do the same, so I lead Sophie out onto the sidewalk. Then we jog across the street. If she was anyone but a well-known star, I’d pull her into the drugstore—one of the few businesses open during the holiday—and wait for the area to be cleared. But her face is liable to cause a commotion, which is the last thing we need. And just because I don’t see anyone on our asses now doesn’t mean we’re in the clear. The shooter could be blending in to hunt her down.

  At the back of the drugstore’s parking lot, I spot a horse-drawn buggy with a traditional canopy. The entire thing is decorated in red, white, and blue streamers for the parade. A teenage boy hovers beside it nervously, watching everything around him. His eyes go wide with fear when I approach, gun in hand.

  “I’m not here to hurt you. Fifty bucks to let me borrow your ride.” I drag a bill from my pocket.

  The kid swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply. “I-I can’t. It’s my grandpa’s. I promised I’d bring it back.”

  “A hundred bucks for ten minutes. I won’t take it far.” We have to get out of the vicinity. It’s about a mile to my truck. Once we’re there, we can get anywhere.

  The teenager opens his mouth to reply, then his stare falls on Sophie. And his eyes go wide with recognition. “Oh, my god! You’re—”

  “Keep it quiet,” I hiss.

  “Please.” Sophie grabs his hands. “I need to get out of here safely.”

  “I’ll take you,” he insists in a rush, head bobbing.

  My first instinct is to refuse. I don’t want to deal with amateurs or risk this kid with so much life in front of him, but if he won’t lend me his buggy and I don’t have another way out of this place, I have to compromise.

  “You’re sure?” I ask. “It could be dangerous.”

  “I-I’m not afraid.”

  Clearly, he is and doesn’t want to seem scared in front of Sophie.

  “You don’t have to play hero, kid.”

  He scowls at me. “My name is Dustin, and I’m eighteen.”

  So he’s touchy about being an adult. Got it.

  I hold up my hands. “Sorry.”

  Maybe this kid’s stubbornness is a good thing. If the shooter sees him, he has no reason to connect Dustin with us.

  Sophie squeezes his fingers. “You don’t have to get involved.”

  “Were the shots for you?” he asks her.

  I nod.

  “I’ve got an idea.” The guy bends down and flips up a lid to a compartment tucked beneath, then produces a blanket. He hands it to me. “You can cover up with this.”

  It’s a hundred fucking degrees, but this is another way to hide. “Good thinking.” I tell Dustin the intersection where I parked my truck. “Get us as close as you can.” I turn to Sophie. “Up you go.”

  She nods, and I lift her into the buggy. When she’s settled on the black leather seat, I hop in beside her, spread the blanket over us, and urge her to hunker down. I pull the blanket over our heads as the teenager hops onto the driver’s seat and gives the reins a flick.

  The horse takes off, and the buggy clambers down the street, maneuvering between terrorized dads, stricken mothers, and crying kids still running for their lives. I hear the terror in their rapid footfalls.

  “I got this,” Dustin assures. “Sit back.”

  There’s nothing else we can do.

  I turn to Sophie. She’s still breathing hard. It’s hot and humid as fuck under this scrap of wool. Our faces are inches apart. Her lips open softly. Her breath is sweet. Her stare is direct.

  “Do you have any idea why this is happening?”

  “Do you?” I counter. “Have you received any death threats?”

  “Not recently. Nothing credible, anyway.”

  But the fact she receives them at all fucking bothers me. Why would anyone want to hurt Sophie?

  “Can you think of a reason someone would have anything against you?”

  “Except angry moms who chastise me for not singing wholesome music anymore or stalkers berating me for swinging my hips and singing about sex because they’re convinced I belong to them, no.”

  What a creepy world she lives in. I can’t imagine people feeling so entitled or delusional that, despite being strangers, they genuinely believe they can control an artist. But I’m not shocked. There are a lot of unhinged loons out there.

  “But no specific threats recently?”

  “Unless David knows something I don’t…” She shakes her head.

  Sophie brings up an interesting point, and I’ll get to him later, but for now I just nod. “Did you have another appearance scheduled tonight?”

  “No. I’m on a break until the album drops next month.”

  Good. She’s less likely to be missed, so that gives us more time to get to the bottom of this.

  Then she bites her lip, mouth pressing into a grim line that tells me she’s fighting tears. “I’m afraid.”

  She’s right to be.

  I squeeze her hand. “Ever been shot at?”

  “No.” And the look on her face tells me she can’t imagine why anyone would want her dead.

  “You’ve never been a threat, so this kind of malice makes no sense to you.”

  She nods. “I’ve only tried to make the world a happier place with my songs.”

  At that, she falls apart. It’s not unexpected. She feels betrayed by violence coming from people she tried to entertain. Plus, the adrenaline crash is a bitch.

  Against me, her whole body trembles. I press her closer and wrap an arm around her. I don’t say anything. Empty assurances are pointless. I can’t promise her I can get her out of this mess in one piece; I can only promise to try my damnedest.

  We stay that way for so long we begin to sweat together. Neither of us cares. She lays her head on my chest. Her bent knee creeps onto my leg. It seems automatic to take her bare thigh in my grip and pull her closer. The slow motion of the buggy rolls our bodies rhythmically against each other. She probably feels every inch of my reaction to having her so close. I’m harder than I ever fucking remember. Sophie is lost in her own fear, and I’m a heel for even noticing how beautiful she is, much less entertaining thoughts of sex. But I can’t help wanting her. It’s agonizing.

  I grit my teeth and suffer in silence.

  Finally, Dustin slows the horse-drawn wagon. “There’s a group of cops ahead. What do you want me to do?”

  “Stay under the blanket,” I murmur to Sophie, then cautiously peek out.

  Just like he said, we’re a hundred feet from the barricades originally set for the parade. They’re not allowing any vehicles in or out. Fuck.

  “Get us as close as you can without attracting attention. I’ll handle the rest.”

  “Okay.”

  Moments later, the cart rolls to a stop. It’s nothing Dustin says or does, but I feel his panic. “They’re staring.”

  And he doesn’t know what to do. Any moment, they’ll approach and tell him he can’t go through the barricade without being interrogated. I can’t claim that either Sophie or I need medical attention. They’ll rustle up an EMT, who will debunk our excuse for leaving the area.

  I have to come up with a Plan B.

  “What’s going on?” Sophie asks from under the blanket.

  “You better now?”

  “Somewhat. Thanks. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. We have a problem. We have to get away from here fast…and I only have one idea how.”

  “What is it?”

  “Play along.”

  Before she can ask more questions, I shove the blanket down to her waist, haul her against my chest, and kiss her.

  She stiffens, sucking in a shocked little gasp. Then she softens, slowly opening to me, one breath, one moment at a time. Because she remembers our situation? Or because she likes it? I can’t mind-fuck myself by answering that. Right now, I have to focus on getting her to safety.

  But the temptation to press myself onto the softness of her pillowy red lips is one I can’t resist. Jesus, they’re like a cushion for my questing mouth.

  It’s overkill for the situation, but I nudge her lips apart and sink inside. Then I step even farther over the line and plunge deep.

  Holy shit.

  Sophie is fucking sweet. I detect a hint of cherry flavor I can’t help but chase with my tongue. She’s sensual as she pulls me in, welcoming me and clutching my shoulders with a breathy moan. I grab her tighter, gripping her closer, and sink completely into her waiting mouth, desperate to be inside her in any way she’ll let me.

  “There a problem?” I hear a deep, unfamiliar voice ask.

  “Um…” Dustin croaks. “I was just giving a ride to these folks who, ah…”

  “Want some privacy,” I say as I reluctantly twist myself from Sophie’s lush lips and bury her too-familiar face in my shoulder. “Can we get by? Please, man. Please.”

  He sends me a disapproving stare. “Did you see the shooting? Or anyone suspicious?”

  “No. I was, um…involved with my girlfriend.” I cradle Sophie’s head, covering her face.

  “You got any ID?”

  I pretend to pat my pockets, then huff. “Son of a bitch. I left my wallet in my car.”

  “What about your girlfriend? She got her driver’s license?”

  Sophie wisely shakes her head but doesn’t lift it or say a word. Instead, she pretends interest in me, trailing her lips up my neck.

  It’s all I can do to keep my head in the game and not shudder in pleasure. But I feel her touch all the way down my spine.

  “She didn’t bring a purse.” I curl my arms around her again. “Dude, really. I just want to be alone with my girl. You know how it is. C’mon… If I knew anything, I’d tell you.”

  The young cop takes in the fact I have a half-dressed blonde on my lap and sighs as he turns to his fellow officers. “Let ’em through.”

  As the other cops move the barricades, I settle my cheek against Sophie’s. “We’re almost out of here.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice shakes.

  Her fear cools the boil from my blood. I feel like an asshole for aching to take Sophie to bed.

  You can’t. Suck it up. Do your job. She’s a client.

  Unfortunately, she feels like more than that.

  It seems to take forever, but Dustin clicks at the horse and slaps the reins, finally hauling us from the scene. I keep Sophie curled against me until we’re past the cops and heading toward my truck.

  The kid and I exchange a few more words, and I point toward the lot in question. It’s busy. Other people have managed to escape the parade route on foot and are rushing to their vehicles. There’s no way Dustin can maneuver the cart between all the drivers peeling out and skidding away.

  He pulls onto an adjacent sidewalk instead and turns to face us. “Here you go.”

  “You did great, Dustin. Can’t thank you enough.” I hand him a hundred bucks.

  He pushes it back in my direction. “I don’t want any money, just…” Dustin looks at Sophie like he’s lovestruck. “Could I have your autograph?”

  She smiles. “I owe you more than that. How about something better? Something for now…”

  Sophie smiles and leans in, pressing a butterfly-soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for everything. Really.”

  “Oh, my god.” He presses his fingers to his face.

  “And I want to give you something for later. If you’ll write down your phone number, I’ll make sure you have the best backstage tickets to my concert the next time I’m in town. Bring a few friends. I’ll send a limo for you, ensure you have one of the best meals of your life, and we’ll sit down to talk when I’m less of a mess so I can tell you how truly grateful I am.”

  “No shit?” Dustin’s eyes bug out.

  “Absolutely.”

  The kid scrambles to find a piece of paper and a pen, then jots his digits and thrusts them her way. “That would be amazing.”

  She palms it. “My pleasure. You’ll hear from me soon, Dustin.”

  “Wow. Amazing.” A loopy grin covers his face. “No one will believe me.”

  I have an idea how to solve that problem. “Sophie, are you attached to your shoes?”

  She scowls. “They’re actually worse than the dress.”

  “Why don’t you let Dustin keep them?” I look his way. “Social media can verify she was wearing these shoes when the performance started. Just…wait a few days, huh? So the danger dies down.”

  Sophie slips off her shoes and hands them to Dustin. He’s barely paying attention to me as he takes them from her. “Yeah. Sure. Oh, my sister is going to flip shit when she sees these.”

  I jump to the sidewalk with a chuckle. Still in the buggy, Sophie frowns. “Um, Rand. The pavement is too hot for my feet.”

  Does she think I haven’t realized that? “I got you. Come here.”

  When I hold out my hand, she only hesitates a second before she takes it.

  Sophie trusts me—mostly. I’ve gotten her this far. If I had more time with her, if she were mine, it would be heady to win her trust, nudge her comfort zone, then push her boundaries slowly, one seductive inch at a time.

  But she’s not yours and she’s probably not that sort of woman. Get your brains out of your dick.

  While she’s perched at the edge of the buggy, I settle an arm around her waist, then wedge the other under her knees and haul her against my chest.

  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.”