“We’re here.” He hops out. “Hang tight.”

  I do, watching as he jogs to the gate and closes it again, giving it a tug to ensure it’s locked. I can’t help but notice how tall and broad he is. How strong the steely bulges of his shoulders and arms are. How utterly gorgeous he looks when the Texas sun bounces off the slight waves of his blue-black hair. Then he turns and heads for me before offering me a hand out of the truck. As he leads me to the back door, flanked by a flagstone patio and a garden with colorful summery flowers, I try not to stare.

  He stops beside the barbeque, opens the door around back, lifts the propane tank, then produces a key. “We’re in.”

  Thank goodness. Now that we’ve reached relative safety, all I want is a shower, clean clothes, and I’m sad to say, a good cry.

  But I buck up. “You lead. I’ll follow.”

  His stare lingers on me for a disarmingly long moment before he inserts the key and turns the knob.

  Inside, the place is homey with what looks like original wide-plank pine floors. A comfortable brown sofa takes up the far corner of the room. There are a few other mismatched chairs, all facing a massive TV on the nearest wall. A ceiling fan spins lazily above us, and the midday sun pours in through a bay window.

  “Come in. I’ll give you a tour. It’ll be quick because the place isn’t big.”

  “Sure.”

  “Half bath through that door.” He points beyond the sofa. “And the kitchen…”

  I follow to find it situated behind the far wall. The white cabinets and matching tile counters are from another age, but the range is new. I could cook here, for sure. Adjacent to that is a farm table in the nook space that seats six.

  In the hallway, across from a pair of wide windows that show off the side yard, sits a state-of-the-art washer and dryer behind a pair of distressed doors that tell me the utility cubby was once a closet.

  At the end of the hall is the first of the cottage’s two bedrooms. It’s inescapably romantic. The wall behind the bed is a floor-to-ceiling rustic wood detail with a wrought iron filagree design hanging just above the massive cherry-wood headboard. The bed itself looks like a queen-size cushion of white fluff, accompanied by a mountain of dreamy, lacy pillows. A chandelier completes the look, along with a petite bedside table that serves as both a nightstand and a desk.

  The attached bath is small and painted in soft shades of gray, reminding me that this house was probably built a hundred years ago, maybe more. Whoever owns it has spruced up the bathroom with a pedestal sink, a stylish framed mirror, and a big claw-foot tub with an old-fashioned faucet. But I also see a shower head jutting from the wall. A little shelf nearby holds a stack of clean white towels.

  “Except for the bedroom at the other end of the house with a set of bunk beds, that’s it.” Rand shrugs.

  I’m fascinated by the way his massive shoulders work and the rippling of his arms. Hell, I’m fascinated by him in general.

  But he’s not the reason I’m here, and I need to start thinking about things that are truly important, like who wants me dead.

  “It’s cute.”

  “Ransom’s friend sometimes rents it out to people he knows. During a holiday, he would usually be here, but he’s in the middle of a divorce…so it’s a no on the fun family getaways.”

  I know how that goes. “I’m sorry to hear that. With bunk beds, I assume they have kids.”

  “A girl and a boy, both almost teenagers now, I think.”

  That makes the split even sadder. Or maybe just more familiar.

  Rand takes my hand and leads me back down the hall, leaving me beside the sofa. “Let’s make a list of everything we need for now. I’m thinking we’ll be here a couple of days, maybe more.”

  Until now, I haven’t given much thought about how long we’ll have to lie low. “You mean until we figure out who shot at me?”

  “Or we can discern some other way to keep you safe long-term.”

  Now that we’re here and I’m feeling calmer than I have in a few hours, one question pelts my brain. “Why are you doing this? Most bodyguards just get the client out of the dangerous situation and wash their hands.”

  “It’s a fair question.” He lets out a breath. “Two reasons. First, I lost a client early in my career. A businessman on a trip to Mexico. It sucked, and I took a lot of heat for overlooking an angle of his protection. But I learned. Second, that’s where I met Rob, and it means the world to me that he trusted me, of all people, with you. I know he’s worked for you for a couple of years and I know he’s very fond of you.”

  “He’s a good guy.” And it says a lot that he chose Rand to watch over me.

  “How long before the press is in a frenzy that you’re ‘missing’?”

  “They probably already are. Check Twitter and TMZ.”

  Rand produces his phone, then thumbs and scrolls and scans the screen. He curses. “That didn’t take long.”

  “It never does. Being famous is a bit like living in a fishbowl. Everything you do runs a risk of being highly visible, and everyone thinks they have the right to know every aspect of your life.”

  “I can’t imagine.” He shakes his head. “We’ll figure this out and get you where you should be as soon as possible, okay?”

  He’s sweet for trying to reassure me, but… “I don’t need you to sugarcoat this. I know keeping me safe won’t be easy, especially since I don’t have any idea who wants me dead.”

  “Let’s focus first on setting up here.” He looks me up and down with a wry smile. “You look great in my shirt, but I’m probably going to need it back since it’s my only one. And I’m assuming you want something more your size.”

  “That might be nice.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. For now, peek in the closet in the back bedroom. Joe’s daughter probably keeps some clothes here. You’re a little thing. Something might fit.”

  “Sure.”

  “Take a shower if you’d like. I’ll make a grocery list.” He pauses and pulls at the back of his neck. “Um…you cook?”

  “Love to when I get the chance. You don’t?”

  “I suck at it.”

  Honestly, I can’t imagine this man being lousy at anything. He just seems so all-around capable. But his grousing makes me smile. “You won’t starve with me. And if you’re nice, I’ll even show you a thing or two.”

  “I’d like that. I could repay the favor by showing you a thing or two.”

  Does he mean that as suggestively as it sounds?

  “What kind of things?”

  “Self-defense. Marksmanship.” He shrugs. “Whatever you need.”

  Great sex?

  At the thought, my cheeks turn hot. “I’d like that. Thanks. Um…I’m going to get clean now.”

  “I’ll order groceries. Anything you’re allergic to? Anything you really hate?”

  “Beets and pickles. I’ll eat about anything else.”

  “You don’t have a special celebrity diet? You’re not a raw vegan? Or a fruitarian?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m a singer, not a model. Besides, I grew up in Texas, so I love a good barbequed side of cow. Do you actually know a fruitarian?”

  “I dated one for about ten minutes.”

  I hate the instant pinprick of jealousy. Of course Rand has had a love life. I’ve had one, too. But hearing about his bothers me more than it should. “Why did you break up?”

  He gives me a wry grin. “Because she didn’t like barbequed cow.”

  I tsk at him, then head to the back of the house. My search through the kids’ closet doesn’t net much. I grab a few stretchy things I hope will fit, then hustle back to the master bath, passing Rand along the way, who’s taking stock of the refrigerator.

  Once I’m alone, I go through the motions: grab a towel, wriggle out of everything I’m wearing, rip off the false lashes, wait for the hot spray, lather, rinse, and repeat. But every time I close my eyes, I hear gunshots and screaming, I see people scattering—and I can’t escape the horror that someone was aiming for me.

  When I was with Rand a few short minutes ago in the kitchen, I felt fine. Safe. We were even joking. Now that I’m alone, the terror of the day catches up with me. I blow out a breath and try to calm myself, but there’s no denying the ball of anxiety tightening my belly.

  Keeping myself busy helps, so I scrub my body until I’m almost raw. Then I squeeze out a bit of honey-scented shampoo and suds up. I’m grateful I spied a halfway decent facial cleanser in the medicine cabinet, along with a basic conditioner in the shower caddy.

  I’m still fighting tears during my final rinse, but I have to stop. I’ve got to be strong. And I need to figure out who wants me dead. Crying does none of that.

  Finally, I climb out of the shower, wrap my hair in a towel, and reach for the clothes. They fit…but they’re like a second skin.

  As soon as I’m dressed, I look in the mirror—and my eyes nearly bulge from my head. The white tank is two sizes too small. Its hem flirts with my navel and flashes a wide strip of my abdomen. Without a bra, the thin shirt is almost pointless. I might as well be naked because my nipples are completely visible.

  Shit.

  The shorts aren’t much better. They’re black and hip-hugging, but they’re so brief they settle into the groove at the top of my inner thigh and expose the bottom curve of my backside. Even standing in place, the tight spandex creeps between my cheeks and crawls up my vajayjay.

  I can’t go out dressed like this…but I can’t go out naked, either.

  And right now, those are my only two options.

  Shaking out my wet hair from the towel wrapped around it, I finger-comb the pale mass as best I can, then quickly braid it. After a last look in the mirror, I toss the braid behind my shoulder and sigh.

  Yes, I’ve had costumes almost as revealing as this, and Rand is just an audience of one. Despite our kiss, I don’t have any real indication that he’s interested. Yes, he was hard, but maybe that had more to do with adrenaline than me.

  And the longer I stand here and dither, the sillier I feel.

  I tug open the door and pad down the hall to the kitchen. It takes everything inside me not to cross my arms over my breasts self-consciously. “Hey.”

  Rand

  Sophie’s light footsteps alert me that she’s out of the bathroom. I’ve already ensured the cottage and its perimeter are as safe as possible, then busied myself calling to order groceries from a local shop. Thankfully, Joe knows the owner since he lives down the street, so he’ll let me pay with cash. I have to make sure no one can trace me, in case whoever’s after Sophie knows I stand between her and him.

  Besides, accomplishing that kept me from thinking about her naked, lush curves wet under the shower spray, touched by nothing but suds and her soft hands.

  Not going to lie, busting down the door and kissing her senseless crossed my mind.

  At her quiet greeting, I nod absently and launch a search on my phone for restaurants in the area. “Groceries should be ready for pickup in a few hours. You’ve got to be hungry now. I’m starving. How about we call for pizza? We can cook dinner later.” I turn to her. “Does that sound—”

  My words seize up when I see her. Suddenly, I can’t speak. I can’t think. Hell, I can’t even breathe. All I can do? Stare.

  She crosses her arms to cover her lush breasts and taut nipples. “I know everything is tight and transparent. It was the best I could find since this stuff belongs to a girl.”

  “And you’re definitely a woman.” The words slip out as I prowl closer, unable to stop myself. “I don’t mean to be unprofessional. I’m sorry if I’m gawking.”

  That’s not all I want to do to Sophie, but I’m riding a dangerous line. I’m here to protect her, not seduce her—no matter how badly I’d like to.

  Get real. She’s a famous celebrity dating an equally famous celebrity. Why would she be interested in an average guy like you?

  “I’m used to people looking at me.”

  Of course she is. “I’ll try not to be annoying.”

  “You’re not. And I swear I’m not trying to flash you.”

  I bite back the reply that she doesn’t need to try on my account, but that’s inappropriate. “Pizza okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “After that, we’ll pick up the groceries I ordered. Then we should be set for a bit. The housekeeper comes tomorrow. I’ll see if she can get you some clothes then, too.” I can’t go out and leave Sophie unprotected. And I’ll have to figure out how to get more cash since I don’t dare hit the ATM. But I have ideas and resources. I’ll get it done.

  “Great. Do you know if there’s a jacket or anything around here so I can cover up?”

  That’s a good idea. It might keep me from ogling her. But probably not. “I’ll look. In the meantime, what do you like on your pizza?”

  We agree to toppings while I find a kid’s cardigan in gray. It’s too small, and the edges cling to her breasts, which somehow only accentuates her assets. But it covers her nipples. Well, kind of. I also find a pair of flip-flops that almost fit. At least the ball cap I scrounged up will hide her face when we retrieve groceries later.

  Sophie sinks onto the couch and curls into herself. I call for the pizza. They’ll also deliver a two-liter bottle of soda with the pie in the next thirty minutes.

  “I’m going to grab a shower before the delivery. The doors and windows are locked, and almost no one knows we’re here. You should be safe, but if anything happens, come get me.”

  She nods. “Thanks.”

  I hate leaving her alone, but this is the best opportunity to clean up, so I disappear into the bathroom and start the shower. Fuck, I can picture her standing in the claw-foot tub, water sluicing down her lithe body. I jerk my pants down in an effort to undress, but my cock stands up straight.

  Son of a bitch.

  Steam rises. As I step in, I contemplate taking my cock in hand and finding some relief, but I don’t dare leave Sophie alone longer than necessary. My fantasy tour between her thighs will have to wait.

  Quickly, I lather up, rinse, and get out. Since I don’t have any clean clothes, I dress again in what I wore earlier. Time to check on Sophie and grill her about her enemies. No way will I repeat my past mistakes. I won’t lose her.

  As I’m tugging on my pants again, her tube of fuck-me red lipstick pokes me. I set it on the edge of the sink, wishing I could do exactly what the color suggests, but my phone buzzes. I’m not shocked to see one of my brothers calling. I’m only shocked I haven’t heard from them sooner.

  “Hey, Rush.”

  “Thank God you’re okay. What the fuck happened this morning? I just saw the news.”

  “I’m fine. How are you?” I toss back.

  “Glad to hear you’re alive. Not that you called to let any of us know.”

  “What were you going to do from Florida?”

  “Get on a plane if I had to.”

  He’d do it, no doubt. “It’s under control, bro. I promise.”

  “I didn’t think twice about you working that parade until I heard that shots were fired. Who were you protecting?”

  “This is completely on the down low. You’ve got to promise.”

  “Yeah. Sure. You know me.”

  I do. He’s tight. “Sophie Larsen.”

  “No shit! She’s fucking gorgeous.”

  Tell me about it. “She’s also scared as hell right now. Whoever busted up that parade was shooting at her.”

  “Shit. The news speculated it was the work of an anti-government terrorist.”

  I roll my eyes. “You know better than to believe a cover story.”

  “That’s why I called you. The police didn’t catch him, by the way.”

  I didn’t think they had. The shooter was too good. Sure, his first shot went wide, probably because Sophie was dancing, but if I hadn’t hustled her from the platform and out of the area, he would have offed her. “And I know he’s not giving up, because he’s either got a purpose or a mental illness.”

  “Either can be fatal.”

  “Yep.” And I’ve got to figure out how to keep Sophie safe. “Is everything okay with you?”

  “Fine. Shit’s starting to happen here. I think my cover assignment is coming to an end.”

  Rush would know. “Life of a spy, huh?”

  “Don’t say that shit over the phone.”

  Rush is convinced the NSA records everything. Hell, he’s probably right.

  “Sorry, man.” He doesn’t offer more details about his job, and I don’t ask. Given his line of work, there’s only so much he can say. “I gotta go.”

  “Sure. Check in, would you?”

  “Will do. Hey, do you know if Ridge is around?”

  “I talked to him last week. He’s still working undercover…but he’ll help if you need him.”

  “Great. Thanks.” He’ll get me untraceable cash if I can’t lay my hands on more anywhere else.

  “Love you, bro.”

  Rush never has trouble expressing his feelings. Maybe because he’s learned the hard way that any day could be his last.

  “Love you, too.”

  We hang up, and I yank on my shirt, then emerge from the bathroom. At the end of the hall, Sophie sits on the sofa in some cross-legged pose that would make me feel like a pretzel, curled up with a book about Texas gardening.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “Learning anything?”

  She looks up at me with a tired grin. “Yes. Why I have a brown thumb. Apparently, you have to be home to water your plants more than occasionally.”

  “That would help.”

  “Is your thumb greener than mine?”

  “I’d be lying if I said it was.” I cross the room and sit in the big navy-blue chair opposite her, then set my weapon on the nearby table. “Sophie, I need to ask you some questions.”

  She sets the book aside with a sigh. “I know. But I really don’t know who would want me dead.”

  “You’re sure it’s not a disgruntled family member?”

  “No. Like I said, my dad has written me off, my mom has moved on, and my half siblings are all too young.”