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 feel 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.

  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. Still, I’m convinced he wouldn’t kill someone for it. Claw, punch, lie, cheat, and steal? Absolutely.

  “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—and I feel compelled 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. 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. I feel it. The longer I’m close to him, the more the fine hairs on my arms stand up. He feels 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’m 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 backseat?” 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.

  “I also rounded up the extras you asked for.” Hal smiles, then glances my way as he hands over a paper bag. The neck of what seems like a wine bottle sticks up. “Good luck.”

  Rand takes it and sets it between us. “Thanks.”

  Then he rolls up the window and we’re off, heading back to the cottage. I’m fascinated by the mystery bag. “What’s that?”

  “Something for later.”

  He’s intentionally vague, and I find myself more curious than ever. “Meaning?”

  He turns to me, dark brow raised in subtle rebuke. “Meaning you’ll find out later.”

  It’s high-handed. Maybe I should be mad. But his hint of dominance makes me shiver.

  Once we arrive back at the cheerful yellow cottage, he takes the mystery bag, in addition to most of the other groceries. I bring in the rest and start putting things away.

  “I guessed what we might need, but there should be enough supplies for a few days.”

  “Totally.” From what I can tell, he thought of everything. “Can you grill?”

  “Do I have a Y chromosome?” he shoots back with a grin.

  “Obviously. Let’s do that for dinner.”

  “Deal. In the meantime, I’m going to hole up in the kids’ bedroom and do some research. I’ve got a few thoughts about who might be after you, but I want to do my homework first.”

  He’s being responsible, and I feel stupidly disappointed for wishing… But no. “I’ll, um, sit at the kitchen table with a paper and pen, maybe try to write something for a future album.”

  “You write your own songs?”

  “Sometimes.” But I’ve been a little dry on material lately. Life has been dull. So much of the same. Record, appear, travel, pose—in an endless loop over and over. “Anyway, that’s where I’ll be if you have questions.”

  He nods, checks the doors and windows again, then disappears to the back of the house. I find a pencil and a piece of paper, then sit…but the words don’t come. Instead, I turn on some cable channel that’s playing game shows and start chopping melons for a fruit salad and fixings for our burgers. I slap together patties and season them. Preparing dinner feels domestic. What if I cooked for Rand every day?

  That fantasy plays dangerously in my head until the sun slants through the room and dusk begins to draw near. He steps into the kitchen, big body taut, face tense. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” I say as I ready the meat on a platter and start baked beans on the stove.

  “Looks good.”

  I almost make some quip about the man thinking with his stomach, but when I look at where he’s fastened his stare, I see the too-tight sweater has slid away from my nipples. He hasn’t once blinked.

  Rand suddenly clears his throat. “I’ll go start the grill.”

  Then he’s gone.

  Dinner is a quiet affair. He pulls out a bottle of merlot from the mystery bag that so intrigued me at the grocery store and pours me a glass as we sit to eat.

  “You’re not having one?”

  “I don’t drink on the job. You go ahead. After the day you’ve had, you’re due some liquid relaxation.”

  Normally, I wouldn’t. But I have a suspicion I’m going to need booze to make it through an evening this close to Rand… Every hour that ticks by, I’m more aware of him. The tension turns thicker. My body feels achier.

  What would he do if I kissed him right now?

  He spoons up baked beans from the pan as I toss some lettuce and ketchup on my burger. “Talk to me about your previous agent.”

  “Dorinda?” This isn’t where I thought the conversation would head next. “We started in the business together, really. I was young and green. So was she. I got ‘discovered’ at a school talent show, did you know that?”

  “I didn’t.”

  I nod. “I sang some Kelly Clarkson song with Kristi and another one of our friends. I had all the high notes and the powerhouse ending. In the audience, the uncle of my piano-playing classmate was watching. He was from LA and knew some people… A couple of weeks later, I was recording demos and getting interest from record labels. Everything happened so fast after that. But when my parents’ divorce went down, Mom was absent a lot. Dorinda stepped in as a surrogate mother figure. When I eventually left her, the guilt almost killed me, but she just didn’t have the contacts I needed to rehab my image from child star to serious adult musician.”

  “That’s where David came in?”

  “Yes. Dorinda made a lot of my early deals. She got me into the right doors…but she also sold me really short. David negotiated better terms for me and raised my profile significantly in all the right ways.”

  “So you’re happy now?”

  “I’m happy with David. But professionally?” I shrug, then sip at my wine. “I don’t know. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about taking a break.”

  Well, about walking away. But I haven’t told anyone yet.

  “Why don’t you?”

  “I’ve worked for over a dozen years to get here. It seems foolish to let up now.”

  “But you want to?”

  I swallow another sip of wine. “What’s the point of all this money if I never have time to enjoy it?”

  He nods. “Good point.”

  “Tell me about you.”

  “Not much to say. I’m thirty-two and single. I left the Dallas Police Department recently to become Bartonville’s chief. For a while now, I’ve wanted to join a smaller force where I could make a real difference. I start next month.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. I’m excited. I’m looking forward to moving out to the country and getting some peace without neighbors stacked on top of me. I move into my new place next week.”

  “I’m envious. I’d love some peace. I feel like this career chose me before I was even old enough to grasp what it entailed.”

  He nods as if he understands. “Is there anything else you can tell me about Dorinda? What’s her financial situation?”

  “I made us both rich, and now she reps other up-and-coming child stars.”

  “She married? Have kids?”

  “No. She always said she was married to her job and her clients were like her children. Why? Do you suspect her?”

  He shrugs. “I suspect everyone until I can prove otherwise.”

  When we’re done eating, we wash the dishes together. Since the kitchen is old-fashioned, there’s no dishwasher. As I clean the plates, he dries them. Rubbing arms as we tidy up feels even more domestic. And every time we bump or touch, I swear my body revs higher.

  After he slides the last of the forks into the drawer and I put away the clean pots, he turns my way. “Want to head down to the lake and watch the fireworks? They should start shortly, and it’s almost dark so no one should see us.”

  Might as well enjoy the holiday. It beats sitting around here, trying not to stare at him and wondering what the night might bring. “Sure.”

  I make a last-minute trip to the bathroom and brush on a bit of the red lipstick for panache. My vivid mouth on my otherwise bare face demands attention, and I’m suddenly glad my stylist insisted I take the tube with me.

  When I emerge again, Rand has poured me some wine into a plastic cup. He takes my hand and leads me out the back of the house, across the yard, then through a gate to a pair of enormous oak trees with a bench swing suspended between them by a thick rope.

  The sun slips closer to the horizon as the vivid purples, pinks, oranges, and yellows paint the sky. Rand settles me on the bench and hands me my cup, scanning every inch of our surroundings before he sits beside me. I can’t see it, but I’m betting his gun is tucked into his holster.

  “Thanks for everything. I feel really safe with you.”

  “You don’t have to keep thanking me.”

  “I just want you to know. Besides Dorinda, who are your other suspects?”

  “I still haven’t written off David.”

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  He shrugs. “You’re entitled to that since you know him better. Hell, you’re probably right. But you’re not defending Dorinda?”

  “I would because in the last few years she’s mostly treated me like I’m beneath her notice since she has other fish to fry…but the day I ended things with her was really ugly. She called me a fucking bitch and said I owed her and that she’d given me everything, which I repaid by stabbing her in the back. She low-key threatened me. Of course, she called the next day and left me a message with a stiff apology, but the whole episode left a bitter taste in my mouth.”

  Rand nods. “Last call on former lovers. Want to tell me about them so I can decide whether they belong on the list?”

  I take another sip of my wine. Maybe I’ve had enough liquid courage to be bold. Maybe I’m just too aroused to care how I sound anymore, but I finally say what’s going through my head. “Do you really want to know about my exes to make a suspect list or because you want to know the kind of guy I’m into?”

  He sends me a hot, direct stare. “What if I said both?”

  “The few exes I have are all friends, but I don’t really have a type.” I lick my suddenly dry lips, loving the way his gaze follows the gesture. “Or I didn’t until you.”