Page 15 of Forbidden Confessions: Vol. 2
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 steamy, spine-melting kiss—a product of the dangerous moment?—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 pause with my hand on the doorknob, suddenly nervous about facing Rand again. Everything feels different after that kiss, even if it meant nothing to him. Even if it was just for show.
Finally, 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.”
5
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 lay eyes on 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, imagining all the ways I could make her mine…and how easily I could overpower her if she tried to resist. The predatory thoughts should bother me, but watching her try to cover herself only makes me want to strip her bare and show her exactly who’s in control.
Unfortunately, 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?”
