“I wanted you.”
“I wanted you, too,” Sophie breathes. “Still, you were awfully sure of yourself.”
“I think you proved I had a reason to be.”
“I can’t argue with that.” She wobbles and reaches out for my hand with a hiss. “Ouch!”
“What?” I stop, looking on with concern.
“I just stepped on a rock.”
A glance down proves her feet are bare. “Where are your flip-flops?”
“I don’t know. They fell off somewhere near the swing.”
Damn it. The path ahead is too rocky for her to go on. “Stay here. I’ll get them. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“Thanks. I didn’t realize how rocky this path is.”
I hate to leave her alone for even as long as it takes to fetch the flip-flops. But if I don’t, her feet won’t be thanking either of us later.
With a quick jog, I reach the swing again, toeing the discarded condom under a bush while searching for the sandals. Finally, I find the rubbery pink soles with the black glittery straps and scoop them up, then turn back for the cottage. Behind me, the fireworks continue exploding overhead, but I don’t mind missing out. The pyrotechnics I want are waiting for me with Sophie.
I never imagined when I woke up this mooring that I’d be Sophie Larsen’s lover and losing my heart to her by nightfall. But now there’s no going back—for either of us.
Shelving the rest of my philosophical thoughts, I lengthen my steps up the hill to get back to her side. At the top, I spot her silhouette standing in the moonlight, but she’s not alone.
Someone stands beside Sophie with a cruel grip on her arm and a gun pointed at her head.
Sophie
As Rand disappears down the hill to find my shoes, I fight a loopy grin.
I’m in love.
Yes, it sounds stupid, even to me—and I’m living this reality. But Rand has been everything I’ve wanted in a man and a partner since the moment we met. The instant zing was a clue. The way we naturally worked to solve problems together assures me we share something special. And the sex… I let out a long sigh because I’ve never felt pleasure like that in my life. Hell, I never even dreamed it was possible.
But now what? We have really different lives.
Yes, but do we have to?
The thought comes out of nowhere…yet not. I’ve been thinking for a while that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in the spotlight. I can’t picture dragging Rand from concert to concert, and I miss having a real home. And I’d like to have kids in the next couple of years.
Oh, my gosh. You met this guy today, and you’re already talking marriage and babies?
Okay, I’m probably getting ahead of myself. I just need to downshift and—
Suddenly, a clicking noise sounds behind me and I feel something cold against the back of my skull. “Hello, Sophie.”
I know that voice, just like I know what’s prodding my scalp. My heart trips into overdrive. What am I going to do? “Why are you holding a gun to my head, Dorinda?”
“The answer should be obvious since I tried to have you killed this morning. I made sure Rob’s food got poisoned last night, so I assumed you’d be easy for my hired gunman to pick off.” She sighs. “I didn’t count on you having another bodyguard to save you. But today proves that when you want something done right, do it yourself.”
Panic sets in. If Dorinda says she’s going to do something, she damn well follows through.
If I let her, I’ll be dead.
“Wait! Why?” I demand to stall. “You’re still making money off of me.”
“Sales of your earlier recordings are dwindling. If you die now, everyone will remember you fondly as you were when you first appeared on the charts, not like the whore you are now.” She looks me up and down with a sniff. “Those wholesome songs will be downloaded and played. But this isn’t about money. It’s about disrespect.”
“You think I disrespected you?”
“I don’t think; I know. Time for you to pay.”
Shit. I have to keep her talking until Rand comes back and hope for the best. “How did you find me?”
She tsks as if my question—and me by extension—is annoying. “I’m far more clever than you ever gave me credit for. It was your lipstick. I paid the stylist to make sure you carried the tube, with the tracking device inside, just in case the gunman proved inept.” She sighs. “I hate being right so often.”
And I hate that she seems to have lost her damn mind. Was she always so full of malice?
Never mind. Not important. What is? Figuring out how to deal with Dorinda. The old me—before Rand—would have asked what she wanted and done my best to comply. Of course, the me without Rand wouldn’t have escaped the parade alive. We might not have had a lot of time to talk about how I should defend myself, but I learned a lot from observing him. One thing I know? Rand would never give in.