He shakes the box of bullets. “That’s why these are sold by the carton and produced by the metric ton. Not every shot lands.”
I fire the beautiful gun over and over. Each time Rhys’s voice sounds a little softer, each adjustment of his hands lingers a little longer. I stop hearing the sharp cracks of the blast, stop seeing the sterile concrete walls close in on me. There’s only Rhys’s voice, his warmth pressed along my back, and the clean scent of him cutting through the smell of gunpowder.
I really wish I was shooting Kosta.
“Focus on your breath, not the fear of the recoil or the noise,” Rhys murmurs. “Fear makes you shake. Breath makes you steady.”
I breathehimin. Finally…
Bang.
The bullet punches through the air and lands dead center in the target.
“I hit it!” My voice breaks on the words, and I whirl to look at my boyfriend.
Pride flickers in his eyes, and it hits me harder than the recoil.
“Of course you did.” His knuckle brushes my cheekbone while his gaze drags down to my mouth.
Heat twists low in my belly as his sharp smile devastates me.
Rhys reloads and lets me finish off another clip. By the last shot, my hands are steady. But his jaw is tight, and his eyes are darker than before. He’s watching me like he’s imagining other ways to put his hands on me.
When I step out of the lane, my adrenaline still sizzles.
“That’s enough for today.” Rhys takes the pistol from me and stores it in the steel carry case, satisfaction buzzing off him.
I watch his fingers, long and precise. He handles everything about me with extraordinary care. I wonder how his hands would feel in my panties. Nothing between us. No rules. No restraint.
“I want to take you home.” He whistles for an attendant to store the steel case for him.
Next, we’re outside, a zing of cold air slicing into my overheated skin. My head is still spinning.
“Did you have a good time?” I say, my breath puffing white plumes from my lips.
Rhys glances down at me, his mouth crooked with a smile. “Immensely.”
We walk to the car, shoulders brushing. His fingers find mine, and the spark is undeniable. I slide into the passenger seat, my thighs pressed together and my mind humming with excitement.
Rhys turns to me and says, “I know what kind of fun I want to have next.”
Chapter 36
Rhys
Ilock the door to Fallon’s flat, distracted by the soft thud of her boots padding across the floor. Her candy-cane tights are a bright streak against the muted cream walls. She places the bag of ornaments in a neat pile by her whiteboard calendar and then faces me.
Cheeks still flushed from the gun range and lips parted like she can’t quite catch her breath, she just stands there. Like she’s waiting for instructions.
Like she’s waiting forme.
Christ, the way her face lit up at the range, watching me hone my precision. No fear. Just awe.
“You’re quiet,” she says, her voice soft and curious. “Is everything okay?”
She has no bloody idea what she did to me tonight.
“Everything is perfect,” I say, my voice gravel with a hint of frustration.
