Her hands begin to waver, and I cup mine under hers, to keep her steady.
Do I need to be touching her? Hell no I don’t. Nor should I be. But I'm aware of her habits with her bodyguards, and I understand all too well why she has stalkers and obsessed fans. Cha Cha Min is beyond beautiful. She’s stunning on another level, all perfect porcelain skin, soft and warm but to look at? She’s a doll. An object to dress as others like, position how they want.
Fantasize about as they need.
I can’t berate anyone for that last as I’m guilty as hell of my own runaway fantasies of the woman standing between my feet right now. When she looked at me this morning, licked her lips and mouthed off, I wanted to pull her into me, lift her onto my hips and find out just what sort of rhythm we might find together.
Keeping my hands off Cha Cha is a whole lot harder than touching her. She settles into the circle of my arms, leaning back slightly. The display of trust heightens my awareness ofeverything about her. Hell, if this keeps going, I’ll be the one panting. I nudge her forward with my chin, and she whines softly. Prettily, and damnit, I’m hard as fuck in an instant.
“I’m not your lounge seat, princess. You have to stand alone and do this part.” I step back, needing the breather before I take the gun out of her hands, bend her forward sand fuck her over the rock she was just perched on. The thought hardens my resolve to back the fuck up for the moment.
She was scared enough when she read those letters. We can play after, but right now, she needs to know how to protect herself, gain a little confidence in understanding that she has power over those fuckers who thought putting their twisted mindsets on paper and sending them to her was a good fucking idea.
Newsflash: it really fucking wasn’t.
Keeping my attention on the target, I talk instead of think, because thinking involves blood flow in a downward trajectory right now. “Breathe in for me again. Now out. Got your target? Good. Then fire. Twice, if you can.”
Cha Cha double taps like a pro, and my grin leaves my cheek aching. “Brutal, princess. Let’s go again.”
She leaves holes all over my targets, rarely missing them altogether. When she lowers the weapon, her arms tremble. “I think I’m done.” She holds the gun out to me, butt first, after ejecting the magazine and clearing the barrel.
“Beautiful,” I approve. “Come here.” I motion her over to where I lean against the rock she sat on before. “How do you feel?"
She shrugs, letting her shoulder drop heavy. “Tired. Overwhelmed. Thirsty?”
“That sounds about right.” I safety the gun and holster it. “You shot well, Cha Cha. I’m proud of you.” Something that resembles uncertainty flickers in the corners of her eyes. I blinkand it’s not there anymore, but I swear it was a second before. “Tell me.”
Soft, pink lips part, and for a moment nothing comes out. Then?—
“It’s easier to take a compliment when you call me princess,” she whispers. “Or when you’re sarcastic. That way, nothing’s serious.”
My teeth clench down. “You mean it’s too real like this? When I use your name, Cha Cha?”
I swear she flinches before she takes a step backward. “Maybe?”
Everything with her is a question. Okay, not everything but it damn well feels that way.
I raise a hand, palm turned upward, and curl my fingers. “Come here.”
Her arms cross over her stomach protectively. “What for?”
“Princess,” I offer her a single warning. “I never said we were done yet.”
“Oh.” She takes a hesitant step forward, then another, until she reaches where I’ve planted my ass on her favorite rock. “Is this lesson going to hurt?”
My teeth grind again, every inch of my senses screaming. I graze my knuckles across her arms. “When you screwed with your other bodyguards, did they hurt you?”
Her eyes fly wide, her lips parting. “How did you?—”
“I know,” I cut her off, not needing to go into the confessional type of discussion that will end with my explanation of how I dug into her private life before I arrived as part of her team. “So why don’t you tell me about how they treated you, and what you expect from me, princess?” I use her preferred nickname as she takes a step closer, stopping between my spread feet. If I reach out now, I could close my hands on her waist, pull her into me. But it’s too early and she’ll run.
“There was nothing official.” Black hair falls forward to cover her face, obscuring my view of her in a practiced movement. “It just happened."
“It ‘just happened’ four times in the last two years, huh,” I say dryly. “And when they left?”
She shrugs. “Then I sing.”
My hands itch with the need to hold her. “You’re filling your life with hook ups that you know are temporary, Cha Cha.”
