“It’s fine.” Perfect, actually. “You ready?”
She shakes her head but reaches for the gun anyway.
“Arms to here,” I tell her, lifting them a few inches higher. “Good, now move your thumb. Perfect.”
Her hands still have a slight tremble in them, but at least the weapon is pointed down range.
“Take a few calming breaths, but then hold it right before you squeeze the trigger. Fire when you’re ready.”
I’ve helped her get in position, and there’s no reason to stay right behind her, but I don’t step back. I don’t know that I could.
“One eye open or both?”
“Let’s just worry about getting used to pulling the trigger before lining up a shot.”
She nods slightly in understanding, the top of her head brushing my beard.
“When you’re ready,” I repeat as we stand quietly for a few minutes.
She fires. The bullet doesn’t puncture the target, but like I told her, we weren’t really focusing on that.
“Good. Now again.”
It doesn’t take her as long to fire the second time, and the third and fourth come in quick succession.
By the time the magazine is empty, her hands shake wildly, but she lowers the gun, placing it on the table in front of her before spinning around with a huge grin on her face. I know the tremble there now is adrenaline and thrill rather than fear.
“How do you feel?”
She swallows. “That was pretty cool.”
“Okay. Let’s load it back up and do it again.”
I step back, not offering to help as she discharges the magazine and begins to reload.
“Who taught you to shoot?”
“The Army.”
“Really? How long did you serve?” she asks as she slides the magazine back into the gun too softly, frowning when it pops back out. She hits it a little harder the second time, smiling once again when it clicks into place.
“Eight years. It seems like a lifetime ago.”
“Well,” she says as she places the gun back on the table to turn to look at me, “thank you for your service.”
I give her a quick smile, doing my best at trying not to watch her mouth when she speaks, but her lips are like a beacon, drawing my attention there.
“Are you trying to distract me to keep from shooting?”
She blinks, her pretty eyes flashing with mirth, before turning back around.
“Still need help getting lined up?”
“I think… I’d like some help.”
I step back in behind her, only this time when I touch her arms, my hands slide from her elbows to her wrists. I’m close enough to track her change in breathing pattern, and against my better judgment, I end up closer to her this time.
Her first three shots are fine, but the third manages to hit the line holding the target. She gasps as we watch the target flutter to the ground.
“Oh no,” she whispers.
“It happens more often than you’d think,” I tell her.
Thankfully, she puts the gun down before turning to face me, and I don’t immediately move away. We end up standing so close she has to crane her face up to look me in the eye. My fingers twitch to run them down her cheek or cup the back of her neck.
“Am I in trouble?”
I shake my head, words lost to me right now.
“I broke it.”
I watch as her eyes dart back and forth between mine, but for the life of me, I can’t find my own voice. Has she always been this gorgeous?
“Quinten?” She blinks again. “I’ll pay to have it fixed.”
“Hit the line?”
Her eyes snap toward Adam’s voice as he comes into the room, and it’s only then that I’m able to take a step back.
“Yeah,” I say, running my hand down my face and over my beard. My lips tingle with unmet need, leaving me feeling like I’m missing something.
“I’m going to walk her to her car. I’ll be back to take care of everything.” I turn and begin to walk out of the room, unsure if she’s even following me.
Chapter 12
Hayden
I sigh in frustration, closing my eyes for a solid minute before I open them again. When I type in the numbers again, it’s still wrong.
I’ve been working on this one account for the last hour, and it isn’t adding up. If I ever had a good reason to hate Mondays, this would be one.
I type in the numbers again. I’m coming up with the same total, but the account is still showing a different balance. I flip through invoices, checking those for the fourth time before finally giving in.
After shoving everything on that account into a folder, I head toward my boss’s office. He doesn’t bother to look up from his own work when I tap on the doorframe. This is nothing new. He’s not a jerk, but he’s a little aloof most days, focused on his own work.
“I’m having trouble with the Grimsson account.”
His head snaps up, and I wonder if maybe he was so fixated on his own work that he didn’t hear my knock.
“Why are you working on the Grimsson account?”
I tilt my head in confusion. “Because I’m the accountant.”
He holds his hand out, and it takes a few breaths before I realize he’s wanting me to hand over the folder.
“Don’t worry about this one,” he says when it’s in his hand. “I’ll figure it out. It’s a little more complicated than the others.”
“Okay,” I tell him and turn around to leave before I open my mouth and remind him that I’m very good at my job.
Chances are there’s a missing invoice or paperwork that was misfiled because I know my calculations are correct. If the man wants to spend another couple of hours clearing it up, let him.
I grab my purse the second I get to my desk and leave for lunch. If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve been annoyed since driving away from Quinten Thursday night. One minute, he’s a foot away looking down at me like he’s barely able to resist pressing his lips to mine, but then he’s giving me a rough goodbye from five feet away.
Lunch consists of a quick drive-thru meal because I spent half of my lunch hour trying to get the numbers on that stupid account to add up correctly, but I find time to call Parker to see if she wants to go to the gun range with me after work for practice.
She claims she has to work, but I get the feeling she has other plans. Or maybe I’m just annoyed at being turned down. I hate doing things by myself, but these days, I hate going home alone even more.
When my workday is over, I try not to think about Quinten and the possibility that he might be at the gun range. I mean, the man works for Blackbridge Security, not full-time at the gun range. Even knowing that doesn’t keep the disappointment from creeping up when I walk inside and don’t see him.
The guy at the counter is a different man from the one who witnessed my embarrassment last week, and he tells me the same thing Quinten did when I broke the line the target was on.
“Don’t worry about it. It actually happens all the time.”
I give him a weak smile, wanting to blame Quinten for standing so close and making me more nervous about his proximity and how much I enjoyed it than actually firing the gun.