Page 53 of Twisted Temptation

He walks to the counter and opens one of the cases. Inside is a handgun.

Lifting it out, he checks something on the side of it, then sets it on the counter.

"This is a Glock," he says. "It’s good for beginners."

"I'm not a beginner. I'm a never."

"That's why we're here."

He picks up the gun and holds it out to me, grip first.

When I take it, I turn toward the paper target at the end of the lane.

I’ve thought about owning a gun before. Back in California, I had every reason in the world to protect myself. But things moved fast, and I never had the chance to learn before I had to flee for my life.

Dante steps behind me. "Place your feet shoulder-width apart."

I adjust my stance.

"Wider." His foot taps the inside of my right ankle, nudging it outward another inch. The contact sends a jolt up my leg that ends up right behind my navel.

"Now raise the gun with both hands, keeping a firm grip with your right hand and supporting with the left."

I lift the gun.

"Relax your shoulders."

I try.

"You're tense."

"I'm holding a gun for the first time. Tense feels like the correct emotion."

He steps closer, and I feel his heat before I feel his hands. His chest touches my back, and his hands come around me and close over mine on the gun. They’re big and warm and completely dwarf mine.

Heat coils between my legs when he wraps his strong fingers around my knuckles and repositions my grip.

"Like this," he says, his mouth next to my ear. He’s close enough that his breath brushes my skin when he talks.

Fake those sounds again, and I'll drag the real ones out of you right here on this table.

I shiver against him, and his fingers tighten over mine.

"Focus," he says.

I try to focus, but his chest is pressed against my back, and I can feel every breath he takes.

"Breathe," he says quietly. "In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Squeeze the trigger on the exhale."

I control my breathing, and my finger finds the trigger.

"Not yet." His hands leave the gun and slide down my body to my waist, settling on my hips.

I stop breathing entirely.

"Square your hips," he murmurs.

I can't think. Because I can feel everything.