He dropped a kiss on her nose. “Only to help you move.”
She caught him around the back of the neck and tugged until he came close enough that she could kiss him for real. A completely carefree and uninhibited demonstration of how much she cared. How much he meant to her.
They could have gotten lost there for a lot longer if it hadn’t been for Parker clearing his throat. “We seem to be drawing some attention,” he pointed out. “So if no one’s going to New York right now, I suggest we take this discussion somewhere more private.”
Emma bit back a squeak of protest as Dean swept her off her feet again, this time cradling her in his arms. “Are you crazy? Put me down,” she demanded with a laugh.
He shook his head as he marched toward the exit doors at Parker’s side. “Nothing doing. I’m not letting you go until I know for sure you can’t get away.”
Emma curled her fingers tighter around the back of his neck, contentment sweeping over her at his sweet and yet protective gesture. She rested her head on his chest and sighed happily, ignoring the questioning glances of the strangers Dean marched past. She didn’t even care that people were staring—she was safe. She was with him.
“I’m not going anywhere. Everything I’ve ever wanted is right here in San Francisco,” she said softly.
Everything, and everyone.
Gillian
She took a deep breath and relaxed her grip. Eyeing along the barrel as she calmed herself to the point of absolute stillness.
A gentle squeeze and the shot rang out, and a cheer rose from the guys lined up in their cubicles at the shooting gallery. All of them were ignoring their own targets and gawking at hers. Gillian felt herself smile with satisfaction—it was the kind of response she’d grown to expect when she showed up. She had a mirror, she knew she wasn’t bad looking, and a woman with curves who liked to shoot?
Most of the guys were plotting right now how to get into her pants.
She had other agendas. Her grin must have been downright savage, but she didn’t care. Not when, with deadly accuracy, she squeezed off another five shots in rapid succession.
The cheering faded slightly. She’d expected that as well.
Marcus rolled his eyes as he hit the button to pull her target forward. “You’re showing off again, girl. You’re never gonna get a date at this rate.”
She leaned in to examine the single hole she’d left through dead center. “If I have to pretend I can’t shoot for shit, I don’t want to date any of them.”
Marcus sighed. “You could date me,” he grumbled. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“Aw, there it is. The token flirting.” She handed over the Glock, reaching up to pat him on the cheek. “No, sweetie. I’m not dating you.”
He raised a brow. “Someday I’ll catch you in a moment of weakness, and you’ll say yes.”
“Never gonna happen,” she responded brightly. “But now that we have that out of the way, how about you grab me a rifle so I can do some serious shooting? Semi-automatic.”
She watched him walk off, smiling as he fielded questions from the few braver guys who had snuck past her and were now pumping Marcus for information. The yahoos she’d scared off had returned to their targets, and she checked out their skills with moderate interest. Analyzing their stances, assessing their hand positions.
The only one of them who could shoot was using his left hand, the side of his face barely visible in profile. She glanced for a moment at the firm forearms and massive biceps he was rocking, but ended up distracted by the accurate holes showing up on his target, clustered nearly as close as hers.
Hmmm, now that was sexy. She hated to admit how turned on she got watching a skilled marksman at work. She was tempted to saunter in his direction and make his day. Hell, she wasn’t celibate because she wasn’t interested. It just took a lot for her to find a guy that did it for her.
Left-handed Luke had already met her first qualification—he was moderately good with his hands.
Only problem was taking that first step. For all her chutzpah, she wasn’t a one-night-stand kinda gal, and it was always a pain in the butt to put energy into a relationship and then discover in the end the bastard couldn’t handle her.
Did she try, or should she walk away again?
Then her shooter lowered his gun and turned to face her as if he’d known she’d been watching the entire time. The stream of curses she bit back could’ve flash-boiled water.
Speaking of bastards…
Thankfully Marcus returned at that moment with the rifle. She repositioned her safety glasses and dropped into position before he’d finished his caution spiel. “Rack the target,” she commanded.
She lined up the sights, knowing full well the man who’d interrupted her DreamMakers job was staring. She knew his name—not only had Suz made sure of it, but Gillian had asked around after their disastrous little tête-à-tête.