For heaven’s sake! What was wrong with her? He’d done the exact same thing with each of the other ladies he tutored this afternoon. The touch was purely instructional. Not personal.
There was no reason for her to feel shivery all over, or for her stomach to flip just because he moved behind her to help her take the proper stance. And her lungs had absolutely no excuse for running so shallow when his front pressed against her back and his arms stretched along the length of hers. Nor did her heart need to suddenly start throbbing in reaction to his warm breath fanning over her cheek while his bristled jaw scraped ever-so-lightly against her skin.
“Fit your finger to the trigger,” he murmured low against her ear.
Was it her imagination, or did his voice sound huskier than it had a minute before? Probably her imagination. Heaven knew the rest of her other senses were going berserk. It would be a shame for her ears to be left out.
“Now . . . squeeze.” The whispered command nearly melted her insides.
She obeyed and slowly moved her finger, but her eyes slid closed at the same time as she leaned just the tiniest bit back against his chest. His firm . . . strong . . . warm chest.
Click.
The sound made her jerk. Malachi had emptied the chambers, so no bullet had fired, but the quiet tick shattered the silence . . . and the illusion of intimacy she had let herself sink into. Good grief. She was acting worse than Katie, leaning into Mal as if she were some man-starved flirt instead of a woman on a mission to learn how to protect herself and those she cared about.
She stiffened and straightened away from Malachi’s all-too-pleasant physique, letting her arms drop in the process. Emma expected Mal to step away, give her one of those horrible I’m-disappointed-in-you looks, then lecture her on the importance of focusing on the task at hand.
He didn’t. Instead, his arms lingered over hers, even as they hung at her sides. His hands did eventually move, but not away. No, they traced upward along her sleeves and then curled around her upper arms in a near embrace.
His face stayed bent against hers, as well, almost as if . . . Emma swallowed. Almost as if he was contemplating nuzzling her neck.
Her pulse stuttered even as she told herself she was mistaken. Malachi had been nothing but professional with all the other ladies. She was misinterpreting things.
But it didn’t feel like a misinterpretation. Alone in the café. His hands holding her. His body close. His whiskers rasping gently against her sensitive skin.
“Next time . . .” His voice rumbled in a deep octave that did odd things to her midsection. “Keep your eyes open when you pull the trigger.”
She should have been embarrassed, chagrined that he’d noticed her shameful lack of concentration, but she just couldn’t summon a proper dose of regret. Not when he was so close. Holding her. Nuzzling her neck. For he was nuzzling. She could feel the edge of his nose against her nape, his lips a hairsbreadth away from her skin.
If she turned her head a few inches . . . But she was afraid to move. Afraid to ruin the moment. The sensations flooding her were too extraordinary. Too wonderful.
“I will,” she breathed.
“Will what?” he asked, his whiskers brushing against her earlobe and sending shivers dancing down her back.
“Keep my eyes open.” Though at the moment her eyelids were drooping dangerously. She wanted nothing more than to let them slide closed and lean her head back against his shoulder. “When I shoot.”
He froze. His lips hovered just above the sensitive part of her neck that clamored for his attention.
No! Emma could have bitten her tongue off in that moment. She never should have reminded him of the shooting lessons, of the gun. But she hadn’t been thinking clearly. Her mind had been so deliciously fuzzy, thinking only of the man behind her, that the words had just slipped out. And now he was pulling away from her.
The warmth of his breath on her neck disappeared first, then the heat from his chest on her back as he stepped away. He released his hold on her arms and moved around to stand in front of her.
Wrapping his right hand around hers, he trapped the revolver between them. He raised the weapon slowly, his darkly intense gaze boring into hers as he placed the pistol’s barrel flush against his own chest.
“What are you . . . ?” Emma struggled to pull the gun away, unable to bear the thought of Malachi being on the receiving end of a bullet. Especially one she was responsible for. She didn’t care that the gun wasn’t loaded. The horrible thoughts running through her head played havoc with that truth. What if he had missed a chamber somehow when he’d removed the ammunition? If the gun went off, he couldn’t survive a shot at such close range.
“Stop it, Mal. This isn’t funny.” She tugged on the gun again, but his arm didn’t budge.