It slips my mind from time to time that Rebel even went to Military School. And then I remember the dozens and dozens of pictures on his father’s wall, and it seems entirely normal that the man standing at my back fought for his country and defended his people. Being a protector is second nature to him.
“Now, when you fire,” he tells me. “Don’t pull at the trigger. Don’t jerk it. Squeeze it softly. Don’t hold your breath. Just inhale…” He removes his left hand from over mine and places it over my sternum, above my belly, making a satisfied sound at the back of his throat when he feels my ribcage rise. “Good. Now, nice and steady. When you breathe out—”
The report of the gun fire shatters the silence in the desert. Fifty feet away, the rusted Budweiser can Rebel balanced on top of a round fence post jumps into the air—a direct hit. No more than two seconds later, the echo from the shot comes back to us, weakened by the distance it’s traveled but still bracingly loud. Rebel grunts. He sounds more than a little bemused. Using the index finger on the hand resting over my chest, he digs me in the ribs, burying his face into my neck.
“Cheat,” he growls.
“I didn’t cheat. I did what you told me to.”
“But you’ve already done it before, haven’t you? And you had me thinking you were completely ignorant to the workings of a gun.”
“I did no such thing. You just never asked.”
“Hmmm.” He stabs me with his index finger one more time, making me squirm. “Come on, then. Show me. Show me what you’re made of.”
He must trust me implicitly. Without a backward glance, he sets off toward the fence line, collecting beer cans from the ground as he goes. The loaded gun in my hand could easily be used to put an end to him, but he knows me. He knows how I feel about him, irrespective of whether I’m ready to admit to it or not.
I watch as he stoops and collects two more cans. I’m not prepared for the wall of emotion that hits me sometimes, for absolutely no reason. He can be doing the most inane thing—scratching at the stubble on his chin. Talking to Cade. Spinning a pen absently in his hand. Picking up beer cans for me to shoot—and I’ll be hit with this sensation that just feels so damn…huge. Like it’s taking me over, ferocious and unstoppable. Like it would be impossible to run from, no matter how hard I tried or how badly my lungs burned, or how painfully my legs ached.
When he straightens, Rebel finally glances over his shoulder at me and he smirks. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m totally fine. Why? Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
More smirking. “Because you’ve got that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The look you get when I’ve just made you come really hard and your ears are still ringing.”
Blood rushes to my cheeks. Man, this guy. He has some nerve. “I don’t get a look when you make me come.”
“Sure you do. It’s like this.” He tips his head back slightly, mouth open just a fraction, his hair falling back out of his face, his chest heaving. He looks incredible. And he does look like he’s just had the best sex of his life. I’m struggling to keep myself in check. A very large, turned on part of me wants to command him to remove his clothes at gunpoint. Slowly.
Rebel’s grinning when he lowers his head to look at me. “Sweetheart, you think I’d ever quit fucking you unless I knew you were satisfied? That face is how I know I’ve done my job properly. It’s the most beautiful, sexual thing in the world. I’ve memorized that lust-filled, sex-doped expression in great detail, which is why I recognized it two seconds ago when I caught you staring at my ass.”
“Oh my god, I was not staring at your ass!”
He just laughs, turning his back on me again so he can carefully start balancing the beer cans on the tops of the fence posts again. “Why not? I have a great ass.”
I can’t deny that—he most definitely does have a great ass. It’s just frustrating that he knows it is all. “Just get the cans up there, jerk.”
“Yes, ma’am. If you hit all of these without missing, I’ll treat you to something very special. Would you like that?”
“An Audi R8?”
He shoots a raised eyebrow over his shoulder at me. “You really don’t know the meaning of inconspicuous, do you? A car like that would draw some serious attention around here. Either way, no. No Audi R8 for you. You’d get a far better ride out of what I’m offering, anyway.” He looks positively evil as he says this. There’s no doubting what he’s referring to. I’d have to be stupid to miss the innuendo. He oozes sex when he’s like this—intense, fixated and just a little wild. He’s much calmer than he was earlier. His nervous tension pours off him just as strongly as his lust, though. He’s not in a good place. Flirting with me might be a great way to distract himself, but I get the feeling he wouldn’t follow through on any of his promises. He’s just trying to rile me.