The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [63]
Tess was beginning to believe that there was nothing the Dillon children couldn’t do.
She just didn’t like the gun. She didn’t like its weight, its feel, its noise. In her mind the gun remained inherently evil, too vicious and too powerful. And maybe she feared more than anything that once she became comfortable with it, she would turn a corner in herself and never be able to go back. She’d permanently become part of the violence. She would never escape.
You are part of the violence, she reminded herself. Your options are to control it or be victimized by it.
She took a deep breath. She told herself the gun was her friend. She’d used it before and it had saved her. She would master the fear and she would master the weapon.
She adapted the stance J.T. had taught her and leveled her arms.
Okay, Tess. You’re a lean, mean killing machine. Align, inhale, hold it, squeeze.
She pulled the trigger. It boomed. She jumped and closed her eyes.
She was an idiot.
She finished out the clip fatalistically. When she was done, she turned to J.T.
He shook his head as he’d been shaking it all afternoon. “Tess, why are you so afraid of an inanimate object?”
“There’s nothing inanimate about a gun!”
“Then you’ve been watching too many Disney movies.”
He took a step forward and clasped her wrist. He ran one callused finger up her bare thigh, brushing the bottom of her khaki shorts.
She flinched. She blanched. She blushed.
“What are you doing?” she asked furiously.
“Nice scar,” he said. “Didn’t you learn anything from it?”
“Apparently not enough,” she shot back, unable to meet his gaze. He stood too close to her, and she wasn’t prepared for the intense desire to lean forward and press her lips against the scar snaking down his chest.
“How . . . how did you get your scar?”
“Guatemala. I think.”
He was still standing before her. His hand was still on her thigh. “You think?”
“Could’ve been El Salvador. After a bit, all jungles look alike.”
“So you were fighting?”
“Over a beautiful woman, I’m sure.”
“Of course.” She had a feeling that with him, there had truly been a lot of beautiful women.
“It’s true. I think.”
“I see. After a bit, all beautiful women look alike?”
“Sure. Just taste different.”
She pulled away, trying to cover the motion by retrieving spent shells, but obviously not covering it well enough.
“I offended you?” he said after a moment, his voice emotionless, his arms crossing over his chest.
“After a week of your company? Hardly.”
“Now you’re shockless? You’re that tough?”
“I’m a fully functional bad ass,” she assured him.
“Good,” he said. “Then you’ll have no problem firing the gun.” He smiled at her grimly. “Again, Tess. We’re not leaving here until you get this right. The gun is a tool. Learn to use it.”
He yanked her around and she came up hard against his chest. “We’re going to try an experiment,” he murmured. His whiskered cheek nuzzled back her hair until his lips were on her ear.
“Okay,” she whispered. She was licking her lips.
“Pick up the gun for me.”
“Okay.”
“Put in a fresh clip.”
“Okay.”
“Sight the target.”
She straightened her arms and assumed the Weaver stance. He smoothed his palms down her arms, encircling her wrist with his fingers. “Tess, you’re getting some muscle tone.”
She started shivering. He misinterpreted. “Chiquita, you don’t even have the safety off yet.”
“I’m just . . . What are you doing?”
“I’m going to shadow you. You shoot, I’ll correct. Relax against me. Come on, sweetheart, relax.” He nudged her arms. She stiffened further. “Tess,” he murmured. His teeth found her earlobe and bit down gently. “Relax.”
“Oh, my Lord,” she said, and melted into him.
“I always knew that trick would come in handy.” His body shifted, assuming the correct stance and seeming to mold hers. She let him mold her. She could feel his leg hair and his chest hair, his raspy twelve-hour beard.
“Focus on the target,” he told her. “Fire.”
She did as she was told. She pulled back the trigger, and her arms leapt spasmodically. He caught