Page 56 of A Secret In The Garden

I did as I was told. Sort of. It was hard to breathe at all with him this close.

“Again.”

I fired and the bullet stuck just right of center. My knees wobbled, threatening to drop me to the ground, and I did my best not to show it. Jasper leaned down and his mouth brushed the shell of my ear.

“Pretty good, but you’re still aiming like you don’t know what you want to hit.”

I turned and tried to hand the gun back to him. He didn’t take it. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around mine—firm but unhurried—and guided my hand until the barrel pressed into his ribs. It made me rear back a bit and try to pull my hand away.

“Try again,” he said softly. “No hesitation this time.”

“Jasper…”

“Go on.” His eyes danced over mine. Cool, collected, and completely unbothered. “What’s the worst that happens? You shoot me?”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.” The metal trembled where it rested against him. “You think you’re scared of me,” he murmured. “But what you’re really scared of is this.” He tilted his head and leaned in closer. “Wanting me this much and knowing I haven’t even touched you yet.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“You keep pretending you don’t want it. At least I don’t lie about wanting you. I’m right here. Unarmed. Letting you aim, and your hands are still shaking.”

“Because you’re insane.”

“No. I’m honest.”

“Shut up,” I bit out.

He lifted my wrist slightly, shifting the angle of the barrel. “You want me to shut up?” His voice dipped low. “Pull the trigger.”

I didn’t move. Not even a blink for fear I’d accidentally shoot him.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “You don’t want me to stop. You want to know what I’d do if you gave in.” He pressed in, smashing the gun between us. “But if I were you,” he added, his voice lower now, almost affectionate, “I’d keep my finger off the trigger.”

“Why?” I whispered, looking at the danger glittering in his deep brown eyes.

“Because if you fire, it won’t kill me,” he said. “And I’ll take it as permission.”

The breath left my lungs. “Permission for what?”

He tilted his head, just slightly, like he was cataloging the way my lips parted. His eyes dragged over the flush rising up my neck.

“To stop pretending.” He stared at me. Calm. Waiting. “And if you give me permission, I won’t stop.” He paused. “If you fire, I’ll put you on your knees and make you say every filthy thing you’ve been thinking since the second you walked into the manor.”

My stomach tightened and twisted with his words. The fear and heat pulsed through me.

“I’ll make it hurt,” he added, barely above a whisper. “In the ways you like. The ones you can’t admit to.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I know,” he said. “And I know you’re wet anyway. You could pull the trigger right now. End it all. But you won’t. Because you don’t want me gone. You want me closer.”

The air between us burned. He let go of the gun just to lift a strand of my hair and curl it around two fingers. My skin erupted in goose bumps.

“You want to pretend you’re a good girl, but you’re not, are you, Eliza? You’d still want to fuck me no matter how many people I killed.”

I swallowed hard.