Page 79 of Missile Strike

His chest brushed her back.

Her brain short-circuited. Heat flooded her body, pooling low.

Danny was speaking, but all she could focus on was his ocean breeze scent. The flex of his forearms around her.

“Those two white dots on the rear of the slide and the one at the front are sights. Line them up. Front sight on center mass. When you breathe out, I want you to press the trigger—don’t jerk—just a nice, smooth motion.”

Breathing smoothly? That might be difficult, given the way her heart raced and her lungs were tight like fists. She forced in as deep a breath as she could manage and slowly squeezed the trigger.

The gun bucked in her hands with a loud crack.

“That’s it. Good job.” His breath brushed her cheek.

The praise made her giddy. She turned her head.

His mouth was right there.

For one suspended moment, they stared at each other. The sounds and smells of the range fell away, replaced by the loud thudding of Isabella’s heart in her ears.

The same need tearing through her showed in the flare of Danny’s eyes and the sudden tic in his jaw.

She almost rose on her toes to press her lips to his. To mold her softer curves into the hard planes and angles of his body.

“Bella.” His lips formed her name.

The air thickened between them.

Kiss me. The thought rose, reckless and insistent.

She remembered the feel of his body when he’d been teaching her self-defense—sculpted muscles. Tattoos. Strong arms that had made her feel protected rather than afraid when they’d wrapped around her.

Her fingers twitched, aching to touch. She lifted them away from the trigger.

Danny’s jaw flexed. Once. Twice.

Then he blinked, and the moment shattered.

A curtain dropped over his expression, smoothing it out. “Try again. This time without me.”

He dropped his arms. Stepped back.

Isabella stifled the frustrated scream trapped in her chest. If he wanted to pretend there wasn’t something powerful simmering between them, fine—she could play that game too. She was here to learn how to shoot a gun, even if the damn thing scared her.

Turning back to the target, she focused, breathed, and fired. Again. Then again, until the gun clicked empty.

She set it down carefully, barrel pointed downrange.

Danny brought the target in. “Not bad for your first time.”

Isabella counted the tattered holes. Six hits out of ten shots, but she was ridiculously pleased that two holes were dead center.

She wasn’t helpless.

Not today.

Not ever again.

Her cheeks split wide in a grin as she turned toward Danny.