by Tyler, Paige
“Birmingham. I moved there when I went to the University of Alabama and stayed when I was offered a job in the area. I’ve wanted to come back to Houston for a while, so when a position opened up, I jumped at the chance.”
He gestured for her to walk into the classroom ahead of him—because he was a gentleman, but also because he wanted to check out her ass. Damn, she looked fine in a pair of jeans.
“What do you do for a living?” he asked.
“I’m a graphic designer.” She turned, her long hair swinging over her shoulder. “Right now, I’m doing websites.”
“Sounds interesting.”
Blake wanted to ask what kind of websites she designed, but a heavyset man in a plaid shirt interrupted him.
“Got a minute, Officer?”
Blake glanced at Trista and saw disappointment flash in her eyes. He’d rather spend the whole day talking to her, too, but he couldn’t ignore the rest of the class.
“If you’ll pardon me?”
“Of course.” She smiled. “Thanks for the soda.”
Blake tried to give the man his full attention—he really did—but Trista was so damn captivating, it was practically impossible to keep his eyes off her. And while that made the boring part of the class a whole hell of a lot less boring—at least for him—it was also a kind of sweet torture. Especially when she did little things that drove him crazy. Like nibble on the top of her pen. Or cross her long legs. And when she leaned forward giving him a glimpse of her perfect cleavage? It was enough to make him groan.
As much as he wanted to monopolize her every time they took a break, he resisted the urge. If he did that and someone failed the course, that same someone could claim misconduct on his part, saying he was showing favoritism, and he’d be screwed. So, he limited their conversation to a few minutes before making the rounds. Fortunately, everyone passed the written test. And Trista maxed it, so no one could say she'd passed because he was sweet on her.
Nearly everyone in the class went to the restaurant across the street for lunch, including Trista. Blake quickly slipped into the empty chair beside hers before any of the other men could grab it. He got a smile for his efforts that just about did him in. He’d never met a women who had that effect on him before.
“So, do you and the other State Troopers alternate teaching the class?” she asked in between bites of her turkey sandwich.
He set down his iced tea. “No. I just do this on the side on my days off.”
“Oh.” She chewed on her lower lip as if considering something. “Your wife must hate that.”
That was blatant enough that even he picked up on it. “I’m not married.”
That seemed to give her pause. “Then your girlfriend must hate it.”
“Don’t have one at the moment.”
Her lips curved, and he waited for her to say more, but once again, someone interrupted them—this time it was the waitress asking if she could refill their iced teas. By the time the woman left, the guy on the other side of Blake already engaged him in a conversation about handguns—or more precisely, why he preferred a revolver over a semi-automatic. Usually it was a debate Blake was always up for, but discussing the pros and cons of each weapon while Trista’s arm kept “accidentally” brushing against his was damn near impossible. God, he couldn’t wait until class was over so he could grab a minute alone with her. Maybe then he could finally ask if she wanted to go to dinner with him. But first he had to get everyone certified and out of there.
He started the afternoon session talking about how to both store and clean a handgun, as well as how it should be carried concealed. After that, it was the part of the class everyone had been looking forward to—hands-on training. This was where Blake got to find out whether he should certify a person or not. Anyone could sit through a class and take a test. What he needed to know was what a person did when he or she had a gun in their hands.
Blake glanced at Trista as they made their way to the indoor shooting range. She didn't appear uncomfortable, but she didn't look completely at ease, either. That was normal. She probably didn't have a huge amount of experience with a handgun. Most people who took the class didn't.
She did okay loading and unloading an empty magazine—not perfect, but acceptable. It was when they loaded live rounds and did some shooting that Blake got concerned. Trista couldn't shoot worth shit. She didn’t have to hit the man-shaped silhouette dead center, but she had to at least get close. Best he could tell, she wasn’t hitting the target at all.
He waited patiently while she reloaded her 9mm. Maybe she was just nervous with him standing there. That happened sometimes.
But she didn’t do any better with the second magazine. He wasn’t sure where her rounds went, but it sure as hell wasn’t in the target.
There was no way he could certify her. Which meant taking her out to dinner was probably out. Damn.
* * * * *
Trista couldn't believe how hard she was having to work for this one. She'd been drooling over the hunky Blake Jordan from the second he'd walked in the classroom. Tall with dark hair, broad shoulders and biceps she couldn’t get both of her hands around, he was definitely put together. And when he talked? She'd never heard such a smooth, sexy voice in her life. It just about made her panties melt off right there in the seat. He was a fantasy come to life. Especially if you had a thing for cops—which she did. Combine that with her complete lack of a social life over the past few months, and it was no surprise she was as hot as a horny rabbit in a frying pan.
Between leaving her old job and trying to get into the swing of things at her new one, all while moving everything she owned back to Houston and finding a place to live, she’d been a little stressed. Seeing Blake made her realize exactly what she needed—a roll in the hay. And not just any roll in the hay, either. She was talking about the kind that knocked the pictures off the wall and made your neighbors call the cops. Something told her Blake was just the man for the job.
Unfortunately, he’d been completely professional the whole time. Which would be a good thing if she wasn’t seriously in lust with him. She thought for sure the way she’d worked him during class—throwing him sultry eyes and nibbling on her pen—would do the trick, but damn if the man didn't seem impervious to her feminine wiles. She supposed she could try the old standby and ask if he knew a good place to get a bite to eat—besides the restaurant across the street—but with the way things were going, Blake was likely to draw her a strip map to the nearest steak joint.
She either had to give up on getting Blake in her bed that night, or do something drastic to make it happen—like failing the hands-on portion of the class so she could get some time alone with him. She hated wasting the money for the course, but some things were more important than a concealed carry license.
She’d never realized how hard it was to look completely incompetent when you weren't, and had almost given up on her crazy plan a few times. It had to be easier to grab Blake and plant a kiss on him after he issued her license, then tell the big stud she wanted him to bang her until her eyes crossed.
But when Blake didn’t ask her to again demonstrate her ability to shoot at the target after she emptied the second magazine, she knew it was too late to change her mind. She chewed on her lip as he handed out the licenses. She hoped he didn’t embarrass her in front of the rest of the class by announcing she’d failed. But he called everyone else’s name, leaving her until last. And leaving them gloriously alone together.
Trista gave him a smile. “I guess that means I must be next.”
“Yeah. About that.” He sighed. “I’m not going to be able to sign off on your license. While you knocked the written test out of the park, you didn’t demonstrate the required proficiency with a handgun.”
She put on her best crestfallen expression. “Oh.”
“The good news is that you can take the course again. Unfortunately, you’ll have to pay the fee again, too. Which is why you should probably think about taking a target shoo
ting class first. They offer some good ones here, if you’re interested.”
Only if he was the one doing the teaching. She chewed on her lower lip, pretending to consider it. “Do you think you might be able to give me a few pointers about what I'm doing wrong?”
“Now?”
That worked for her. “If you wouldn’t mind. I know you said something about the range closing early tonight, but maybe the owner would let us stay a few extra minutes?”
Blake was silent as he considered that. Finally, he nodded. “Sure. I’ll go talk to him.”
She smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
He flashed her a grin. “No problem.”
Trista sighed with relief. For a minute there, she’d been half afraid he was going to turn her down. Just because he agreed to give her some tips didn’t mean he was as attracted to her as she was to him, though. And if she didn’t get a rise out of Blake? Well, at least she'd get some quality one-on-one private shooting lessons. She had no doubt he was talented at using a weapon.
She only hoped it was the kind of weapon she had in mind.
Chapter Two
Blake came back ten minutes later. “I told Bob—the guy who owns the place—that I’d lock up, so we can stay as long as we want.”
Which meant they were all alone. This was working out even better than she’d planned. “Great.”
Blake glanced at her over his shoulder as he led the way to one of the firing lines. “You seemed comfortable handling the weapon when it was unloaded. It wasn't until you got on the line with a loaded weapon that you started having a problem, so I think we should start there.”
Trista groaned inwardly. The possibility of romance was dropping by the second here. Blake seriously thought she wanted a firearms lesson.
She picked up her pistol. “Should I just start shooting at the target?”
“Let's work on your stance first and get you comfortable with the weapon. Then we'll do some shooting.”
Trista turned to face the target—feet together, pistol held in both hands with arms fully extended at shoulder height. “Like this?”
“Not quite.” Blake lifted his hand, then stopped. “Do you mind if I touch you? It's easier to show you than to tell you.”
Now you're talking.
“Go ahead.” She had to fight to keep the grin off her face. “If you think it will help.”
Her pulse quickened as Blake went around to stand in back of her. Without a word, he placed his boot in between her feet, gently nudging them apart. When she automatically spread her legs, he slipped one of his between her thighs to widen her stance. When she'd said she wanted Blake between her legs, this wasn't what she'd had in mind. Not that she was complaining. She’d take him any way she could get him.
He wrapped his arms around her and clasped her hands in his. He was so big and strong she couldn’t help but feel tiny in his embrace, and it was all she could do not to moan as the hard planes of his chest pressed against her back. She knew he was only demonstrating the proper stance to help her shoot better, but at the moment, all she really cared about was how the contours of his body fit hers.
“See how much more stable you are in this position?” Blake’s voice was right next to her ear. “Wider is always better.”
She couldn't agree more. “I see that now.”
Unable to help herself, she pushed her ass back until she brushed against something firm and unyielding. She was pretty sure it wasn't his belt buckle.
“Relax your arms some,” he instructed. “Your shoulders are really tense.”
She obeyed, wiggling back a little more as she let her arms relax. This time, her ass definitely met with resistance. If that was his cock she was rubbing up against and not a weapon of another sort, Blake wasn't quite as professional as he wanted her to think. Or at least a certain part of his anatomy wasn't.
“I know you won't be able to think about breathing in a crisis situation. But right now, let's focus on good technique.” His voice was smooth as honey in her ear. “Take a deep breath and hold it.”
She inhaled, letting the air fill her lungs—and expand her breasts quite nicely. From where he stood looking over her shoulder, Blake would have had to be oblivious to miss the view down her blouse as she put on her best heaving-bosom routine.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
He tightened his arms around her, pulling her back against him. Oh, yeah. That was definitely his cock back there. He was getting harder by the second.
“Now, just squeeze your finger gently on the trigger,” he commanded. “It should surprise you when it goes off.”
She slowly pulled the trigger. The hammer fell with a distinct click.
“That was perfect. You didn't flinch at all,” he said. “Let's try it now with the clip loaded.”
Trista almost groaned in disappointment when he moved away from her to load the magazine of her 9mm. She leaned her hip against the counter and watched as he worked. Damn, he had some nice hands. She could just imagine what they’d feel like roaming over her naked body.
When he was done, he held out a set of hearing protection— the kind that cut out almost all the sound.
She frowned as she took the earmuffs. “I won't be able to hear your instructions with these on. Shouldn’t we use the foamy things.”
His mouth quirked. “The foam earplugs, you mean? No. The earmuffs muffle the sound better. Don’t worry. I'll be right behind you, guiding you by touch. All you have to do is focus on the target.”
Like she was going to be able to focus on anything with him touching her. That silly paper target positioned halfway down the shooting range was going to be the last thing on her mind.
After he was once again standing behind her, Blake leaned close to her ear for one last set of instructions before she put the muffs in place. “You have a full magazine, but I want you to take your time and try to make every shot perfect.”
She picked up her Lady Smith 9mm and sighted in on the target. Having all that rock-hard muscle pressed up against her was even more distracting than it’d been before, and her hands began to shake. Blake immediately wrapped his arms around her, his hands supporting her wrists—which only made her tremble more. The way the inside of his arms pressed against the sides of her breasts was doing all sorts of delicious things to her body.
Trista relaxed back, subtly rubbing her ass against his erection. Blake didn’t pull away. If anything, he tugged her a little closer. He was trying to seduce her.
Hot damn.
She forced herself to focus enough to actually aim in the general direction of the target and squeezed out a shot. She didn't give a damn where the bullet hit, but she did use the recoil as an excuse to bump her ass back into Blake's hard-on. She took a breath and held it, then pulled the trigger again. When she leaned back against him this time, she gently rotated her ass in blatant invitation. Blake must have approved because he slid his hands down her bare arms until his fingertips brushed the sides of her breasts. The contact was teasing, questioning, as if he wanted to make sure this was what she wanted.
Man, this was so what she wanted.
Keeping her pistol pointed in a safe direction, she turned her head until their eyes met. The heat in his made her pulse skyrocket. She wanted to say something flirty and suggestive, but she’d have to shout to be heard over the ear protection they wore, and that wouldn’t be very sexy at all. So instead, gaze still locked with his, she slowly and deliberately grazed his scuff-roughened jaw line with her lips. That must have been good enough for Blake. When she turned back to send another 9mm downrange, he slid his hands under her breasts to cup them through her shirt. Needless to say, that round went wide of the target. Hell, she wasn't sure she even hit the wall behind it. She didn’t care. She was just happy he’d finally gotten the message she’d been sending his way.
She took a deep breath, letting her breasts fill Blake's big hands. She thought she might have moaned, but she couldn’t tell over her earmuf
fs. She doubted her shooting instructor had, either. That was okay. She’d make sure he knew exactly how much she enjoyed what he was doing later.
Behind her, Blake bent to nuzzle her neck. His mouth was warm on her skin, and she tipped her head to the side to give him plenty of room. Steadying the weapon, she squeezed off a lazy shot at the target and hit it dead center. Hmm, nothing like getting her breasts fondled to improve her focus.
She loved a man who knew how to use his mouth, and Blake certainly fell into that category. His lips on her neck were doing crazy things to her body, and she shivered as goose bumps chased over her skin. And when he traced his tongue along the pulse line of her jugular all the way from her collar bone up to her ear? Well, she just about melted. She was on the verge of dropping her Smith and Wesson when a sharp nip of teeth brought her back to reality. She tried to get herself under control, but she couldn't. She was already drunk from the first little touch.
She let her head fall back, silently begging him for more. And more was exactly what he gave her. Oh God, could a woman have a neckgasm? If his mouth felt that good there, what was it going to feel like on her nipples? Or her pussy? She trembled at the thought.
She was so caught up in what Blake was doing above the collar of her shirt she almost didn’t realize he’d started unbuttoning it until she felt cool air on her skin. Her heart beat faster. He stopped halfway from the bottom to motion toward the target with his chin.
Trista blinked. He wanted her to keep shooting? Was he nuts? She was so blurry-eyed from excitement she was starting to worry about their safety. But he was insistent, nudging her again.
She lifted her 9mm and took a deep breath, doing her best to lock her eyes on the man-shaped silhouette hanging from the cable. The task was made more difficult by the fact that Blake had finished with the buttons on her shirt and had wrapped his hands around her satin-covered breasts. She hadn't thought her shirt had been that thick, but the increase in sensation let her know that was a lie. Her nipples tightened almost painfully against her bra.
