Stand & Deliver

by Rhenna Morgan

  Just like at her house and the gym on Saturday, goose bumps lifted up and down her arms and her breasts tightened in response. She could listen to him talk for hours. Especially when he hit that low-pitched, rumbling range reserved for one-on-one.

  Thankful her crossed arms hid her traitorous nipples behind her fitted tank, she twisted enough to cock an eyebrow and shot him a perturbed scowl. “Do I need to scan my things for GPS now? Or did you really go the extra effort and put a chip under my skin somewhere while I was passed out Friday night?”

  He grinned, taking the taunt in stride and shrugging as he anchored his fingertips in the tops of his front jeans pockets. “That’s overkill, even for me.” He jerked his head toward the firing range on the opposite side of the glass. “You never miss one of these, so I knew where you’d be.”

  The range master called out, “Load and make ready,” giving her a solid reason to give Beckett her back and mask the subtle pleasure moving through her. Why him being so keyed into her hobbies and where she spent her time made her want to preen and giggle like a high school girl, she couldn’t say, but there was no denying the sensation was potent. Even nearly enough to make her do something stupid like lean against him and see if he’d wrap those insanely strong arms around her again.

  No, no, no, Gia. Don’t think about it.

  Yeah, like that pep talk had done any good the last five days. Even working, she’d had a heck of a time not revisiting how good he’d felt next to her. How his aggression had flipped every damned button she had and how hard it had been to keep an angry facade. How in that tiny span of time, she’d been able to almost let go. To not portray the strong and unforgiving persona her business required. For her male counterparts it was easy, but for a woman, even the slightest hint of weakness would work against her.

  She straightened her stance as if it might better armor her against the memories and zeroed in on the newest competitor, a kid that didn’t look like he was even old enough to be out of high school. She’d seen him shoot before, though, and he had an amazing mix of speed and accuracy.

  Out of habit, she scanned the waiting crowd, all predominantly men except for a few wives and girlfriends who’d come to watch.

  Which meant she was the only female competing.

  Again.

  Beckett’s big hands settled on her shoulders near her neck and gently squeezed. “Relax, gorgeous. You’re an ace at these gigs. Today won’t be any different.”

  To anyone else, the contact probably looked like a friend or a coach mentally prepping a contestant for their turn in the barrel, but damned if the subtle massage he gave her wasn’t insanely sensual. “Beckett?”

  He moved in closer, his heat blanketing her back even as he dipped his head close to her ear and turned her legs to jelly with a low “Hmmm?”

  “You’re not helping.”

  Rather than move away, he chuckled and smoothed his hands out to the ball of her shoulders. “Not thinking about the match anymore, huh?” He inhaled long and slow and glided his hands back in. “I warned you what to expect, G. Don’t think it’s not going to happen.” With one last squeeze, he dropped his hands and gave her a few inches. “But I’ll give it until you kick everyone’s ass to push the issue if you’ll tell me what the hell’s got you so uptight.”

  The loss of contact and the reminder of her Houston debacle tossed her back to reality none too delicately. “I’m not uptight.”

  “Right. And that scowl you marched in here with an hour ago was all because you couldn’t contain your competition glee.” He swaggered up so he stood beside her and mirrored her stance with crossed arms. Between his height, his shoulder span and biceps nearly as big as one of her thighs, he pulled off a whole lot of visual intimidation without even trying. “Come on. Tell me what happened.”

  The offer was tempting. If nothing else it would give her an outlet to clear her head before it was her turn to shoot. “Judd screwed me in Houston.”

  His head snapped her direction, the once laid-back expression he’d held replaced with a rapidly mounting fury. “He what?”

  Well, duh, Gia. You use the word screw with Beckett and he’s going to take it literally. “I mean he undercut me with my client.”

  It took a few beats before his tension eased, but he kept his focus trained on her, an entirely different level of calculation moving behind his startling blue eyes. “Undercut you how?”

  She shrugged, focused on the range and forced a nonchalance she didn’t even remotely feel. “He scheduled an earlier flight than me, showed up at my client’s office and introduced himself as his assigned cover.”

  “He left you with the mom and kids?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “G, that’s whacked. You booked the gig, that means you run the gig the way you wanna run it.”

  “I know that. You know that. Judd knows that. But my client didn’t. If I’d walked in and arranged otherwise, I’d have made it look like I didn’t have control of my own crew—which apparently I didn’t.”

  “You lay into his ass afterwards?”

  Oh, she’d laid into him. Repeatedly and at a level he’d not forget anytime soon. “Suffice it to say, Judd’s persona non grata at present and is the only one giving you a run for a world record on text messages.” She smirked up at him. “Though, his aren’t anywhere near as fun as yours.”

  The quip did what she’d intended, shifting Beckett’s focus back to more appealing matters. In a business dominated by males, being adept at diversion was a golden asset she’d had loads of opportunities to hone over the years.

  He grinned and leaned a little closer. “You think my texting skills are fun, wait till you take a turn with my creativity one-on-one.”

  Yeah, that was the one thing she didn’t need to do. No matter how many fantasies she’d entertained otherwise since Saturday night, common sense insisted crossing the line with Beckett was trouble waiting to happen.

  As if he sensed her line of thinking, he straightened and redirected back to her Houston trip. “Thought you and Judd were tight.”

  Apparently, Judd had thought that, too. Enough so he could waltz in and rearrange her plans to suit his ego. “We go back a long time, but I wouldn’t call us tight.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “Neighbors.”

  The comment earned her a frown from Beckett.

  “Our families,” she explained before he could start digging in with questions. “Growing up, we were literally neighbors. Or as close as two families can be when property lines stretch two or three acres and sport rock privacy walls and motorized gates.”

  He huffed out an ironic chuckle. “You don’t like home much, do you?”

  “I like Atlanta just fine. It’s Mom and Dad’s idea of what a woman should be when they grow up I have a problem with.”

  “And that is?”

  She twisted to meet his steady gaze, and this time she couldn’t hold back the bitterness when she spoke. “Married with at least two kids and totally reliant on my husband. You wouldn’t believe how many years they tried to hook me up with Judd. Hell, they may still be plotting for all I know.”

  “You?” The shock behind his response caused more than one person to look their way. “I can picture you tacklin’ all kind of jobs, but a stay-at-home housewife isn’t one of ’em. And you’d have Judd’s nuts severed and stored in the pantry inside two weeks.”

  Maybe the fact that he was so incredulous to the idea should have rubbed her wrong. Instead, all she could process was a hefty amount of gratitude and relief that someone saw the same picture she did. “Yeah, they don’t get it. Plus, everything between me and Judd has been a competition for as long as I can remember.”

  In the range, the next shooter finished their round and unloaded.

  Gia motioned toward the lockers. “I’m up after the next guy. Gott
a get my gear ready.”

  She’d thought the task would make for a clean cut in the conversation and give her some time to clear her head before her round, but Beckett just fell in beside her. “What do you mean everything’s a competition?”

  “Just what it sounds like. Everything from spelling bees in fourth grade to who got into the best college and had the highest GPA.” She rounded into the storage area and the long rows of gun lockers. From here the gunfire was still audible, but far more muted. Unfortunately, it was also a lot less populated. The last thing she needed was alone time with Beckett Tate.

  “You think that’s why he pulled the stunt in Houston?”

  “Maybe.” Oh, who the hell was she kidding? That was exactly why Judd had done it. Another ongoing move in a lifelong tit-for-tat. She dialed the combination and jerked the base down hard enough the metal door rattled. “No point in rehashing it though. Lesson learned—moving on.”

  Beckett leaned one shoulder against the locker next to hers. “And next time you call me.”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

  “Give me one good reason.”

  She tucked her gun case under one arm, draped her earplugs around her neck and hooked her eye gear on the collar of her tank. “I can give you several, but for starters, how about the shit you pulled on Saturday. Oh, and the fact that you hate family gigs. Especially kids.”

  He moved closer, the bass of his voice a low, delicious stroke against her skin. “You liked the shit I pulled on Saturday. Tell yourself different all you want, but I was there. We both liked it.”

  She slammed the locker door closed, clicked the lock back in place and stomped back toward the main viewing area, aiming a scowl at him on the way. “Would you leave it alone?”

  “Hell, no I won’t leave it alone.” He caught her by the shoulder just before they hit the hallway and turned her to face him. Despite the intensity in his expression, he cupped the side of her neck with a lover’s touch. Firm and commanding, yet giving, too. “I told you Saturday we were picking up where we left off. You think I’m persistent now, keep trying to put me off and see what it gets you.”

  A shudder moved through her, the mix of his words and the subtle glide of his thumb along her pulse point a one-two punch that derailed a good chunk of the good intentions she’d stockpiled the last few days. She pasted on what she hoped was a locker-room banter face and shot for a teasing tone, but it came out shakier than she liked. “A stalker?”

  He chuckled at that. “Hey, at least I’m honest. Your problem is you don’t want to admit you might like it.” He released his hold on her neck and stepped back, shifting into casual mode as if he hadn’t just sent her stomach on a roller-coaster ride. “I’ll get you there though. I just need time and opportunity. And for the record, I’m great with kids. Ask Levi. He thinks Uncle Beck is the shit.”

  Gia took the space to hightail it back to the main viewing area and the rest of the spectators. “Ha! Indulging kids and guarding them are two different things.”

  “True,” he said from right behind her. “But if you’d called me, I’d have had your back.” When she found a decent place close to the front, he leaned down and murmured, “I’ll always have your back.”

  God, that would be nice. And coming from Beckett, she had no doubt he’d back the claim up if she ever took him up on it. If she’d learned nothing else from him and the men he called brothers, it was that they never made a promise they couldn’t keep. “I’ll think about it.”

  He paused all of fifteen seconds, moved in next to her and made a show of checking out the newest contestant’s performance. “While you’re thinking on it, start wrapping your head around the next time we’re together, too.”

  “Let it go, Beckett. Not going to happen.”

  “Yeah, it is. We’ll go slow.”

  Whether or not he heard her low laugh over the gunfire she couldn’t be sure. “You forget, I’ve seen you with women. Slow isn’t in your repertoire.”

  “Sure, it is. Go out with me and I’ll prove I’m not what you think.”

  “No.”

  He cocked his head, gaze still trained on the range. “I’m thinking dinner. Tomorrow night.”

  “That’s your version of slow?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a Friday night. I’m free. You’re free.”

  She faced him full-on, visions of Knox hacking into her online accounts making her forget all about the fact that it was almost her turn to shoot. “How do you know I’m free?”

  He grinned, the dirty edge to it enough to make a nun consider trading in her habit. “I didn’t, but I’m pretty sure that reaction means you are.”

  The shooter finished and the range master’s voice rang out through the room. “Gia Sinclair.”

  “Say yes,” Beckett said before she could head to the door separating the two spaces.

  “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

  “So my brothers and their women tell me. Now say yes so you can go kick ass and picture my face on all the targets.”

  She shouldn’t. Giving in was a bad idea on too many fronts to count. But her concentration had been crap since last Saturday. Maybe having dinner and getting him to see reason would at least put things to rest for both of them. “Dinner. And it’s only so we can talk.”

  “Gia Sinclair?” The range master called again.

  “Talk. Right.” He squeezed her shoulder and gave her a smile she was pretty sure meant she’d just stepped into a tidy trap. “Go get ’em, gorgeous.”

  She managed a grunt and hustled to report in for her turn. So much for going into the first round fully focused. Although, she had to admit—the banter had helped her shake the anger she’d walked into the building with. Heck, she might actually be able to talk to Judd for a solid minute without killing him right about now.

  Checked in with her unloaded gun and clip resting on the table in front of her, she put on her glasses and earplugs and waited for the previous shooter to exit the range.

  “Load and make ready.” The range master clicked the stopwatch.

  Gia grabbed her gun, punched the clip into place and pulled back on the slide.

  One second.

  One heart-stopping, blurred second with the unexpected blast of gunfire filling the space around her.

  The range master’s voice rang out right behind it, punctuated by a whole lot of shuffling and shouts behind her. “Disarm.”

  Flipping the safety back into place the best she could with adrenaline firing out of control through her body, Gia dropped the clip and emptied the chamber.

  She’d barely finished the task when the range master firmly pulled her gun from her grip and checked the chamber himself. “What the hell, Gia?”

  What the hell, indeed. “I don’t know what happened. You saw me, I barely even brushed the guard.”

  “Son of a bitch,” a man bellowed behind her. “She almost took my head off.”

  Gia turned to see the lumberjack of a man who’d served as one of the contest staff out of his chair and poking his finger in a hole about three inches to the left of where his head had been.

  The blood rushed out of her head and the rising voices around her took on a hollow sound. Everything around her got hazy. Everything except the gouge she’d left in the wall.

  “Woman, that’s a goddamn weapon, not a toy.” The man’s escalating tone and its growing proximity yanked her out of her stupor just in time to find him bearing down on her fast and furious. “Another inch or two and I’d be dead.”

  “Ricochet,” someone else muttered beside her. “Must’ve kicked off the concrete just right.”

  She braced for a whole lot of in-your-face, but a giant hand hit the man square in the sternum and held him at arm’s length. “She knows goddamn good and well what could’ve happened and could shoot your fucking
nuts off without nicking your dick if she wanted. Now stand the fuck down.”

  Beckett.

  Thank God.

  The next thirty minutes went by in a haze. An accidental discharge disqualification. A ton of grumbling and ass-chewing from the lumberjack she’d nearly killed and more eyeballing and pointing from the viewing area than she’d wish on her worst enemy. Only once the range master had finished writing up the incident was she allowed to pack up her weapon and escape.

  Through it all, Beckett stayed rock-solid beside her, a literal defensive wall whenever someone dared to get too close.

  At the door to the locker room, he splayed his hand low on her back. “Take a deep breath, gorgeous. We’ll get your shit, find someplace you can unwind and figure out what happened.”

  “What? You don’t think I’m just a clumsy woman who wouldn’t know a barrel from a stock?” The second the snide quip was out, she stopped in front of her locker, hung her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. I just... I can’t believe I did that.”

  Rather than answer right away, he smoothed his hand along the back of her neck, gripped her tight enough to turn her away from the wall of lockers and steered her into his arms. “Told you I’d have your back. If you need to take a few swings at someone—physical or verbal—I can take it.”

  Wrapping him up at the waist and simply melting into his strength was tempting. Hugely so with the lumberjack’s condescending rant still ringing in her head. Instead she straightened and took a step back. “I’m just mad at myself. I should have checked the gun before I went in.”

  “They don’t do warm-ups before a competition. And what’s checking your gear got to do with an accidental discharge?” Beckett went scary still. “Something wrong with your gun?”

  That was the thing. No matter how many times she replayed the incident in her head, she couldn’t shake the idea that she’d accidentally brushed the trigger. She slid her stowed gun in the locker and sighed.

  “Spill it, G. No one’s more careful with a weapon than you. So, what happened?”