Forbidden Fantasies Bundle

by Dawn Atkins

  “This is Josh,” Boone said. “You cannot hurt him, but I want you to try.”

  “Okay. How?”

  “Come behind me and try to choke me.”

  “I thought Josh and I were going to mix it up?”

  “You will. But not for a while. He has somewhere to be.” Boone turned toward the man. “One hour.” Then he faced her again. “Okay. Take me out.”

  She walked around to Boone’s back, feeling the flex of the mat underneath her sneakers. Not sure if she was supposed to try and surprise him, or strangle him, or just put her arm around his neck, she went for the full court press. The second she had her arm in place, it was swept away, she was spun around, and her arm was pulled uncomfortably high up behind her own back. That was only the beginning.

  Boone made her try every kind of attack she could imagine. From the front, from the side, from the top as if he were sleeping, when he was walking, when he was running. And he defeated her with such ease tears came to her eyes. Not because she was hurt, although she was sore, but because her own uselessness hit her harder than he ever could.

  What hit her equally hard was that she hadn’t just missed being touched, she’d been starved for it. Every block, every hold, and even though she was fighting as hard as she knew how, she was completely aware of all the body parts and where they met.

  He actually flipped her over, and to keep her completely immobilized, he lay on top of her, flat out, breast to chest. For a long minute, she stared into green eyes that seemed lit by an inner fire. The next minute, with his breath and her breath swirling between them, she thought sure he was going to close the distance and kiss her. But he blinked.

  The next thing she knew, he was on his feet and out of the room.

  She stared at the ceiling as she tried to calm the hell down. This was war. He’d been very specific. And in war, there was no room for the sex.

  Boone walked back in. She felt his footsteps on the mat, felt his presence as he approached. He didn’t come too close. Instead, he told her, in his most military voice, to get to her feet. It was time for her to start the active phase of today’s lesson.

  “Start the active phase? What the hell have I been doing for the last hour?”

  “Learning, I hope.”

  Behind him, Josh reentered the room, still wearing the puffy suit. Boone moved aside and didn’t say anything more. He just waited and watched as Josh attacked.

  The first time she hit back it was so girly it made her blush. An hour later, she was attacking him with the weight of her body behind her, and more importantly,with the strength of Boone’s conviction that she had all the resources she needed to win.

  By the time he called it quits, she was dripping with sweat, shaking from exhaustion and feeling at least a little better about her chances to survive.

  She also had a brand-new appreciation for Boone, which had nothing to do with his hotness. He hadn’t let her get away with squat. He didn’t take any excuses and he expected her to be at her best every minute. It made her think a lot about Nate, about how he would have been right here, training her just like this, if he’d been around.

  Boone finished a quiet conversation with Josh, then met her where she stood, still trying to catch her breath. He put his arm around her shoulder and leaned close. “You were awesome,” he said, his voice low and intimate, but filled with conviction. “You fought like a tiger, and I feel damn sorry for anyone who tries to mess with you.”

  She laughed, even as the swell of pride rose up in her worn-out body. “You silver tongued devil.”

  “I’m not bullshitting here, kiddo. You’re fierce, and don’t hold back. That’s gonna keep you alive.”

  Her ego deflated as she remembered, yet again, why she was doing all this. The bastard wasn’t out of the game. “You know what’s weird? I can’t hold on to it. Even when it scares the crap out of me, even when I’m shaking in my boots, it won’t stay in my brain. And every time I remember, it’s like knowing for the first time. Knowing he’s after me. That it’s intensely personal, and that he’s never going to just give it up.”

  Boone squeezed her shoulder. “You’re not the victim anymore, Christie. You’re the victor. And the poor bastard doesn’t even know it.”

  She turned her head just enough to meet his gaze. “We’re gonna kick his ass.”

  He nodded. “We sure are.”

  “Cool.”

  “Yeah. Cool.” Boone’s lips parted and he moved a tiny bit closer. Her eyes fluttered shut as she waited.

  5

  BOONE WATCHED HER EYES close, felt her breath as she leaned forward. His gut tightened as he moved in to kiss her, but the sound of a heavy weight just across the gym startled him into backing away.

  He coughed, trying to cover his embarrassment, then turned toward Milo, who was staring at him accusingly. “Let’s go. We need to grab something to eat before we go to the range.”

  Behind him, he heard Christie shift on the mat. She didn’t say anything and he hoped she wasn’t planning ways to use her new training to kick him in the nuts. She had every right. Dammit, he was the one in charge of this operation, and he’d clearly given her the wrong signals, which was not only stupid but dangerous.

  He turned around to find her standing near the door, her arms crossed over her chest, her shoulders slumped. All the confidence she’d had just moments ago had vanished because he was a screwup of the first order.

  “What do you want for lunch?” he asked.

  “I don’t care.”

  “Yeah, sure. Maybe we can find a diner that serves Lucky Charms.”

  Not a smile, not even a glance. Shit.

  “Okay then, I’ll take you to a place I like. It’s not fancy, but it’s on the way.”

  Christie shrugged. Then she called the dog, and when Milo approached she crouched down to give him a hug.

  The woman was terrified out of her mind. She had exactly one person to turn to. “Come on. Let’s hit it. I want to get in a couple of hours at the shooting range.”

  As she led Milo out of the gym, Boone kept a respectful distance behind her. He could tell she was sore. Her movements were stiff, her posture rigid. She’d need a long soak tonight, and an early bedtime.

  He would stand guard, and he wouldn’t think of anything but the job.

  SHE STOOD WITH BOTH FEET flat on the floor, shoulder width apart. The headphones played no music, just blocked out sound, and the goggles hurt the backs of her ears. She stared at the target, the familiar silhouette they show in all the movies, and she imagined that it was the bastard, standing right there.

  Boone had told her a gazillion things to focus on, some of them out-and-out contradictory, but she wasn’t thinking of any of them. She lifted her Glock 39 with both hands, pointing it straight at the bastard’s head. Between the eyes. As she squeezed the trigger, she visualized the bullet screaming from the barrel, speeding toward the sweet spot. There was still the shock of the recoil, but she’d shot the gun before, so it wasn’t so bad.

  She lowered her arms and whipped off the goggles and earmuffs, desperate to see the target.

  “Looks good, but you shouldn’t take off the goggles.”

  “I’m not going to be wearing goggles if he breaks into the house.”

  “True, but when you’re here, it’s important to observe all protocols.”

  She turned. He was still standing about a foot behind her, slightly to the right. Maybe if she looked as good as he did in goggles, she’d wear them, but that wasn’t the point. “I want to see.”

  He nodded, went to the side of her booth and pressed the button. Just like on TV, the silhouette man shivered as it rumbled toward her. Halfway there, she saw she’d missed the target. Completely. She sagged with disappointment. She’d been so sure.

  “That’s great, Christie. Good shooting.”

  “I didn’t even hit the target.”

  “That’s okay. Your stance was good, you were calm and you’re getting better about not
jerking the gun so much.”

  She leaned against the side of the booth, her muscles aching from calf to neck. “I can’t do this, Boone. Can’t we just go home?”

  He shook his head and waved her into position again. His hands went to her shoulders and he leaned in, his voice low, inches from her ear. “The key in defensive shooting isn’t to see how accurately you can fire a handgun, but how quickly you can fire it accurately. You need to believe you’re going to hit what you aim at, every time, no exceptions. You need to be comfortable. Remember, you’re going for a smooth trigger pull. Smooth and easy, nothing jerky. Be conscious of your breathing. Hold your breath, but only when you start to squeeze the trigger.”

  He went on, his voice even, steady, and as smooth as the breath on her neck. His hands moved down her arms, lifting them into position. She tried to listen to his advice, but she was too aware of his body pressing against hers from her shoulders to her bottom. If he hadn’t shown her so very clearly that he wasn’t going to go for the sex, she’d be moving back, shifting ever so slightly, just enough to get a rise out of him. Instead, she concentrated on the lesson, not the man. She just wished he smelled bad, and that his voice would stop swirling in her head.

  “The only thing you should be moving is your trigger finger,” he said. “Use the tip of your finger, the most sensitive spot, so you feel what you’re doing. I want you to dry-fire as often as you can, get used to the feel of the weapon, make the action comfortable and easy. I want you to be so used to pulling that trigger that you don’t even have to think about it.”

  “And just how long will that take?”

  “Not long. We’ll be back here tomorrow, and the next day, if we need to be.”

  “You said dry-fire.”

  “That’s pulling the trigger,” he said, his breath shifting just a bit so it hit her neck in a new way, “without a live round in the chamber.”

  “Ah. Kind of like foreplay.”

  He shifted back, but she moved with him. Immediately embarrassed, she pushed her hips forward, only this time, his body followed. She decided that it wasn’t sexual; he was just helping her with her aim.

  He cleared his throat and his grip tightened on her wrists. “Go ahead, take another shot. No headgear this time. I want you to hear the noise. Make it part of the experience.”

  Christie smiled. “Uh, Boone?”

  Again, he cleared his throat. She didn’t think it was that dry in here. “Yeah?”

  “It would probably work better if the target was back in place.”

  His forehead hit the back of her head, a light tap, but he didn’t say anything. He just let her go, went over to the side and pressed the button. The silhouette man shivered as he traveled, but once he was in place he stilled, and she wondered how she was going to convince the bastard to stand perfectly still while she remembered to breathe and squeeze her perfect shot.

  Boone didn’t resume his position, preferring instead to stand with his arms crossed, leaning against the partition. He watched her though, so intently the crease above his nose seemed like a dark stain.

  She tried to forget about him, to incorporate all the things he’d told her about firing the gun, but it was like trying to ignore an elephant in the room. She could still feel the tickle of his breath, hear his solemn words in his dark monotone. She decided not to fight it. To let him guide her, even though he wasn’t actually holding her arms.

  The stance, the grip, the sight, the breath, the squeeze, and then the crack, so unlike the sounds of guns on TV, and the recoil, jolting her hands back and high.

  She waited impatiently for the target to come close, and her heart did a little flip when she saw that she’d actually hit the target. Not close to the head, in fact, not even on the body itself, but there was a hole in the paper, and that seemed like an enormous victory.

  “Well done,” Boone said. “Good job.”

  She kept her cool, even though she wanted to do a little happy dance. Boone was being all business, or what she imagined all business would be for an army guy. His nod was accompanied by a frown, which she figured was Delta Force for “You go, girl.”

  “Let’s do one more.”

  She nodded, wanting to keep going until she hit the body. More than the workout this afternoon, hitting the target gave her a sense of power she hadn’t felt since the bastard first called. She might not be able to beat him up, but a bullet would definitely stop him.

  The target took its sweet time getting back to square one, and she let Boone take her through the process as he once again watched from the sidelines.

  This time, the recoil didn’t seem so hard. The pull of the trigger was sweeter. But she still hadn’t gotten the bullet closer to the body.

  Boone took his goggles off and put them on the counter along with his headgear. He walked to her, the frown still in place, only he didn’t stop a polite distance away, but got right into her face. He took the weapon from her hand, released the magazine and checked it twice to make sure it was empty, then he gave it back to her. Once she had the proper grip, he put his hand over hers and pulled the gun toward him, so the end of the barrel was right against his stomach.

  “Listen up,” he said, his warm breath now fanning her lips. “If he comes and it’s just you and him, forget everything you just learned. You don’t aim, you don’t go for balance, you don’t breathe deep and hold it. You push the gun into his body.” He pulled her hand, forcing the barrel deeper into his stomach. “You make contact, it doesn’t matter where. Just push the gun into his body and then you pull the trigger. No finesse, no tricks. You bring him down. You don’t think about it. You do it fast, you do it hard. You got that?”

  She swallowed, her chest tight and hurting with the reality of what he was telling her. She might have to face a living human being and shoot him in the gut. It was something she’d never considered, not once in her life. That she would have that kind of power. That she could take that final step. But looking into Boone’s steady gaze, his pupils large and dark, she knew there was no room to squirm, no room at all. If it was her versus the bastard, she had to shoot, and shoot fast.

  “You got that?” he repeated.

  “I got it.”

  He stepped back. “Let’s go home.”

  THE RIDE HOME WAS MOSTLY silent. Boone kept a watch on the mirrors, making sure no one was tailing them, but he also kept checking with Christie. He’d done what he’d intended, hit her hard with the facts.

  He’d been in the military since he joined up at twenty-four, and in the ROTC before that. His father had been a career soldier, as had his grandfather. Boone had grown up with guns, with the idea of using weapons, and he could still remember the first time he understood that he would, at some point, have to kill someone. It had hit him hard, just like it had hit Christie. Only for her, the threat was imminent.

  He thought about sending her away to somewhere safer, but if she left, the geek would know and he wouldn’t come out. She still wouldn’t have her life back. It would mean she would be on the run for who knows how long, and he knew from experience that that kind of life sucked. Stalkers were notorious for never giving up, and this stalker, with his first-class gadgets, was no fool. The only real solution was to get him to show himself, and for Boone to take care of him once and for all.

  All Boone had to do was make sure it was the geek that lost, not Christie.

  Funny, though, that she’d never asked him about leaving.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Huh?”

  “You grunted,” she said. “At least I thought it was a grunt. If you burped, then I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

  He looked at her, at her haunted eyes. Good for her that she could keep her sense of humor. “Why haven’t you asked me to help you disappear?”

  She blinked a couple of times, her pretty lips parting just a bit. “Because you’re going to catch him. Aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I am,” he said, his gaze back on the road in front of h
im. “We’re going to.”

  “Don’t count on me, Kemo Sabe. Despite the excellence of your tutoring, don’t forget that I passed out. I’m an interior decorator. We’re not known for our guerilla tactics and fighting acumen.”

  “You’re stronger than you think. Knowing what to do is going to help. A lot.”

  “You catching the bastard is going to help more.”

  “Fair enough.” He made a couple of turns he didn’t need to, just as a precaution. It was no secret they were going to her place, but he didn’t want any surprises. Christie was silent, but he didn’t think that would last.

  “Hey,” she said, softly.

  He turned to her, and she was staring at her hands in her lap. “What’s wrong?”

  “All this training, and eating right. Just how long do you think it’s going to take to get this guy?”

  “I don’t know. We could get him tonight.”

  “But that’s not what you expect, right?”

  “There’s no way for me to know. I believe the best approach is to make him jealous. To make him feel out of control, as if he’s going to lose you. To me. We need to make him reckless. Our only hope is to get him so riled that he’ll have to make an overt move. His goal so far has been intimidation and fear. We want him to get so furious he’d come into the house, into our territory.”

  “For the record, this scares the crap out of me.”

  “Just remember that once he steps into the house, we’re in control. He doesn’t stand a chance, okay? That’s why we’re getting you into fighting shape. We can’t predict where or when he’ll enter, but we can be one hundred percent ready for him. Both of us.”

  “So you’re not going anywhere, right? You don’t have a doctor’s appointment you can’t miss or a date or anything?”

  “No. Until we catch this guy, I’m with you. That’s all.”

  She nodded, then leaned back, resting on the headrest. He wanted to touch her, give her some reassurance, but he didn’t. Touching her had a funny way of distracting him. Even looking at her had its dangers.