Page 67 of After the Abduction

“Yes. Do you want to try shooting it?”

“I-I suppose.”

Stifling a laugh, he stepped closer to fit her hands more securely around the butt. “Hold it as if you control it, or you’ll never convince anyone of your willingness to fire. Half of the power in having a pistol comes in the brandishing of it.”

She nodded, but her hands shook and her fingers were placed all wrong.

“Here,” he said impatiently, moving behind her. Reaching around her on either side, he maneuvered her fingers into the correct position.

He was painfully aware of having her so close, so soft in his arms. The sun-warmed scent of lilac in her hair, the fragility of her fingers around the huge gun made him swallow hard. He wanted those fingers curving around something else, gripping it, stroking it—

“How do I shoot it?” she asked.

Well, first you squeeze…

He swore under his breath, released her hands, and stepped back. The woman was downright dangerous, no matter what she gripped. Best to remember that. “Curl your index finger into the trigger hole.”

“Like this?”

He glanced easily over her shoulder at her hands. By thunder, she was a petite thing, wasn’t she? “Yes, like that. See that bump on the end of the barrel? That’s the sight. Lift the pistol until you can look straight down the barrel and see the center circle of the target sitting right on top of that bump.”

She did as instructed. Her grip was firmer now. “Tell me something, Sebastian.”

“What?”

“You knew what you risked in being around me. You knew I might recognize you as Morgan at any moment, yet you continued to play my games. Why?”

He’d expected a question on pistols. The abrupt change of subject made him tense up. “I thought this was a shooting lesson, not another of your inquisitions.”

“I’m making polite conversation, that’s all.”

“It’s hardly polite to accuse me of things I didn’t do.”

She didn’t rise to that. He could see her hands tremble, but she didn’t lash him to ribbons with her tongue. Instead, she squeezed the trigger, sending the ball off into the trees beyond the target somewhere.

“I missed,” she said in obvious disappointment.

“No one ever hits the first time. It takes practice.”

She lowered the pistol. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Because it’s one of those you can’t answer without incriminating yourself. Like ‘When did you stop beating your wife?’”

A laugh burst from her. “Nobody ever asks a question like that.”

“You just did.” Taking her hand, he pressed the powder flask, another ball and patch, and the rammer into it. “Load the pistol again.”

Apparently not minding his abruptness, she did as he said. “All right, let me rephrase the question: Why have you been spending time with me? Why did you agree to my silly proposition to have you ‘tutor’ me?”

He saw no point to lying. “For the same reason any man spends time with an enchanting woman. Because he’s attracted to her. Because he enjoys her company.”

“Nothing more than that?”

He wasn’t sure what she was fishing for. “Nothing more than that,” he repeated.

She lifted the gun to look down the sight, but either she was nervous or she hadn’t quite grasped how sighting down the barrel worked, for her aim was substantially off.

He reached over to steady her arm. “Here, forget about the sight. Just think of the gun as an extension of your index finger and point it at what you want to shoot.”