Page 101 of Their Princess

“I don’t think I?—”

“Stop acting like it’s going to bite you.” I grabbed her wrist and pressed the gun into her palm. “You need to learn.”

When I let go, her hand flopped. The gun nearly slid out of her grasp before she tightened her hold, squeezing the trigger.

“Finger off the trigger!” I snapped. Thankfully, the safety was in place, or she would’ve blown off my foot.

“It’s heavier than I thought it would be,” she mumbled.

I nodded. “Hold it with both hands.”

“Why? You don’t.”

“I’m stronger than you. And used to holding a gun.”

She pouted at that, but she put both of her hands on the gun without questioning me further. Baby steps.

“Now, come here.” I pointed to the mark on the floor. “Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart.” I grabbed her hips without thinking and squared her off with the target.

“Ow. Is that really necessary?” she asked, wincing.

“To get a good shot, yes.”

“I have fresh ink where you placed your mit.” She held her side.

“Ah, hell. Sorry.” I’d totally forgotten about the tattoo... or put it out of my mind.

Adelina jutted her lower lip and blinked up at me. “You know I won’t be able to hit the broad side of a high-rise.”

“Not with that attitude.” I couldn’t let her get under my skin.

“I have no depth perception, Rafe. Papà wouldn’t even let me drive the car after scraped the underside trying to park.”

“Fine.” I grabbed the gun out of her hands and placed it on the table in our lane. “Face me.”

She did, biting her lower lip.

I fought off a growl as well as the urge to yank it from between her teeth. “Close your right eye.”

Once she did, I lifted my hand, holding two fingers in front of my nose. “Okay. Now touch my fingers with your left hand.”

Adelina reached forward, quickly touching the tip of her pointer finger to mine, then yanked her hand back like she’d been burned.

“And with your right hand,” I ordered.

Again, she repeated the motion. This time, I felt the burn too.

“Good,” I said, ignoring the zing of electricity up my arm. I dropped my hand to my side. “Now close the other eye. Right one open.”

I repeated the small test again, and without even the smallest hesitation, she passed. If she really had no depth perception, she would’ve stopped short or pushed my hand hard. And if she couldn’t aim, she would have missed the touch altogether.

“You’ll be fine,” I said. “Pick up the gun.”

Her lips pulled down in a frown, but she stood square with the target, shoulder-width apart, and on the mark. She looked awkward, but it was probably how her hips were angled off to one side.

She stood like a ballerina about to leap and twirl instead of someone about to fire a gun. All the ballroom dance lessons she’d taken at her mother’s insistence did her no favors now. She was too used to trying to take up the space with her waltz and tango.

“Tighten it up. You need to be leaner with a gun. Everything about how you stand, where you aim, and where you look needs to be focused on your target.” I placed my hands on her hips, lower this time, to help position her body. The curve of her body fit so well in my hands. Her narrow waist and full ass.

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