Page 43 of Deadly Secrets
Chapter Eight
There were times in a woman’s life when she just had to stand back and admire a man.
Roman’s feet were planted, arms up and muscles rippling as he fired at the paper target a dozen yards away. His large hands clasped the stock of the much bigger gun he used, his thighs engaged as he absorbed the recoil of the blasts.
The memory of his arms around her as he’d instructed her on proper body placement sent a warm flush through her system. Power and control exuded from every inch of him.
A power and control she knew he must exhibit in the bedroom as well.
What am I thinking?
There was that pesky confirmation bias again, letting her interpret this new evidence based on her current belief in him. Maybe that was the problem—she was thinking too much. For once in her life, she wanted to turn off her constantly churning mind and justfeel.
His kiss from that morning had made her do just that—stop thinking. Even now, when the memory of his sensuous lips taking control of hers surfaced, her brain seemed to short-circuit. Earlier, when he’d positioned her body with his, she’d completely forgotten all the instructions he’d given her. Instead of focusing on the target, all she could think about was turning in his arms and kissing him. Running her hands over his solidness and feeling anchored again.
He muddled her thoughts but made her body come alive. It had been nearly two years since her last relationship, and that one had been almost asexual. Gordon was passionate about many things, but sex hadn’t been one of them. At least not with her. He’d left her for a younger version. A younger, ditzy version who didn’t know the difference between a trowel and a toothbrush.
Roman fired off another round of bullets, and even from her distance behind him, she could see the clean hole in the center of the paper man’s chest that Roman expanded with every squeeze of the trigger.
Deadly.
Commanding.
Totally in control.
Another shiver went down her spine.
For half a second, her wild imagination took over. In the last chapter she’d read ofOperation Sheba, Conrad and Julia had made up, their hot passion nearly sizzling the pages of the book, and making Brooke wish she could trade places with a fictional character for just one intimate night with a hero. A hero who would risk his life to save hers, and do it with a cocky smile and wink.
As Brooke watched Roman shooting his weapon, she imagined she was bold enough to write her own romance. To take control over her own world. She’d take that weapon from Roman and guide his hands to her own trigger.
“Brooke?”
She jumped. Roman had stopped shooting and removed his ear protection. He was staring at her.
“Um, yes?”
“Everything okay? You were a million miles away.”
She hadn’t gotten to finishOperation Shebayet. Of course, she’d already read it at least a dozen times, so she knew what happened at the end, but still. It was her favorite book.
It had been in her suitcase, which was now in the hands of the masked man. Where she’d stopped, Julia was just about to get caught stealing top-secret information.
I need another copy of that book.“Just picking up tips from your extremely perfect form.”
He flipped the switch to pull in the paper target, a small, very male grin on his face. “Like what you see, Dr. Heaton?”
Flirting with me. Again.It was still too good to be true, but what the hell? She had nothing to lose. Julia certainly didn’t thumb her nose at Conrad’s flirting once she’d forgiven him for faking his own death. “I think I’m in good hands.”
His blue eyes caught hers for a moment, heat and desire pulsing between them. “I guarantee it.”
Andho-boy, it took all of her nerve to hold that bold gaze of his. She hoped she’d never have to use the gun he’d loaned her on a real, live human being, but she sure didn’t mind his tutelage in learning to handle one.
Over the next few minutes, conversation ceased, but the easy silence felt normal, natural. They stripped and cleaned their respective weapons, multiple law enforcement officers, both current and retired, speaking to Roman in passing.
He knows everyone. And they all seemed to like him. The handshakes, comments, and pats on the back kept interrupting their quiet time, but Brooke didn’t mind.
An older man with a buzz cut stopped at the table where they sat. “Roman Walsh, is that you?”
