Page 38 of The Russian's Kidnapped Bride
Her shot lands on the outer ring. For a first attempt, it isn’t bad at all.
She looks vaguely startled by it all, blinking through the aftermath.
“Again.”
Despite herself, Lily lifts the pistol and fires again. And again.
Once the magazine is empty and the paper target is riddled with more holes than she was likely expecting, her posture is more confident and relaxed. Her eyes are wide with exhilaration, and she isn’t flinching.
Instead, she’s grinning, even if she doesn’t want me to see it.
“Well, it seems I need to be careful. I might have an assassin on my hands after all,” I muse, eventually taking the gun back once she’s done. Like a prize, I retrieve the target and pass it to her.
Lily looks at her progress over, unable to keep that lingering awe from her features.
“Admit it, you liked it,” I say, watching the way her chest continues to rise and fall through the aftermath of her excitement.
She still manages to throw an unimpressed look in my direction. “It was interesting.”
“Close, but that’s not what I said.”
Handing me the earmuffs, she sighs. “Don’t assume I’m going to start collecting guns or something.”
“Of course not,” I say lightly, moving to put everything back. “But you’re understanding, and that’s what matters.”
***
After showing Lily more of the locked-up firearms and giving her time with them, I know she’s doing everything in her power not to give away her subtle smiles. The adrenaline rush is clear as day.
Even while in heels and that dress, she walks with assurance behind her steps, almost like she belongs there. Like she belongs next to me.
Something about that has me walking on a cloud of my own, wanting to see more of it.
Leaving the armory behind, we venture through the rest of the warehouse, seeing things at a surface level, but nothing too extreme that might push her progress back. I show her a few storage rooms, the surveillance hub, and the offices up top.
In the one I typically take up, I pause and flick the light on. The desk is mostly bare except for my monitor and laptop. The chair sits tucked beneath it, there’s a black leather couch along the back wall, and a bottle of whiskey rests on the shelf behind my desk—one I’ve been saving for a rainy day.
Lily walks in after me, glancing around at the minimalistic room. “Are we done?”
“Not quite,” I say without expanding, moving over to the shelf.
“You’ve shown me almost every square inch of this place…what else could be left?”
My lips barely pull at her question, but I don’t answer. Instead, I grab the bottle along with two solo cups and pour a small amount into both.
Turning to face her, I hand one over and move to sit on the edge of the desk.
She looks skeptically at the drink, but I take the opportunity to look at her. To truly look at her.
Her cheeks are flushed, and her hair isn’t quite as put together as before. That sternum tattoo I can’t get enough of is more exposed than usual, and it takes a great deal of restraint not to cut that space between us and trace over that delicate linework.
With those gold-rimmed glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose, somehow softening the roundness of her cheeks even more, her eyes look less apprehensive. Instead, they’re sharperwith a renewed spark, and a fire I can’t help but stoke. If she tried hard enough, I was sure she could cut me with them.
And right now, I wouldn’t mind.
I take a small sip of whiskey and keep my gaze on her. “You’re not what I expected.”
Her gaze narrows, as if unaware of where I’m going with this. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
