Page 55 of A Secret In The Garden

“Any better?” he asked.

“What the fuck is happening?” The choppy words tumbled from my lips.

“Security found him crawling through a window. It’s more likely that he was trying to get a story than any valuables or”—his eyes turned fiery and slowly raked over my body—“anything else.”

“He broke in?”

He nodded.

“The security pings,” I mumbled. I glanced back at the man. It was terrifying to think he’d broken into a space so heavily guarded—a space that had felt so safe and private. It rattled me. “So—so you killed him?”

He crinkled his face in disappointment. “I didn’t kill him.”

“You shot him!” I cried.

“It’s a good thing we’re headed to the gun range, so you can learn how to properly shoot someone if you think a shot to the knee is going to kill a man. He’s just passed out; he’ll be back to screaming any minute.”

“What? I’m not going to the gun range with you!”

He took a step into me, the gun shifting against his abs, angled at the wall when he pushed hard against it and me. “Of course you are. Look at how you’re holding that. You’re going to get someone killed,” he said as he removed the gun from my hands in one swift motion and took my arm, gently this time as he guided me out the door.

A few minutes later—though I couldn’t be sure how many, but I was sure that I was in some kind of shock—I stood in one of the five lanes of the gun range. It was silent save for the distant caw of a few crows. The reinforced wall built into the cliffside in front of me had targets placed at varying distances along the long, sleek lane. It was mostly outside, but the space had modern stone shelters and coverings that matched the main house—only these felt more tactical. Everything smelled like gun oil and leather. It was gritty and clean all at once. The gun—the same gun that Jasper had used on the intruder—was heavy in my hands. Jasper was right behind me being far too quiet.

I didn’t hear him move closer, but I felt him there. It was like gravity had shifted and he was pulling my awareness. I believed him about the guy in the room; he was blowing off steam, taking it out on the man. Just as we’d left the room, the man started screaming again. Jasper had let out a low laugh at my look of relief. I’d never thought Jasper was a saint, but it was a sharp reminder of the powerful, dangerous man that he was. I had maintained a healthy fear of him, even if it had blended into lust, but the fear was back in full force. I could hardly keep my knees locked because I was so scared. I had just watched him shoot a man and now we were playing with guns? What if he turned his anger on me?

“Finger off the trigger until you’re ready,” Jasper said, voice low. “You don’t aim until you know what you want to hit.” He’d barely spoken since we got to the range. He didn’t need to.

He’d set up the targets, loaded the weapon, and handed it to me without a word—like he already knew how this would go.

I adjusted, trying to copy his tone, his stillness. My quivering finger pulled the trigger and fired the gun. I muttered a low curse when I missed. I got the feeling he wouldn’t let this go until I hit a couple targets and we both relaxed a little from the earlier events.

“Go on,” he said, now standing behind me. His voice was steady and quiet, filled with an authoritative tone. “Show me how brave you are.”

I repeated my earlier action. Raised the gun, fired, and missed.

“Grip’s too tight,” he said, stepping forward. “You’re choking it. Let me.”

His hand slid over mine, cool and controlled. His chest brushed my back, deliberate. He adjusted my arms, my fingers, my stance. It should’ve felt instructional.

It didn’t. It felt like foreplay. The sensations that danced over my skin fought to blur the wild thoughts in my mind. I’d just watched him shoot someone, and now that same fear was caught in the space between being frightened and completely turned on.

“Again.”

I fired. It hit barely left of center. My knees almost gave out.

“You’re holding it wrong,” Jasper said behind me, his voice low, lethal in its calm.

“I hit the target.”

“You brushed it.”

He stepped into my space. Not rudely or urgently. Just…unavoidably.

“But if someone’s coming for you?” His breath touched my neck. “You don’t brush.”

He adjusted my arms again, his body closing over mine like a second skin. He didn’t rush. He didn’t ask. He corrected.

“Hands loose.” His palm flattened over my stomach. “And breathe here. Not in your throat. That’s fear. I want control.”