Free The Risqué Target by Kelly Gendron Page B

her starving body alive. Torn between hatred and hunger, she turned away from his too-shrewd eyes.
    “What's the matter?” His whisper swept her neck, “Afraid that if you play, you might lose?” Lightly his fingertips grazed her body.
    She whipped her head around. “What are you doing?”
    Those blue eyes held a devil’s laughter. “I'm looking for your gun. Where is it?” He pressed her sides more firmly. “Aha.” He drew her shirt up and pulled out the gun she had tucked into her jeans. “Is that all?” he murmured, but didn’t wait for a response. His fingers traced around to the front of her waist, down the outsides of her legs to her ankles, and then came up the insides. A pleasing sensation threatened to ignite from his touch, but she blocked it out.
    “Yes, that's all,” she ground out between clenched teeth.
    The weight of his body pulled away. She tried to turn, but he moved toward the sofa. He plopped himself down and placed his gun on the coffee table. Settling into the cushion, he gazed up at her through half-open eyes. She wondered if he was as exhausted as she was. If so, she might use it to her advantage. She glanced at the gun, but his hand lazed too near it. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. He just watched her from hooded eyes.
    Sliding her hand slowly behind her, she found the drawer handle and slowly pulled it open.
    “It's gone. So is the one you hid in your dresser. Come sit with me. You know I want you, Nala Dekker,” he said, patting the sofa cushion. “And I know you want me.”
    She could have chewed nails. Granted, he had years of experience on her, but that was no excuse. She was never careless. So why was she so careless with him?
    She caught his eye, and his arrogant little smirk. He was so sure of himself. Maybe too sure. Maybe he’d been careless, too.
    Nala strolled over as if considering obeying his request, then made a show of sitting across from him in the recliner instead. Lazily, she curled her feet up under her bottom. His eyes fluttered. She was right. He was tired. She slipped her hand between the cushions. The cold metal chilled her fingers. She yanked out her S&W and pointed it at his heart. His gun was too far away for him to react. Who has the upper hand now?
    He didn’t blink. He only permitted one brow to rise slightly. “Did I miss one?”
    Sighing, he lifted his solid shoulders and then dropped them. He stood, but knew better than to make a move for his gun. Instead, a smile formed, though his eyes remained provoking. Their lack of fear was sinister. Yet, he respected her as a danger. Their gaze never left her.
    Or, was he so impervious as he made out? She saw his neck was tense. The veins corded down to the neck of his snug t-shirt. Muscles were etched in his broad chest, tapered waist, and beneath the long, lean legs of his jeans. His silhouette was robust and dark, but now his eyes were darker. They no longer sparkled like the ocean but had morphed into a turbulent green. His handsome face was menacing, an unstoppable force. Despite her field experience, she was frightened.
    She held the gun, but as Nancy had warned, he had more potent weapons. Tantum Maddox, the cold-blooded killer, was closing in on her.
    “I'm going to move forward until I reach you, Nala. To stop me you’ll have to follow through.”
    Her hand shook. The gun quivered. What is wrong with me?
    I must protect myself.
    Five feet. Four feet. An arm's length away.
    She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.
    Nothing.
    Fear closing in, she gave way to the terrible twos, pulled the trigger again. The click of the empty gun ricocheted through the room.
    He took it from her hand, pushed her back into the recliner, and crouched over her, possessing her personal space. “You really meant to shoot me?”
    She met his baleful eyes steadily. “You bet your sweet ass I did.”
    Seizing the arms of the recliner, he practically picked it up as he shoved her and the chair back into the