“Would you like me to shoot you in your office?” I inquired politely.
“That won’t be necessary. Junior would be in charge if you killed me and I don’t think he’s up to it at the moment.” He chuckled and sat on the edge of his desk of sin. “Meet me at six at the range. It’ll be closed. I don’t want anyone to know you’re packing.”
“No one will know I’m packing, Hank. I carry my gun between my thighs.” With that little nugget I got up and left his office before he could respond. The look on his face was priceless, but I was playing with fire. He knew it and I knew it.
***
“What in the Sam Hill was that?” Junior shouted. “She hit every kill zone twice, then blew his balls to Kingdom Come.”
“Guns down,” Hank said tersely. He walked to the target and examined it. He dropped his head back onto his shoulders and did some deep breathing. He wanted to blow a gasket, but he couldn’t. I’d proved him wrong. “Do it again.”
“Fine,” I said. “Move.”
“That’s right, boy,” Junior yelled. “If you want to keep your nuts, you better haul ass out of there.”
I slipped my ear protectors back on and did a repeat performance. Almost. I hit all the kill zones twice and then I completely obliterated the target’s testicles.
“I’m having a visceral reaction to that shit,” Junior grunted and bent at the waist. “Ease up on the man junk, Essie.”
If I wasn’t mistaken, and I wasn’t, Hank was leaning forward too.
“I’m satisfied,” Junior said as he packed up his weapons. “She could shoot the teats off a cow in the next county. You two wanna come to the diner and get a bite?”
“No,” we said loudly and quickly at the same time.
“Have it your way,” Junior said as he moseyed over to the exit. “I’m lockin’ the door behind me just in case you two wanna…”
“We don’t want to do anything,” I said, hoping that came out stronger than it sounded to my own ears. “I have to get home to my granny and my…um, friend Dwayne.”
Junior froze and shot his brother a concerned look. Hank barely responded to my possible involvement with another man. Wait. Had me telling him no really worked? I found that hard to believe, and alarmingly I found it depressing. Junior shrugged his massive shoulders and left.
“We have a few more things to go through and then you can get back to your friend,” Hank said politely.
“Um…okay. I proved I could shoot, which by the way was ridiculous. What else do I have to do to convince you?” I put my gun back into my bag, slapped my hands on my hips and gave him a look.
“Hand to hand.” He smirked as he put his gun away.
He was smoking crack if he thought we were going to wrestle. It was all I could do to keep my inner wolf from jumping his bones and flushing my self-respect down the toilet. If I had to actually touch him, I was toast.
“Nope. You already know I can fight. You taught me how to fight. I will not go hand-to- hand with you. Period. Plus, I didn’t bring the right clothes,” I said, indicating my jeans and boots with great relief.
Without looking at me he tossed me some scraps of material.
“Put them on,” he said as he removed his shirt and pulled on a t-shirt. My eyes almost popped out of my head. No one had a right to look like him. The light sprinkling of dark hair on his perfectly tanned chest veed down to the waistband of his jeans in the sexiest way imaginable and made my knees knock. Quickly looking away, I cursed him out viciously inside my head.
The ball of material in my hands looked vaguely familiar. Hell to the no. They looked familiar because they were mine. It was the outfit I worked out in the afternoon I left him. I must have thrown it in the laundry and forgotten about it. There was no way in hell I was going to put on booty shorts and a sports bra.
“I can’t wear these,” I mumbled.
“Suit yourself. We’ll go hand to hand in what you have on.”
“Is this your last test?” I demanded.
“For the moment.” He grinned and shrugged.
He sucked so bad I wanted to smack him. He would have an advantage if I were in boots and jeans. The simple fact that I was far more competitive than rational had not served me well in life and I was about to prove that point again.
“Fine. Turn around.”
“Has living in the big city made you self-conscious?” he asked, standing his ground and watching me intently.
“No,” I insisted quickly. Nudity meant nothing to Werewolves. A body was a body. We stripped to shift in large groups—it was natural. I wasn’t at all self-conscious about my body…it was him. No, it was me. I didn’t trust myself and that infuriated me. He meant nothing. So what if I was still attracted to him? He was pretty and built like a Greek god, but he was a cheating loser and I was better off without him. He wanted me to strip? Then I was gonna strip. Slowly.
Turning sideways so I could avoid his eyes, I eased my jeans off my hips and then down my long legs, slipping my cowboy boots off as I went. The air in the gun range was cool and tiny chill bumps covered my body. What was my problem? Well, my inner wolf was one of them. She wanted me to bang him and was making no bones about it. I shoved her down and she pouted. I quickly shed the rest of my clothes. A striptease was going to backfire in a big bad way. I knew his eyes were on me and I yanked on the obscene booty shorts and bra. My fury at myself and him built to a point that I was ready to kick some ass—his, to be more specific.