Page 56 of Dario DeLuca

"I'm going to teach you how to use this today," I tell her.

The muscles in Mia's jaw tighten, but she gives a resolute nod. "Whoever is after me…they won't catch us unprepared again." There's a newfound hardness in her gaze that both impresses and unsettles me.

“No…they won’t.” Stepping closer, I take her soft hands in my calloused grip, savoring the stark contrast.

Carefully, I guide her fingers around the grip, adjusting her hold until it's properly anchored. Then, I place the noise-canceling headset over her ears before sliding behind her. Our arms brush and hers is warm against mine, stoking the simmering I've fought to repress.

"Like this," I murmur, my lips inadvertently brushing the delicate skin of her neck below her ear. A tremor courses through her, and I swear I can feel the frantic flutter of her pulse against my chest as I mold myself to her backside.

Forcing my focus, I continue my instructions with a low, hushed rasp. "Tuck your elbows in.”

Mia does as told, getting it right on the first try.

“Good. Now squeeze the trigger. Don't pull it."

Mia's brow furrows in concentration as she follows my lead. When the first shot cracks through the room, she starts but doesn't flinch away. There's a glimmer of pride in her eyes as she examines the fresh hole in the target downrange.

"Well done, Bella," I can't resist praising her.

As her confidence blooms, I reluctantly retreat a few paces, allowing her space while keeping a watchful presence. Round after round, Mia's grouping tightens, each shot more precise than the last. She's a quick study, her movements increasingly assured. When she turns to face me again, a radiant smile lighting up her features, the barrel rises…pointing at my chest.

Instinctively, I deflect the muzzle away with the back of my hand. "Whoa there, Bella. Live rounds, remember?"

Mia's eyes widen with dismay. "Oh god, Dario, I'm so sorry. I didn't even think?—"

I capture her wrist, drawing her attention back to me. "It's all right, no harm done. But you need to be more mindful. These tools demand the utmost respect."

She nods fervently, chastened by the near miss. "You're right. I…I want to try something bigger. If I need to use one of these for protection, I need to master it fully."

Well aware of the double meaning in her words, I force away the darker thoughts. Retrieving a more powerful semi-automatic pistol, I offer it up. "This .45 has significantly more kickback than that pea-shooter."

Mia's delicate fingers close around the heftier grip. Holding her gaze, I demonstrate how to load and chamber a round.

"You need to own it," I instruct. "Don't fear the power—respect it, and it will obey you."

Mia stares into my eyes, and her breathing hitches. There's an unspoken subtext between us that extends far beyond these deadly instruments. Pushing aside the heated tension, I move behind her again, my hands encircling hers to guide the aim and correct her stance. The supple curves of Mia's body mold against me again, sparking a fresh flare of smoldering heat low in my gut.

Discipline keeps my touch professional, even as her scent surrounds me in an intoxicating cloud. But when she shifts restlessly, her plump ass brushing against my pelvis, I can't stifle the guttural growl that rumbles up from my chest.

The sound seems to resonate as the air thickens with undeniable wanting. Mia's breaths come shallower, her pulse fluttering rapidly beneath my fingertips when I sweep her hair behind her ear and out of her face. It would be so easy to unleash the torrent of desire, to knock all this shit over and take her right here on the table.

But I can’t, not like this, not when she's still reeling from so much turmoil. Forcing down the cravings, I ease away from the tempting warmth of her body.

"Take your time," I tell her gruffly. "Get a feel for it."

Mia seems to resettle her focus, determination overshadowing the haze of arousal. With white-knuckled intensity, she reacquires her aim down the range. At the firstthunderous report, she jolts but adjusts quickly and squeezes off another round.

And another.

And another.

Bit by bit, her grip steadies as the recoil becomes an expected cadence rather than a jarring force. I watch silently, something tightening in my chest at her fierce determination.

When the final round is spent, the sudden silence seems to echo in the stillness between us. Mia lowers the gun, her chest rising and falling with deep, steadying breaths. Gently, I reach out and ease the weapon from her grip.

Our eyes meet then, the air charging with unspoken intensity. I can read the turmoil swirling in her gaze, the vulnerability she tries so hard to conceal from me. But there's a newfound resolve there, too—a quiet strength that calls to something primal within me.

Mia swallows. Her expression is guarded, but there's a glimmer of something raw in her eyes. An answering spark that ignites a raging wildfire inside me. With monumental effort, I break away first.

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