Collision Course by Desiree Holt

his hands itched to. His cock decided to make
itself known, hardening and lengthening and pressing against the denim of his
fly with some urgency.
    He
ground his teeth. He couldn’t get involved with someone here, especially
someone he couldn’t even tell his real name. If he got lucky with his research,
he’d be gone before long, taking his information to Max Rider and himself out
of the equation. But damn it, something between them had crackled from the
moment she’d served him his first cup of coffee and it hadn’t decreased in
intensity. If he didn’t get himself under control, he’d be in big trouble.
    However,
unless he misread the signs, she battled the same feelings. He caught her
stealing glances at him as she loaded her clips, the tension running through
her body evident in her movements.
    “We
should alternate,” she told him. “That way there’s no danger of accidents.”
    “Agreed.”
He gestured toward her. “Ladies first.” He needed the time to pull himself
together so he didn’t embarrass himself. After all, he hadn’t practiced for
some time.
    She gave
him one last glance, moved up to the line fifteen feet from her target, took
aim and fired in three-shot bursts. Trey had to admire her. She was steady,
accurate and not afraid of her weapon. He wondered idly how old she’d been when
she started handling a gun.
    He took
in the sculpted line of her arms as they held out the gun, her long legs as she
braced herself in a shooting stance. He couldn’t take his eyes from her as she
fired again and again. When she’d emptied her clip, she walked to the table and
nodded to him.
    “Your
turn, sport.” Her lips curved in a teasing grin and heat shot through him.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.”
    I can
do this. I will not embarrass myself in front of her.
    Hah!
Big words, tough guy.
    But the
moment he slammed the clip into place, walked up to the line and took his
shooting stance, muscle memory and training took over and all the instruction
he’d had returned to him. By the time he’d emptied the clip, he had respectable
holes in his target. Not as good as Casey’s, but enough so he didn’t have to
hang his head.
    “Not
bad,” she told him. “I have to say I’m impressed. Who taught you?”
    He
shrugged. “An instructor at a firing range. He’s ex-Delta Force.”
    “He did
an excellent job. Where’s the range?”
    “Up
north,” he said, deliberately vague then wondering if even that gave up too
much information.
    Casey
studied him for a moment then focused on her gun. “Hey, doesn’t matter to me. I
shouldn’t be asking you questions anyway. I hated when people pump me for
information. Your life is your own.”
    He felt
compelled to say something. “Like I told you, I’m making some changes in my
life. I’ve kind of been wandering from place to place, trying to find the right
setting to work.”
    “And you
decided on Connelly?”
    “It’s…comfortable
here.” And no place where Bennett or his associates would think I’d be. I
hope.
    “Good.
Well, we’ll do our best at the Half ’n Half to make sure you stay comfortable.”
    She
tacked up a new target and took her stance again. Okay, he got the message.
Conversation was over. Fine with him. He couldn’t let her be a distraction.
Forcing everything else from his mind, he focused on what he’d come here to do.
By the time he’d used up two boxes of bullets, he’d become more relaxed in his
ability to use the weapon. He’d never be a crack shot like Casey but he just
needed to be able to shoot straight enough to defend himself. If and when the
time came.
    “I’m
curious,” he said as they cleaned up their gear. “Where did you learn to
shoot like that? I’d always heard guns were a way of life in Texas and I guess
it’s true.”
    She
averted her gaze, concentrating on packing her bag, as she answered him. “I
spent some time with the FBI plus four years in the Army.” The words sounded as
if they left a bad