CHAPTER SEVEN
DRAKE
Cha Cha waits for me, her perfect behind perched on a flat rock while I set up the lesson I had planned before she pounced on me this morning. The image of her actually launching into my lap stays with me as I tack paper targets to the stands that are set into the ground behind the house.
“You said you’ve never shot before.” I keep my back to her as I work, knowing the whole idea still freaks her out.
“I’ve never held a gun,” she confirms.
“Good to know.” At least that gives me a starting point.
Cha Cha seems as determined as me to see through this current course of action I’ve set us on.
That keeps us both going. The bratty display at the end of her speech back in the house is something I tuck away to address later.
Right now, all I want to do is make sure she learns to handle a gun safely, and aims well.
Everything else… If she has confidence after this, maybe she’ll be less scared if I can’t find this fucker and put him down.
Not the job I thought I’d be doing, but a call from an old friend I used to work with in the military who knows show business gave me a lead.
He seems to know Cha Cha’s manager too, which helps in my planning.
Not that Cha Cha needs to know my intentions just yet.
Right now, we’re two satellites orbiting each other, but not colliding.
Not yet.
“Stand up.” I stride back toward her, extracting my own hand gun.
“This is loaded.” I work through the parts of the weapon, letting her feel the weight, explore the safety, eject the magazine.
Once she’s got the feel of it and the precaution measures, we start moving on.
“You’re not going to fire it just yet, okay?
That’s your target.” I stand beside her, pointing out the iron sights on the top of the gun.
“It feels like a long way away.” Cha Cha’s hands waver.
“It’s about thirty yards, so it’s within range. Line up the front post and the rear notches until the point on the target that you’re aiming for is in line.”
Cha Cha frowns and closes an eye. I tsk.
“What?” she asks, annoyance creeping into her voice. “I’m doing everything you ask.”
“Keep both eyes open. You’ll end up with a skewed line of sight, or tunnel vision if you close one, as well as fatigue.”
“Oh. Sorry.” She bites her lip and lowers the gun, keeping her arms straight as I showed her. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You’re doing great, princess,” I say softly. “You’re up to the easiest part, and the hardest. Feather the trigger. Don’t pull it. It’s a hair trigger, so it doesn’t take a lot.” I eject the magazine, and we get a few rounds of practice in with the empty weapon. “Ready to pull the trigger?”
“No?”
I grin. “You’ll be great, Cha Cha. I have faith. Let’s get you lined up.”
Her body is tiny against my larger frame as I tap her feet out slightly and adjust her grip. Soft breaths come faster, too fast, when I thumb the safety down with her.
“Drake—”
“You’ve got this, princess,” I murmur, tucking her body tight into mine. “We don’t have to fire yet. Just breathe.”
“You want me to breathe?” She laughs, a derogatory sound aimed at herself that I hate.
“Yeah, I want you to breathe. With me, princess.” I inhale and press my elbows to her sides, hoping she’ll get the hint and do the same.
A soft breath fills her chest, and, before I can berate her for holding on too long, she releases that and takes another.
“Good, princess. Let’s go again.”
Her hands begin to waver, and I cup mine under hers, to keep her steady.
Do I need to be touching her? Hell no I don’t.
Nor should I be. But I'm aware of her habits with her bodyguards, and I understand all too well why she has stalkers and obsessed fans. Cha Cha Min is beyond beautiful. She’s stunning on another level, all perfect porcelain skin, soft and warm but to look at?
She’s a doll. An object to dress as others like, position how they want.
Fantasize about as they need.
I can’t berate anyone for that last as I’m guilty as hell of my own runaway fantasies of the woman standing between my feet right now.
When she looked at me this morning, licked her lips and mouthed off, I wanted to pull her into me, lift her onto my hips and find out just what sort of rhythm we might find together.
Keeping my hands off Cha Cha is a whole lot harder than touching her.
She settles into the circle of my arms, leaning back slightly.
The display of trust heightens my awareness of everything about her.
Hell, if this keeps going, I’ll be the one panting.
I nudge her forward with my chin, and she whines softly.
Prettily, and damnit, I’m hard as fuck in an instant.
“I’m not your lounge seat, princess. You have to stand alone and do this part.” I step back, needing the breather before I take the gun out of her hands, bend her forward sand fuck her over the rock she was just perched on. The thought hardens my resolve to back the fuck up for the moment.
She was scared enough when she read those letters.
We can play after, but right now, she needs to know how to protect herself, gain a little confidence in understanding that she has power over those fuckers who thought putting their twisted mindsets on paper and sending them to her was a good fucking idea.
Newsflash: it really fucking wasn’t.
Keeping my attention on the target, I talk instead of think, because thinking involves blood flow in a downward trajectory right now. “Breathe in for me again. Now out. Got your target? Good. Then fire. Twice, if you can.”
Cha Cha double taps like a pro, and my grin leaves my cheek aching. “Brutal, princess. Let’s go again.”
She leaves holes all over my targets, rarely missing them altogether. When she lowers the weapon, her arms tremble. “I think I’m done.” She holds the gun out to me, butt first, after ejecting the magazine and clearing the barrel.
“Beautiful,” I approve. “Come here.” I motion her over to where I lean against the rock she sat on before. “How do you feel?"
She shrugs, letting her shoulder drop heavy. “Tired. Overwhelmed. Thirsty?”
“That sounds about right.” I safety the gun and holster it. “You shot well, Cha Cha. I’m proud of you.” Something that resembles uncertainty flickers in the corners of her eyes. I blink and it’s not there anymore, but I swear it was a second before. “Tell me.”
Soft, pink lips part, and for a moment nothing comes out. Then—
“It’s easier to take a compliment when you call me princess,” she whispers. “Or when you’re sarcastic. That way, nothing’s serious.”
My teeth clench down. “You mean it’s too real like this? When I use your name, Cha Cha?”
I swear she flinches before she takes a step backward. “Maybe?”
Everything with her is a question. Okay, not everything but it damn well feels that way.
I raise a hand, palm turned upward, and curl my fingers. “Come here.”
Her arms cross over her stomach protectively. “What for?”
“Princess,” I offer her a single warning. “I never said we were done yet.”
“Oh.” She takes a hesitant step forward, then another, until she reaches where I’ve planted my ass on her favorite rock. “Is this lesson going to hurt?”
My teeth grind again, every inch of my senses screaming. I graze my knuckles across her arms. “When you screwed with your other bodyguards, did they hurt you?”
Her eyes fly wide, her lips parting. “How did you—”
“I know,” I cut her off, not needing to go into the confessional type of discussion that will end with my explanation of how I dug into her private life before I arrived as part of her team.
“So why don’t you tell me about how they treated you, and what you expect from me, princess?
” I use her preferred nickname as she takes a step closer, stopping between my spread feet.
If I reach out now, I could close my hands on her waist, pull her into me. But it’s too early and she’ll run.
“There was nothing official.” Black hair falls forward to cover her face, obscuring my view of her in a practiced movement. “It just happened."
“It ‘just happened’ four times in the last two years, huh,” I say dryly. “And when they left?”
She shrugs. “Then I sing.”
My hands itch with the need to hold her. “You’re filling your life with hook ups that you know are temporary, Cha Cha.”
Her tongue peeks out as she wets her lips. “Are you telling me off?”
Am I? Probably. I rake my fingers through my hair. “It kills me that you’re setting yourself up to hurt each time.”
“Who says I’m the one who hurts?” The challenge in her rises fresh and fast.
I break all the promises to myself I made earlier, and snag the front of her denim top, pulling her closer. “You whisper in your lyrics but you scream in your head. I read the letters, and you know what, princess?” I growl, leaning forward into her space.
Cha Cha stops breathing as she stares up at me, frozen as a statue. “What?” No tremor accompanies the single word.
“I agree.” I let go of her shirt, and lean back. Fuck, I need the space.
She breaths. “What?” Her breath comes faster. “You agree with what, Drake?”
“Come here.” She’s backed away from me, but I’m not having that right now. “I’m not the person you should be afraid of.”
“How do I know that? You could be the person writing the letters.” the words tumble out of her mouth and her eyes widen even as her hands rise to cover her mouth. “I didn’t— I’m sorry. Drake—”
“Come. here,” I murmur, keeping my voice low as I curl my fingers again.
“I’m sorry.” She trips on her way back and I catch her wrist. It’s a good cover for drawing her in closer. Not that being too close stops me because she’s about to get that next lesson real fast. “Drake? Too much. Too–”
I pull her in tight, one hand closed on her wrist, the other gripping her chin, tipping her face up to mine. “You’re right. I could have written those letters. Any of them.”