GUNFIRE CUT ACROSS THE TRANQUIL afternoon air. Birds fluttered from the trees around the property, and André shot out of his chair on the porch, dropping his book. He glanced around the area, keeping his head down and grabbed for the pistol at his waistband. How could Bendetto’s men have found us so fast? Where is Stefano?

Reyna opened the back door carrying a tray of fresh lemonade for everyone. Calm as a clam.

“Get down!” André whispered.

“Relax, Your Highness. Target practice.” She set the tray on the table and gave him a wink. “Why don’t you join them?”

Three more shots ripped through the air followed by a deep laugh. André swallowed back the embarrassment and smiled. He holstered his gun, and descended the steps toward the other side of the house. Behind a row of pecan trees, Stefano and Rico stood back and watched Gemma fire at a line of what looked like fruit. Once André cleared the pecan trees, the view opened. Apples, oranges, and some kind of small melon lined up on a wooden rail in the middle of a clearing, with a small, grassy berm built up behind it. Debris littered the ground.

Gemma’s face was focused, brilliant and glowing as she aimed a handgun straight out from her body in one hand. With a squeeze of the trigger, the apple exploded. Then the orange, and last the melon. Stefano clapped and Rico stepped forward with a bucket.

“Gun down,” she called. Rico grabbed more fruit from the bucket and strolled over to the railing, replacing the pulped targets with new ones.

“Aren’t you supposed to use tin cans and glass bottles?” André strolled up beside Stefano.

“Would you like to clean up all those shards when you’re done?” Gemma tossed over her shoulder, the joy on her face dissipating slightly at the sound of André’s voice. “Over-ripened fruit is biodegradable and clears Reyna’s fridge.”

“Wanna have a go?” Rico asked with a grin.

Gemma cocked the gun and stood firm at the line, eyes narrowed on the targets.

“Not right now, thank you. It’s clear Gemma needs to blow off some steam.”

Her jaw flexed and she turned to André. Her fire was up and her skin glowed in the sunlight behind her. Damn gorgeous.

“Well?” she asked with a raised brow.

“Well what?”

Stefano coughed behind him, and André realized both he and Rico had moved back about six feet. “On-the-move training,” Rico explained. “Give her some room.”

André furrowed his brow, but stepped back and crossed his arms. “On-the-move?”

Stefano rubbed his chin. “See how far you can travel while shooting all the fruit without missing.”

Gemma focused on the targets, gun at her side.

“Go,” Rico called.

She moved along the line, her feet quick but sure as she aimed and fired at each target, only a second between each shot. By the time all targets were destroyed, she’d traveled about twenty feet without missing.

Holy shit. Jason Bourne has a sister.

“Well done, Gemma,” Stefano beamed. “You should have been a military sniper.”

Gemma scoffed and cleared the weapon. “They wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like me.”

But I sure do. André couldn’t keep his thoughts in check, her chiseled arms and powerful grip, with just a hint of perspiration on her neck sent a fresh pulse to his groin. God, how sexy would that be to have those wrapped around me? Would her movements be just as confident and skilled between the sheets? From the way she did everything else, André drooled at the potential.

Rico took a turn at the line, with great stationary shots, but rusty and uncoordinated with on-the-move. Stefano’s former military life gave him the advantage, and he’d nailed all of his shots. Except during on-the-move, when he only traveled fifteen feet by the time all targets were gone.

Gemma smirked and tipped her hat. “Try it again.”

The second time he’d moved twenty feet, but took two shots to hit the last fruit.

“Keep practicing, rookie,” Gemma laughed with a genuine smile.

When it lit up her face, André almost staggered. Beautiful was too plain a word and wholly inadequate. Not only was she capable of a smile, the world stopped spinning when she did. Or was it his heart that stopped beating?

Pride. Just as vital to her life as to André. But not the flaunting kind for position or power over others. Of mastering a skill and improving oneself. Of reputation. And that André could definitely connect with. Her gaze caught his and the sun hit her cheeks. For once, she didn’t glower or look down her nose at him. On the contrary, her smile widened.

All he could do was return it. And feel his chest expand and crush all at once.

They picked up the littered shells, all the while Stefano and Rico joking with each other about technique and targets. Gemma laughed at a jibe or grinned at a compliment, but otherwise remained silent.

André emptied the shells into the bucket she carried, and his arm brushed against her shoulder. Her skin was warm in the afternoon sun, but the biggest warmth was when she didn’t move away from him. She lost her smile, but didn’t back off.

“Thank you,” she murmured and adjusted her hat, shading her eyes from the light. Before he could say anything else, she turned and strode toward the house. He followed, along with Stefano and Rico.

Reyna handed lemonade to everyone, and André guzzled it. Amazing how quickly this dry place could suck the moisture from his lungs. Gemma had retreated into the house, but he didn’t follow. She probably wanted space. Out here where the land had that in abundance. Rico and Stefano ribbed each other for a few more minutes while they drank their lemonade, and then both retreated into the cooler house.

André sat in the porch chair and watched the grasshoppers jump across the field. Back home, they would have been iguanas darting across the lush gardens of the palace. The reptiles had free reign over the island and were so used to people, there was no use catching or caging them.

Though now all that was probably destroyed. His smile faded at the thought of the destruction and chaos now engulfing his country. Terrorized by a lunatic while their Royal Prince sucked down lemonade half a world away sitting in a glider as if they didn’t exist. And his sister…God please let her be safe. She’s so young, with so much life ahead of her.

André pulled out his nephew’s photo, holding it between his fingers. I’m so sorry.

“You look like you’ve got the weight of a bull on your back, Miguel.” Gemma leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed with her hip jutted out. A soft smile graced her lips. The look was so becoming, it made André’s spirits lift. He wished she’d do it more. Especially around him.

She pulled a chair out beside him, set her hat on the table and nursed her own glass. André cleared his throat and moved to put the picture back in his pocket, but she shook her head and held out her hand. “May I see?”

He paused, unsure of how much she should know. How far he should let her in. But it was just a picture. What harm could it do? He handed her the photo.

Her smile widened. “Cute kid.”

André nodded, but couldn’t speak from the lump in his esophagus.

“Your son?”

“My nephew,” he croaked and cleared his throat again.

“How old is he?”

A deep sigh couldn’t dislodge the lump. “He’s five in the photo.” He’d have been twelve next month.

“Has your smile.”

“Yes he did. My mother’s.” My sister has the same one.

The silence stretched between them. Her smile dissipated and she watched him for countless seconds. Finally she handed the photo back. “I’m sorry.”

He prayed she wouldn’t ask more questions, so he folded it and put it back in his pocket. Drinking the last amounts of lemonade helped lessen the lump. He rubbed his chest to get rid of the rest of it.

“Family is a big deal in your culture,” Gemma murmured. More an observation than a question.

“Isn’t it in every culture?”

Gemma gave a one-shoulder shrug and sipped her lemonade. “Blood may be thicker than water, but it’s a hell of a lot messier, too.”

André scoffed. Amen. But a subject change was definitely needed. “That was really impressive over there.” He tried to keep the huskiness out of his voice. Gemma averted her face, but a hint of a blush dotted her cheek, and one side of her mouth curved up. “Made a nearly-thirty-year-military veteran look like a novice. I’d suggest you become an instructor or sniper, if you weren’t so young.”

The blush disappeared and she sighed. “Twenty-six isn’t young out here for something like that. Especially if you grow up with guns.”

“You have need to be such a great shot out here?”

The gorgeous dimple appeared on her cheek. “Asks the man with an entire arsenal under his belt, where the paved roads end and room service is a bit out of reach.”

Now we’re back to the original Gemma: condescending and easily insulted. “I wasn’t making fun of you,” André bit out. “Why are you so defensive around me?”

“Why are you so hell bent on getting a rise out of me?”

André smothered a growl. “It’s called curiosity and getting to know someone I admire. No one’s ever tried that with you before?”

Gemma huffed, put down her glass, and stalked off into the house. Though frustrating as hell, she had the sexiest tantrums he’d ever seen with her hips swaying as she stomped away and muscles flexing.

“What did you do now?” Stefano sighed, stepping through the door with a book.

“Nothing, for once,” André snapped. “I gave her a genuine compliment and suddenly she’s defensive.”

“Sometimes your compliments come out the wrong way.”

“Obviously.”

“She’s a proud woman,” Stefano continued. “With many talents.”

“A kickboxer, expert horse rider, and a killer shot. Intimidating trifecta. Throw in a celestial face and body, add a dash of sass, she’s the ultimate knockout. The ultimate woman. Hardcore and untainted. And completely insufferable.”

Stefano sighed as he took Gemma’s seat. “You’re focusing on the physical. The surface of a person doesn’t tell you much. It’s what’s underneath that matters most.”

“She’s earned your admiration.”

“My admiration of her is for what is here,” he pointed to his head. “And here,” to his heart. “She is worthy of your admiration. But for far more than you give her credit.”

 

 

 

The back door slammed against the hinge when Gemma rammed through it. Blood boiling and pride dented, she needed a cold shower. Now.

“Gemma!” Reyna admonished from the kitchen chair, where she’d been sipping on lemonade.

“Sorry,” Gemma tossed over her shoulder and marched up the stairs. With the shower on full blast and the door locked, she peeled off her clothes and boots and stepped into the shower. The slamming spray in her face was welcome.

Is there any man in the world more aggravating? Miguel had a softer side. When he looked at his nephew’s photo, the small glimpse was enough to prove it existed. Her heart melted a little at the nostalgia across his face. Then when he gave her an actual compliment, her heart skipped. Skipped! Did he have to ruin it by questioning the purpose of her second favorite hobby? It wasn’t about need. It was the thrill, the precision, the sheer enjoyment. What man wouldn’t understand that purpose?

One with a stick still shoved up his backside. His idea of a thrill was a damn game of cards. And a roll under the sheets. She could understand the latter, but not with a man who wore shinier shoes than her. Prissy guys were such a turn-off.

Don’t kid yourself. There’s nothing prissy about Miguel’s physique or heat. He’s just too enticing for his own good with too much machismo. But he’d complimented her again by saying he admired her, and she was so embarrassed. And too riled up to respond. So she flounced away like a toddler, further cementing her shame. She had too much pressure built up inside with no release. Not the kind of release a gun could offer, though it helped a little. Blowing shit up always eased the tension a bit, but ever since that tan-skinned city boy stepped on the ranch, all her senses kicked into a higher gear. Both good and bad.

Those eyes, serious and playful at the same time, and always glued on her. Except for when he looked at family, and it was the love a man should always show a child. How in the hell could she be so attracted to a man and simultaneously want to rip his head off every time he opened those full lips? An ache crept down to her sex and pooled, swirling and begging to be quenched. She groaned and shook her head, spitting out water.

If only he’d keep his mouth shut, he’d be so much more appealing. Even intoxicating. Those strong hands could wrap around her anytime, or massage a certain pair of tender breasts who desperately needed attention. Or stroke along something even more sensitive, considerably lower. Her fingers trailed down her body and hovered over the curls between her legs.

She imagined running her hands through his dark hair, gripping the back of his head as he devoured her core. He’d be an expert, flicking his tongue on her clit at the perfect speed with the right amount of pressure. All the while teasing her nipples with his fingers, and pinching with delectable pain. When he had her beyond ready, he’d rush himself into her, pounding so hard her feet would lift off the ground. She’d scratch her nails across his back, making him groan into her ear and bite softly along her neck. Then he’d growl her name and she’d explode over the edge.

Everything squeezed. Throbbed, a sweet coil sprung loose and vibrated through every nerve. She hid a cry by biting her lip and just rode the wave over the crest and back to the shore.

Holy shit. She’d gotten off in the shower. She was pissed as hell at him, but just his image could make her orgasm. What’s wrong with me?

Gemma turned off the water and dried off quickly, wiping off the remnants of her delicious imagination. She had to get out of the house. Avoid anything that would remind her of him. Keep away from him until dinner. It’s the only way she could keep a clear head. She’d need one for tonight.