“No.” She kept her cool and forced a smirk. “I wanted to see what kind of hardware you’re capable of wielding.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “I’m already sick of this pissing contest, and we haven’t even been on the water for an entire day.” He walked past her and opened the gun locker.
She held her breath, waiting to see if he noticed the webcam. “There’s no contest. I just need to know you can cover me.”
“Or maybe you can cover me.” He turned around with a Glock and two clips. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
She raised a brow. “Target practice at night?”
“Afraid I’m a better shot than you?”
“No.” She let out a humorless chuckle. “I’m afraid you might accidentally shoot a crew member.”
He rolled his eyes. “Meet me topside in five minutes.”
“Done.”
“Good.” He passed by her, so close his scent assaulted her senses. He smelled like gunpowder and the open ocean. A deadly combination that called to her on more than one level.
…
Greyson balanced the empty bottles on the railing at the stern of the ship.
He shouldn’t let her get under his skin, but it was too late. He couldn’t get her condescending smile out of his head. He’d outshoot her, and maybe then she’d loosen up and he could enjoy the trip to Glasgow Harbor.
Maybe.
“I’m ready if you are.”
He turned around at the sound of her voice, his lips curving into a grin in spite of his annoyance with her. “I’m always ready.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just tell me where we’re standing.”
He crossed to her side, glancing over at the bottles. “This is a good warm-up. Twenty-five feet?”
“Works for me.” She lifted her Glock, parting her legs into a solid stance.
She sized up the target, adjusting for the wind, and squeezed the trigger. The shot echoed through the night, and the bottle exploded. She turned toward him with a smile that stole his breath and his bravado.
This was Aura. This was the woman she’d buried under all that hard-ass bullshit. She was more than a light. She was a beacon.
And just like that, it was gone. She holstered her Glock and raised a brow. “Happy?”
He nodded with a shrug. “Not bad.” He lifted his gun one-handed, his gaze sliding down the barrel to the center of the bottle, and fired. Glass shattered, disappearing from the railing, and from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of her smile again.
His fucking heart lurched. What the hell?
He straightened. “Farther back?”
She nodded, backing up a few more paces. Her feet moved apart, her knees bent, naturally compensating for the swells rocking the Sea Dog beneath them.
The wind tugged at her dark hair as she raised her weapon, her eyes focused on the target. Her lips parted slightly, her nostrils flaring. He could almost see her instinctively adjusting her aim for the gust of wind.
This wasn’t just someone who was well trained at a gun range. She was one with her weapon. Part of her soul would guide the bullet to its target.
Or that’s how it seemed when she fired.
She pulled the trigger, and the bottle exploded. There was that smile again. Before he could say anything, she buried the unbridled joy, all business again.
“Your turn.”
He inspected his gun and holstered it. “How about we make this interesting?”
“How so?”
“I have a couple of flintlock pistols in the armory. They’re not as precise as a Glock. You’ve probably never…”
The moonlight danced in her dark-green eyes. “I have, actually.”
He raised a brow, unable to hide his admiration. “Yer toyin’ with me.”
“No.” She shook her head, crossing her arms, but her lips were barely holding back a grin. “I’m trained in historic and mythical weaponry.”
“I’m impressed.” He pointed to a barrel near the railing. “Set up a few more bottles. I’ll be right back.”
He returned to the weapons room and took down a pair of flintlock pistols, grabbed a pouch of steel pellets, gunpowder, and packing supplies, then went back to the stern.
Aura leaned against the railing, staring up at the moon. The cool glow of moonlight softened her features, offering him a glimpse of the woman behind her Agent Henderson shield.
She was beautiful and deadly. His favorite combination.
Too bad she hated him.
Definitely for the best.
He cleared his throat and waited for her to turn. “Ready?”
“Yes.” She took one of the revolvers, determination glinting in her eyes. “Did you load them already?”
He chuckled. “Nah, that’s half the fun, lass.” He shook his head before she could correct him. “Agent Henderson.” He raised a brow. “I didn’t mean any offense.”
“You’re just saying that because I’m armed.” She grinned.
Was she actually teasing him? She opened the pouch and started packing the barrel of the pistol. She was fucking glorious.
“Cut an old pirate some slack.” He chuckled, pouring in the powder. He glanced her way as he wrapped the steel ball in the small patch of fabric and dropped it inside the barrel of the pistol. She was keeping up with him, obviously experienced with the weapon. He tamped it all down with the ramrod and lifted the revolver.
“You don’t look old to me.” She packed the load in her barrel down and looked over at him. “How old are you really?”
His gaze locked on hers. “Don’t you have that in your files?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I did.” She set aside the gunpowder and gripped the revolver, gauging the weight in her hand. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”
“I’m old enough to know better than to try firing these old dogs into the wind.”
A sly smile curved her lips. “Afraid you might miss the target?”
“No.” He lifted his gun, focusing all his attention down the barrel, to the center of the bottle on the railing. “Afraid you might miss and damage the ship.”
He pulled the trigger, absorbing the recoil as the loud shot rang in his ears. The bottle exploded, and he lowered his still-smoking gun. “Your turn.”
She looked over at him with raised brows. “Impressive.”