‘You will also be able to shoot straighter. And in any case, with your current attire, it will be extremely hard to look any more ridiculous than you already do.’
My eyes narrowed, but I didn’t turn around to give him a good kick. Instead, I kept my target in my sights - a slim tree, a dozen or so yards away.
‘Oh, so you think I look ridiculous, Sir, do you?’
‘Your attire is certainly not suitable for polite company.’
Stepping back without looking, I brushed up against him. ‘And what about not-so-polite company?’
There was a strangled noise from behind me. Smiling, I took aim at the tree.
Bang!
Splinters and wet bits of leaves erupted from a bush to its left.
‘Damn!’
‘You still don’t have the right stance, Mr Linton. Here, let me show you.’
I felt him step closer, and his arms came up around me from behind.
Oh dear God…! That feeling! Hard muscles pressing into me, pulling me where they wanted me to go…
‘Now concentrate. Hold your breath.’
His pectorals pressing against my back, flexing tantalisingly with every minute shift…
My breathing sped up.
‘I said hold your breath, not hyperventilate!’
‘Yes, Sir! Sorry, Sir!’
Gathering all my willpower, I clamped my mouth shut tightly.
‘Now, concentrate! Hold steady, and think only of your target. Think only of what you want!’
Oh, I know exactly what I want right now…
Bam!
‘Missed again!’ He sounded exceedingly displeased. ‘What is the matter with you, Mr Linton?’
*~*~**~*~*
Lessons with Mr Ambrose didn’t go well. Whenever he got near me to show me things, my hands seemed to get shaky and I started to miss targets a lot. It was probably my instinctive urge to turn around and shoot him in the backside, I assumed. Hopefully, it would lessen with time.
Oh really? You think that’s what it is? So, it has nothing to do with the fact that your heart starts racing every time he gets close to you? Nothing to do with the fact that every time he touches you, you crave not his death, but the little death?[16]
Well, yes, there might be a tiny little bit of truth to that. Blast!
And the worst thing was that Mr Ambrose was infuriatingly, masculinely smug about it all. Every time I missed he gave me a cool, superior look that, while perfectly unemotional, somehow managed to purvey his belief of the utter and unchallengeable superiority of the male gender over the female one in general, and of him over me in particular.
Finally, I decided I’d had enough! If my silly little heart was going to start acting up every time I was in his vicinity, I would just have to train alone! That very night (making sure that this time, nobody followed me) I pinched a gun from our considerable supply and snuck off into the jungle. Ha! I couldn’t wait to see Mr Ambrose’s face when I suddenly turned out to be a master marksman!
On my regular nocturnal trips, I had to walk quite a way into the jungle to prevent the shots from being heard back in the camp. Luckily, the racket of the jungle drowned out any other sounds, and the thick trees kept anyone from seeing the light of my little lamp. Mr Ambrose tersely remarked on my tired eyes and slow pace during the day, but that was all anybody noticed.
Thus we moved on, farther and farther westwards. We were almost certain by now that the Brazilians had decided to turn around and leave us alone. I was getting a bit annoyed that Mr Ambrose was still making me shimmy up tropical trees on a regular basis, since it clearly wasn’t necessary anymore.