Blyssful Lies (The Blyss Trilogy 2)

I blush red and find myself averting my eyes, looking to the ground in front of me. He lets go of my hand and lifts my chin, forcing me to look up at him. A sexy grin plays on his lips as he leans forward and lightly captures mine in a slow, seductive, and wet kiss. “You’re so damn sexy when you blush, you know that?” he mumbles against me, and I shiver, once again allowing him to turn my brain to mush.

We wind up spending the next hour shooting at practice targets and going over self-defense strategies. Then he tells me we will eventually exchange out paper targets for human-shaped ones to get me used to the ‘real thing’. When I ask him why, he tells me killing a ‘target’ becomes more automatic when you practice on more than just paper, turning more instinctive so when push comes to shove, I will be able to run on autopilot and fire the weaponry without giving it a second thought. I understand what he’s saying and why he’s doing it, but I don’t like it, not one bit.

By the time he’s packed away the gun case and puts it away, we’re both drenched in sweat. He was right; it has gotten more miserably muggy outside. The air is stiflingly humid. He reaches into a cooler and pulls out a bottle of ice-cold water, and my mouth suddenly goes dry as I watch the water drip from the plastic bottle. I eye the bottle with thirst as he unscrews the lid then hands it to me. As I take a long drink, letting the crisp liquid quench my dehydration, he asks, “Do you still feel like baking yourself outside?”

I take one last swallow and hand the bottle back to him. “I think the oven timer went off thirty minutes ago, and I am well done.”

I watch as he gulps the drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat with each swallow. Then I notice his entire throat, and how it has sweat beads trailing a path down the thickly roped muscles in his neck. He looks like he could be in a Gatorade commercial. I quickly glance over him head-to-toe and think to myself, He is definitely all man. Just the mere sight of him stirs something inside me, and even though we just made love a few hours ago, I feel like I want him again, sweat and all.

When he drinks the last of the water, he puts the empty container back inside the cooler, grabs another full bottle, and then slams the lid shut. He turns to me and tilts his head to the side, his lips curving into a warm smile, showcasing his stark white teeth. “You did a fantastic job today, Jules. You had some really good shot groupings; you’re a natural,” he says encouragingly.

“Thank you, Travis. It helps that you’re a patient instructor.” You’re also a very distracting instructor.

“Well, we’re going to practice this every day, and sometimes twice a day. The more you become familiar with this gun and how to shoot it, the more it becomes second nature to you to handle it with proficiency.”

He nods his head with a slight jerk toward the woods as he holds out his hand, inviting me to take it. “Come on, I want to show you something.” As an afterthought, he pauses, turns around, and grabs an aerosol can from his bag on the picnic table. “I almost forgot; you’re probably going to want some bug spray,” he says, wearing a wide grin.

My eyes grow wide. I didn’t even think about those mammoth bugs being underfoot. Travis shakes his head and chuckles. “It’s not what you’re thinking. This is tick repellant.”

I close my eyes and let out a pained sigh. “Lovely, just lovely; something tells me I’ve never been a big outdoorsy kind of girl,” I complain as Travis begins spraying me down. When he’s done with the task of protecting me from the creatures of the wild, I take his hand and we start walking…and walking…and walking. I feel as if I’ve hiked a country mile through thick terrain, even though I know it’s only been about five minutes, but it feels like forever since it’s so hot outside. Even though we’re out of the direct sunlight, and the trees overhead are providing much needed shade, the air is just as humid since the coastal breeze is gone.

The woods are so thick, and I’d bet they’re almost as dense as any jungle in South America. I look off to the side every now and then, catching glimpses of tunnels going through the thick underbrush. How bizarre. As I walk behind Travis, I yank on his shirttail, my eyes too fixated to remove them from the large burrows trailing off into the forest. “Travis, who made these deep channels through the woods?”