Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(22)

She was reaching for the helmet before she even agreed to go.

There was something about the shining lights, the way the city seemed to light up with new life that made Coney Island seem all the more wondrous at night.

Amber might have lived in New York for the better part of six years, but she had only come out to the theme park a handful of times, and those had all been during the day.

The sweet smell of promised funnel cake hung heavy in the air as they parked near the pier. And once Kyrnon had mentioned it, she was all for it.

Just like before at the diner, he offered that scarred, calloused hand of his, closing his fingers around hers once she accepted. There was no hesitation in his step, nor any tension in his hold.

He didn’t care that this was only their second time going out together—nor had he even cared the first.

He didn’t care that others glanced in their direction, sometimes even twice, but that could have also been because he was worth looking at twice.

They were just passing a gaming booth, one with netting hanging along the doors where giant panda bears were put up as prizes. Though she had always felt like the games were rigged somehow, that had never quelled her desire to try and win one. Once she had played against a kid—and you never take the win away from a kid—and the few times she came with Rob, he had never wanted to try his hand at one.

She was twenty-five, she didn’t even have a place for that damn stuffed thing, but the idea of walking away from that panda was hard.

“Want to have a go at it?” he asked, nodding his head in its direction, even as he steered her toward the booth.

The attendant, with a name tag that read Tony, barely spared them a glance as he muttered, “Ten for the first game, five for the next. Three hits for a small prize, ten for the big ones.”

“Have you ever beaten one of these?” she asked in return as he dug into his pocket, pulling out a twenty and slapping it down in front of the man that looked like he was three sheets to the wind.

There was something about the way his lips twitched that made her curious. “Not exactly.”

Kyrnon had one of the toy guns in his hand before she could respond, seeming to test the weight in his hands before holding it out in front of him, his gaze trained straight ahead.

He looked effortless like that, as though it was second nature to him. That nagged at the back of her mind, especially since she knew some interesting people in Manhattan, but she ultimately chalked it up to men and their guns.

Kyrnon looked ready to take out the spinning targets when he paused and looked to her. Holding his hand out, he beckoned her over, pressing the gun into her hands once she was close enough.

“I don’t—”

“It’s easy,” he said, cutting her off, his lips next to her ear. “You just aim…” His arms circled her, drawing her into the position he wanted, staying close. “… and pull the trigger.”

His finger found hers on the trigger, and only once she inhaled did he pull it. It wasn’t nearly as intense as a real gun, Amber was sure, but she could still feel the kick as the small pellet ejected, speeding through the air and hitting the target dead center.

He kissed her right where her jaw and throat met before stepping back, the hand he had at her waist lingering moments longer. “Easy.”

Amber could feel the flush in her face, even the path his hand had taken as it slid off her.

Yeah, there was nothing easy about Kyrnon Murphy.

Focusing, she closed one eye, trying to see the small, spinning circles better. She waited until she thought she had one in sight before she aimed, took a breath, and fired.

Missing the target entirely.

“What’s this?” Kyrnon asked. “You’re supposed to be winning me a prize. I’m a hard man to please, darlin’. Do me proud.”

Laughing, she aimed and shot again, barely grazing the metal, but did actually hit it. “This isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“Fair enough. Let’s wager on it then.”

Thinking back on the first shot he took, Amber scoffed. “I have no doubt that you can hit all of them.”

“Of course,” he said, not even a little ashamed at his arrogance. “I’m betting on you, though.”

Eyeing him as she turned the weapon over in her hands, she considered it. “And if I lose.”

“I’ll take you home after we leave.”

“And if I win?”

He rubbed a hand over his beard, a smile kicking is lips up. “We haven’t discussed parameters, lovie. First thing’s first.”

She waved him on. “Let me have them.”

“You hit the next seven of eight.”

Amber shook her head, knowing there was no possible way she could do that. “Five.”

“Six.”

“Fine.” How could she possibly argue with him? “Now, tell me. What do I win?”

His next words were low, guttural almost, spoken in a language she didn’t understand, but there was a heat to his gaze, one that made her feel terribly alive.

Licking her lips, she asked, “What does that mean?”

“Hit the next six and I’ll show you what it means.”

If that wasn’t motivation, she didn’t know what was.

Turning back, she aimed and hit the next three, but the one that followed missed by an inch.