Page 12 of The Players Next Door

My cheeks flush, and I let out a shaky laugh. "You guys are impossible," I say, even as I slide into the seat next to Jaxon.

Jaxon's thigh presses against mine, a silent reminder of what we have shared. That night was supposed to be a one-off, a way to quench this burning curiosity. Instead, it kindled something fiercer, more consuming.

Remember, keep it professional, I remind myself, though my inner voice is drowned out by the recollection of tangled sheets and whispered promises.It was a one-time thing, I lie to myself.

"Everything okay?" Deacon asks, eyebrow arched, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Perfect," I lie, flashing a smile that feels as flimsy as my resolve.

"Good," Cameron says, handing me a safety card. "Because you're going to need to buckle up."

It's not the flight that worries me. It's the turbulence in my own chest, the storm these three have conjured within me. I'm pretty sure I wore out the batteries on my vibrator thinking about them, about us. How long am I going to be able to resist the temptation? Because the real thing? It’s so much better than my fantasies.

Deep breaths, Holly. Just another day at the office.

But who am I kidding? When it comes to Jaxon, Cameron, and Deacon, it's never just another day.

I look out the window, watching the ground crew prepare for takeoff. This is my life now—constant travel, constant proximity to temptation. I'm not just reporting on the game; I'm living it, caught in a whirlwind of adrenaline and desire.

The jet engines roar to life, vibrating through the cabin and into my bones. It's nothing compared to the way Jaxon's hand on my thigh sends a tremor straight to my core. I grip the armrest, trying to anchor myself to something, anything that isn't the heat of his touch.

"Scared of flying?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble over the sound of the plane picking up speed.

I shake my head, my voice a mere whisper. "Not the flying."

His fingers inch higher, emboldened by my answer. My breath hitches. This is bad. Very, very bad. Any semblance of professional distance is sprinting for the emergency exit.

"Jax," I warn, but it comes out all breathy, like an invitation.

"Relax, Hol," he says, that dimple making a brief appearance as he smirks. "Just making sure you're comfortable."

Comfortable is not the word I'd use. More like delirious. I close my eyes, trying to focus on anything other than the desire pooling in my belly.

"My brother's going to kill me," I manage to get out, half-joking, half-terrified.

"Only if he catches us," Cameron chimes in from my other side, never taking his eyes off his book. I'd almost forgotten he was there, which says a lot about my current state of mind.

"Us?" I echo, my attempt at sounding stern falling flat.

"Collective responsibility," Deacon adds with a wink.

"Great," I mutter. "I've turned my brother into a mass murderer."

"Sounds like a fun family reunion," Jaxon teases, his hand still dangerously high on my thigh.

"Stop," I plead, but we all know it's a feeble attempt I’m making to grab control. My body betrays me, leaning into his touch like a flower to sunlight.

"Make me," he challenges, his brown eyes locked onto mine, intense and unyielding.

The plane lifts off, peeling away from the ground, and with it, my last shred of self-control threatens to slip away. I'm in free fall, and these three men are the only thing keeping me aloft.

"Behave," I say, but it's less a command and more a plea.

"Where's the fun in that?" Jaxon's voice is a husky whisper against the shell of my ear now, his breath hot on my skin.

I don't have an answer because, God help me, I don't want him to behave. Not really. Not at all.

But no matter how heated things get, I have a job to do. And I'll be damned if I let anything—or anyone—compromise that.

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