Page 34 of Passed Ball

But the patience I've learned as a dad kicks in. I force myself to stay in control, choosing the safer route instead of acting on the impulse. "She said it was your favorite. Is, um . . . everything okay?"

"Oh yeah. Fine." She rubs her neck and winces.

Clearly it's not fine. "Your neck is bothering you," I state.

When Tenley said she was having a bad day and needed cake, I expected to find her upset, not hurting. But other than the obvious discomfort, she seems fine, happy even.

"It's nothing." She waves me off.

"So you weren't stretching because you're hurt?"

She laughs crossing the office and stopping halfway to me, holding her head at an uncomfortable angle the whole time. "I don't have time to be hurt."

I glance at my watch--I don't need to head to the stadium yet. Instead of handing her the bag, I set it down on the corner of her desk and perch on the edge.

"Come here." I widen my legs to make room for her to step in. She looks at me, raising an eyebrow.

"Trust me. Our trainers work on sore muscles all the time. I've picked up a thing or two."

She hesitates, standing still in the middle of her office, biting her lip, looking more nervous than I've ever seen her.

"Vivienne. You're in pain and I can help. Please let me."

Chapter 16

Vivienne

Having reliable judgment is usually my strongest ally, but right now, it's not working. Xavier perches on the edge of my desk, thick thighs spread daring me to make a terrible decision.

The cake isn't the most tempting thing he brought into my office.

Stepping between his legs and letting him put those strong hands on me is a surefire way to unravel every ounce of self-control I have left. Ever since the gala, my thoughts have been a traitorous mess, thanks to him in that tuxedo and the girls filling my head with vivid, ridiculous ideas about athletes and their stamina. Now, my body has decided it's horny for this man and this man only, urging me to do far more than accept an innocent shoulder rub.

It's a bad idea. I need to be able to work with him and even if it's not against the rules, it feels like crossing a line. Besides, I don't do relationships. If he's even looking for a relationship it should be with someone more willing to give up pieces of themselves. That's not me.

There are a million reasons to tell him no. But I don't.

Blame it on the exhaustion or the ache in my shoulder that started after I fell asleep holding Holland during movie night last week. Either way, I'm not at my strongest right now.

No matter the reason, it all boils down to one thing: I'm a weak woman desperate for relief. With my neck aching the way it is, I'm not picky about how I get it. Xavier might not be able to give me the orgasm my body is begging for, but maybe if he can loosen up the tension in my shoulders and neck, it'll help ease this constant strain.

I step between his legs, turning so my back is to him, my body framed by his long legs. My focus fixates on how they stretch out beside mine, lean and powerful. They're undeniably close, caging me in. But no matter where I direct my attention, I'm all too aware of how precariously close I am to being in his lap.

God, if I had to face him right now, I'd completely fall apart. I'm too unsteady, too wound up, and he's too near. It's dizzying and thrilling all at once, and my pulse flutters wildly as I stand there, waiting for him to do something.Anything.

The seconds stretch on. My body is hypersensitive. I close my eyes, trying--and failing--to calm my racing heart. He's got to be able to feel it pounding out of control.

I'm seconds away from begging when he shifts closer, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Can I touch you, Vivienne?"

Oh my god.There's a raw edge to his request that makes me think this isn't all in my head. That simple, powerful question goes straight to my core. It should be embarrassing, but I'm too far gone to care.

"Yes." My permission is entangled in a shaky exhale.

His fingers brush my bare shoulder as he moves my hair to one side. It's June, and hot as hell, but I wish I would've worn a blazer or something thicker than the thin sleeveless knit turtleneck. Without that barrier, I'm exposed, feeling nearly naked.

"You'll tell me if anything I do bothers it." It's a gentle demand.

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