Swing (Landry Family 2)

Her cheeks heat, but she turns away from me and puts the bottle back in the cabinet. “Put your shirt on,” she orders. She looks at me and then pulls her gaze away instantly. “Now. Please. For both of our sakes.”

“Fine, fine,” I say, trying to pretend to huff. “Now my shirt will be ruined.”

“I’ll buy you another.”

“Johnny Outlaw signed this one. You’re not going to just buy me another one.”

“Johnny touched that? Well, in that case, give it to me!” she nearly sighs.

“I also touched it,” I say, a little snarkier than I care to admit. “You know, the best centerfielder in baseball? The guy with these abs?”

She rolls her eyes. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I believe a little boy ran at me like a bullet. I had to catch him. Catching things midair is what I do best, if you didn’t know.” I slide my arms through the shirt and drop it over my torso. Her eyes don’t leave mine.

“Interesting,” she smirks. Her chin lifts a touch, enough to elicit an automatic shift in power from me to her. “I figured your best attribute was something . . . else.”

Her lips twist in amusement as she flips a strand of hair off her narrow shoulders, tosses me a wink, and heads down the hall. I’m not sure what she’s expecting, but I follow. Of course I do.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Her ass sways side to side in front of me, like a hypnotist erasing my mind from any thought other than the one she’s driving home.

God, how I’d like to drive her home.

Glancing over her shoulder, she flips me a look that makes me wonder if I growled out loud. I might’ve.

Stepping inside her office, I shut the door behind me. When I turn around, she’s sitting at her desk.

“Would you like to know what I’m doing here?” My chest is rising and falling to the beat of the sway of her hips from before.

“What makes you think I want to know anything?”

“Because you asked earlier, sweet pea.”

This time, it’s me leaning across the desk. It’s my eyes digging into hers, my energy rolling across the faux-wood desk. She feels it. The uptick in her breathing gives it away. Her lips are slightly parted, as she waits for me to speak.

“You can play this game, Dani—”

“It’s Danielle.”

“—but I can see right through you.”

“You think?”

“I know. But I do like your confidence. It works for me.”

“That’s so good to know,” she retorts. It’s almost a mock, a little edge of haughtiness cut stealthily along the ridges of the words. “You wanna know something?”

“What’s that?”

“I can also see right through you.”

“Is that so?”

“Sure is.”

The air is charged with our quick exchange, our bodies nearly buzzing with the excitement of the moment. We’re so close, near enough to reach out and touch the other, and that’s precisely what we both want. Our bodies, our gazes, our words are dripping with so much sexual frustration it’s palpable.

“Tell me,” I say, breaking the ragged-breathing-filled silence. “What do you see when you see through me?”