Game Winning Catch: (Secret Baby Sports Romance (Pass To Win #5)

by Roxy Sinclaire

  Dylan didn’t say another word. He pushed his lips against mine with confidence, like he instinctively knew what my body wanted. And I wanted him. I enjoyed the control that he asserted over me as he pushed my lips apart with his tongue.

  My lips moved against his with a sense of urgency as his mouth claimed mine.

  Without any thought, my arms betrayed me and slipped around his neck.

  “Dylan? Yvette?” I heard the unmistakable aged worn voice of Norma, Senior Mr. Hanson’s secretary. “Oh my!” she gasped before hurriedly shutting the door again.

  I pulled away from the hypnotizing embrace of Dylan.

  “I am your employee Dylan, an associate at this firm. You already have a career and a company and a solid future.” I voiced, my desire twisting into anger.

  He laughed heartily.

  “You have a future here.” Dylan said in a slow husky tone as he moved his face closer to mine again. “You have a freaky future right under me.” he whispered against my lips.

  “That’s not what I want at all Dylan.” I spoke to him honestly.

  His face moved away suddenly and looked as though he had smelled something rotten and not the overwhelming smell of ammonia that permeated the closet.

  “You don’t want me?” he huffed and then eyed me. “You think I need this?”

  “That’s not what I said.” A knot formed in my stomach.

  He didn’t seem to hear, or want to hear, my words.

  His eyes narrowed and those once soft lips that were so sweetly pressed against mine, curled into a sneer.

  “As quick as I can snap my fingers, I can have another you.” He looked at me before he straightened and placed a hand on the doorknob. “I would get a better version, of course.” Dylan added before he exited.

  His words stung me like a thousand bees.

  “Stay away from me.” Those were the only words that I could squeak out coherently. I didn’t know whether to scream or cry. I just wanted to work, that’s all. I went to school and spent crazy stupid money to become a lawyer, not a secretary, and damn sure not a mistress.

  I stomped away from the closet with a storm brewing on the inside of me. I didn’t understand how Dylan could touch me so softly one moment and be such an ass another.

  Thankful for the solace of Pete’s private suite of offices, I fumed the entire way to my office. Whereas with Dylan I was relegated to the bullpen of cubicles in a common area, with Pete I was afforded a small office sandwiched between four other associates, all male.

  I hadn’t really decorated my small space, but there were a few things that gave me comfort. My light driven dancing daisy, my Supergirl coffee mug, a copy of the book Little Women, and the small framed picture of my Aunt Cheryl. She had raised me when my parents couldn’t. A librarian by profession, books were her passion. Our world centered on books. We traveled the world in our minds, through pictures and words. It was just me and Aunt Cheryl in a simple apartment, with walls of books, and no television. She didn’t have any children of her own and gave all of her love to me.

  I released a deep breath and leaned back in my chair. Aunt Cheryl would have known what to do. She had an answer from a book for everything. But Aunt Cheryl had passed not long after I finished my bachelor’s degree.

  I looked at the picture of her and smiled. She wouldn’t be proud of this, of me playing the role of an airhead bimbo. I knew better. She had taught me better. So many of her books were about strong liberated women who made their own way in life without relying on their female parts.

  I picked up the picture of my aunt. My favorite one of her, where her hair was swept up into a bun and the red cat-eye glasses that framed her face emphasized her high cheekbones. I had dressed and acted just like her for a long time. Soft spoken, reserved, demure Aunt Cheryl.

  When I put the picture down, I noticed a small slip of paper taped to my computer monitor. The scribbled note was from Pete and he wanted to see me in his office.

  My head dropped into my hands. The day had started off so well. When I woke up that morning, I was able to find cute, clean, clothes that fit. My hair pulled together with ease and the curls that I had added only took one twist with the curling iron. I had defeated bloating and humidity. I had triumphed over traffic and the eternal elevator wait, only to be offended by my former boss that ignored me and called into the office of the boss who treated me like I actually had a brain. The pit of my stomach twisted and turned like thorny vines around a tree.

  I pounded my fist against the desk. This job at Hanson was supposed to be my fairytale beginning, my happily ever after. I had always been a fighter, a silent fighter, but never a quitter, so I stood up, straightened my clothing, gathered my sparse belongings, and walked out of my office.

  Peter Hanson disarmed me with his smile when I stepped through the threshold of his office, my large hobo bag in tow. I loosened my clenched fist a little. I knew that Mr. Hanson was capable of firing someone with a smile on his face, so I didn’t totally relax. I just stood there in front of him taking deep, measured breaths.

  “You wanted to see me?” I hoped to sound sure and sassy, but the words scooted across my lips weakly, as though they were just as scared as I was.

  He stood in acknowledgement of my presence.

  “Yes. I did.” The grin he had widened. “Please have a seat.”

  I moved forward with shaky steps. I had enjoyed working with Pete. He actually allowed me to work on cases, challenged me with thought provoking questions, listened patiently as I talked through theories, and researched precedence.

  The leather chair, which was cool against my skin, only served to enhance my nervousness.

  Pete still hadn’t said anything. I thought he might be having a hard time firing me because I had grown on him. He moved behind me. I felt like he didn’t want to look into my eyes or see my face when he delivered the fatal blow.

  His hands found their way against my shoulders before I heard any words from him. “You’re so tense.” His voice was tinged with concern as his firm hands made circles between my neck and arm.

  “Uh. Yes. I just really wanted to know why you needed to see me.”

  I tried to relax, tried not worry, and tried not to let my mind wander through various motives for Pete’s sudden extra attention.

  Mr. Hanson laughed easily.

  “You are very perceptive Yvette.” he complimented.

  “Thank you.” I responded wearily, ready for him to get to the point.

  He removed his hands from my shoulders and found his way back to his desk. He didn’t sit behind it, but leaned in front on the ledge of it. His legs crossed at the ankles and his hands mimicked the pattern and crossed in front of his waist.

  “I think you are going to make one hell of a lawyer.” Pete complimented.

  “Really?” I asked trying not to sound like a kid. “And I can become that great lawyer while working here?”

  He laughed again clearly amused by my insecurity.

  “Of course you are going to be working here still.” He moved then, pushing his body forward and placing his hands on the arm of my chair, and stopped his face right in front of mine. He was so close to me that I could smell the flavor of coffee he had this morning. “I would be a fool to let a beautiful intelligent woman like you slip away.”

  His gaze lingered on my eyes longer than normal, before he moved back to his position and leaned against his desk.

  I swallowed hard, not sure whether his words had a double meaning or not. I couldn’t discern if Pete was hitting on me. Whereas Dylan was brash and brazen, Pete was subtle and smooth.

  “Well, Mr. Hanson, I appreciate the compliments.” I stood. “If that is all …”

  Pete Hanson took my hand into his as he licked his lips.

  “That’s not all.” He said in a low gruff voice allowing his eyes to graze freely over my body. “This is only the beginning. If you stick with me, I can give you the world.”

  He kissed my hand then
.

  When he removed his lips from my hand, I took a step back. My steps were quick as I continued to back away. I moved backwards in tiny steps, trying to keep my bearings while also remaining upright. It was all too much. First Dylan and now Pete.

  “It’s alright Gumdrop.” he said sliding a hand into his pocket and stepping toward me with a sly grin. “I promise that I’ll take great care of you.”

  “That’s not what I want.” I said shaking my head. “I don’t want that.”

  Emotion welled up and rose in my throat then hardened. The sinking in my stomach threatened to sink me to the floor.

  Pete moved his face in to kiss me.

  I leaned back averting it.

  “No.” I nearly yelled. “I just want to be a lawyer.”

  Defeat and humiliation propelled my feet through the office door, off of the hidden floor, and through the office building of smug yet nosy people. Tears blurred my eyes.

  “Yvette.” A male voice sounded, but everyone looked like a blurry smudge.

  I ran through the door and out onto the street, where I was finally able to breathe.

  6

  Dylan

  A flurry of wild hair and long arms had flown past my face so quickly I was unsure of whom they belonged to, but I had guessed. Her figure was unmistakable as was the maroon colored shirt that clung to her voluptuous breasts. It had been Yvette, and that perfect ass confirmed it, but she had looked upset. I wasn’t sure if I had seen tears or not, but it wasn’t my concern. Yvette wasn’t my concern at all. She had pushed me away. She had made it clear that she didn’t want to be a part of my team.

  It had pissed me off considerably that the young vibrant woman, who was more authentic than anyone I had ever known, wanted to work for my father.

  I slid back into my office and back behind my desk. Images of Yvette’s soft open mouth flooded my memory. The feel of her womanly body pressed against mine caused an ache to pulse through me. I had always been able to snag women, but instead that sweet woman had snagged a stranglehold on my mind.

  I wondered where the supple beauty had disappeared to. The thought that she had run to someone else because she was in distress rang through me like a gong. I wasn’t sure if she had run through the office distressed because of the incident in the closet or for another reason. I liked that Yvette was a go-getter. Although her disheveled appearance on the first day that we had met was appalling, she had been a warrior. It was apparent then, deep in the darkness of her eyes that she was strong. Yet something had broken her, and caused her to flee instead of trudge forward like before. I didn’t like the idea that I was the one that had made her feel that way.

  I rushed through my office door, down the elevator, and through the front door in record time. My breath caught in my throat as a quick scan of the street didn’t readily reveal the woman.

  “Fuck.” I cursed before I looked back at the building.

  A maroon mass was slumped on the granite bench near the sparkling glass windows in front of the building. The creamy smooth arms that jutted out covered the familiar face.

  “Yvette?” I questioned, unsure that this heap of heaving hair and back was the same obstinate woman I had come to dream about.

  Sobs sifted through the air as I moved closer.

  “Are you alright?” I eyed the dusty top of the bench and remained standing.

  “Sweetie. Yvette.” I called out.

  She sniffled and lifted her head. Long blonde hair fell forward against her cheeks and shoulders when her wide watery eyes registered my face. Something melted inside of me and I just wanted to scoop her up and hold her close.

  Yvette swiped her face with jerky movements as if that could erase all evidence of her tears. It only served to redden her face more. Her puffy eyes tugged at my emotions.

  Protectively, without thought, I tugged her up from the bench and cradled her close against my chest. In that moment neither the scenery nor situation mattered. I just wanted to repair whatever had shattered her.

  “What’s going on?” I asked evenly. It wasn’t often that I asked or even cared to know anyone else’s situation. Shit, nine times out of ten, whatever problem they were having had been brought on by themselves. In my job, feelings didn’t matter. Facts and the perception of those facts won cases.

  She sniffled and shook her head.

  “Talk to me.” I demanded.

  My hand stroked the back of her neck in an attempt to soothe, but it seemed to frighten her. It was like my touch against her skin had awoke a nightmare that had she had long ago forgotten.

  Her body jerked away from mine, her face twisted into a snarl.

  As gently as possible, I kept her close to me. My arm stayed steady around her waist. I couldn’t let her leave without finding out what had happened—without the knowledge that she would be alright.

  Yvette stopped her movement, but put as much distance between us as she could within the expanse of my unyielding arm. She slid her hand away from her side. Her small hands moved up from my stomach to my chest and served as a barrier between us.

  The movement of her long fingers against me stiffened some of my body parts. I had to ignore that though, and not focus on how close she was to me. The fragrant smell of her and the femininity of her body—everything about this woman turned me on.

  “Calm down.” I tried rubbing my palm across her back again in long strokes. “Let’s talk about it.”

  Her heaving chest and breathing didn’t slow, and although she wasn’t running away from me, she still looked frightened. She looked side-to-side, as if scouting options for an escape. I guess that she didn’t notice any worth her while.

  “Why are you trying to run from me?” I wondered aloud.

  “I need to …” Her eyes were wild; her words incoherent; she kept searching for an escape. “I can’t. This is not … I just want to be …”

  Her tears were still there. Like kryptonite to Superman, each one of her tears was like a bullet to my barrier. My mother had cried enough to fill a river. The vision of her tear ruined makeup was stained in my mind like wine on white wool. My father had caused my mother to cry so often that I found it strange whenever my mother wore a smile. Yvette shouldn’t be crying. My instinct had served me well over the years, and I could tell from our encounters that Yvette had a good heart.

  “Whatever it is, I can help.” I said, attempting to lift her chin, but she turned away from me.

  I thought that words would dry up the well of water leaking from her eyes. I’m the freaking boss. I make shit happen. When I have your back, mountains move. Her legs seemed to give way though and she collapsed against my chest as more sobs came.

  “You can’t. This isn’t a fairytale.” she babbled.

  I began to wonder if I needed to call someone with more degrees than I had. Someone that carried around tailored white jackets with padlocks.

  I patted her softly.

  It would have been a hell of a lot better if she had fallen apart in my office, or even better, scheduled her meltdown to occur somewhere near my bed. There in front of the office building, a few feet from the street, was not the most opportune location.

  Still holding onto Yvette, I shot a glare at a nosy woman in a noisy track suit with matching fanny pack, an obvious relic from the 90’s. She sneered back, stuck out her tongue, and then she waddled away still gazing at Yvette and me.

  “Let me take you home, Yvette.” I recommended. I would hate to take out an old lady in the street, but some things couldn’t be helped.

  Yvette removed her face from my shoulder. Her puffy eyes looked fearful again.

  “No. I can’t.” She sputtered and she began thrashing in my arms trying to escape. She hadn’t spoken much since I had been outside with her, but the panic that was evident in her words tugged at a place in my heart.

  I let her go.

  Yvette’s wide eyed gaze was like that of a kicked puppy, and I wanted to understand it.

  “I want t
o help you, sweetie.”

  The wimpy security guard stepped from behind his desk like he was going to make a move on me. One look in his direction and he relocated himself behind the desk. Others on the street turned in our direction. I didn’t like the way that one of her hands gripped around the other one, how her usual easy body was squared with tension.

  “Do you?” she nearly whispered with furrowed brows. “Just help. That’s all?”

  I wanted to throw my hands up with exasperation. I had been telling her that for the last two minutes.

  “I just want you to be alright. I will take you anywhere that you want to go. We just need to leave the front of the building.” I proclaimed as sincerely as possible. “You can take the day, or week, if you want, paid time off to feel better. That is all.” I lifted my hand as though swearing in at a court hearing.

  “Ok.” she agreed in a barely audible voice.

  I called my driver, who I paid to be on standby at all times.

  I took small steps toward her, as I remembered some of the tactics I had seen in movies where they calmly negotiated the release of hostages. The situation felt that serious, like one wrong word or step could send her into a fit of tears. A sensation gnawed in my stomach that the beautiful woman was so obviously upset because of me.

  Smoothly I slipped an arm around her tense shoulders and guided her to the curb.

  She didn’t protest, but she didn’t relax, or smile, or do anything that remotely resembled the woman that I had plastered against the wall.

  The limousine was out front in mere seconds.

  “I’m going to take you to your home, okay?” I added feeling the need to announce every action like she was a toddler.

  She nodded, but her mind seemed somewhere else.

  My driver stepped out, but I motioned him back. Normally, I would stand curbside and wait for his assistance. But right then, in that moment, protocol didn’t matter, I just needed to get Yvette away from the building.

  I opened the door and helped her get in.

  Yvette sat as far as possible from me on the long bench seat in the back of the limo. The distance between us was as chilled as the top of a ski hill. This was not acceptable. Women didn’t run from me: they flocked to me.