by Roz Lee
She blinked. Then blinked again.
I’ve seen that before. But when?
Setting her cup aside, she programmed a search for matching data. It wasn’t long before an almost identical graph appeared on the screen.
Holy shit! It can’t be.
Her hands trembled on the keyboard as she brought up the time stamp for the first data set. When it came up, she dropped back in her chair and stared at the information.
It is.
Oh. My. God.
Not believing what she was seeing, though down to her bones she knew it wasn’t a mistake, she ran comparison programs on both sets of data. The similarities were there. Every muscle group she’d collected data from tonight in that instant when Royce threw his first perfect pitch was identical to the data she’d collected while she had been on her knees—sucking his cock.
It was impossible. But the data didn’t lie.
Figuring out what it meant would be the hard part.
Royce obviously couldn’t pitch with his dick in her mouth, so if the data was going to mean anything, she had to figure it out. And she would, as soon as she got a clue how to do it.
***
Staying away from Tricia slowly chipped away at his sanity. The Mustangs were three games into a four game series with the Waves in San Diego, and Royce had only seen Tricia on the first day when she’d wired him up before the game. Staying away from her while they were on the road was killing him.
He’d pitched like crap the other day, but crap was one step up from shit, and he’d wanted to talk to her about his performance. He couldn’t get her out of his head, and it had nothing to do with her research. If she’d discovered something that could help him she would let him know. He understood that. What he didn’t understand was how she had come to mean so much to him in such a short period of time.
Sure, she was beautiful, and her brain was about the sexiest thing he’d ever encountered. He loved the way he could tell when she was over analyzing something. She’d get a crease between her eyebrows and she bit down on her lower lip. Fuck, that was hot, especially when he had his mouth on her pussy and she looked at him with that expression. She’d done it the other day when he had her in his bed, and he’d redoubled his efforts to short-circuit her brain. He’d done a pretty good job, if her orgasm was any indication.
Tony had told him she was working night and day to make sense of all the information she was gathering, and had asked to be left alone to do her analysis. In the meantime, with nothing to do since he wasn’t due to pitch again until they arrived in Seattle later in the week, he had plenty of time to think about her.
Hell, when he wasn’t obsessing about his dismal ERA, he was missing Tricia. He missed her voice. He missed her scent. She always smelled like spring—sort of flowery, but warm flowers. Fuck, he didn’t know what he was thinking. Warm flowers? What kind of poetic shit was he coming up with? She smelled good, and God, she tasted even better. Thinking about her scent made him think about her pussy which rivaled every flower on the planet in beauty and scent.
Yeah, he had it bad, so when he saw her name on the Caller ID as he stepped off the bus delivering the team from the stadium, his cock was the first part of his anatomy to answer the call.
The first thing he noticed when she opened her hotel room door were her eyes. They were red-rimmed and swollen, but the flaw did nothing to detract from her beauty. Stepping inside, he closed the door then took her into his arms. She melted against him as if she’d held herself upright as long as possible, and once he was there, gave the duty over to him. A rush of tender possessiveness washed over him.
Always petite, tonight she seemed frail. Had she lost weight? Damn. He silently berated himself for not seeing to it she ate when she was working. From this moment forward, he’d look after her. “Did you have dinner?”
“No. Wait. What time is it?”
Shit. How many hours had she put in if she didn’t know what time it was? “Close to midnight. Weren’t you at the game tonight?”
She shook her head. “I told Tony to tell you I was going to stay here and work. I guess I lost track of time.”
Being reminded of her work brought a now-familiar pang to his chest. He wanted her to succeed professionally, but at the same time he knew he couldn’t let it happen. His duplicity was tearing him apart. “You’re working too hard.”
She didn’t protest when he led her to the easy chair in the corner and urged her to sit. He placed a call to room service then returned to sit on the footstool in front of her.
“What’s the rush? The data you’ve collected isn’t going to morph into something different if it sits there for a few days…or weeks.”
“I know, and I haven’t been working on all the data, just a tiny part of it.”
“Did you find something? Is that why you asked me to stop by?”
She rung her hands in her lap, and if she bit her lower lip any harder, it was going to need stitches. His gut twisted. She had found something, he just didn’t know what.
“You can tell me. Is the program not working? You aren’t getting the results you expected? What?”
“The program is working.” She took a deep breath, raised her gaze to his. He fuckin’ hated the pain he saw there.
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so, but I can’t use the results. I’d be the laughing stock of academic research if I published my findings.”
The thrill of victory coursing through his system was followed by a bitter rush of guilt. This was exactly what he’d hoped for. The best outcome he could imagine. She’d have the satisfaction of having accomplished something, yet no one but her would ever see it.
“Why not?”
She sighed, returning her gaze to her lap. He took her hands in his to keep her from wringing the skin off of them. When she tried to tug them loose, he held on tight. In some small way, he wanted to convey his support.
“Do you remember the first day you wore the wireless electrodes?”
Hell, yes. Of all the special days seared into his memory, that one was at the top of his remember-forever list. He was afraid he’d associate the smell of liquid hand soap with blow jobs for the rest of his days. “I remember. What about it?”
“I didn’t shut down the program when….”
His blood turned to ice. His skin felt like ants were crawling all over him. Trying to process the implications of her words, he straightened. Her fingers slipped from his hands. She gathered them to her in a tight ball at her chest. The protective gesture nearly broke his heart. Withdrawing what little support his touch provided had hurt her.
“Tricia.” He reached for her, but it was too late. She’d retreated into a shell he couldn’t breach. “I’m sorry. Please. Tell me the rest.”
In an attempt to convey his remorse, he laid his hands on her knees, and very slowly, stroked up and down her thighs. She remained silent, her chin tucked just above her hands, ignoring him.
A knock on the door startled them both.
“Room service.”
Royce stood. “I’ll get it.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After tipping the waiter, Royce lifted the cover from the plated food. “Looks good.” Getting no response, he took the dish and returned to his place on the foot stool. He carefully spread a napkin in Tricia’s lap then lifted a French fry to her lips. “Eat.”
She swiveled her head, refusing to take the offered food.
Royce continued to wave the morsel under her nose. “Don’t be stubborn. I said I was sorry. You have to eat.” He decided to try another tack. “If you don’t eat, I’m going to spank you.”
She gave him a go-to-hell look then turned away. He thought for sure his suggestive comment would get her to take a bite.
He wasn’t hungry, but he took a fry for himself, smacking his lips and moaning as if the fried potato strip was the best thing he’d ever eaten. “You don’t know what you’re missing. These are good.”
/> Ah, at last. Acting like an idiot had done the trick. She faced him. He offered the snack again, and she opened her mouth to take it in. As she chewed, he brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “So beautiful.” She was as wary as a lost kitten, but she allowed him to feed her. When most of the sandwich and fries were gone, she once again refused the bite he offered.
Royce returned the plate to the room service tray then resumed his place at her knees. “I’m listening. Tell me everything.”
Tricia hugged her knees to her chest. She’d told Royce everything and he hadn’t said a word. He’d just stood and started to pace, his bottom lip caught between his thumb and forefinger while he considered everything she’d said. At least he hadn’t laughed. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he had. She had a fit of hysterical laughter earlier—before she broke down and just plain bawled.
The whole situation was ludicrous. She had valid data that could possibly help Royce recover his pitching game, but there was no way in the world she could share the information with anyone—except him.
Chin resting on her knees, she tracked his methodical progress from one side of her small hotel room to the other. She loved to watch him walk. His long legs ate up the space with an innate grace that stirred her libido. He was like a caged animal—beautiful, sleek, and powerful. Too bad he wouldn’t ever be hers. Her heart ached at the thought, but she wasn’t stupid. They’d had fun together. Sex with him was the best she’d ever had, better than anything she’d ever imagined, but he’d never indicated he wanted anything more than a few hours of pleasure with her. Why would he? Women practically tripped over their tongues when they saw him. All he had to do was crook his finger and they’d follow him anywhere. He could have any woman he wanted, so why would he settle for a research scientist who couldn’t remember her own name when he took his clothes off?
She didn’t have a clue what he might be contemplating. Whatever it was, he’d be shocked to find out where her mind had gone since she’d shared her burden with him. While her brain came to terms with the fucked-up mess she called research, her body had moved on to more basic pursuits. Watching Royce pinch his lip made her nipples pucker and ache for the same attention. She could still feel his roughened fingertips on her breasts, teasing and tugging on the sensitive tips until she cried out. Then his soft lips and tongue soothed the pain away, creating a new, more urgent ache lower in her body.
It was all she could do to let him work through the impossible situation she’d thrown them both into when what she really wanted to do was jump his bones, drag him into bed, and let him do in-depth research on her body. In the name of science, she’d catalog every inch of his body as well. Something so exquisite deserved to be documented. Not a single thing she’d learned in her human anatomy classes had prepared her for a man like Royce. His muscles were individual works of art. Together, they were like a symphony orchestra, each instrument working in harmony with the others to create a unified composition that was more than the separate parts.
She was deep in her thoughts when he abruptly stopped and turned to her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. He’d tossed his suit jacket off when he began pacing. Standing there in his expensive dress shirt and slacks, his tie askew, shoulders back, hands loose on his hips, he looked like an advertisement for men’s cologne. She could see the tag line—“Sexy. Successful. Sinfully Seductive. Real men wear Testosterone.” If she could bottle Royce Stryker, she’d be the wealthiest woman on the planet. She had about as much chance of bottling his essence as she did succeeding with her current project. Nil.
His gaze was unwavering, making her feel like a bug under a microscope. She tried, but couldn’t read anything in his expression. Her unease grew. Had he decided to tell team management she was a quack? A fraud? She wouldn’t be the least surprised if he had. She’d called herself worse names in the last twenty-four hours.
“I get why you wouldn’t want anyone to know how you obtained the data. It wouldn’t look good, for you or for me.”
“My reputation as a researcher would be gone. Everything I’ve done up until now would be called into question, and no one in the scientific or academic world would ever want to hear from me again.”
He nodded. “So, we won’t tell. But if you have something to help me get back in the game, then I want to see it.”
“Huh?”
Royce gestured toward her computer sitting on the small desk littered with papers. “Come on. It’s getting late, and we have an afternoon game tomorrow. Show me what you’ve got.”
After the game, the team would be on a plane to Seattle where they would play three games against the Anglers before heading back to Dallas, ending the longest road trip of the season.
Tricia unfolded from the chair. Unclear why he wanted to see the data, she felt she owed it to him to present her findings. It would be up to him what he did with them, if anything. She sat at the desk. Royce dragged the footstool over and sat beside her. He was so close, she could feel his hot breath on her arm. She clicked a few keys, bringing the isolated data sets up on screen.
He listened intently as she enumerated the main points. Occasionally, he’d nod in understanding. A few times he asked her to pause while he studied the charts and graphs. If he planned to rat her out to management, he was at least going to do it from a base of knowledge. She gave him credit for using his head.
“How am I supposed to translate all this stuff into actions?” He straightened, the movement putting distance between them that she needed in order to think straight. “I mean, I see what you’re saying. There are definite similarities, but I don’t see how I can pinpoint the exact moment in my pitch routine when I should do whatever it was I did.”
He stood and paced away. Turning, he wiped a palm over his face. “This is hopeless. I’m never going to get my rhythm back.”
Tricia froze. He wasn’t interested in her findings in order to be well informed when he blew the whistle on her. He was interested because he wanted to get his game back! She’d already come to terms with the fact her research probably wasn’t going to lead to any great discoveries, but if she could help Royce fix his pitching, then all the years she’d devoted to this project wouldn’t have been for nothing.
“But you can!” She spun back around to the computer. He stood behind her, watching over her shoulder. “Look. I got the game tapes.” A few key clicks and she had video of Royce pitching side-by-side on the screen with the isolated charts from the pitch and the corresponding blow job. She pointed to the exact moment she wanted him to see then set all three screen shots in motion. “There. Did you see it?”
“Run the sequence again.” Damn. She might be right. Interested again, he sat on the footstool. He watched the simultaneous screens run through several times. “Can you advance it frame by frame? Slow it down?”
“Sure.” The video ran again, slower, one frame at a time, the dual data streams keeping pace. It didn’t make a lick of sense, but she was right. He did the same thing with his thighs when he threw a good pitch that he did when she blew him.
“Look at this.” She clicked the keyboard. The good pitch video disappeared, replaced by one of him throwing the same pitch, but the results weren’t anywhere near as good. “See the data stream?” She pointed to the one from the blow job, pointing out where it differed from the information gathered during the bad pitch.
“Which muscle group is that from?”
“Primarily the abductors and the femoral triangle.” She rattled on in her uber-sexy brainiac way. He caught a few words like Fast-Twitch, Type II, femoral artery, and some others he’d at least heard before, but what they had to do with his pitching, he didn’t have a fuckin’ clue.
“Whoa.” He caught her gesticulating hands in his. “Speak English, please.” He tugged, pulling her to her feet. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you show me?”
“Show you?” He saw the instant her brain switched from academic researcher to woman. Her pupils dilated and her chee
ks flushed with color. Oh yeah. She knew exactly what he was asking her to do. God, he loved an intelligent woman!
He pulled his tie loose and began unbuttoning his shirt. “You don’t mind, do you? I’m just a simple sort of guy. The best way to get this through to me is with a hands-on demonstration.” He removed his shirt and went to work on removing his slacks. “When you’re done, I’ll demonstrate my knowledge of the subject.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
“You’ll see.” He toed his shoes off then let his pants drop to the floor. Before he tossed them on the heap of his other clothes, he took out his wallet. His emergency condom landed on the nightstand. “It will require you being naked.”
Her lips quirked up on the corners. “I see.” She reached for the hem of her T-shirt.
“Let me.” It took all of two seconds to strip her bare. He wondered what her electrode sensors would make of his muscles now. He was hard as a rock in every place that counted—had been since she’d started spouting scientific jargon a few minutes ago.
He stretched out on the bed then reached for her. “I’m ready for my anatomy lesson, professor.”
Lord, he turned her brain to mush! How was she supposed to remember one muscle from another when there were so many fabulous ones on display? Hers for the touching. She joined him on the bed.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Touch me, babe. Educate me.” His words should have sounded corny, but he sounded dead serious instead.
“You really want to know?”
“I really do. All those names don’t mean a thing to me. I’m more of a visual, or in this case, tactile learner. Go over all the technical stuff again, but touch each muscle as you do. That way, I can associate your touch with the area I need to concentrate on.”