Daisy pointed the bat back at him. “I don’t play. You have a go.”
“Are you shitting me? You’ve never played baseball?” He blinked. “I thought you were exaggerating before.”
She lifted her shoulder in a half shrug. “Never had the chance.”
“I guess I can see that. What with learning to be a sniper, and all that.”
Disapproval turned his voice tight, but it wasn’t directed at Daisy. Axel’s gaze was turned inward. His distaste was probably aimed at Julius.
He was right. Daisy had been too busy scouting sniper positions and following her psychopathic father around as he machinated and planned. Even after Julius had rescued her from the first lab, he brought her to a second lab. It wasn’t until he was sure she was well and truly brainwashed that he brought her to his home. And then she had to live in the attic.
She didn’t want to think about that now.
Axel looked like he wanted to ask her a question but held his tongue. Instead, he did something even more uncomfortable. He guided her to the plate and stood behind her, making sure to line up their hips before sliding his hands down her arms until they covered her fingers around the bat.
If Daisy’s body liked Elena’s embrace, it rejoiced at Axel’s. Every nerve ending was on fire. The yin-yang tattoo on her inner wrist itched as the ink changed color to reflect her now balanced internal sin equilibrium. She lost focus and shivered. It had been so long since she’d had human contact like this. Not just the quick embrace of family or required touch like how he’d carried her after pulling her from the storm drain—but affectionate, deliberate, intimate touch.
“You okay?” he asked.
“You set my body on fire,” she blurted. Then immediately felt the flush of a blush in her cheeks.
She heard his intake of breath. His pause as he considered his reply, and then… his lips hovered at her ear as he spoke. “I’d like to say I’m good at putting out fires, but I don’t want to.” He tightened his grip on her hands. “I’d rather control the burn. Would you like that, minha margarida? If you’re nervous, will you let me help you?”
Why was she out of breath? Why did his words sound so sexual? Were they? Yes. Wait. Were they? And why did he just call her a margarita? That was the part where his tone had dropped to a baritone. It had to be a nickname. She had no idea what was going on, and while she weighed his words, trying to figure out what would be an acceptable response, he gave a breathy grunt that sounded suspiciously like a self-satisfied chuckle.
As if rendering her speechless was his goal all along.
“Hold the bat like this,” he said gruffly, all business again. His breath was hot near her ear and sent shivers down her spine. “You have to look at the bat, Daze.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and focused forward.
“Relax,” he said. “Drop your shoulders.”
Daisy exhaled. With her breath, so went her tension. But then came glaring awareness of the tall, muscular and hot-blooded fireman behind her. He knew full well what he was doing with this position. His intimate tone was deliberate. The closeness of his hips to hers.
“Hands need to be this far apart.” Husky. Rich. Deep. “Point the bat at the ceiling. Yes. Like that. Good work, Daze. Good.” He kicked her feet apart. “Widen your stance. Perfect.”
His praise triggered butterflies in her stomach. Just as quickly as he’d arrived, he gave her ass a friendly swat and then jogged back to the pitch machine. They stared at each other down the length of the cage. Daisy’s world shifted on its axis from the force of his attention. The fingerprints he’d left on her body remained. It was a seismic shift in her being. She’d never had someone look at her so piercingly, so full of… longing. Never had she felt an echo of it back.
He smiled and said, “Ready?”
