Love on the Line by Pamela Aares Page B

the plate. Took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. It was even harder now.
    He took the bat from her.
    “Just hold it like this.” He wrapped his hands around the base of the bat and held it out in front of her. “Pretend you have rings on and that you’re lining them up. And keep your top hand loose.”
    He held the bat back out to her. She nodded and tried to copy the handhold he showed her. Suddenly the bat felt heavy. And she felt heavy, as though some force of nature had swept into her and anchored her midmotion.
    He tilted his head and swept a hand though his hair. She stared, seeing the full-on power of his maleness for the first time. Nothing in her knew how to react. When she didn’t move to swing, he took the bat from her again.
    “Here, I’ll help you through a couple swings, give you the sense of the weight shift.”
    He stepped behind her and reached around her hips to place his hands on hers and lifted the bat.
    Her pulse flared, and she lost her balance. He steadied her with his arm and then, to her surprise, he dropped his hands.
    “Maybe if you hold my hips while I swing, it’ll give you a better idea.” He turned and took the bat from her, stepped in front of her and took his stance. When she didn’t move, he looked over his shoulder. “Just put your hands on my hips.”
    Maybe he knew he was torturing her. He must know. She wrapped her fingers tentatively around his waist.
    “Lower,” he said. “You need to feel how my body moves.”
    His voice had changed; there was nothing flirtatious in his words. He could have been teaching the kids for all the innuendo he put in his voice.
    She inched her hands lower and gripped him at his hipbones.
    “Perfect,” he said. “I’ll go through it slowly.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to bean you with the bat.”
    Her body sizzled with sexual tension, but he was all earnest batting coach.
    He stepped and pivoted his hips, and she felt the power of his body in her hands. She also swallowed down the flush of heat threatening to engulf her.
    “It’s stance—which I’ll help you with in a minute,” he said over his shoulder, “then coil—that’s your weight shift or stride—and then swing.”
    He demonstrated again and in spite of the flush of hormones revving through her, she began to get a sense of the rhythm he was talking about. Yet though she concentrated, she couldn’t ignore the desire that touching him ignited. It had been too long since she’d felt such a connection. Such a want. She wasn’t even sure she’d ever wanted a man as much as she wanted Ryan.
    He pulled away from her hands and turned to face her. A smile lit his eyes, but she was pretty sure he was fighting to bite it back.
    “You try it. Keep your hips in line with the pitcher. Well, in this case, with the machine.”
    She adjusted her grip, lining up the imaginary rings, and raised the bat over her head. If he knew the effect he had on her and how difficult her rushing pulse made concentrating, he was a hard-hearted man. A very hard-hearted man.
    She peeked back at him and saw the absorbed look on his face. He was focused on teaching her to swing a bat. Caught in the keen web of his attention, the tremor of want surged deeper into her. She bit at her bottom lip and called up what control she could muster.
    “Keep your knees bent, your feet flat, and then step into it. Just pick up your front leg and shift forward, making a slight inward coil as you do.”
    She picked up her leg and stepped forward, did everything she could remember.
    The swing she took felt fabulous.
    “Try it again.” He picked up a bat leaning against the net. “But this time let your elbow go up and back.”
    She made the motion he demonstrated.
    “No, not quite so far back; your thumb shouldn’t touch your shoulder.”
    She swung again.
    “Good.”
    She felt more than good. At that moment the energy zipping in her could’ve burned down the barn.
    “Now, this time as