Asher Donovan; the heartthrob and football star had it all. The only woman he couldn't stop thinking about was the one he could never have. Former ballet dancer, his rival's sister, off-limits and unattainable. She was just cross-training him for the summer, right? He couldn't do this. Not with her. Not without losing everything in the process. Not while he had to fix things with his rival and he was away.

Asher paced the sidelines of the training field, his eyes involuntarily tracking her every move. She was instructing with that infuriatingly calm demeanor, each graceful motion a reminder of the wall she kept between them. When she called him over to demonstrate a drill, he clenched his jaw, masking his turmoil with a veneer of indifference.

Unable to resist, he approached, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "You make it look so easy," he said, his voice low and tinged with a possessive edge. "It's infuriating, you know," he continued, stepping closer, his tone colder than he intended as he grabbed her jaw lightly, tracing his thumb over her chin.

"How you make me want something I can't have." His voice was hoarse. Leaving him torn between the urge to close the distance and the need to maintain control, before he reluctantly stepped back.