by Jill Shalvis
through him, the stable and sure beat of his heart. She met his steady gaze and let out a breath. “I meant what’s going to happen between us.”
He just looked at her, and suddenly feeling extremely naked, both physically and mentally, she rolled to her belly to get out of the bed. She nearly escaped before he caught her, wrapping his fingers around her hip. “What are you doing?” she asked with remarkable calm and a good amount of attitude as he easily kept her pinned, even without the use of his right arm.
“Wondering where you’re going.”
“To get dressed. And you’re leaving, by the way. I no longer sleep with people who don’t trust me. It’s a new thing. Call it a self-improvement.”
He merely shifted his body over the top of hers, his chest against her spine. “It’s because I was honest with you and pissed you off.”
“Okay, yes. That, too.”
“You want me to trust you, but you don’t have to trust me. That sucks, Holly.”
She spit a strand of hair out of her mouth and shifted her head to the side so she didn’t suffocate, which wasn’t to say that she didn’t like the way his weight felt holding her pinned to the mattress, because she did.
A lot.
And she especially liked the way he thrust a thigh between hers, using it to spread open her legs. She just didn’t want to like it.
He nuzzled the back of her neck. “You, Holly Hutchins, are a conundrum.”
Dammit, so was he. He was supposed to be just a big, sexy jock. What the hell was he doing using a word like conundrum, whispering to her in that soft, sexy voice, using a powerful thigh to hold hers open as his mouth found the sweet spot between her neck and shoulder that she loved, loved, when he kissed. “I’m really mad at you right now.”
He slid a hand down her body, slipping it between her and the sheets, cupping her between her legs, feeling exactly how not mad she was. “Mmmm,” he said in a voice thick with appreciation as he played in her slippery heat. “Tell me you still want me to leave.”
She opened her mouth to do just that but his fingers—God. She moaned instead.
“Yes or no, Holly.”
“Stay,” she managed.
He pulled out another condom from the box, put it on, and then slid inside her from behind as he kissed his way along her shoulder to her neck.
She opened her mouth to tell him that they were doing this but she was still mad, but only moaned as he gave a slow thrust, filling her deeply, so deliciously that her hands fisted the sheets on either side of her head to hold on tight. She bit her lip to keep her next moan in, but she couldn’t stop herself from arching for the next long, slow thrust. “Still mad,” she gasped.
He covered one of her fists with his hand, entwining their fingers, while his other slipped beneath her, stroking her where they were joined, slowly driving her straight to heaven without a seat belt. “Then I should stop.”
Her toes were already curling, her thighs quivering. She only needed one more thrust, maybe two . . .
“Don’t even think about stopping, not until—”
“Not until,” he promised, and pulling her up to her knees, set about making good on his promise.
Chapter 18
I’ve come to the conclusion that the two most important things in life are good friends and a good bullpen.
—Bob Lemon
The next day, Pace entered the Heat’s facility for a lower-body workout before his team meeting, torn between terror over his impending surgery and feeling damn good about the night he’d just spent with Holly.
Red was in the bullpen barking orders at Ty, but brightened at the sight of Pace. “It’s not the same without your ugly mug around here.”
“Yeah.” Pace stood next to him and watched Ty throw, wishing he was the one out there.
“You’ll be back in no time,” Red said.
They both knew that was likely an empty platitude. Ty was doing a good job, throwing tight and fast. “He’s coming along.”
Red nodded along with that, then kicked at the ground. “A month, tops.” He coughed at the dirt he’d stirred up, and pulled out his inhaler.
“Are you—”
“Fine.” He pushed away Pace’s concern. “Get to your meeting.”
Pace headed inside and found Wade on his laptop. He was skimming the blogs, but he took one look at Pace’s face and nodded. “Nice.”
“What?”
“You finally stepped up to the plate. Was it good? Never mind, she’s hot, so of course it was good.”
Pace grabbed a Dr Pepper with an utter lack of guilt since he was done playing for a while—Christ—ignoring Wade’s knowing grin as he popped it open.
“Want to talk about it?” Wade asked.
“No.” He nodded to the laptop. “What’s up?”
“Not you. It didn’t get out yet.”
“Yeah, well. Holly knows.”
Wade leaned back in the chair. “So?”
“So . . . she’s a reporter, in case you missed that.”
“Maybe she’s not wearing her reporter hat with you. You ever think of that?”
“I don’t think the hat comes off just for me.”
“Then she would have reported it in her blog by now, but she hasn’t.”
“Not yet.”
Wade shook his head. “You know, I thought it was your shoulder that was fucked up, but really, it’s your head.”
“You’re that sure she’s not our leak?”
Wade was quiet a moment. “Actually, I thought you were that sure. Look . . . you keep waiting for her to screw up so you can be over her, but she isn’t screwing up, at least not that we know of, so what’s next? How will you push her away now?” Wade shook his head. “Hope you have a parachute for that fall, buddy.”
“What fall?”
“The one you’re taking for her. You’re falling hard and fast.”
Which was just true enough to scare the hell out of him. And suddenly, the cool clubhouse felt hot, way too hot. “I need a water.” He set down the soda.
Wade handed over his Nalgene water bottle, which was only a quarter full but Pace took it. Downed it.
Sam came into the room, carrying her newly printed brochures for the upcoming Poker Night. “Pace? You okay? You look pale.”
“I’m fine.”
Gage came in next and also gave him a funny look, but didn’t say anything. Pace managed to avoid sitting next to him, sitting instead next to Ty, who had returned from pitching practice with Red and was now leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, waiting for the rest of management to arrive. Ty could be counted on not to ask questions. And also to carry water. Spying Ty’s water bottle, Pace picked it up and chugged it, and finally began to relax.
When Pace set the empty bottle back down, Ty opened his eyes, looked at what Pace had done, and said, “Hey.”
“I’ll get you more—”
Ty stopped him from getting up. “Don’t worry about it. But I had a mix in it.”
“Tucker’s vitamin pack? Or did I just drug myself?” Pace joked.
Ty laughed. “Yeah, good thing we’ve already both had our testing for the season.”
“Yeah.” So he’d just doubled his vitamin intake today. Hell, maybe it would perform some miracle on his aching body. His shoulder was killing him, and he couldn’t get comfortable no matter what position he did.
Well, that wasn’t quite true. Flat on his back with Holly riding him had been a pretty great position. So had been being on his knees behind her . . .
Somehow he survived the team meeting, listening to Gage talk about the upcoming game he wouldn’t be playing. Afterward, in the parking lot, Gage caught up with him and gave Pace a long look.
Ah, Christ. He braced himself. “What now?”
“You’re looking a little loose.”
Was he wearing a Just Been Laid sign? “Don’t worry, Dad, I used protection.”
“Goddammit.”
“Oh, and I also doubled
up on the vitamins today, so all is good.”
Gage sighed.
“Don’t start. I’m having surgery tomorrow.”
Gage’s face filled with sympathy. “I know.”
Pace turned away, looking at the Santa Ynez Mountains, not seeing the peaks but his own bleak future. “I guess I just needed . . .” He shook his head and closed his eyes.
“Yeah.” Gage sighed and shook his head. “Forget it. There’s something else anyway.”
At the serious tone, Pace turned back to him, a little surprised to see the somber light in Gage’s eyes.
“You remember after Ty and Henry’s thing, the commissioner said they were going to randomly test some of us.”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re up. When you go in for your pre-op workup later today, they’re drug testing you as well.”
Well, wasn’t that a nice cap on his day. “Fine.”
Gage lifted a brow. “Fine?”
“Well, it sucks, but I have nothing to hide.”
Gage let out a breath. “Okay then.”
“Did you think I did?”
“I know you’re in considerable pain all the time. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d been taking something to offset it.”
“Something that would show up on a drug test? Jesus, Skip.”
“Just checking.”
Pace knew his sport, knew the reputation it had, but with the new rulings in place, with a first-time offense for steroids being a fifty-game suspension, and a twenty-five game suspension for stimulants, people weren’t going to mess around with their careers.
At least he wasn’t.
“You’re not the only one being tested,” Gage said. “If that helps.”
At Gage’s tone, Pace looked over. “You worried?”
“When are you going to learn?” Gage let out a breath. “I’m always worried.”
Later that afternoon, the Heat headed to Baltimore, and for the first time, Pace was left behind. He was back at home gathering gear to go meet the kids at the park when his father called.
“Surgery tomorrow, right?”
Pace had e-mailed him last week to tell him the news, but that his father was actually calling to offer some sympathy was so far from the marine drill instructor’s usual tactic—which was to say something along the lines of “Suck it up and take it like a man”—that Pace was stunned.
“Yes,” he said, surprised. He moved to his front window and looked out, frowning at the movement at the end of the driveway. Probably deer again, eating the wildflowers. He’d always wanted a big, dopey, happy mutt to chase them away, but he was gone too much for a dog. “I’ll be fine.”
“Of course you will. Just do what you have to and get back in the game. You don’t want anyone calling you a pansy-ass for taking a break midseason.”
Pace let out a low laugh. Okay, so he wasn’t calling to offer sympathy. “Yeah. Thanks for the call.”
“I’m your emergency contact, I assume. So I’ll hear if anything goes wrong.”
Actually, Wade and Red were his emergency contacts. “I’ll make sure you hear. Bye, Dad.”
But his father was already gone. “Pansy-ass,” Pace muttered, and frowned at another movement on the driveway, and a flash of blue. Okay, that wasn’t a deer. He headed outside, but when he got out there, he saw nothing.
Tia?
Since he had bigger worries, he shrugged it off and headed to the park. The grass hadn’t been mowed. Another fence had fallen down. And once again the bases were gone.
There was no playground equipment or lights here either, just a group of good-at-heart, ragtag kids making the most of what they had, and at the sight of them waiting for him, some of his tension drained. All of them were here today—Chipper, River, Danny, and . . .
Holly.
She stood next to where home plate should have been, holding the bat with Chipper directing her. She wore a pair of shorts and a T-shirt with a Heat hat—his—low over her eyes. He had no idea how the hell she could see anything, but there was River, preparing to pitch to her. Jesus, she was either brave or stupid, and he had a feeling, given the way something in his chest expanded just looking at her, it was the former. He dropped the new bag of gear he’d brought and ran. “Wait!”
No one listened to him. River pitched, and Pace stopped short as Holly swung. It was a god-awful swing, too, so low she might as well have been golfing. She missed, and Chipper also missed the catch, which had the ball bouncing and rolling, landing at Pace’s feet.
He scooped it up as everyone turned to look at him. “What are you doing here?” he asked Holly.
“We’re teaching her how to play.” Chipper grinned. “She’s great at hitting.”
Pace raised a brow as Holly flashed him a smile void of her usual wattage. He wondered what was going on inside her head. He knew what was going on in his head, which was a running motion picture of how she’d looked when he’d last seen her, gloriously naked and panting his name.
“I’m not great at hitting,” she corrected Chipper modestly. “But working on it.”
“You’re definitely ready for the U.S. Open,” Pace said. “Maybe the Masters.”
She cocked her head. “Those are golf tourneys.”
“Yep. And that’s what you look like you’re playing.” He went back for the bag he’d dropped in his misguided attempt to save her life and tossed it to the guys, who ripped into it with wild enthusiasm, pulling out Heat T-shirts and sweatshirts.
Holly was looking at him, silent and assessing, and he turned his head to meet her gaze, gently tapping up the bill of the cap to see her face. “What?” he asked.
“You are sweet.”
Sweet? He was still on the instant replay of her naked, and moving onto the fantasy about how she might look with her legs sprawled wide enough for him to wedge his shoulders between, and she was thinking he was sweet? He let out a low laugh, and she stared into his eyes and blushed.
Yeah. There it was. Now she was on the same page. Which didn’t help.
“There are kids present,” she whispered.
“One of which nearly killed you last time. Wear a helmet when he pitches to you. In fact, always wear a helmet whenever you’re up at bat.” He reached into the equipment bag and found one, putting it on her head. Then he took her hips and turned her away from him.
“Been here before,” she whispered, and he found himself grinning.
