Her head? Not quite sure-
“Did we kill her?” came a horrified whisper.
“Back up, guys.” This was Pace’s low, calm voice. “Give her some room to breathe.”
“Are you sure she’s breathing? Pace, give her CPR!” Chipper said urgently. “Hurry!”
Holly had the strongest urge to keep still just to see if he’d really do it, but her body wouldn’t play along, because what if there were ants on the grass? Plus she could feel her hair was a complete mess again, and worse, it was entirely possible that her skirt had flown up. She opened her eyes and locked gazes with Pace, his dark with all sorts of things, with concern leading the pack. His hair was wind-blown and tousled, and he was frowning, and . . . and she had to admit, he sure was something to look at, even with all that bad attitude.
“Anyone have a sweatshirt?” he asked over his shoulder.
When everyone just shook their heads, he unbuttoned his shirt and, oh good Lord, shrugged out of it, bunching it up to slip beneath her head like a pillow.
Don’t look at him, she told herself. Don’t look—
She looked.
Sweet Jesus.
Smooth tanned skin. Hard sinew. And those shoulders were broad enough to block the sun from piercing her eyes. And then there were those six-pack abs . . .
“CPR?” he asked politely with a hint of irony, the lean, carved lines of his face making him look incredibly tough, and incredibly handsome.
Yes, please, she thought. “Don’t even think about it.”
“You about done napping then?”
“Ha.” What was it about his voice? And those eyes . . . Now that she was lying still and he was staring at her, she could see they weren’t filled with just that sharp edge and a good amount of trouble, but something else, too. Something dark and soulful, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but whatever it was, it mesmerized.
“You have a good goose egg going,” he murmured.
“Your head hurt?”
Yeah, now that he mentioned it. As she sat up, he slipped his arms around her to help. Arms that were warm and hard as they tightened on her to hold her still.
Against him.
Oh boy. His chest was smooth and warm and hard as stone, and she wanted to both touch and nibble.
And lick. Could she pretty please lick?
“Holly?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you all right?”
She could hear genuine worry in his voice. Interesting. As was her body’s reaction, which was an urge to curl in and cuddle.
Cuddle.
She never cuddled.
She was too busy to cuddle. “Yes. I’m fine.” She struggled to get up, but again he held her still.
“Give yourself a minute.” He was also irritated, which was really unfair, because she’d almost had that ball.
Okay, she hadn’t almost had that ball. “I’m really okay.”
“Good.” He leaned in very close. “Fother mucker?”
“There are kids present.” Embarrassment blocked her throat until he ran a surprisingly gently finger over her forehead. “Ouch!”
He frowned, and she said, “I’m okay.”
“Tell me what your name is and why you’re such a pest, and maybe we’ll agree that you’re okay.”
She lifted a hand to his face. “Did you know when you’re irritated, you have a very slight Southern accent? Actually, it’s more of a drawl. Texas?”
His gaze narrowed. “Your name,” he said tightly.
“Holly, and I’m just doing my job.”
“Not playing ball like that, you’re not.” But he let her slide out of his arms. “A reporter writing on the sport should be able to play it.”
She rolled her eyes, decided it was a gift that she even could, and got shakily to her feet. Ignoring the throbbing ache between her eyes, she smiled into River’s terrified gaze. The poor kid was pale, and looking like he’d just killed a puppy. “I’m okay, River, I promise.”
“I’m sorry I threw so hard. I mean, who knew I even could? And you took it right dead center, too.” Giving her an instant replay, he poked himself between the eyes. “Bull’s-eye. And then you went flying backward like you’d been shot, and hit the ground solid.”
Yeah, she remembered that part all too well. “In my research about baseball players, I’ve learned they have faster reflexes than the norm.”
“If that’s the case, I don’t think you’re a baseball player,” Chipper said solemnly.
She sighed. “I think you’re right. Well, I hope I was at least entertaining.” She rubbed her temples and wished she hadn’t been in such a hurry to get up, because her legs felt wobbly.
Pace was watching her carefully, slipping back into his shirt, which was really a shame.
“What’s my name?” he asked her.
“Hot Arrogant Baseball Stud?”
He blinked.
“Sorry. I think the hit loosened my tongue. But I’m fine,” she said quickly when she saw the boys’ horrified reaction. “Really.”
“Good, cuz it’d have sucked to kill Pace’s girlfriend,” River said with huge relief.
“I’m not his girl”—but they’d all begun to move off, spreading out into the field with their new gloves—“friend.” She absently rubbed her butt, realizing that hurt, too.
“Need a hand with that?”
She glanced up as Pace smiled. And it was the oddest thing. The good humor changed his face, making him look like one of the kids, both younger and far more carefree than she’d seen him except in pictures. His eyes sparkled, fine lines fanning out from the outer corners. His mouth was curved, and even though he was having fun at her expense, she felt her own smile reluctantly tug at her mouth as they stared at each other for several long beats.
“Hot Arrogant Baseball Stud?” he repeated softly.
“Are you objecting to hot or stud?”
“Arrogant, actually.”
Okay, so he had a quick wit and a sense of humor to go with those looks and, she guessed, more than the average smarts. And in spite of her best efforts to remain immune, she felt drawn to him.
Which was not good.
Not good at all.
They were still standing practically hip to hip. In fact, he was still supporting her, gaze still locked on hers. His smile slowly faded.
And so did hers.
Her heart gave a good hard leap against her ribs because suddenly she felt . . . hot. Very hot. A heavy beat passed, and then another, each filled with . . . well, she wasn’t quite sure what.
Okay, that was a lie.
She knew exactly what. Anticipation. And a reluctant attraction. And enough heat to have her palms going damp, which was odd because the mountain peaks were shading them and there was the nicest sea breeze brushing through the trees, through her hair, brushing her face and her aching head.
“I’ve got to go,” he said quietly. “I really do have somewhere else I’m supposed to be.”
“It’s okay.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Then maybe you could stand on your own?”
“Oh!” Oh good God. She was leaning all over him. She rectified that by pulling free and backing up a few steps. Turning, she eyed the kids, thinking maybe she’d stay and hang out for a few minutes, chat with them some more. Sometimes her best stuff came from unexpected sources. Besides, it might be a nice human touch to her article on Pace . . . But damn, she was dizzy. Yeah, she was just going to sit for a minute, right here, right in the grass—
With a low oath, Pace immediately crouched at her side, brushing the hair from her face to look into her eyes. “Holly.”
“I’m good.”
He let out a rough breath. “You’re such a liar.”
“Hey.” She blinked her vision clear. Sort of. Dammit. “I never lie.”
“Everyone lies.”
“Not me.”
His gaze turned speculative. �
�So if I asked you, say, what you really thought of me, you’d say . . .”
“That you’re a little full of yourself, but you do have more redeeming qualities than I’d counted on. Such as being nice to stupid reporters who catch with their foreheads.”
He arched a brow. “An honest woman. Imagine that.”
“You look so surprised.”
“I am.”
“Then you’re hanging out with the wrong women.”
“That’s undoubtedly quite true.” Still looking at her very closely, he shook his head. “I can’t leave you here.”
“Sure you can.” She managed a smile. “I’m just going to sit here in the sun and write up some notes. It’s a gorgeous day. And I’m not dizzy at all. At least not now as much as I was.”
“Okay, that’s it. Come on.” He pulled her upright with him, keeping his hands on her when she wasn’t quite steady on her feet. “I know you had your heart set on grilling the kids, but I can’t let you do that.”
“Why, what do they know?”
“Holly.”
“Just kidding, I wouldn’t do that.”
“No?”
She grimaced guiltily. “Not grill, precisely. But maybe speak gently with . . .”
He looked into her eyes. Then his gaze dropped, slowly taking in the rest of her features, and when he got to her mouth, she felt another of those odd flutters low in her belly. He didn’t step back, he didn’t step away. Nope, he stayed right in her personal space, which normally would have bugged the hell out of her, but she didn’t feel bugged so much as . . .
Jittery.
It was the bump on the head. It had to be.
“I can see those wheels turning, Holly.”
“I’m just thinking that maybe you’re not quite the jerk you want me to believe.”
“Yes, I am,” he said. “A big jerk. An asshole.”
“You run from stalkers rather than call the police. You play baseball with kids and bring them new gear. You help stupid reporters who catch with their foreheads. There’s a soft side to you, Pace Martin.”
“Hell no, there’s not.”
He looked so insulted, she laughed. “Oh yes, there is.” She put her hand on his chest. The hard, warm muscles there did not escape her notice, no sirree, they did not. “A big old softie, deep down inside.” Very deep, past all that delicious sinew.
Shaking his head, he turned her toward the car. “Let’s go, Sherlock.”
“Where to?”
“To get your damn head checked. And probably I should have mine examined while we’re at it for even putting you in my car in the first place. Sorry guys,” he called out. “We’ve got to go.”
Chipper just waggled his eyebrows and gave a thumbs-up. “Gotcha.”
“Stop that. I have an away series, but I’ll be back in a few days.”
“Phillies,” Chipper said. “You’re going to kick ass.”
Pace narrowed his eyes. “Are you allowed to say ass?”
“Not at home, but we’re not at home. Don’t forget to tell the flight attendant that you can’t have Dr Pepper. They make you feel like crap. Oh, and pack some spare uniform pants. He always busts his zippers,” he explained to Holly.
“Sounds like a problem.” She thought it was adorable how the kids seemed to take as good care of him as he did of them.
“Stay out of trouble,” Pace said to each of them and took Holly to his car, keeping his hand on her the whole walk back, which she found both disconcerting and unexpectedly sweet. It was a big hand, warm and calloused. Very male.
Yeah, she really did need her head checked. She slid in his car, put on the seat belt and met his dark gaze. Poor baby, he looked so uncomfortable that he’d ended up with her again.
“What’s so funny?” he asked when she couldn’t hold back her smile.
“You. You’re afraid of me.”
“What? I am not.”
“You so are.”
“Maybe a little.” He pulled out of the lot with more speed than required, and hit the highway. “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry about the hit to the head.”
“Sorry enough to give me the interview?”
He sighed. “I’ve already admitted that I’m an ass. You, however, neglected to mention that you’re a pain in the ass.”
She laughed, but that hurt her head so she leaned back, enjoying the sparkling ocean, the ridge of the mountains so dramatic in the late sun, the warmth of it on her face, the speed of the car, not to mention the way he handled said car. “You’re right. I am a pain in the ass. I should have disclosed that up front. Disclosure is important to me.”
“Why?”
The question surprised her. “Childhood trauma,” she quipped. “Involves Santa. It’s not pretty.”
She couldn’t hear his answer over the roar of the wind, but she did catch the quirk of his lips, and for a quick beat, she experienced that odd flutter low in her belly again.
Probably just her brains being scrambled by the ball. But she wasn’t scrambled enough not to realize they were still going in the opposite direction of her car. “We’re going the wrong way.”
“Uh-huh. Since you accused me of abducting you, I thought I’d make it for real.”
They came into town. Holly knew Santa Barbara was sometimes called the American Riviera, but it never failed to surprise her how beautiful it was with its intriguing and charming mix of colorful Old West and Spanish cultures. Pace pulled off the highway and drove down a few tourist-filled streets before pulling into a parking lot behind a three-story glass and steel building that overlooked the ocean. He climbed out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. “Let’s go, Nosey Nose,” he said as he opened her door.
“Where to?”
“Just come on.”
“How very passive-aggressive of you.”
He just reached for her hand and pulled her toward the building. “It’s called pleading the fifth. And it’s a constitutional right.”
“A kidnapper and a scholar.”
He slid her a long look behind his shades. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying that you get more flies with honey than vinegar?”
She might have answered, but then she read the sign on the door he held open for her: Santa Barbara Medical Group.
“Don’t be silly,” she said, dragging her feet. “I don’t need to go in there. I’m good.”
He shoved his sunglasses to the top of his head. His eyes were calm, and very amused. “Don’t be scared. I’ll hold your hand.”
For some reason, that sounded incredibly intimate, and her brain went to a naughty place.
Clueless, he tried to nudge her none too gently inside, his hand at the small of her back, but she stood on the threshold, a little overtaken by the odd and yet secretly thrilling beat that seemed to pass between them every time they touched.
What was going on? She’d given up penises! “This is a waste of your apparently in-demand time, Pace. I’m fine.”
“Okay. Let’s just prove it.” But in opposition to the amusement in his voice, he lightly squeezed her waist.
Reassurance.
He cared. Good to know. Because she cared back. And that . . . well, that wasn’t nearly as good to know. “I don’t want to waste your money.”
“I’ll take it out of the grand I owe ya.”
“Two. You owe me two grand.”
They were still standing close, very close, and he was taking up a whole hell of a lot of space. Her space. He had one hand on her, the other above her head, holding the door open, and that felt intimate, too.
And suggestive.
His shirt was stretched taut across his shoulders, and with his arm raised she could see the delineation of the muscles along his forearm, which should have been no big deal, so why she looked, then kept looking, she had no clue.
But God, he smelled good, and was still smiling in reassurance. And before she could register the thought process, she leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. A
thank-you-for-caring kiss—except that he turned his head to look at her and . . .
Their lips collided.
Gently connected.
Held . . .
A beat of shock reverberated through her system. She waited for the awkwardness to hit, but that wasn’t what hit at all as he pulled back a fraction and stared at her, clearly as completely thrown as she.
“In or out,” a woman behind them said, sounding irritated—until she got a look at Pace. “Hey. Hey, are you . . . Pace Martin? Ohmigod, you are! You’re him!” Irritation gone, she flashed a wide grin. “You had an amazing season last year, what was it? Twenty-four and six?”
“Something like that.”
“Twenty-four wins.” She sighed in pleasure. “With, what, almost two hundred strikeouts, right?”
“Not quite that many,” he said modestly.
“Well, it was a fantastic run, whatever it was!” She turned to Holly. “He led the National League in wins, ERA, and strikeouts on his way to the Cy Young Award!” She grinned at Pace. “And you had the NL’s record in strikeouts the year before, too, don’t think I forgot that! We’ve got a bet going that you’re good for at least 225 strikeouts this year. We love you in our house.”
“Thank you.”
She grinned, then gasped. “Ohmigod, you have to sign something for me.”
Holly watched, head spinning, as the woman searched her pockets and came up with a pen but no paper. “It’s okay,” she gushed. “Just sign me.” With that, she tugged her tank top off her shoulder, low on her breast, which nearly, but not quite, popped out. “Here,” she demanded, tapping herself with her finger, flesh bouncing all over the place. “Right here.”
Pace didn’t even blink as he obligingly leaned in to sign the woman’s breast.
“My husband is the hugest fan,” she said to the top of his head, beaming. “He’s going to go nuts when he sees this!”
Pace handed her back her pen and held the door open for both women to precede him in.
Inside, the happy fan rushed off.
Holly looked at Pace. “She knew your stats. By memory.”
“Some do.” He took her arm, but she dug in her heels.
He looked at her from those dark brown eyes fringed by darker, thick lashes and waited.
“You sign a lot of breasts?”
“Body parts are a fairly common request,” he admitted.
Double Play Page 5
