“It’s not too late.” He drove into the stadium and pulled up to her car.
“I want my panties back, Pace.” She didn’t get out. She didn’t move a muscle actually, except to slowly turn her head and give him a pissed-off look. “Don’t make me take your ass down like I did Tia’s. I could do it, too.”
Torn between laughter and the need to wrap his fingers around her pretty neck, he just looked at her. “Honest to God, I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Trust me, you’re not the first one to face that problem.” She got out of his car, shut the door, then gave him a long, indecipherable look. “But when you figure it out? Let me know.”
Being taken down on the asphalt by a crazed baseball fanatic and then being arrested had discombobulated Holly for a few shocking hours, but she’d gathered herself now.
And gathered quite a temper as well.
She stood in her shower until she had no hot water left, then pulled on sundress as someone knocked on her door. Unless it was a loaded pizza or a chocolate cake, she was not interested. She looked through the peephole, saw Pace standing there and her heart leapt inexplicably into her throat. Dammit, she was mad at him, and yet there he stood, calm and steady.
It didn’t escape her how carefully he was holding his right arm as he waggled the fingers of his left hand at her through the tiny glass.
She opened the door. “Go away.”
He shook his head. “No can do,” he said and gently nudged her aside so he could step in.
She slapped a hand to his chest, giving him a shove back.
His lips curved as he allowed her to roughhouse him, when they both knew if he used his strength and dug in his heels, she couldn’t have budged him a single inch.
“I’d really like to come in,” he said.
“If you do, I have questions.”
“What a surprise.” Making the decision for her, he kicked the door closed behind him and reached for her hand. He was in jeans and battered Adidas, his shirt stretching taut across those yum shoulders, and suddenly all she wanted to do was hold onto him, and maybe kiss him, and maybe also get his clothes off.
He’d once said people do crazy things in the name of caring. Getting a real feel for that, she stepped into him and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Chapter 17
Baseball players are smarter than football players.
How often do you see a baseball team penalized for
too many men on the field?
—Jim Bouton
As Holly wrapped Pace up in a hug, loving the feel of his warm, hard body, she whispered his name. At the contact, he murmured with pleasure, his arms coming hard around her.
This, she thought. This was what she needed. Not talking. Not more of that odd and disconcerting dance/flirt thing they had going on.
This.
Pulling back, she tossed aside her wet hair as she unbuttoned his shirt, nudging it off his broad shoulders, leaning in to kiss the one that was swollen. God, he was so beautifully made.
He made a low sound as she touched him with her mouth, his hand coming up to cup her head as she soaked in the sight of his taut, tanned torso.
He was busy soaking in her sundress. The one with no straps, just a zipper up the back.
“What’s beneath it?” he asked hoarsely.
“Maybe a little leftover tan, but I think it’s mostly faded by now.”
He let out a shaky breath.
Fully aware that he was watching her intently, she reached behind her to unzip herself.
His eyes went dark. “What happened to your questions?”
“I’ve decided to help you get me out of your system instead.”
“Holly—”
“I’m trying to get out of my dress, Pace. Do you really want to talk right now?”
“No.” His jeans were no longer so loose, and at the sight of the intriguing bulge behind his button fly, she had to swallow hard. Suddenly she knew how he felt because her skin seemed too tight for her body and she was breathing as though she’d been running uphill a good long time rather than just fighting with her zipper.
He lent his hands to the cause, putting his hands on her hips, turning her away from him so he could see. Then she heard the zip and felt a rush of cool air hit her back. “Thank—” The word backed up in her throat when he put his mouth to the sweet spot just beneath her ear as his hands slid inside the loosened bodice of her dress to cup her breasts.
“Problem,” he said, his voice low and husky in her ear. “This is pretty much the only move my right arm makes.”
“That’s okay,” she panted as his very talented fingers teased her nipples and turned her knees into overcooked noodles. “I can work with that.”
“Good.” He opened his mouth on the spot just beneath her ear, nuzzling as he maneuvered her down the hallway. “Bedroom?”
“Here.” Her room was small and neat. He’d probably call it careful. Her bed was made. The furniture was cherry, including a dresser with a mirror over it, reflecting her own flushed, aroused expression and the man behind her causing it.
“Since that first day I met you,” he murmured, his mouth on her shoulder, “when you were so carefully buttoned up you drove me crazy, I’ve wondered . . .”
She tried to turn to face him, but he held her still, dragging hot, openmouthed kisses up her neck. “Wondered if you like your sex careful, too.”
She opened her mouth to answer just as he gently sank his teeth into her, lightly tugging, and her entire body erupted into goose bumps. Her toes curled, too, which had never, ever happened. “Um—”
He met her gaze in the mirror. “Because I’m going to tell you right now, Holly, there’s going to be nothing careful about this.” His left arm tugged her dress down to her hips. “It’s going to be the opposite of careful. Which, in case you’re wondering, is hot and messy, and a little bit dirty.”
He tugged again, and her dress slipped to her ankles, leaving her in nothing, not even her temper, which had deserted her at his first touch. She stared at their erotic reflection, his sinewy tanned arm encircling her much paler, softer body, and felt her knees wobble.
“Holly,” he murmured on a shaky exhale, sweeping his hand over her belly. “You’re so beautiful.” His mouth moved over her jaw. His right hand, so dark against her pale skin, cupped a breast, his left slipping down her belly. “Beautiful and . . . ah, yeah. Wet.” His fingers slipped even lower, unerringly finding her. “So wet.”
“Imagine if I wasn’t mad at you,” she managed, gasping when his thumb flicked over her. She couldn’t take her eyes off their reflection, at his big hand between her thighs. “I’d probably go off like a firecracker.”
“You’re still going to,” he promised, and slipped a finger inside her, flexing it as he played his thumb over her center in exactly the right rhythm.
Her knees buckled but he caught her, effortlessly holding her as he continued to drive her right out of her mind, and she thought he just might be right. He just might get her to go off like a firecracker before he even got inside her.
“Spread your legs,” he commanded softly, and when she did, he added another finger and deepened the pressure of his thumb.
With a gasp, she rolled her head back against his chest, aware of the picture she made in the mirror—naked, legs wide, arms up, entwined around his neck while his hand cupped a breast, the other played between her thighs. “I can’t keep standing,” she gasped.
“I’ve got you.” And he did. He had her completely under his control, his mouth on her neck, his hands possessively, erotically on her body, which was more than halfway to orgasm. Her response was uncharacteristically and inexplicably uninhibited, wildly so, and she didn’t care as she arched under his hands, desperate for more.
He gave it, gave everything, as if he already knew her body, knew what she needed, working her over until she could hardly draw air into her lungs. “Come for me,” he murmured in her ear, his fingers ma
sterfully stroking her, keeping her poised on that very edge. “I want to feel you come.”
“I can’t,” she gasped. “Not standing—”
But then his fingers twisted inside her, pressing against a spot she didn’t even know she had, while still stroking his thumb over her, and that was it. She did as he’d asked and came.
Standing up.
When she was still shuddering, he turned her to face him, backing her up a few steps until the mattress hit the backs of her thighs. Urging her down, he followed, sprawling his big, hot, heavy body over hers, spreading her legs with one of his own, dropping his head low enough to give her a deep, long, carnal kiss that had her gasping and hungry and desperate all over again.
“Your pants.” She tugged at them. “Off.”
Rolling to his back, he popped open the buttons and kicked off his shoes but then shook his head, panting. “I can’t get the jeans off. My shoulder—”
He was sprawled flat on his back, chest bare, pants low on his hips, looking hot and bothered and sexy as hell. She could have just looked at him like that forever, but he was struggling and she was afraid he’d hurt himself. Coming up to her knees, she worked to tug his jeans down his hips. When his very large erection sprang free, her mouth went dry. “You’re commando, too,” she managed, staring, unable to stop from wrapping her fingers around him.
A rough groan rumbled up from deep in his throat. “My damn shoulder—getting dressed sucks, so I—Jesus,” he gasped when she stroked him from root to tip. They hadn’t gotten his pants past his upper thighs, so his legs were pinned. He couldn’t move his right arm. And damn if there wasn’t something about the sight of him, huge and gorgeous, and just a little helpless. Feminine pleasure and power surged through her in unprecedented waves, and while he struggled to finish stripping, struggled to touch her from his position, she decided to take matters in her own hands.
Literally.
Opening her nightstand, she pulled out the unopened box of condoms she’d had forever, and struggled to roll one down his thick length. She took so long her thighs were quivering and his torso was damp with sweat, and with a laughing low groan, he took over the task.
“Sorry,” she murmured, watching him. “Been a while.”
He shook his head. “There’s no hurry—” This sentence ended in a rush of breath as she straddled him, then kissed him. He nudged her closer, kissing her back hard and deep as he thrust into her.
Her own gasp of pleasure filled her ears, along with a rough groan from him, and suddenly she was on the edge all over again, quivering with it, and he hadn’t even moved inside her yet.
Then he did, and oh good Lord. “Pace—”
“I know.” His hand skimmed up her belly to a breast. “I want to—”
She rocked her hips, dragging another rough groan from him. His head was back now, the tendons in his neck standing out in bold relief as his fingers dug into her moving hips, guiding her, urging her into bold thrusts that he couldn’t quite manage on his own because of his injury. He encouraged her with low, wordless murmurs and that was it for her. He was it for her, and she came again, flying high as he joined her with one last hard thrust, her name on his lips.
It took her a while to reacquaint herself with her muscles. When she managed to lift her head from where she’d pressed her face against his throat, she blinked and tried to focus.
He lay flat and utterly still. She could feel his heart still racing in tune with hers, but other than that, he wasn’t moving. “Did I kill you?” she whispered.
Eyes still closed, his lips curved. “Very nearly.”
Good. That made them even. With her body still quivering, she slipped off him to her side and sighed with a bone-deep pleasure. “That should be a required bedtime activity.”
“Agreed. Every single night.” He still didn’t move, and she didn’t mind because the sight of him sprawled there on his back, arms and legs wide, was like a vacation for her senses.
“Pace?”
“Hmm.”
“Did that do it?”
He sighed and blindly reached out a hand for hers, stroking a finger over her palm. “Get you out of my system? No. Not even close.”
She felt herself relax, as if she wasn’t relaxed enough. “I have another question.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissed her palm. “Shock.”
She smiled, but it faded readily enough. “You definitely need surgery?”
His hand went still in hers.
“I’m taking that as a yes. Why didn’t you tell me?” She paused, and when he didn’t speak, she did. “I figure it’s one of two things. Either it slipped your mind, or you didn’t trust me with it.”
He opened his eyes, stared up at the ceiling, and sighed. “It was neither.”
In all the time she’d spent with him, he always seemed so big, so utterly invincible. Lying next to his tough, built body now, suddenly, she saw something else.
A hollowness, and a vulnerability.
And right then and there, her heart melted. Not good, but apparently she couldn’t control her own heart any more than she could control him. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “So damn sorry—”
“Don’t.” His voice was low, rough. “I can’t take the pity, I’ll—” He shook his head. “Just don’t. Please, don’t.”
She wanted to hug him. Wanted to make it better and couldn’t. “When?”
“When did I find out? The minute I did it in New York. I knew.”
“I meant the surgery.”
“Day after tomorrow.”
She let out a breath, some of the tension he’d just gotten rid of for her coming right back. “You didn’t tell me because you think I’m the press leak. That, or you thought I’d blog about it.” Either way, a shitty realization.
“It’s bad enough that the rumors turned out to be true.” Turning his head, he met her gaze with his own. “I didn’t want to face it.”
She opened her mouth to tell him that she wouldn’t have repeated it, but nothing came out. Because the truth was, there’d been times in her life where little had been more important than the story she’d been telling, nothing more critical than dispensing the facts, without much concern for the aftermath.
Or people’s feelings.
And that, she realized, made her cold, and maybe just a little bit hard.
With a low exhale, Pace turned on his side and settled a big hand on her hip. His hair was disheveled, his eyes dark and sleepy and damn sexy.
And he had a bite mark on his neck. She’d done that.
“I can hear the wheels spinning,” he said softly.
“You don’t trust me, but you slept with me.”
“I’d like to point out the definite lack of sleeping.”
“Pace.”
He drew a deep breath, which filled his chest, which in turn brushed against her nipples, making them tight and achy all over again. Pace’s gaze locked in on one of them, his hand drifted up her ribs, and he lightly ran the backs of his fingers over her nipple, watching it pucker up even more. “It’s not a matter of trust.”
“It most definitely is.”
“Okay, it is.” He lifted his gaze to her. “I like you, Holly. I like you a whole lot.”
“But you still don’t trust me.”
He didn’t say anything for several beats. “I don’t trust easily. You might recognize that little issue.” He looked at her, seeing that she did, and nodded. “Yeah. But I can tell you this. I want to be able to trust you.”
“Did you pick a fight in that New York hotel just so I’d leave you alone with your misery?”
“Yes.”
The easy, ready admission should have made her feel better, but it didn’t.
“Look, Holly, I realize my work is public. I also realize I should be used to my life being the same, but I’m not.”
That much she believed. “So what’s going to happen?”
“I’m on the DL for fifteen days minim
um, to be reassessed after surgery. That news will hit soon enough.”
She settled her fingers on his chest, felt the warmth radiating 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.”
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