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 br**sts.

“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 ni**les 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.”