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  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 masterfully 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