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  outside on a field hadn’t been such a good idea, so no, she’d never learned to play baseball.

  “Sucks,” Danny said, their shortstop. Which was also his nickname, given that he hadn’t had his seventh-grade growth spurt yet. Or any spurt.

  “Pace?” Sam said in his ear.

  “I never wanted this interview, Sam. Give it to one of the other guys who’ll love it. Wade, maybe.” Who’d get into Holly’s pants in thirty minutes. “No, wait. Give her to Ty.” Ty didn’t have sex during the season, ever, which made him safe. Though why Pace cared, he had no idea. “He’s been wanting more press now that he’s having a strong year.”

  “It’s good publicity,” Sam repeated. “For you. You’re our star, Pace, and you know it.”

  “It’s only good press if she spins it that way, and trust me, I haven’t made the best impression.”

  “Oh for God’s sake.” Samantha sighed, the sound of female exasperation personified. “How hard is it to smile and make nice for the pretty lady?”

  Harder than she could imagine.

  On the mound, Danny was still trying to sell Pace to Holly. “I bet if you dated him,” the kid said, “he’d teach you how to play.”

  Holly turned and gave Pace the serious once over. She didn’t look too impressed, so her next words didn’t surprise him. “I tend to date a more cerebral type.”

  “I’m cerebral,” Chipper told her eagerly. “I got an eighty-one in science.”

  “Do the interview, Pace,” Sam said in Pace’s ear. “It won’t kill you, I promise.” She sounded amused, and hell if he wasn’t getting a little tired of amusing females at his expense.

  And dammit, he was plenty cerebral.

  “I’m going now,” Sam told him. “Just be nice. Women respond to nice. She’s a tough one, I’ll give you that, but I doubt you’ve ever met a woman you couldn’t crack. Flash her that million-dollar charm and give us some good press.”

  He sighed. “I always give good press.”

  She laughed, but he could hear her fingers already clicking over her keyboard, as always multitasking efficiently and effectively. “Oh, and if you could not sleep with her, that would be really great.”

  Sleep with her?

  Fuuuuurthest thing from his mind.

  Not even a possibility.

  Not even a spec of possibility.

  Even if her hair was suddenly catching the sunlight, looking like spun gold. And her smile, as she aimed it at the kids, wasn’t for his benefit. Hell, she wasn’t even looking at him. Nope, she wasn’t playing them to get into Pace’s good graces; she was being heartwarmingly genuine. She had some sweet curves on her for such a careful thing, too, curves that would be even nicer with less clothing.

  Okay, so maybe he’d given the briefest thought to sleeping with her.

  The kids were walking her farther out onto the field, fawning all over themselves to try to impress her, and she was impressed.

  Or at least acting it.

  She was talking to them, not down to them as so many stupid adults tended to do, but to them, in a way she hadn’t with Pace. Yeah, she was definitely much more open now, and he felt as though he was getting his first real glimpse of her as she nodded, listening to everything Chipper said. She walked with confidence and smiled with compassion.

  Two of his favorite things in a woman.

  Danny handed her a glove, turning her to face River, and Pace straightened. No.

  Oh no.

  Oh shit. “No!” he yelled just as River let one fly, low and screwball as usual.

  And hard, very hard.

  Pace ran toward them but not fast enough, and Holly caught the ball.

  With her forehead.

  Chapter 5

  People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.

  —Rogers Hornsby

  Holly flew backward and hit the ground hard enough to rattle every thought right out of her head. “Fother mucker,” she muttered, lying still on the prickly crabgrass, listening to the creek beat up the rocks as she took mental stock.

  Arms? Still in place.

  Legs? Also still in place.

  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 gi