Double Play (19 page)

Her mouth curved. “That’s lust.”

True. “Then there’s the kind after you’ve already slept together and you’re still not over it. That kind of love takes several dates to get over.”

“Again. Lust.”

“Man, you really are a cynic,” he murmured. “How about when you’re with the same person for a while, a long while, and you still want to be with them naked? What’s that?”

“A rut.”

He laughed. “Okay, smarty pants, what constitutes love then?”

She lifted her nose in the air and started walking again, somehow in spite of the game, the kissing, the hike, the stalker, still looking completely, carefully put together. “I’ll have to let you know,” she finally said.

“Maybe you should write a series on that.”

She smiled at him as they came to the now nearly empty parking lot. “Interesting idea.” She looked around. They’d missed the mass exodus. “Do you think she’s gone?”

“Tia? Hard to tell.” His car was in the front row, in one of the reserved spots in all its apple red glory, but he passed by it, intending to walk Holly to her car. “Where did you park?”

“All the way in the back.”

They hoofed it out there, and she came to a stop in front of her beat-up Subaru.

“You need a better-paying job,” he said.

“Hey, this baby explored the ghost towns of California and lived to tell the tale. I can’t dump her now just because she’s not pretty.”

“What about dumping her because she’s looking as unreliable as hell?”

She pulled out her keys. “Thanks for the interview.” She cocked her head and looked at him. “I’m going to be honest with you here, Pace.”

Uh-oh. “Is it going to hurt?”

“Maybe.” She paused. “I’m interested in pursuing the drug angle.”

“Ah, hell.” He sighed. “It is. It’s going to hurt.”

“I want to write about what happened to Jim and Slam, and what happened to Henry and Ty.”

“You’ve got apples and oranges. Jim and Slam tested positive for drugs. Henry and Ty didn’t.”

“The pills—”

“Vitamins. Tucker’s, actually.”

“You take them, too, right?”

“Sometimes. When I remember. You’re not going to find anyone using on the Heat.”

She looked at him a long moment, then nodded. “Thanks for tonight.”

“But . . . ? Because I definitely sense a but at the end of that sentence.”

“But,” she agreed. “I’m going to write about what I want to write about.”

He thought about what she’d told him about her last boyfriend and how that had ended, and understood that this was the same sort of situation—her work came first, always, a fact he reluctantly understood, even respected, though he didn’t necessarily like it.

She tossed her purse and her keys into the passenger seat of her car and turned back to him. “I should tell you, I have a secret of my own.”

“You do?”

“I seem to have this little crush.” Her gaze warmed. “Three guesses.”

There she went, being direct again. If she was angry or hurt or mad, or whatever emotion she was feeling, she put it out there for the whole world to see. No games. No subterfuge. No guesswork. She was open and honest and blissfully candid. And though it was crazy, he was crazy, he put his hands on her hips and pulled her in. Needing to assuage the ache low in his gut, the ache that said that the one thing that had been his entire life was no longer enough, that he needed more, he stepped into the only person he wanted to give it to him. Heat coiled low in his belly as he said, “I have a crush, too, along with my own secret.”

“Which is?”

“You, Holly Hutchins, scare the hell out of me.”

“Ditto,” she whispered, not looking scared at all as she slid her fingers into his hair, tugging him down to put her mouth to his in a hard, smoldering kiss that managed to convey frustration, affection, and a mind-staggering heat. Far before he was ready, she let him go, and with a little smile, got into her car and drove off.

Baseball is a fun game. It beats working for a living.

—Phil Linz

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The
Heat flew to Florida for a two-game series against the Marlins. When the private plane they usually chartered was grounded for maintenance at the last minute, they had to fly commercial, which meant much of management was left behind in order to get the entire team and the coaches there in time.

Everyone grumbled nervously without Holly there to kiss Pace, who felt good enough to start. He did okay, but Gage pulled him after three innings to save him for the Mets.

Pace sat on the bench and watched Ty struggle to keep their lead.

They lost seven to six.

The next day Holly’s article came out, this one opening the door for the fans to the last mysterious frontier left in America—the Major League Baseball clubhouse.

She described it as a self-contained world where players lounged, bonded, ate, and occasionally fought, but she wrote that one undeniable thing about any clubhouse remained: the chemistry inside it made or broke a team.

Once again, she was right, and eloquent, and this time she landed a live interview on SportsCenter, which had been following her summer series with great interest. Pace and Wade sat in their hotel room and watched as on live TV she came off as sharp, funny, and—

“She’s smoking hot,” Wade noted.

Yeah. That. God, he missed her.

They flew from Florida to New York, where the rest of the support team finally met up with them for a three-game series against the Mets. Pace was up in the rotation for game two, and in the locker room, just before the start he felt Gage’s beady eyes drilling a hole in the back of his head.

“Sorry,” Pace said. “I have no idea where Holly is, but if you want, I’ll kiss you instead.”

The guys all laughed and Gage lifted his clipboard to throw it at them, but then the door opened and in walked Holly.

She wore a pristine white halter sundress and a Heat-orange belt, the definition of sweet and sexy all at the same time, and Pace wanted everyone to vanish so he could slide his hands all over her and ruffle her up. Ruffle her up and down . . .

Everyone smiled and greeted her, thanking her for showing up as if she was the second coming of Christ.

Or the woman who could seal the deal on a win for them.

With a small smile playing about her lips, she walked right up to him, her eyes lit up with warmth and affection, and as happened every single time he looked at her, something deep inside him split open.

“I’m not late, am I?” she asked.

“No.”

They stared at each other, and everyone stared at them.

“It’s nice to have everyone happy to see me,” she murmured. “Are you happy to see me, Pace?”

If his hard-on was any indication, then yeah, he was happy as hell to see her. He gestured toward the shower room, and she led the way.

As he followed her, the guys whistled and hollered and hooted, not that he paid attention to anything but how sweet her ass looked in that sundress.

He wanted to bite it.

Then the door shut, and they were alone in the damp, musky shower room. “This setup isn’t nearly as luxurious as some of the others we’ve kissed in,” she noted.

“Yeah.” He turned away to look around. “Sorry about that—” He turned back and bumped right into her, sucking in a surprised breath as she pulled him in, slipping her arms around his neck. His hands went to her hips, squeezing gently before gliding up her back for the simple pleasure of touching her. “Holly—”

“I don’t believe we’re in here to talk,” she said. And then she went up on her tiptoes, brushing her breasts to his chest as she did, and planted one on him, a kiss that meant business, instantly turning him into a snarling, rapturous beast, which he managed to hide by going very, very still instead of doing what he wanted to do—which was push up her dress and bury himself deep.

“This is more fun if you participate,” she whispered against his mouth, her body doing a little wriggle that had his eyes crossing in sheer lust.

He tightened his hands on her. “Trying to keep us both clothed here.”

Her eyes lit with fire and curiosity, and such excitement he had to close his and press his forehead to hers. “Okay, new tactic,” he said. “Don’t move. Just stand there.”

She put a hand on his chest, the warmth of her palm spreading through him, joining the wildfire already in progress. Her other hand was on his neck and she slipped her fingers into his hair, playing with the strands, and twisting his gut with pleasure in the process. He could feel her soft breath against his mouth, and he let out a rough breath. “Holly.”

“Maybe . . .” She ran her fingers over his chest from one side to the other, staring into his eyes as she very purposely pressed her body tighter to his, arching her hips to what had to be a very obvious erection. “Maybe if we kiss for longer,” she said, “you’ll win by even more.”

“Yeah?” He let out a low breath and a laugh. “I like the way you think.”

She lifted her face expectantly, and with a low groan he bent lower, once again covering her mouth with his.

She let out a soft, shuddery sigh of sheer pleasure and that was it. Goners. He yanked her up against him, she dropped her purse to the floor and flung her arms around his neck, and the kiss went as wild as his hammering heart. “Pace . . .”

Yeah. He knew. His stomach felt funny, his breathing was out of control, and all he could think about was that he could feel the two hardened tips of her nipples boring holes into his chest. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. He covered them both with his palms as she slid her hands beneath his jersey, but that wasn’t enough either.

It took him less than two seconds to untie her halter top and tug it down, baring her breasts, which were perfect, mouthwatering handfuls. Her fingers were fumbling with his pants as his thumbs grazed over those nipples he wanted in his mouth.

Wanted.

Needed.

So he bent and gently sucked one between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, loving the shocked, needy little gasp that tugged out of her. She got his button undone and his zipper down and her fingers danced over him, which had her letting out another gasp. Gratifying? Oh, hell yeah, and with a nipple in his mouth, he slid his hands up her thighs beneath her dress and found—

Ah, man.

A thong. God bless the thong.

He hooked his fingers in the silk sides and tugged, rolling the silk down her legs until it hit the floor, his favorite place for panties. Palming her sweet ass, he slid his fingers lower, finding her wet and creamy. His ears rang with the hunger pounding through him as he slipped into that wet heat—

Wait. That wasn’t the blood in his ears pounding.

But someone pounding at the door.

“Gage. It’s Gage,” Holly hissed and pushed him back a step, lifting shaking hands to adjust the dress he’d nearly torn off of her.

He concentrated on zipping his pants and dragging air into his lungs as he watched her cover her gorgeous breasts, the one still wet from his mouth—

Her thong was on the floor, but just as he took a step toward it, Gage stopped knocking and opened the door. “Showtime,” he announced, coming right in. Oblivious.

Pace tore his gaze off the tiny white scrap of material and looked at Holly. Her eyes were wide as she stood there in the pretty halter dress, looking sweet and professional and just a little bit panicked.

Because she wasn’t wearing panties.

“Showtime,” Gage repeated to Pace. “You ready?”

Right. “Ready.” His voice was low and husky and just a little bit hoarse. He tried not to look at the thong, but it was hard, he was hard, and his brain was suffering from severe blood deprivation. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to bust another zipper, and this time it would be his fault.

The thong, the thong . . .

Gage looked at Holly and frowned. “You okay?”

“Fine.” She flashed him a smile that worked because Gage didn’t know her like Pace did. And he did know her. He knew she wanted her underwear. “Gage,” he said. “What’s that behind you?”

When Gage craned his neck to look, Pace scooped up the panties and slid them into his pocket.

“I don’t see anything,” Gage said.

“Sorry. It’s nothing.”

Holly shot Pace a slightly wide-eyed, sexy-as-hell look and held out her hand.

But what was he supposed to do, hand them over in front of Gage? He shook his head.

With a low, indistinguishable mutter, she headed for the door. He watched her go, his only coherent thought being that she was going to sit in the stands and watch him play.

Without panties.

Which meant he was going to be sporting a boner the entire game.