“For you to be more on guard for one thing. And as bossy as you were at first. You know, a typical reporter.”

She smiled. “First appearances are rarely accurate.”

“I don’t know.” He smiled back. “I called you for nosy, too. And you’re definitely that.”

“I was nosy long before I was a reporter.” The shower room was clean but a little dark and damp. It felt humid and musky.

Intimate.

Pace pulled on his pants and buttoned up his shirt. He slipped his hand in his opened waistband to do a half-assed tucking in of his shirt, which seemed to further rev her engine.

She was out of control.

Completely. Out. Of. Control.

“Are you . . . blushing?” he asked, and with a curious light in his eyes, stopped tucking. “Yeah. You are.”

And possibly drooling again, too. And as if all that wasn’t enough, he smelled amazing. “I’m not.”

He traced a finger over her cheekbone. “And lying.” He tsked softly, his gaze dipping over her face. “Thought you never lied.”

“I—” She broke off when the pad of that finger, calloused and very warm, slid over her throat, stopping at the very base where she imagined her pulse was drumming out of control. Suddenly, she felt extremely aware that his pants were unfastened. “Pace, I . . . I’m—” She let out a breath and shook her head.

He was still looking at her, his expression almost grave. “You’re attracted to me.”

“Which is obviously a mistake.” She wrapped her fingers around his forearm to pull his hand away from her, but he shook his head and stepped closer.

“I’m attracted back, Holly.”

She went still, then tipped her head up at him.

“Yeah.” A small smile curved his lips. “And I’m no more happy about it than you are.”

Her own accelerated breathing echoed in her ears, an admission that maybe she wasn’t so unhappy about it.

His smile faded. Slowly, he shifted so that they were brushed up against each other, and though she hadn’t been the one to walk around without pants, she felt exposed.

Raw.

And more than a little wary.

Especially since he didn’t want to be attracted, and knowing it had an old insecurity rising to the surface, the one stemming from always having to push for what she wanted, and damn if she wasn’t more than a little tired of that. Someday, just once, she wanted a man to push for her. “Well, you could just ignore . . . this,” she said. “I’m sure that will help—”

Snagging her wrist, he pulled her back around, closer now in the dimly lit room.

“Pace—”

“Shh a second.” Hand low on her back, he dipped his head so that their lips were only a fraction of an inch apart.

Oh God.

“Maybe,” he whispered huskily, his gaze locked on her mouth. “Maybe there’d be no real chemistry.”

Her knees wobbled, and not because she’d taken a ball to the forehead. They were still barely touching in this strange and erotically charged embrace and yet her ni**les were hard and achy, her thighs quivering.

No real chemistry?

Ha.

He smoothed his fingers along her throat, then the curve of her jaw, his gaze following his every movement. “There’s something that’s been driving me crazy.”

“What?”

“Do you always kiss as careful as you look?”

“I kiss careful?” She blinked. “I look careful?”

“It’s the craziest thing. And sexy,” he murmured. “Really sexy. Because all I keep thinking is how much I want to ruffle you up.”

Her heart took one good hard leap into her throat, further compromising her breathing. His breathing wasn’t all that steady either, which was an odd comfort.

She turned him on.

Just the thought made her want to float on air, or do the happy dance, except she’d lost control of her limbs.

He was going to kiss her. She thought about what else he might do, how it would feel, how he’d actually thought there might be no chemistry—

Which was as far as she got with her obsessing before he bent his head and opened his mouth over hers.

Chapter 9

Baseball was made for kids. Grown-ups only screw it up.

—Bob Lemon

Chemistry, Holly thought as Pace kissed her. Oh God, lots and lots of chemistry . . .

In apparent agreement of that, Pace let out a low, rough rumble deep in his chest and slid a hand into her hair, cupping her head, holding her to him. His other hand squeezed her waist, drawing her in even tighter before gliding up her back, slowly fisting in her shirt as his tongue touched hers.

And in less than two seconds she knew this little experiment was only going to fuel the fire, not extinguish it. In the next two beats, she knew she wanted more.

Lots more.

He gave it. His mouth was warm, giving, and quite talented, and she let out a helpless little hum as desire and hunger crowded her brain, squeezing out all that carefulness he’d accused her of. Needing to touch, needing to feel the heat of him radiating through his jersey, she slid her hands up his chest, absorbing the hard, sinewy lines of him. Through it all came the steady beat of his heart, steady but picking up speed, and she thought maybe it was that more than anything else that reeled her in.

He took a step into her, urging her back as his tongue delved in long, lazy strokes that were having a serious affect on her brain capacity. Another step and he’d backed her against the tile wall, holding her there with his deliciously built body as he continued the sexy, hot assault on her mouth.