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  “I’m making some changes,” she said with a lift of her shoulder. “Making a few moves.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “Me, too.” Slowly he tugged her in, loving the way her breath caught. He skimmed a hand up her back, nudging her closer, and—

  And his phone beeped. “Ignore it,” he whispered against her lips. “Whoever it is can take a flying leap.”

  She put a hand on his chest. “It’s two in the morning. It’s got to be important.”

  True. Dammit. Still holding her close, he pulled out his cell, only to have his gut tighten as he answered. “Chipper?”

  “Come to the park, Pace,” the boy said, sounding harried. “Quick!”

  “Are you all right?”

  “No. Hurry!”

  When the kid hung up, Pace immediately turned to the door. “Something’s wrong. He’s at the park. Come on.”

  They got to the park in seven minutes flat, and as they got out of the car, Pace saw the three shadows standing at the park’s entrance, which was blocked off by a chain-link fence.

  “It’s locked,” the tallest shadow said in disbelief. It was Chipper.

  The other two shadows—River and Danny—nodded glumly.

  On top of that, the For Sale sign had been nailed back up, and there was a new sign that read, Stay Off, Private Property.

  “Can you believe it?” Chipper kicked the dirt in a perfect imitation of Pace on the mound. “Now we’ll have to give up playing. And we were getting good, too.”

  Pace took in the three dejected kids. “No one’s giving up playing. What the hell are you doing here this late?”

  “It’s too hot to sleep,” River said.

  “So open a window. Do not sneak out, ever,” Pace told them. “It’s not safe. As for the rest . . .” He looked at the new sign. “I’ll fix this. Somehow.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll figure it out. Come on, I’ll take you all home.”

  He and Holly loaded the three kids into the back of the Mustang, and Pace eyed them in the rearview mirror. “Who’s first?”

  The guys looked at each other guiltily.

  “What?” Pace said, twisting around to face them. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “My mom thinks I’m at his house.” River pointed to Chipper.

  “And my mom thinks I’m at his house.” Chipper pointed to Danny.

  “We can’t go back this late,” Danny said. “We’ll get busted.”

  “Well, prepare to get busted.” Pace turned to the woman he’d hoped to have in his bed tonight. “Holly—”

  “I know,” she said, her lips curved in understanding. “You have to take them to your house.”

  The gang erupted with cheers.

  “Yeah.” He blew out a breath. “Except . . . I’m going to need you to come, too.”

  She arched a brow.

  “For propriety’s sake. I—”

  “I understand,” she said. “Public image and all. I’ll stay, Pace.”

  “A sleepover at Pace’s!” Chipper said, and grinned. “Fun.”

  “No,” Pace said. “Not fun. It’s nearly . . .” He looked at his phone. “Shit, it’s three and I have a six o’clock flight with the Heat.” He sighed. “We’re all going straight to sleep.” He slid a frustrated look to Holly. He’d had other plans for those few hours. “I’ll be gone when you wake up, I’ll have a driver take you home whenever you’re ready. The boys, too.”

  “Ah, man,” River grumbled.

  “After each of you call your parents.”

  “Ah, man,” River repeated.

  Exactly how Pace felt as he drove to his house with Holly in that hot dress that was not going to be coming off for him tonight. In his driveway, he turned off his car just as Chipper thrust his head between the front bucket seats. “So are you two back together?”

  Holly shook her head as they all got out of the car.

  Chipper looked at Pace as he unlocked the door. “Why not? You have someone else on deck? Is that it?”

  “No.” Jesus. “Look, Holly and I—”

  “You balk?” Chipper asked right over him as they entered the house. “Or quick pitch?”

  Pace didn’t know whether to laugh or be annoyed that the kid was using pitching terms to ask how he’d managed to screw up a sure thing. He grabbed blankets and pillows and tossed them to the boys, pointing to the huge U-shaped couch in his den that would comfortably sleep them all. “Call your mothers while I walk Holly to her room.”

  “You two had a shutout going,” Chipper said. “I saw it. Everyone saw it.”

  Pace reached for Holly’s hand and offered a smile. “Yeah.”

  She didn’t return the smile, but she did entwine her fingers in his. She was confused, he knew. She didn’t know how he felt about her. He was reading that loud and clear, but until now, until this very moment, so close he could see her heart and soul reflected in her eyes, he honestly hadn’t known.

  “Holly,” Chipper said earnestly. “Pace is the best guy I know. Whatever he’s done, maybe you could give him another chance. Heck, even fly ball pitchers get another chance.”

  That made her smile, but it was a sober one. “It wasn’t him, Chipper,” she said with quiet grace. “It was me. I screwed up. I . . .” She searched for a term. “Threw a quick pitch.”

  Watching her try to explain to the kid what had happened in terms he’d understand, without going into more detail than he needed, cemented it for Pace. She was truly one of a kind, the most amazing, caring, passionate woman he’d ever met.

  She started down the hall.

  “Dude, don’t let her go to bed sad,” Chipper whispered.

  “Working on that,” Pace said, pointing at him. “Call your moms. I mean it.”

  “If it’s a homer, I get credit for the assist, right?”

  Holly choked out a laugh. “Yeah,” she said over her shoulder as she left the living room. “You’ll get the point.”

  “Sweet.” He glanced at Pace with something close to hero worship, which made Pace damned uncomfortable.

  And just a little bit proud. Holly had also looked at him as if maybe he was worth something, something more than what he brought to the diamond, and between her and these kids, he felt more alive than he had for a damned long time.

  “Night,” Holly called back.

  “Dude,” River said in a conspirator’s whisper. “She’s walking away.”

  “You’re supposed to walk her to the door and kiss her,” Chipper said in the same ear-shattering whisper. “Hurry.”

  Pace caught up with her in the hallway at the door to the spare bedroom and took her hand. “Ever notice that we meet in a lot of doorways?”

  “The looks on their faces about the park,” Holly murmured.

  She’d set aside everything—including whatever emotions were putting those shadows in her eyes—in order to worry about the kids. If he hadn’t already been half in love with her, that would have sealed the deal.

  “There’s got to be something we can do,” she said. “They need that park, Pace. And they need it fixed up.”

  “I’ve got an idea for it.”

  She cocked her head and studied him. “You’re in the middle of a recovery and a baseball season.”

  “I have time and room for more.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since . . .” You. “Holly, I—”

  “Pace!” Chipper yelled.

  Pace ground his back teeth together. “Yeah?”

  “Can we have ice cream?”

  “If you call home,” he said, not taking his eyes off Holly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “About this.”

  “No worries.” She reached for the door handle.

  “Wait.” He slid his fingers into her hair, tracing her jaw line with his thumb. God, he’d missed the feel of her. “You know that up until now my entire life has been nothing but one hard fastball.”

  She gave a faint smile. “Now you sound like Chipper.”
/>   “Yeah.” He let out a small smile, liking that. “What I’m saying is that I’ve rushed through my life. I’ve rushed through everything, just to play ball. I still love it, I do, I just . . .” His smile faded and he shook his head again. “After my surgery, after Red and Ty, after everything, I felt . . . a little empty. It’s made me realize how much I needed something else in my life. Something substantial.” Like her. She was substance to him. “Holly—”

  “Pace!” This time it was River. “Ask Holly if she wants ice cream!”

  Pace closed his eyes, then opened them to look into Holly’s laughing ones.

  “I’m good,” she called back to them. “But thank you.”

  Pace leaned past her to open the door, gently nudging her inside, then followed her in and pressed her back against the wall to kiss her.

  She melted into him, and the next thing he knew their arms were wrapped around each other and he was oblivious to anything else except her sweet tongue tangling with his, lost to everything.

  But her.

  What seemed like hours later, she pulled back and opened her eyes. “Interesting that that’s still there.”

  He’d known it would be.

  “You have to go,” she whispered. “The boys.”

  He stroked a strand of hair from her face. “They can wait another minute.”

  At that, she bit her full lower lip, a naughty light coming into her eyes. “We’ve accomplished quite a bit in a minute before.”

  He was already hard, he’d been in that condition since . . . since he’d first seen her in that dress, the one that was now slipping off one shoulder. And those black heels with the ankle strap . . . “You have no idea how much I want that minute,” he said reverently.

  She pressed her breasts into his chest. “Tick tock . . .”

  “No.” He gulped in air and put his hands on her waist, holding her away from him. “We’re not rushing again.”

  “Again?”

  “We were in a hurry last time. Good things come to those who wait, Holly.” And he planned on getting good things. Very good things.

  She arched a brow, amused. “You sound like a fortune cookie.”

  “Yeah. And your fortune says the wait will be worth it.”

  “I’m not much of a waiter.”

  “I’ve noticed.” He dropped his forehead to hers. From his vantage point, he could see down her dress, and he didn’t think she was wearing a bra. “Got to go.” He was talking to himself, reminding himself. “And in three hours, I fly to Arizona to watch us get our asses kicked by the Dia mondbacks. But when I get back, we’re both going to . . .”

  “Get good things?”

  “Yeah. Really good.”

  Her breath caught.

  “You onboard with that?” he asked.

  She could only nod, and he smiled grimly. It was going to be a long road trip.

  Chapter 26

  Baseball’s designed to break your heart. The game begins in spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone.

  —A. Bartlett Giamatti

  Holly woke up the next morning to find a note on the bedroom door.

  I’m off, taking the boys with me to drop them at home. Your car’s out front. You left the lights on and the battery needed a charge. See you when I get back. Pace

  She peeked out the window. There was her car. Pace had promised to be there for her, and he’d come through. It was a first for her with a guy, and it did something to her heart, something she wanted to attribute to lust but had to admit, was more.

  The Heat broke even in the Arizona series. Better than losing, but still, not a record to be proud of. Not for them.

  The Bad News Bears, the news reports mocked. Holly read them all, and by the time the team came home, they had to win their next game or be knocked out of the wild card position for the run at the National League pennant.

  She couldn’t imagine the pressure.

  But she had her own pressure. Pressure to make a living. While trying to find her next series, she went over the pictures she’d taken all summer, and as she played with the shots, she realized her own next series was right here in front of her—a slice of American life.

  While she played with that, Tommy called. “Doll, I’ve got an idea. How about you extend the baseball series, figure out what’s going on with all that bad press the Heat is getting?”

  “The series is over.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, seeing as you’ve turned this new leaf and gone all conscientious on me, I might have something interesting for you.”

  “What?”

  “The bad press isn’t generated by your article, or from the Heat’s play record. Sure, they’ve lost some games, but they’re still at a winning record, and in fact, if they win to day’s home game, they’re a cinch for the wild card position to go into the pennant for National League champions. Not too shabby. Plus, there’s one undeniable fact—other teams have far bigger losing streaks going on.”

  “I know. Sam’s been going crazy trying to figure it out.”

  “It’s an inside job.”

  “No. No one would—”

  “Would and did.”

  “Who?”

  “Buzz is that it’s coming from their own PR department.”

  “Samantha? That’s ridiculous,” she said firmly.

  “Her brother’s the publicist for the Charleston Bucks.”

  “Yes, Jeremy. So?”

  “So the Bucks have a bigger losing streak than the Heat’s. In fact, they’ve been big losers all season. They have a shallow bullpen and no solid hitters.”

  “Are you suggesting that Sam’s creating bad press for the Heat to deflect from the Buck’s losing streak?”

  “Among other things, like causing the loss of advertising dollars and game-day revenues, yeah.”

  “Tommy, come on. That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Actually, it does. We’re talking millions and millions of dollars, and you know the saying: blood is thicker than a paycheck.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I know all.”