And then was nearly bowled over by a soft, warm body.

Holly.

“I just wanted to say congratulations,” she whispered in his ear, her lips brushing his earlobe, and right there, surrounded by tens of thousands of people, the adrenaline that lingered after every game was whipped into something else entirely, and suddenly he felt like a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal who wanted to drag his woman off to his cave and have his merry way with her. Me want you now . . . He let his arms tighten on her, hauling her against him.

Oblivious to the sharp need slicing through him, Holly grinned up at him, the woman he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about through nine innings, the woman with the expressive eyes and soft lips, the woman who’d panted when he’d kissed her neck, making him want to do it again.

“You’re good at that,” she laughed, pulling free. “Putting up with people hugging you.”

Not so good with it, not usually.

“Your shoulder okay?”

He felt himself tense. “Why?”

“Because I want to put out the scoop before anyone else.” She shook her head, sarcasm in her eyes. “Because you look like you’re favoring it.”

“No, I’m good.”

“One of these days you’ll learn to trust me.” She nodded toward Red. “Looks like you have to go. Coach’s gesturing at you.”

Yeah, he was, and looking apoplectic while he was at it, wanting Pace to get back to icing his shoulder, which wasn’t as okay as he’d pretended it was.

With one last sweet smile, Holly moved off, and Pace headed to the usual postgame signing. Typically, this was actually fun, especially after a win, but tonight a large group of drunken ass**les showed up in line, causing a commotion. After Samantha was harassed when she tried to step in and shut them up, the police were called, and the players were quickly bused back to the hotel and ushered into a private room at the restaurant for the postgame team dinner.

Well used to the occasional mob riots, Pace and the guys were unfazed and happy to eat. Pace grabbed his plate and looked for a seat. Wade was getting an earful about something from Gage. There was a spot next to Red, but Pace didn’t feel like talking shop.

Besides, the empty seat next to Holly seemed to be calling out his name, and telling himself it was the closest open one available, he took it.

“What?” he said to her surprised expression.

“Nothing. I was just expecting you to do the ignore-me thing, especially after I nearly strangled you on the field with my congrats today.”

He looked into her eyes and was instantly transported back to the clubhouse, where she’d held on to him as though she were drowning and he was the only thing that could save her. “I just took the closest empty kiss—er, seat. I meant seat,” he said a little weakly.

She took a bite of pizza, studying him as she chewed. “I knew that kiss made you uncomfortable.”

“I wouldn’t call it uncomfortable.”

“What would you call it?”

He looked into her eyes and had to take a breath. “Turned on as hell.”

She smiled. “Good.”

“You’re direct.”

“It was just a kiss, Pace. And just a hug.”

A hug that had involved having her strain up against him, all warm, sexy, curvy woman. “I know.”

She cocked her head. “Do you? Because it seems like maybe you’re having some trouble with it. Need me to back off? Am I scaring you?”

“No.” He shook his head at her smile and had to let out one of his own. “Okay, yes. Yes, you’re scaring me.”

“Aw.” She slung a friendly arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “I’ll be gentle.” She went back to her pizza with gusto. “I loved watching you play tonight. You looked good out there.”

She was looking good, too, but he kept that to himself, as well as the fact that she was messing with his head without even trying. Both heads.

“So when you’re out there on the field, can you hear us cheering you on?” she asked, catching a string of cheese off the tip of her pizza with her tongue.

“Yes,” he said, staring at that tongue. “But it’s more like white noise if I’m in the zone.”

“Well, I made plenty of white noise today.” She laughed at herself. “I really lost myself.”

He was feeling a little lost himself, in both the sound of her laughter and the warmth of her eyes.

“What?” she asked.

“Ignoring you is going to be a hell of a lot harder than I thought.”

She didn’t point out the obvious, that he was a grown-up, that he could chose not to ignore anything, but she simply sat there and ate her pizza, easily becoming the most enigmatic, intriguing woman he’d ever met.

The next morning the news was buzzing about what had happened after the Atlanta game with those wild fans. The story had gotten exaggerated, with some of the papers reporting that Sam had been beaten and nearly raped. The Heat flew home, where they were met by Sam’s entire family, all of them royally pissed off and ready to kick some ass.

While Sam cooled their jets and assured everyone she didn’t have a scratch on her, the players got ready for their game. Pace wasn’t pitching, but his shoulder felt good—okay, not good but not bad—so he still dressed out, as he’d be practicing in the bullpen while watching the game.

Which they lost.

As well as their next three games.