Sam laughed. “I knew it. Did he ever give you your interview? He certainly owes you now, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” she murmured, still looking at him. “He most certainly does owe me.”

Sam pulled out her phone, punched in a number, and from across the room Holly watched Pace pull out his cell phone and answer it.

Sam turned away so Holly couldn’t hear how their conversation went, but when Sam closed her phone, she nodded. “He says—”

Holly’s cell rang. She pulled it out of her purse and answered. “Hello?”

“Hey.”

Her heart tripped. “Pace.”

“Sam says you need the interview now.”

“That would be great, if you have the”—she turned to once again locate him in the crowd and nearly plowed right into him—“time.”

Standing in front of her with his cell phone to his ear, he smiled, a mix of resigned and heated affection in his eyes. “I’ve got the time.”

Chapter 12

You don’t save a pitcher for tomorrow. Tomorrow it may rain.

—Leo Durocher

Holly took a deep breath as Pace slid his phone back into his pocket. He’d been hurting, he had a lot on his plate, and he’d clearly needed distance, whether imposed by Gage or not.

And in truth, she’d needed the distance, too, needed it to do the job she’d come here to do. But all that went out the window when he gestured toward the door to the shower room, a door she was very, very familiar with.

He held it open for her, and as she walked through, she brushed up against him, incredibly aware of the air molecules that seemed to sizzle between them.

His clothes were simple tonight but there was nothing simple about the dark gaze that met hers. “You okay?” she asked, realizing he wasn’t wearing his shoulder brace.

He smiled a little tightly, but when he spoke, his voice was classic Pace, low throttled and sexy as hell. “Is that the woman or the reporter asking?”

“Let’s start with the woman.”

He let out a low laugh, scrubbed a hand over his day old stubble. “Not sure what the hell to do about this, Holly.”

“This.”

“Us.”

She looked at the tile wall of the showers, which several times now he’d pressed her up against to kiss her. “We could do whatever comes to mind.”

“I’m not sure you’d say that if you could see what keeps coming to my mind.”

Her knees wobbled and she let out a shaky breath. “I’d like to see,” she whispered.

“I thought this was going to be an interview,” he said, sounding just as unraveled as she. “Sam insisted.”

Right. “Okay, that first.” She struggled to push aside the aroused woman and find her professionalism. “I’ll try to make it painless.”

He let out a soft laugh, suggesting he didn’t figure that to be possible. “You do that. Come on.”

“Where to?”

“I figure it should be up on the hill where you watched me practice in the beginning, where you weren’t supposed to be. Remember?”

Where she had gotten her first look at him, where a part of her had begun to fall for him . . . “I remember.”

“The diamond looks good from there, especially lit up at night, like now. If you want pictures.”

“Wow, you really are going to behave.”

“I didn’t say that. This way.” He took her through the equipment room, where he grabbed two flashlights, then led her out a door that opened directly outside, along the backside of the parking lot.

It was a very dark night, and quite a hike from here to the top of the hill, but he didn’t say a word about either. Instead, he said, “Thanks for the brownies, by the way. They were the best I’ve ever had. You’ve got all these . . . pieces, Holly. So many pieces of you.”

Yes. She’d flitted from one to another her entire life, never quite landing . . .

He was quiet a long moment as they climbed, as he began to struggle for breath. “I think that’s what’s so attractive about you,” he said. “You’re whole. With a bunch of different pieces making that whole. Not me. I’m just the one piece—baseball.”

And at the moment, he didn’t even have that, which she knew had to be killing him. But there was much more to him than baseball, or there could be. “Wade introduced me to your father when he came to watch you play.” Drill Sergeant Edward Martin had been tall, dark, and handsome. Like father, like son. He’d also been formidable and quite intimidating. “He seemed proud of you.”

“He’s confused by me is what he is.”

“He was at your game. That says a lot.”

He looked at her. “Your father miss your stuff?”

“He missed my life.” She shrugged at his questioning gaze. “He walked.”

“My mother did the same.” He was quiet a moment, then when the trail got rocky, or maybe just because, he reached for her hand. “My dad’s a busy guy. Not into kid stuff.”

“And he considers baseball kid stuff?”

“He did. And maybe that’s why I went for it. I couldn’t please him to save my life, so why not royally piss him off.” He shook his head. “I was a shitty kid. Bad attitude. You?”

“I don’t know. I pretty much had the opposite thing going. My mom was the shitty kid. She had both a bad man habit and a bad shopping habit, each constantly landing us in trouble until I was old enough to take over. And even then, she was still sneaking around, spending what we didn’t have, trying to fool me . . .”