Tucker nodded. “Understood. But since everyone’s in Baltimore, how about I go meet up with some friends for a couple of hours and then come back here and crash on the couch tonight in case you need anything later. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

When Tucker walked out the door, Pace eyed Holly.

She eyed him back.

“Don’t make me call 9-1-1 on you,” he said.

“You didn’t call the police on Tia and her flowers, so you’re not going to call on me. Besides, I still have your cell phone.” She pulled it from her pocket, held it up for him to see, then slipped it back into her pocket.

“Give that back.”

“Tell you what. You take it from me and I’ll leave.”

His gaze dropped to her jeans pocket, and he gritted his teeth.

“Go ahead, Pace. Prove you’re fine enough to be alone. Wrestle me down and take the phone.”

“If I wrestle you down, I’m going to do something other than take my phone back.”

“Promises, promises.”

With a growl, he stood up and took a step toward her, then wavered on his feet and clutched the wall, letting out a tight breath. “Fuck.”

“Okay, that’s it.” She slid her shoulder beneath his good arm to take his weight and led him out to the living room. “Which way?”

“To?”

“Your bed.”

“What’s wrong with right here?”

“Shut up, Pace. Which way?”

He sighed. “Down the hall.”

His bedroom was as supersized as the rest of his house. The masculine oak furniture included a huge four-poster bed piled with sheets and blankets all askance from what looked like a restless night.

“I want a shower,” he said, kicking a pile of clothes aside.

She looked at his complicated sling. “I think it’s going to have to be a bath.”

“Whichever.” He headed into the bathroom, which was nearly as big as his bedroom. She flipped on the water in his Jacuzzi tub, then looked at him. “Do you really think I’d write about your test results?”

He toed off his shoes.

“Or that I’d expose you before the results were made public?”

“It’s as good as public now. Gage’s going to try to keep it quiet until I’m retested, but I don’t know if he can.” He leaned against the wall. “A stimulant isn’t as bad as steroids. I’ll probably only get a wrist slap, but if they retest and I show positive again, I’ll get a twenty-five game suspension.” His good hand went to the tie on his sweats, which was knotted, thwarting his best attempts.

She watched him struggle a minute before she stepped close. Holding his gaze, she untied the sweats and then nudged them down. His sweatshirt zipped and was easy enough to get off him, leaving him standing there in navy blue knit boxers and a sling and nothing else, which gave her an upfront and personal view of his torso and shoulder, already black-and-blue and hugely swollen. He had three incision sites: one where the microscopic camera had gone in and two where they’d done the actual work, and the abuse he’d taken today went straight to her heart. “Oh, Pace.”

“I’m guessing that wasn’t an ‘Oh, Pace, you’re so sexy, take me.’ ”

Throat tight, she put a hand over his heart. “You really don’t need any pain meds?”

“Oh, on top of all the shit Tucker’s supplying me with, you mean?”

“Pace.”

“The tests were wrong, Holly.” He said this in a low, tense voice. “I didn’t take anything. Be sure to put that in your article.”

She stared at him, hard. “First of all, I happen to believe you. And second of all, if you weren’t already hurt, I’d hurt you myself. You know—dammit, you’d better know—that I wouldn’t report you’re on stimulants when it hasn’t been proven.”

“You saw my results. Proof. Which means you have me with my pants down.” His smile didn’t meet his eyes. “Literally.”

She could scarcely speak past the lump in her throat. “Believe it or not, my personal morals mean something to me. Honesty means something to me, especially after how I grew up. I thought you knew that about me by now. And the fact that all along you’ve expected me to leak the story about your shoulder, and now the drug test, pisses me off. I’m damn tired of proving myself to you, Pace, and I’m . . .” Afraid to give any more of herself away than she already had, she simply turned and headed to the door.

“Holly.”

She kept going.

“Holly, I’m—Please look at me.”

When she turned back, he was just standing there in those knit boxers and his splint, the personification of big, edgy, testosterone-fueled male. “I’m sorry, okay?” His voice was tense. “I don’t think you’d expose me in any way, any more than you’d bash my head in, even though I’m close to begging you to do just that.” He closed his eyes. “But you should really go because I’m an ass today.”

“Today?”

His lips actually quirked. “Yeah, yeah.”

Dammit, he was gorgeous and hurting so much, but she shook her head. Not going to be moved by that. “I think I’ll just grant your first request and leave you alone for your bath.”

One of these days, she told herself as she headed into his kitchen, someone was going to accept her at face value. Not for what she did for a living, but for the woman beneath, the one who maybe didn’t believe in love or happily ever afters, but secretly, desperately, wanted to.