“I don’t either.” He looked pensive and quiet for a moment, then met her gaze. “But that’s going to have to wait for a few minutes.”

“Why?”

“Because baseball, and all that goes with it, is going to take a backseat, for once.”

“But don’t you think—”

“What I think,” he said, taking her purse off her shoulder and setting it aside, “is that we’ve got a lot to do before the kids show up to see this place in an hour.” He gave her a once-over. “How married are you to that shirt staying white?”

She looked down at herself. It was her favorite shirt, mostly because it was what she’d been wearing when they’d first kissed in the Atlanta locker room. “Pretty married.” Compromising, she pulled it off, leaving just the red tank top she wore beneath.

His gaze took in the tank, and the fact that her ni**les were hard and poking at the material. “Nice.” He put his big hands on her hips and tugged her in. His hot eyes met hers, and then he kissed her until she couldn’t remember her own name. Then, while she was still reeling, he backed away. To strip, she hoped dazedly. They had an hour, he’d said. They could do a whole lot with an hour—

He thrust the paint roller in her hands. “You know how to use that?”

She blinked. “Yes.”

“Great.” He grabbed the other roller, dipped it into the paint and headed to a wall, his game face on.

They were going to paint, not make love. Okay. Equally determined, she forced herself to head to the opposite wall. For the kids, she reminded herself. It was important and was a worthy cause, but damn it was hot in here, what with all the kissing and the added labor of reaching up and down . . .

Within ten minutes, she was a sticky, steamy mess.

“Hot,” he murmured, echoing her thoughts, and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside with no idea that now she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

His surgery scars were prominent but no longer red and angry. His chest was deeply tanned, sinewy, and made her mouth water. Her entire body reacted, and when she looked up, his gaze was steady.

And scorching.

“Very hot,” she agreed, thinking two could play this game. So she pulled off her tank top, tossing it aside as he’d just done.

His eyes darkened, his breathing changed, and he stepped close again, leaning in for another of those mind-bending kisses. Then, when she was panting for more, he simply stepped back and picked up his roller.

Dammit. She wanted to roll him. With her body quivering for his, she dipped her roller back into the paint. When she finished the wall, she turned to Pace.

Chest damp with sweat, he stared deep into her eyes and without a word, kicked off his flip-flops.

Unbuttoned his shorts.

Oh, thank God. She unbuttoned her shorts and let them fall off her hips. By some miracle of laundry and timing, her bra matched her panties today.

Pace let out an exhale of breath that conveyed heat, desire, and a need so strong her legs wobbled.

“Holly.”

Now. He was going to take her right here, right now. “Yes?”

He pointed to the last wall. “We have one more.”

She stared at him, then nodded. “You’re right.” Turning away, she bent over for more paint.

Slowly, in nothing but her bra and panties.

He hissed out a breath, but he didn’t touch her. His shorts, already low on his hips, sank even lower. His bare back was sleek and strong, muscles rippling with his every movement. He joined her, reaching high on her wall as she painted low. A few seconds later, she felt his hand skim up her spine. When she straightened to look at him, her bra slid off.

She hadn’t even felt him unhook it. “Smooth,” she said, heart pounding.

His hungry gaze ate her up, from the tips of her hair, to her bared br**sts, to her skimpy bikini panties. “Almost done,” he murmured, and dipped his roller into the paint.

She let out a shaky breath and went back to the wall. Topless. In just panties.

Never in her life had she done anything like this before.

Thanks to all his stretching, Pace’s shorts gave up the fight and slid down to his thighs. He kicked them off, leaving him in just a pair of black knit boxers with an interesting and mouthwatering bulge right in front.

By the time the last wall was done, Holly had a streak of paint on her shoulder, another between her br**sts and belly, and one on her thigh. Pace had a long smear across his torso and abs, and another in his hair.

“Tell me we’re done,” she said, stepping close.

“Still always in a hurry?”

“Uh-huh.” She slipped her fingers into the low waistband of his boxers as she pressed her lips to the scar on his shoulder.

He took her roller from her and set it aside. “There’s no fire.” He bent his head to nuzzle at her neck, one hand skimming up to cup a breast, his thumb brushing over her nipple.

With a low hum of pleasure, she arched to give him more access. “I feel like I’m the fire.”

His soft laugh huffed against her skin, and the sound melted her bones.

“Slow,” he murmured. “We have a better chance of finally getting satisfied.”

The words penetrated her lust-ladened brain, and she went still. “I thought we were past the getting-this-out-of-our-system thing.”

“We are. Way past.” He made his way lazily to her shoulder, his hands skimming up and down her back, going lower each time until his fingers caught in her pale peach panties. “I like these.”