Double Play

by Shalvis, Jill

  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.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “I was contacted by someone who wanted to sell me proof.”

  “Oh God,” she breathed. “How much is that worth?”

  “I don’t know, I didn’t take it. I have some scruples.”

  Whether or not that was true, Holly’s head was spinning. Tommy was a greedy, sneaky, manipulative bastard, but the bitch of it was, he was always right. “You’re sure?”

  “Listen, doll, we both know my faults. Sniffing out an untrue story is not one of them.”

  “I’ll get back to you.” Holly shut her phone and stood still for a moment as the shock filled her. Sam, the bad guy? She grabbed her keys and headed out into the staggering heat, driving straight to the Heat facilities, where she found the pretty publicist in her office. “Sam? Can we talk?”

  Sam barely looked up from her desk, where she had two laptops going and a handheld fan blowing right in her damp face. Her cell phone was ringing, as was her desk phone. “I’m sorry, the AC is out, the soaring temps are killing me, and I’m swamped. I don’t have time to—”

  “Are you feeding bad press to your brother so his team looks better than the Heat?”

  At that, she had Sam’s full attention. “What?”

  “Are you?”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I wouldn’t feed Jeremy anything. He’s a shark.”

  Holly sank to a chair. “Okay, here’s the thing. My boss is a complete jerk, but he’s got a way of sniffing out a story. He says your bad press is an inside job.”

  “Yes. Many think it’s you.”

  “It’s not.”

  Mouth grim, eyes worried, Sam stood up. “I know. God, I know. But it’s not me either.”

  “So who?”

  “I don’t know—No one else has the info I have,” Sam said.

  “Then who’s accessing your computers and information, besides you?”

  Sam opened her mouth and then slowly shut it again, thoughts clearly racing. “I need a moment alone,” she said tersely, reaching for her phone.

  “Sam—”

  “Please, Holly.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” She was back in the parking lot, sweltering in the morning heat, when her cell phone buzzed with an incoming text from Pace.

  I’m back. Come to the park.

  It took her fifteen minutes in the morning traffic, in the damn heat wave with no AC in her car, during which time she went over and over the look on Sam’s face. It wasn’t her. Sam loved her job, loved the guys, loved everything about the Heat. She’d never have jeopardized that.

  Holly parked next to Pace’s Mustang in the parking lot and got out of her car and nearly melted. The fence wasn’t locked today, and the For Sale sign had been covered by another that read, Sold.

  She saw no one. With butterflies low in her belly over the thought of seeing Pace, she walked to the empty field and turned in a slow circle in the sweltering heat, coming to a stop at the abandoned building. It was a one-story structure, originally used to store equipment, with two high, long-slatted windows that she couldn’t reach to see inside.

  The door was opened. Dying for shade, she stepped over the threshold and into a large room that was clear of everything but some drop cloths, a few buckets of paint on a lone table, two ladders, and one sexy-as-hell Pace Martin.

  He stood at the top of one of the ladders, roller in hand. He wore loose cargo shorts, low on his hips, the hem past his knees, and a T-shirt, both smeared with baby blue paint. Just looking at him lightened her heart.

  He had his baseball hat on backward, his hair curling out from beneath the edges, and an easy smile that pretty much galvanized her.

  She’d go to the ends of the earth for that smile.

  He backed off the ladder with easy grace, hopping down to the floor from the last few rungs. “Hey.”

  “You bought this place,” she said. “You bought it for the kids.”

  “Yeah, but for me, too.” He turned to shut and lock the door, then came close, his gaze touching her features. “I missed you, Holly.”

  Her heart caught painfully. The poor organ seemed to be getting quite the workout lately. He stood there with that melting smile, the promise there in his eyes, colliding with who he’d become—a man for whom baseball was just a part of his life.

  Not the whole, but a part.

  “I missed you, too,” she said softly.

  He smiled. “Good.” He grabbed a second roller. “Want to help?”

  “More than anything.”

  He cocked his head, holding the roller back from her now, his shirt stretching taut across his broad chest. “More than anything? That covers a lot of ground.”

  She caught the heat in his gaze and her tummy quivered, but she had to tell him what she’d just learned. “Pace . . . I talked to Tommy this morning.”

  “About today’s game? Yeah, it’s a big one. Do or die.”

  “No.” She drew a big breath. “About wha
t’s happening in the press. He says it’s an inside job.” She told him everything she knew, including how she’d gone to visit Sam. “I don’t believe it’s her.”

  “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 nipples 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 breasts, 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 breasts 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.”

  She relaxed into him. “Do you?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He hooked his thumbs into the sides. “Every time you bent over to work the roller, they rode up. I got a lot of mileage out of that. But I’d like them even better . . .” He tugged them down to her thighs, and eyed the view he’d given himself with an appreciative groan. “Oh yeah. You should have painted like that.”

  “I couldn’t have walked.”

  He smiled, a slow, sexy smile. And then he kissed her, opening his mouth over hers, the taste of him going straight through her, so familiar, so good, so . . . hers that she moaned.

  In response, he pressed that hard, hot body close, so close that the paint on her belly stuck them together like glue.

  “I’m a mess,” she murmured.

  “I know. I love you like this.” He cupped her head, his fingers entangled in her hair. “I love that you’ve lost all that carefulness when it comes to being with me.”

  She really had. Which meant he had a direct route to the soft underside of her heart.

  “That’s the benefit to going slow.” His mouth was at her ear, and he very gently sank his teeth into her lobe, enough to make her shiver in anticipation. “Drawing things out . . . you feel everything that much more. You feeling everything, Holly. Every little thing.”

  Oh yeah, she was. And bigger things, too, such as his erection straining against her. She slid her fingers into his hair and brought his mouth back to hers, that mouth that she could never in a million years get enough of, every slow thrust of his tongue making her heart beat even faster.

  “Holly?” His tongue glided along hers as his hand slowly slid up her leg, catching on the panties still at midthigh, which he simply tugged all the way off.

  “Yes,” she managed. “I’m feeling every little thing. And the big ones, too.” She pressed against him. “Especially the big ones.”

  He let out a low, rough laugh and backed her to the table, lifting her to it so she sat, gripping the metal beneath her. He nudged her legs open so he could step between, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with passion, going even darker when she ran a hand over those mouthwatering abs of his. Freeing him from his shorts, she wrapped her hands around him and stroked, wrenching a satisfying groan from his lips as he thrust through her fingers, huge
and silky hard, hot to the touch.

  “Holly.” His voice was raspy and thick as his fingers slid between her thighs, jerking a gasp from her. “God, you drove me crazy this past half hour, wondering if you were as hot as I was.”

  “I was. Am.”

  “Good.” He dipped his head to watch himself touch her, and unable to stay still or quiet, she rocked her hips and let out a needy little whimper.

  “Love the sound of you on the edge,” he whispered.

  And she was most definitely on the edge. A sweaty, paint-covered, on-the-edge mess. It shouldn’t have been sexy, but with his hot gaze soaking her up, with his fingers taking her to new places, she’d never been more turned on in her life. “Pace.”

  “I know.” Leaning over her on the table, he kissed her again, his mouth hot and just a little bit demanding as his tongue owned hers. Slowly. Achingly slowly, taking his damn sweet time, breathing her in, spreading hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, her throat, to a breast, and then, as he went down on his knees, over her belly.

  Her inner thigh.

  Between.

  With a gasp, her head fell back, and she rocked her hips as he rasped his thumb over her, making her arch up for more. He gave it to her using his tongue now, and she lost her words, her train of thought. “Ohmigod, Pace—”

  “Don’t even think of asking me to hurry.” His tongue made another slow foray over ground zero, and unable to keep quiet, she cried out, rocking mindlessly against him as his hands tightened on her, holding her still for his mouth.

  She couldn’t hurry him, which meant letting him do as he wanted to her, which was amazing, but she was programmed for fast sex, it was all she knew—

  “Mmmm,” he said against her skin, making her thighs quiver. He stroked them, soothing even as he nibbled at her in a rhythm designed to rile her up. Her belly quivered, too, and he stroked her there as well, all while slowly, tor tuously driving her right out of her own mind. He held her on that edge, poised on the brink until she was panting, desperate to take the plunge.

  And then he nudged her off, holding her as she burst, holding her through the shudders until she sagged back flat on the table, staring up at the ceiling, breathing like a lunatic.