Holly looked at the testosterone filled cabin. All around her was the scent of big, built men—deodorant, soap, af tershave. She’d never seen such concentrated . . . maleness in one place before, and it was distracting to say the least.
But she was here for a job, and she would use her time wisely. Forcing herself to get to work, she pulled out her computer, booted it up, and opened Word. Then stared at it for a while. Yeah, look at her, hard at work.
Two rows ahead of her, Ty and Henry were playing cards, Henry’s head bopping to some beat from his iPod. Just to her left, Wade and Pace were talking and laughing, amusing each other with the ease of old, tight friends.
Then Pace turned his head toward her. Wade was saying something to him, but Pace didn’t take his eyes off her as he slowly nodded a greeting, his gaze dark and assessing and . . .
Warm enough that she needed to adjust the overhead fan right onto her face. Whew. The guy was edible. No other word need apply. She looked at her blank screen and tried to concentrate, which turned out to be impossible, so she clicked open her Sudoku program.
Five minutes later she had a good portion of the puzzle done when a deep male voice in her ear said, “Four.” This was accompanied by a long, tanned finger pointing to one of the squares. “Four goes there.”
She tipped up her head and found Pace. Her mouth went dry. He wore a dark charcoal suit cut just for him, a French blue shirt with a sexy as hell tie and an easy smile.
“Working hard?” he asked.
“Very.” As she answered, she shut the Sudoku program, inadvertently revealing the Word program behind it.
And her blank screen.
“Ah,” he said. “Invisible font.”
With a sigh she gave up and sat back. “I don’t do idle very well. I like to be on the move, and I’m usually in a hurry as well. Sitting sucks.”
He surprised her by folding his long, leanly muscled body into the empty seat next to her. “It’s called relaxing.”
“Yeah, I don’t do that so well either.”
“It’s hard for me, too, since I gave up soda.”
She turned back to him. “Why did you give it up?”
He patted his flat-as-a-board belly, and she laughed. “Come on.”
“Hey, you hit thirty and your metabolism changes.”
“You’re worried about your girlish figure?” Which was anything but girlish . . .
“It made me sluggish. But I miss it, especially when I’m just sitting. There’s a lot of hurry up and wait in baseball, emphasis on the wait. You’ll get used to it.”
She nodded, then shook her head.
“Or not.” He eyed the bruise on her forehead, the one she’d not been entirely successful at covering up. “Ouch.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Just do me a favor and don’t offer to play catch with any of these guys,” he said, gesturing to the guys around them. “The last woman who did was a quote ‘dancer’ from some underground club, and she played in the nude.”
She laughed.
“Seriously. TMZ took pics.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Google it.” With a flash of a quick, rare grin, he pushed out of the chair and left her alone.
She let out a long breath—her version of relaxing—and wished she had an Internet connection as she went back to her blank screen, where she absolutely did not fantasize about playing catch.
With Pace.
In the nude . . .
The team checked into the Philadelphia hotel together, Holly included. The atmosphere in the lobby slowly changed as people realized the Heat had arrived, and the players were sought out by autograph-seeking fans. Though Holly had read about baseball divas, not a single player seemed to mind as they stood around a few extra minutes making nice.
Even afterward, things remained simple. A few of the guys went to the hotel bar for a drink, others caught a movie. Some stayed in.
No one got wild and crazy.
They were a united group, yet respectful of their individual differences. It fascinated Holly, who found Mike and Kyle, the third baseman and right fielder, in the bar with Ty and Henry, and sat with them for a while. They talked about baseball’s place in history and how the perception of the game had changed, especially from a kid’s standpoint. These days, so much more was demanded of the players, and the guys were definitely feeling the pressure.
Mason, the first baseman, joined them, as did Joe. The discussion was blog-worthy, and as the bar began to fill up with women, Holly left the guys to go write up some notes. But the late afternoon sun drew her, and she stepped outside the hotel for some fresh air, eyeing a nicely built runner heading her way as the fading sunlight reflected off his sunglasses.
Pace.
He wore running shorts and a white T-shirt, moving along at a stride that would have killed her in under thirty seconds. She wondered if maybe he would keep going, pretending not to see her, but someone had raised him right. His footsteps slowed, then stopped altogether as he pulled out his earphones. He’d been running hard and his breathing was labored as he drew air into his lungs. He lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head and swiped at his temples with the back of his arm. His shirt clung to him. His shorts did the same.
He was sweaty all over, and she shivered.
Wow.
The single word was a completely involuntary reaction. She couldn’t help herself as she stared at him, all intelligent thought flew right out of her head, because from head to toe the man was freaking gorgeous.