That choked a real laugh out of him. A laugh, when he was on his way to being cut open.

She held out her hand, palm up, looking quite sure of herself and, dammit, hot. “Want to know something else?” she asked.

What the hell. “Sure.”

“I’m wearing a bra, but since you still have the panties that match it, I’m commando.”

His mouth fell open, and she twirled for him to see. He drank her in, but she was wearing cargo pants, low on her hips but too loose so he couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered, the view was mouth-watering regardless. He dropped the keys into her hand, dropped his whole damn life in her hand just to watch her walk around the car.

Holly paced the hospital waiting room, unaccustomed to the pit of anxiety in her gut. One thing about the way she moved in and out of people’s lives for her job—she hadn’t done a lot of worrying about them.

This time was completely different. She worried about the people she’d come to care about, a lot, but she also worried about herself because here was something new to obsess over, something that had never bothered her until now—she was halfway through her series and had no idea what she’d do when she was done. She’d always known by now, but this time she had nothing.

Because this time, she didn’t want to leave.

Pace woke up from his surgery feeling no pain thanks to a pretty nurse shooting some very good stuff into his IV. “Hey, is that MLB sanctioned?” he quipped.

She smiled and patted his arm, and when he woke up again, Holly was sitting by his bed, tapping on the keys of her laptop. She looked up at his movement and offered him one of those fake smiles people gave to people who are dying.

Uh-oh. “They operate on the wrong shoulder?” he asked.

“Of course not.” She got up and put her hand to his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“No pain.” In fact, the room was spinning pleasantly, centered by her hand on him. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” She plumped the pillow behind his back when he tried to sit up, fussing over him.

Stalling.

“Holly.”

She was busy straightening his covers now, like he was a damn invalid.

Which he wasn’t.

In fact, he was feeling the exact opposite of an invalid because every time she leaned over him, her button-up T-shirt gaped open and revealed a white silky demi-bra that had her breasts nearly spilling out over the top.

Which reminded him—she wasn’t wearing panties. He had no idea why that fact so fascinated him. He’d seen her body. It was fantastic, but he sure as hell shouldn’t be drooling to see her again. “It’s the meds.”

Her eyes met his. “What is?”