She appeared to be having the same trouble, staring at the only thing he wore, the only thing he could put on by himself—loose basketball shorts.

“Hi,” she said, sounding a little unsure of her reception.

“Hi. I thought you were on the job.”

“I’m more than the job, Pace.”

He didn’t say anything to that because her point slammed home hard. She was more than her job.

He was not.

“I know you have doctors and PTs and a million people looking out for you,” she said. “But I thought I’d come do some stretching with you, the ones your doctor recommended when I checked you out of the hospital.”

“There’s no point in rushing, not if I got suspended for twenty-five games. Or worse.”

“Don’t give up, Pace. We can get to the bottom of it, expose who did this to you, and—”

“And then what? Destroy someone else instead, someone I likely know and—” Care about.

“Yes,” she said softly, clearly understanding. “If that’s what it takes.”

Wishing he was still dead asleep because being awake hurt like hell, he moved aside for her to come in.

“I’ve been researching, writing,” she told him. “I just wanted you to know. I want to be upfront with you on this.”

Ah, hell. “Sounds argument inducing.”

She turned and looked him over. “It won’t be. I’m not here to argue. I’m here to help you stay in shape. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle. And you’re already dressed for what I have in mind.”

Okay, that sounded a lot more promising than he’d thought. Especially when she put her hands on his belly and gently pushed him past the living room toward the hallway.

“Your doctor suggested a lower-body workout for circulation.”

He was game for a lower-body workout, only she didn’t go as far as his bedroom, pulling him into his home gym. She turned on the light and looked at him as she pulled off her sweatshirt and then her pants, leaving her in a pair of bicycle shorts and a sports bra. She pointed to the leg-press machine. “Sit.”

He did, only because she looked exceedingly hot. He put his legs up and pushed.

“Good,” she said, leaning over him. “Keep going.”

He liked her workout outfit. A lot. He reached out to touch, but she slapped his hand away. “Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all, “but people who don’t trust me don’t get to touch me.”

“It’s not that I don’t—”

“Shh. This is a workout.” She sat at the bench press next to him. “I bet I can do more reps than you.”

He eyed her gorgeous, curvy body, which had probably never seen a gym, and pulled out a smile he didn’t know he had in him. “No, you can’t.”

She gave him a sidelong look. “Prove it.”