“Oh no. Too late.” He had his cover-boy smile in place. “Just a bad day. We all have them.” He spread his hands. “Okay then, thanks for your time, buh-bye.” He turned, and his bag fell off his shoulder to his forearm, jerking a wordless sound of pain from his lips.

Bad day, my ass. “You’re in pain, Pace. A great deal of it.”

“Yes. Doing interviews is fucking painful.” Pale now, he let out a tight breath. “But I answered your single question. We’re done here.”

She touched him when he would have moved off, just a hand on his arm, and felt the heat and strength of him beneath her fingers. “Would you like some Advil?”

“No. Thanks.”

His car was shiny and undoubtedly fast, and as a lead-foot herself, she felt a twinge of envy. “Would you say that your personal life often collides with your professional one?”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re relentless?” His color hadn’t come back, but she was still breathing hard from their run out here, and it didn’t escape her that he wasn’t. “Or that you might want to consider cardio exercise?”

She was never insulted at the truth. “Maybe we could talk during one of your cardio workouts,” she suggested.

His expression burned with challenge, even right through his dark lenses. “I run five miles every day. Feel free to join me.”

A dare, uttered with the utmost confidence that she wouldn’t even try. But Holly never backed away from a dare, especially one spoken with the certainty that she couldn’t measure up. He could have no idea that she’d spent a lifetime practicing at measuring up, and she was getting damned good at it.

Clearly confident he’d scared her off, he fished his keys from his pocket as she eyed the Mustang, itching to give it a spin. “Nineteen sixty . . . ?”

“Eight,” he said.

“Nice collision of professional and personal.” She’d bet this baby never conked out on him on Highway 1 during morning traffic—unlike hers, which had done exactly that only two weeks before.

“Yeah. Still not going to comment on my personal life.”

Dammit.

Looking amused at her expression, and maybe at himself, too, he tossed his bag into the car, where it landed on one of the soft leather seats, then sucked in a breath at the movement.

Yeah, he was in bad shape, not that he wanted her to know given that trademark smile he managed to keep in place, the one that was designed to melt away a woman’s panties.

Good thing she was immune.

Mostly.

Okay, she wanted to be immune, she really did, but he’d been lucky enough to be born one of those guys who brought certain things to a woman’s mind, especially one who hadn’t had any of those things in a while.

A long while . . .

“Time’s up,” he said with mock regret.