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.