“That you’re a little full of yourself, but you do have more redeeming qualities than I’d counted on. Such as being nice to stupid reporters who catch with their foreheads.”

He arched a brow. “An honest woman. Imagine that.”

“You look so surprised.”

“I am.”

“Then you’re hanging out with the wrong women.”

“That’s undoubtedly quite true.” Still looking at her very closely, he shook his head. “I can’t leave you here.”

“Sure you can.” She managed a smile. “I’m just going to sit here in the sun and write up some notes. It’s a gorgeous day. And I’m not dizzy at all. At least not now as much as I was.”

“Okay, that’s it. Come on.” He pulled her upright with him, keeping his hands on her when she wasn’t quite steady on her feet. “I know you had your heart set on grilling the kids, but I can’t let you do that.”

“Why, what do they know?”

“Holly.”

“Just kidding, I wouldn’t do that.”

“No?”

She grimaced guiltily. “Not grill, precisely. But maybe speak gently with . . .”

He looked into her eyes. Then his gaze dropped, slowly taking in the rest of her features, and when he got to her mouth, she felt another of those odd flutters low in her belly. He didn’t step back, he didn’t step away. Nope, he stayed right in her personal space, which normally would have bugged the hell out of her, but she didn’t feel bugged so much as . . .

Jittery.

It was the bump on the head. It had to be.

“I can see those wheels turning, Holly.”

“I’m just thinking that maybe you’re not quite the jerk you want me to believe.”

“Yes, I am,” he said. “A big jerk. An asshole.”

“You run from stalkers rather than call the police. You play baseball with kids and bring them new gear. You help stupid reporters who catch with their foreheads. There’s a soft side to you, Pace Martin.”

“Hell no, there’s not.”

He looked so insulted, she laughed. “Oh yes, there is.” She put her hand on his chest. The hard, warm muscles there did not escape her notice, no sirree, they did not. “A big old softie, deep down inside.” Very deep, past all that delicious sinew.

Shaking his head, he turned her toward the car. “Let’s go, Sherlock.”

“Where to?”

“To get your damn head checked. And probably I should have mine examined while we’re at it for even putting you in my car in the first place. Sorry guys,” he called out. “We’ve got to go.”

Chipper just waggled his eyebrows and gave a thumbs-up. “Gotcha.”

“Stop that. I have an away series, but I’ll be back in a few days.”

“Phillies,” Chipper said. “You’re going to kick ass.”

Pace narrowed his eyes. “Are you allowed to say ass?”