Throwing Heat dad-3 Page 12

  “Good.” A tick started in his jaw.

  She leaned her elbows on the bar and cocked her head to the side, looking at him with her gorgeous hazel eyes. All he saw was messy hair and her dabbing at the cut on her hand with a bar towel. “Are you all right, Peter? You went after Seth hard and I’m worried about your shoulder.”

  He didn’t feel any pain. “I’m fine.”

  But he wasn’t fine and she knew it. “You’re not moving your arm.”

  Peter glanced at his shoulder, shrugged. “It’ll hurt like a bitch tomorrow, but it’s fine. Felt good shattering the fucker’s nose.”

  “Thank you for doing that.”

  For some reason her gratitude pissed him off and he rounded on her. “What the hell was he doing in your office after hours in the first place?” The answer had better be nothing.

  Watching him with what looked like caution in her eyes, Leslie answered softly, “Not what you think, Peter. He’d already been sent home for the night, along with the rest of the crew because of the snow. I was shutting down my computer when he came in reeking of whiskey and stumbled into my bamboo plant, knocking it to the floor. Then he tried to get handsy with me.”

  So the little bastard had needed liquor to bolster his courage to try and grope her? Shit, Peter had to find him now for another sound beating, Philly-style. This was beyond not okay.

  Emotions churned in his gut, hot and greasy. The events of the past few days piled up, one on top of the other, and Peter swallowed around the ball of anger that lodged in his throat. Everything was falling apart. His whole goddamn life was upside-down and he didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t know what to do with himself.

  All he knew was that if something didn’t change soon he was going to explode.

  Leslie rounded the bar and came to stand in front of him, her back to the glossy mahogany counter. “I should have been more careful, I suppose. But I swear to you I didn’t see it coming. Not from him. He seemed innocent and sweet. Dumb, but completely harmless.”

  The fact that she could even say that with sincerity after the asshole had tried to touch her breasts only succeeded in riling him up all over again and he whipped out a hand, grabbing a strand of her disheveled hair. “Right,” he scoffed, “he was completely harmless.”

  She stilled and narrowed her eyes on him. “What’s going on with you? Are you okay?”

  For whatever reason that question pushed him over the edge. Didn’t she understand the gravity of the situation at all?

  Dropping the strand of hair like it was scalding hot, Peter took a step away and rounded on her, the dark emotional vortex sucking him in, and he yelled, “No I’m not okay! Christ, Leslie. How could I possibly be okay?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the bar. For a woman who’d just been almost assaulted she seemed too damn calm for his liking. “What is it, Peter? Tell me.”

  He was swallowed by the tide of emotions and couldn’t think. It was too much. Everything. Just too fucking much. “I can’t tell you!”

  Her head tipped to the side and she looked at him with sympathy. “You don’t know what’s wrong?”

  Of course he knew what was wrong, he just wasn’t going to tell her. His life as he knew it was over, he was going blind in one eye, and the woman of his dreams was standing before him with a cut hand because somebody had almost hurt her. It brought out every frigging primal instinct in him. All he wanted to do was punch something. Again and again until this claustrophobic, choking feeling left him. “No,” was all he said, hoping frantically that she’d drop it.

  But she didn’t. Of course she didn’t. It was Leslie.

  She stood her ground, looked at him searchingly, and said quietly, “You called me your woman.”

  Denial cut through him like a hacksaw. “No I didn’t.” She wasn’t his woman. She didn’t want to be.

  Peter tried desperately to reel his emotions back in, but when she touched his chin, he teetered on the edge of coming completely unglued. That hadn’t happened to him since he’d come to blows with his old man after he’d told him he was going to play ball. Viktor Kowalskin had slapped him in the face for trying to be something special.

  Soft, slender fingers of steel gripped his chin and Leslie forced him to look at her. “You did too, Peter, and I think we should talk about it.”

  “Why?” It wasn’t worth the air it’d take. “I was angry. It didn’t mean anything.”

  “Oh really?” she challenged and took another step closer to him. Now her body was brushing against his and he felt the crackle of electricity. “Prove it.”

  He tried to shove her hand away, but she was strong and held steady. “How?” His gut was still swirling and he didn’t trust himself to do whatever she wanted gently. No matter how far he’d come from his days in South Philly, at his core he was still a fighter—a tough-as-nails, rough-around-the-edges, raw, unfiltered son of immigrants who didn’t know a fucking thing about tenderness.

  “Kiss me.”

  “No,” he said a harshly, about to come unhinged. Christ, he didn’t want to hurt her.

  Leslie stared him down with challenge in her eyes. “Do it, Peter. Or I will.”

  Dear God, forgive him for what he was about to do.

  Peter grabbed her around the waist and shoved her roughly against the bar, his mouth covering hers possessively.

  He came unleashed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  LESLIE GASPED, COMPLETELY taken by surprise. Oh my, she thought with a feminine thrill, I’ve never seen that look in his eye. It was wild and dangerous and hot. So very, very hot.

  Her back slammed into the bar and just as pain started to register, Peter’s mouth was on hers and she only felt one thing: need. Raw, undiluted need. And she went wet and throbbing so fast it made her dizzy.

  Ripping her mouth from his on a moan, she gulped for air and tried to grab for some measure of control. But he wasn’t having it. His fingers dug into her hips hard and he yanked her to him, thrusting into her at the same time.

  “More,” Peter growled, and he took her mouth in a punishing kiss.

  Lust rushed off him and slammed into her making her knees weak. And when one of his hands streaked up under her shirt to cover her breast, his fingers pinching her nipple sharply, she was so turned on that she groaned into his mouth helplessly. It was exquisite torture and Leslie never wanted it to stop.

  Peter ground against her, his erection rubbing her where she ached for him most. And it felt amazing. Like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Every nerve was alive and humming, tuned to only his frequency, eager and hungry for all of him.

  Her hands released the bar ledge and stroked boldly over his body, Peter’s dark passion pulling her under with every thrust of his powerful hips. She wanted it, could feel the hunger building inside, and she dug her nails into his back.

  Peter yanked back and swore, his eyes electric with desire. “Now,” he demanded roughly. “I want my mouth on you now.”

  Leslie dug her hands into the thick wavy mass of his hair, breathing heavily, and felt moisture pool between her legs when he rolled her nipples between his fingers and bit her neck, whispering hotly, “I need to taste your pussy.”

  Yes, please.

  His hand left her breast and stroked down her body until he came to the waistband of her jeans. Then with one hand he worked the button free, lowered the zipper, and shoved his hand inside. He didn’t stop until he’d found her curls and slipped a finger between her slick and swollen lips.

  They both groaned.

  Peter’s finger covered her clit expertly, circled for a moment, and then moved lower until he discovered her entrance and filled her. She was on fire. As he stroked her, his thick, long fingers rubbing against her G-spot erotically, she felt the rush of her orgasm begin to build.

  “Oh my God, Peter!” she cried and her hands went limp on his shoulders.

  Giving her open-mouthed kisses on her neck that were all
lust and no tenderness, he nipped the sensitive skin just below her ear and demanded, “Come for me.”

  Opening her mouth to speak, Leslie couldn’t say a word, only moaned in building ecstasy. But she wanted to come for him like she wanted to breathe. It was all instinct.

  Peter’s mouth covered hers again just as he began rubbing her clit, the movement sure and commanding. And the orgasm tore through her, ripping a groan from her chest.

  Panting hard, Leslie pulled back to look at Peter and shivered deliciously. He was unchecked passion. His eyes were glassy with it. And when he focused on her, she felt the intensity of his desire slam into her and her knees buckled beneath her.

  Grabbing her, Peter shook his head and growled, “Oh no you don’t. I’m not through with you.” Then he lifted her up onto to the bar and pushed her onto her back, yanking off her jeans at the same time.

  “What are you doing?” Leslie panted, lost in a sea of the most intense arousal she’d ever felt.

  Peter shoved her legs apart roughly and made a sound in his chest that was more animal than man.

  “I need more of you.”

  And then his mouth was on her pussy and his tongue was licking her boldly, possessively, pushing her right into another orgasm.

  Leslie cried out as she came against his mouth. “Peter!” Her legs trembled and she couldn’t think. All she could do was lay there and let the wildest, most intense man alive take her over the edge as many times as he wanted.

  “Do you think about this?” he asked roughly, a finger sliding back into her slick folds, making her suck in a breath. “Do you picture me doing this to you?”

  “Yes,” she replied when she could find her voice.

  “What about this?” His tongue stroked over her possessively from his finger to her clit.

  Her head fell back on the bar and she raised a leg, put it over his shoulder. “Yes,” she nearly whimpered.

  God help her, but she loved what he was doing to her.

  Peter rose up enough to look into her face, his own face set in hard lines and his eyes darkly erotic. “Good. I do too.”

  Then he put his mouth on her again, sucking gently while his tongue flicked over her sensitive peak and his finger stroked inside her. And she came so hard it brought tears to her eyes.

  “Look at me,” he said, his breathing labored and unsteady.

  She was floating so high it took an immense amount of energy to lift her head up to look at him. Finally she managed and said breathlessly, “I’m looking.”

  “Tell me you want me. That you need to feel me inside you.” It was a demand, his eyes blue fire. Energy poured off of him in intense, reckless waves and her lower belly quivered—in both feminine fear and excitement.

  She didn’t even try to lie. “You know I do.” Then she added in a daze, “You’re amazing.”

  Peter froze. “What did you just say?”

  Her head lowered back down. “I said you’re amazing.”

  His hands flexed and squeezed her legs briefly, painfully. Then his eyes shuttered. “Right. You’ve said that before.”

  He dropped a kiss on her bare thigh and stepped away, the sudden cold air making her miss the heat of him. “Now we’re even.”

  Her brain fuzzy from the onslaught of hormones, Leslie frowned up at him and said, “What?”

  “That’s four.”

  And then he stalked away, leaving her sprawled across the bar top half-naked with rug burn on her inner thighs.

  “HOW COULD YOU leave me like that?” Leslie demanded the minute she entered Peter’s house. To leave her on the bar feeling vulnerable like that. Ugh! How dare he do that to her? And then he’d had the gall to stand outside, looking all dark and sulky under the streetlight while he’d watched her climb inside her car and lock the door.

  That was the second time he’d pulled a stunt like that. It was also the second time he’d left her hanging and she was so beyond pissed about it that she could scream. Really, really loud.

  And she almost did when he didn’t respond right away. “Kowalskin!” He’d better be ready to grovel like a beggar. “I know you’re here.” His annoying yellow Suck-U-V was in the garage.

  Nothing.

  Not a peep came from anywhere inside the big house. Leslie flipped on a light and scanned the two-story entryway and sunken living room for signs of the jerk. She couldn’t believe he was hiding.

  Was it possible he’d fallen asleep in the few minutes he’d had before she’d arrived behind him?

  “No way,” she muttered under her breath. Not unless he was her Grandpa George. That man could fall asleep faster than she could blink. And he did it with his eyes open, which was just way creepy.

  As each minute ticked by and she didn’t hear anything coming from upstairs, Leslie’s temper began to deflate. Why does he do this to me? She wondered. He’s so frigging hot and cold.

  It was absolutely infuriating.

  If she was also a little mad because of just how quickly her convictions about rebuilding her career had imploded as soon as his hands were all over her, well, she was willing to blame that on him too.

  Rational or not, Leslie really didn’t care. This was the second time he’d brought her to another world and then left her to come crashing back to earth alone, vulnerable and insecure. The two emotions she hated most. They left her exposed and weak and she just couldn’t deal with feeling that way. Especially over a man. So yes, she was willing to suspend fairness and hang it all on him.

  “Peter!” Something almost like paranoia crept into her stomach and dispersed all through her, sending her nerves pinging. Because of him she had almost thrown her one chance at professional redemption away, and she was terrified. Terrified deep down because she knew what it meant.

  It meant one of two things. Either she wasn’t nearly as committed to rebuilding her life as she thought she was, or she was willing to throw it all away over Peter because he had a hold on her. The first one she was pretty sure was wrong because every time she thought about giving in to temptation and sleeping with Peter—when she was clear-headed and not strung out on his pheromones—a wall of determination deflected the idea before it could so much as gain a toehold.

  The second one was the one that was making her hyperventilate.

  How could she possibly have feelings for a man who didn’t even really want her? Self-loathing cut into her. God, wouldn’t that be just like her though? To go and fall for a man who was wrong for her in every possible way? One who, when it came right down to the bottom line, just plain didn’t want her enough? It would be right in line with her history.

  At least he couldn’t knock her up and then run off to join the military. That was a step up. Maybe there was hope for her after all.

  She shook her head, cynicism boring through her like a termite on rotten wood, and snarled, No, not really.

  A shuffle and a thump sounded from up the stairs, turning her pent-up frustration from herself onto Peter. There he was. Now they were going to have it out, whether he wanted to or not. There were things she needed to say.

  Leslie kicked off her heels and moved to the stairs, her focus solely on getting to the man causing her so much anguish. One of them landed down the stairs on the living room carpet by the gray chenille sectional. The other flew off somewhere down the hall toward the kitchen.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, she hit the landing, marched directly down to his bedroom, and flung the door wide open without even knocking. “We’re going to get a few things straight right now, Kowalskin—” she started and then her vision was suddenly full of wet, naked Peter.

  “Damn it, Leslie.” He scowled and reached for the towel he’d tossed on the bed, wrapped it around his waist. “Don’t you knock?”

  No, obviously. Otherwise she wouldn’t have just caught an eyeful of the man’s penis. Her inner muscles squeezed with instant and alarmingly potent need. “You bailed on me,” she accused, ignoring the sensation. Vulnerability and insecurity ros
e inside her again and she crossed her arms protectively.

  “Yeah, sorry about that, but I needed air.” The jerk tucked a corner of the towel in at his waist, securing privacy for his personal bits and tossed her a calculated smile. He was trying hard to act nonchalant, but his eyes were coldly distant and she knew that meant he wasn’t really nonchalant at all. Oh no, she knew him well enough by now to know that it actually meant deep down he was boiling.

  Fine with her. She was pretty frigging steamed herself. “I want an explanation.”

  “For what?” He gave that raised eyebrow look of his, and it just wasn’t fair at all that she responded to it even though she wanted to kick him in the shins.

  Like he didn’t know what she was talking about. He was smart as a whip and knew full well what she wanted him to tell her. He just refused to share any tiny little personal feeling he might have. It might make him human like the rest of them if he did. Heaven forbid.

  Water dripped from his jet-black hair and fell in droplets down the flat corrugated expanse of his stomach. A black happy trail disappeared beneath the fluffy white cotton and, as she’d just seen, ended in a patch of curly hair that surrounded a very impressive package. She wished it were teeny. Then she wouldn’t be so wound up over it.

  Probably.

  They stood across the room from each other, staring hard and not speaking. Finally Leslie braced her legs apart like she was preparing for battle and tipped her chin. “I need to know why, Peter.”

  He raked his good hand through his dripping hair and his sculpted bicep flexed, displaying his yin-yang dragon to perfection. And she had a flashback of sinking her teeth into it when he’d wrapped that arm around her neck from behind and made her come so hard she’d forgotten her own name. Damn him.

  “I needed space.” His profile was to her as he rummaged around in a drawer.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.” He was just being his normal stubborn self and it made her jaw clench.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”