Throwing Heat dad-3 Page 22

  Leslie deserved this.

  Suddenly the lights above him changed. The stage went dark, except for the blinding spotlight now on him. He lifted a hand to block the glare, cradled his guitar on his raised knee. Who the hell had decided he needed a spotlight?

  The answer came quickly. “For dramatic effect, brother!” It was Paulson. Figured.

  Peter adjusted the mic in front of him and wiped his palms against the thighs of his jeans, smiling self-consciously. “Thanks for letting me crash the stage everyone. I’ve got a tune I wrote that I’d like to perform, if that’s all right.”

  Cheers. Whistles. Catcalls.

  Finding Leslie in the crowd, Peter waited until she was looking at him and said, “Somebody once told me that I had something worth sharing.” He laughed softly. “I sure hope she was right. Here goes.”

  Peter took a deep breath and shut down. He shut out the lights and noise and nerves. Closing his eyes he went to that place inside him that had only ever been touched by one person. By Leslie. She believed in him.

  It gave him strength.

  For a moment he sat there and waited until the club went quiet. Then his fingers started to move on the strings, the sound of his guitar bringing him to his center. God, he hoped she understood what he was trying to do, what he was trying to say.

  “For my princess,” he said. Then he plunged deep and forgot about the strangers staring at him. Peter lost himself in the music, in his message to Leslie.

  And he sang.

  LESLIE DIDN’T RECOGNIZE the song. After a few bars she realized the reason she couldn’t place it was because it was new. Peter had written a song for her. The truth choked her up.

  The stripped-down acoustics made the lyrics sound so beautiful. They touched her and now that they were being sung by the man she was hopelessly in love with and she knew that it had been written for her, well, it was amazing.

  The nightclub was silent as Peter strummed his guitar and sang about her being too beautiful to turn away from even though he was unworthy. He looked incredible up there, so rugged and tough and soulful. Just like she knew he would.

  And he was there for her, singing for her. He’d called her his princess. Her lips trembled and she swallowed hard, her heart pounding frantically in her chest.

  Pushing through the crowd blindly, Leslie didn’t stop until she was standing at the front of the crush, just steps away from the stage. She didn’t care who saw, she just stood there as the tears formed and fell, one by one, down her cheeks. Because she knew, knew what Peter being there meant, and it was everything.

  “I don’t deserve it, but give me a chance,” he sang in his amazing voice.

  And it felt like he was saying it directly to her. That they weren’t just lyrics to a song. They were words from his heart. And knowing him, knowing what music was to him, and how he kept everything locked up tight, Leslie knew he was saying what was inside him in the best way he knew how.

  Peter continued playing, his nimble fingers working the guitars strings expertly. His voice built along with the song, and before long he was pouring his heart out, singing, “I’m not perfect, just imperfectly yours. I’ll love you like you’ve never known before.”

  His voice broke and he looked directly at her. He let his guard down and let everything he felt show in his eyes as he finished the song. “Imperfectly yours for the rest of my life.”

  Oh God.

  Leslie started sobbing. And she couldn’t stop. Because she was so in love with him it was ridiculous. It made her a blubbering fool.

  All for Peter.

  He stopped strumming his guitar and the club slowly went quiet as the crowd held a collective breath. For a long moment he just sat there and looked at her, his pale blue eyes shining bright. Then he raised that brow of his and gave her a small half smile. “I love you,” he said, completely unaware or uncaring that the microphone had picked it up and broadcast it throughout the entire club.

  Peter sat his Gibson down and jumped off the stage. As soon as his feet hit the ground he swooped her up and covered her mouth in a searing, heartfelt kiss. All she could do was cling to him as everything inside her rejoiced, and the crowd around them erupted, went wild.

  He pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “I love you,” he said again. Now that he’d said them once they were the only words he wanted to speak. “And I’m sorry. So, so sorry for being such a coward, Leslie.”

  She placed a hand on his cheek and looked into his eyes. They were filled with love and fear and uncertainty. “Why are you a coward?”

  “For not having the balls to tell you that when I fell for you four years ago. I took one look at you—the first one—and it was over for me. A part of me knew it then, but I was just so scared.” He smiled slightly. “Shit. I’m still scared.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. “I need to finish this. Talking about what’s in here”—he pointed to his chest—“is fucking hard for me.”

  With trembling fingers, she caressed his chest and smiled gently. “Go on.”

  “That night we were together in Miami I tanked because I felt it. I felt what you meant to me deep down in my gut and I freaked. And the stupid bet was just a way to have you without being honest with myself or you about the reasons why.”

  He scanned the crowd of avid onlookers. “I hate performing in public. I really do. But I’ll play here every single night for the rest of my life if it’s what you want. If it will help you achieve your dream. Because all I care about, all I want is you. I’m not good enough and I don’t deserve you, but I love you.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “My baseball career is over. I’m having eye surgery next week, but my vision will never be completely normal. I don’t know where my life is going. And I don’t care, as long as it’s with you.”

  Her heart flung wide open and filled up with love, so very much love, for the man standing before her. She loved him so much it was pathetic. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”

  Both of them. Complete messes.

  Peter leaned in and whispered into her ear. “That’s why we’re good together, princess.”

  She could see it, all the ways that they were good for each other. They were both strong-willed, independent people who were afraid to trust. But they were also good-hearted people, who went to bat for the ones they loved. “Would you really play at the club every single night?” she asked, her heart soaring.

  He nodded. “I would. I mean, I will if that’s what you want. If you still want me.” His eyes stared into hers, searching. “If you still love me.”

  For so long she’d kept herself at arm’s reach, never getting too close to anyone. And for what? It had earned her nothing.

  It really was time to turn over a new leaf. For both of them. She didn’t know where it was going to lead, but she wanted to be right there with him every step of the way. “I love you, Peter.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Suddenly she felt like laughing. The worried look on his face was priceless. “Yes, I’m sure. Even though you’re nothing but trouble, I love you. I always will.”

  Peter wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Girl, ‘trouble’ is your middle name.”

  Leslie slid her arms around the back of his neck, enjoying the way his eyes went warm and sweet. It was a new look for him. She very definitely approved. “That’s why we’re perfect for each other.”

  Peter grinned. “That’s the truth, princess.” Then he kissed her, softly, sweetly.

  And they turned over that new leaf.

  Epilogue

  7 months later

  “HURRY UP, PETER. I don’t want to be late.” Leslie pushed through the hospital doors that led to the maternity wing and took a sharp left.

  “What’s there to be late about?” he drawled right behind her. “Half the damn team is already there waiting.”

  As soon as they entered the waiting room area she saw he was right. “Hey, y’all. S
orry we’re late.” She cast a quick glance over at Peter and smoothed her hair. “Mad traffic.”

  Drake snorted and cuffed Peter on the shoulder. “Bad traffic always gives me bedhead too.”

  Just then a pretty, young nurse came through carrying a clipboard. She wasn’t looking where she was going, she was so busy reading the chart, and she ran smack into Paulson. “Oomph!” The petite woman would have gone down hard—she’d ricocheted of his barrel chest like a ping pong ball—but Drake reached out with surprising speed and caught her.

  “Whoa there, teeny thing. You okay?” He looked down at the petite redhead in his arms.

  The nurse blushed so hard her face matched her hair. “I’m fine, thanks. Excuse me.” She stepped out of his embrace and glanced around the room quickly and left. Paulson’s gaze lingered on her retreating form.

  Peter slapped him on the back. “Happens to us all, man.”

  Drake muttered distractedly, “Yeah, what’s that, Walskie?”

  “The fall.”

  His eyes lit up. “You know, I’ve been thinking about taking a break from my breather. You know, get back in the swing of things.” He slapped Peter’s shoulder. “I’ll be back.” Then he stepped through the archway and disappeared out of sight.

  “Hey, coach.”

  Peter turned to JP and smiled, shaking his hand. “What’s up, my man?”

  “Can you believe Cutter’s about to become a dad?”

  He shook his head and grinned. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?”

  JP nodded. “Yeah. Hey, what’d you bet on—boy or girl?”

  “Boy. Eight pounds even.” He had a lucky feeling about it too.

  “How are you liking the new position?” The shortstop asked.

  The Rush management had offered him a permanent position as their pitching coach after he’d healed from his eye surgery. It was his first season with the team on this side of things and he’d been surprised at just how much he enjoyed it. It was great, actually.

  “I’m liking it a lot. Keeps me around you knuckleheads. You know somebody’s got to keep an eye on you.”

  Leslie sidled up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. His stomach flopped and his palms went damp. The woman still did that to him. You’d think he’d be used to it by now, but no. It was still damn disconcerting.

  “I love you.” She whispered against his ear.

  Though she said it daily, it gave him a thrill every single time. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it. “You too, princess.”

  Life was a funny thing. Just when a person thought it was only going to go from bad to worse, it went and threw a curveball. It became amazing.

  Mark burst through the door to the waiting room, turning everyone’s attention. “It’s a boy! A perfect, incredible boy!” The look of wonder on his face had Peter smiling.

  Before anyone could congratulate the catcher he disappeared again, leaving Peter to say to Leslie over his shoulder, “You know I want like, eight, right? Enough for a whole team.”

  She pinched his butt. “Not going to happen, Kowalskin.”

  He spun around and wiggled his brows, giving her a naughty grin. “That’s okay. The fun is in the trying.”

  She tossed back her head and laughed. “In your dreams.”

  Yeah, it had been in his dreams. But then he’d grown some balls. And now, now his reality was amazing.

  Because it included Leslie.

  Keep reading for excerpts from

  STEALING HOME

  and

  PLAYING THE FIELD

  Now available from Avon Impulse!

  An Excerpt from

  STEALING HOME

  When Lorelei Littleton steals Mark Cutter’s good luck charm, all the pro ballplayer can think is how good she looked . . . and how bad she’ll pay. Thrust into a test of wills, they’ll both discover that while revenge may be a dish best served cold, when it comes to passion, the hotter the better!

  RAISING HIS GLASS, he smiled and said, “To the rodeo. May you ride your bronc well.”

  Color singed Lorelei’s cheeks as they tapped their glasses. But her eyes remained on his while he took a long pull of smooth, aged whiskey.

  Then she spoke, her voice low. “I’ll make your head spin, cowboy. That I promise.”

  That surprised a laugh out of him, even as heat began to pool heavy in his groin. “I’ll drink to that.” And he did. He lifted the glass and drained it, suddenly anxious to get on to the next stage. A drop of liquid shimmered on her full bottom lip and it beckoned him. Reaching an arm out, Mark pulled her close and leaned down. With his eyes on hers, he slowly licked the drop off, his tongue teasing her pouty mouth until she released a soft moan.

  Arousal coursed through him at the provocative sound. Pulling her more fully against him, Mark deepened the kiss. Her lush little body fit perfectly against him and her lips melted under the heat of his. He slid a hand up her back and fisted the dark, thick mass of her long hair. He loved the feel of the cool, silky strands against his skin.

  He wanted more.

  Tugging gently, Mark encouraged her mouth to open for him. When she did, his tongue slid inside and tasted, explored the exotic flavor of her. Hunger spiked inside him and he took the kiss deeper. Hotter. She whimpered into his mouth and dug her fingers into his hair, pulled. Her body began pushing against his, restless and searching.

  Mark felt like he’d been tossed into an incinerator when he pushed a thigh between her long, shapely legs and discovered the heat there. He groaned and rubbed his thigh against her, feeling her tremble in response.

  Suddenly she broke the kiss and pushed out of his arms. Her breathing was ragged, her lips red and swollen from his kiss. Confusion and desire mixed like a heady concoction in his blood, but before he could say anything she turned and began walking toward the hallway to his bedroom.

  At the entrance she stopped and beckoned to him. “Come and get me, catcher.”

  So she wanted to play did she? Hell yeah. Games were his life.

  Mark toed off his shoes as he yanked his sweater over his head and tossed it on the floor. He began working the button of his fly and strode after her. He was a little unsteady on his feet, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to catch her. When he entered his room he found her by the bed. She’d turned on the bedside lamp, and the light illuminated every gorgeous inch of her curvaceous body.

  He started toward her, but she shook her head. “I want you to sit on the bed.”

  Mark walked to her anyway and gave her a deep, hungry kiss before he sat on the edge of the bed. He wondered what she had in store for him and felt his gut tighten in anticipation. “Are you going to put on a show for me?” God, that’d be so hot if she did.

  All she said was “Mmm hmm,” and turned her back to him. Mark let his eyes wander over her body and decided her tight round ass in denim was just about the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  When his gaze rose back up he found her smiling over her shoulder at him. “Are you ready for the ride of your life, cowboy?”

  Hell yes he was. “Bring it, baby. Show me what you’ve got.”

  Her smile grew sultry with unspoken promise as she reached for the hem of her T-shirt. She pulled it up leisurely while she kept eye contact with him. All he could hear was the soft sound of fabric rustling, but it fueled him—this seductively slow striptease she was giving him.

  He wanted to see her. “Turn around.”

  As she turned she continued to pull it up until she was facing him with the yellow cotton dangling loosely from her fingertips. A black, lacy bra barely covered the most voluptuous, gorgeous pair of breasts he’d ever laid eyes on. He couldn’t stop staring.

  “Do you like what you see?”

  Good God, yes. The woman was a goddess. He nodded, a little harder than he meant because he almost fell forward. He started to tell her how sexy she was when suddenly a full-blown wave of dizziness hit him and he shook his head to clear it. What the hell?

 
; “Is everything all right, Mark?”

  The room started spinning and he tried to stand, but couldn’t. It felt like the world had been tipped sideways and his body was sliding onto the floor. He tried to stand again, but fell backward onto the bed instead. He stared up at her as he tried to right himself and couldn’t.

  Fonda stood there like a siren, dark hair tousled around her head, breasts barely contained—guilt plastered across her stunning face.

  Before he fell unconscious on the bed, he knew. Knew it with gut certainty. He tried to tell her, but his mouth wouldn’t move. Son of a bitch.

  Fonda Peters had drugged him.

  An Excerpt from

  PLAYING THE FIELD

  Single mother Sonny Miller has spent years avoiding love. So when hotshot ballplayer JP Trudeau swaggers into her carefully constructed life, even as every fiber of her being tells her to keep running the bases! Sonny may be hell-bent on keeping JP at arm’s length, but this rookie has a plan. To get the girl, he must step up to the plate and convince her to take another chance on love . . . before this game gets rained out.

  JP REACHED OUT an arm to snag her, but she slipped just out of reach—for the moment. Did she really think she could get away from him?

  There was a reason he played shortstop in the Major Leagues. He was damn fast. And now that he’d decided to make Sonny his woman she was about to find out just how quick he could be. All night he’d tossed and turned for her, his curiosity rampant. When he’d finally rolled out of bed, he’d had one clear goal: to see Sonny. Nothing else had existed outside that.

  Her leaving her cell phone at the restaurant last night had been the perfect excuse. All he’d had to do was an Internet search for her business to get her address. And now here he was, unexpectedly very up close and personal with her. So close he could smell the scent of her shampoo, and it was doing funny things to him. Things like making him want to bury his nose in her hair and inhale.