Throwing Heat dad-3 Read online

  Although she really wanted to leap on the back of his motorcycle and holler, “Freedom, baby!” with her hands in the air, she rolled her eyes and pretended reluctance. “Really, Peter? I don’t have a helmet and you’re wearing a hat.” She pinned him with a suspicious stare. “Why are you wearing a hat, by the way? Did you not wear a helmet?”

  The guy was reckless but he wasn’t normally stupid.

  “I was a good boy. I just shoved it in the front of my jacket after I zipped it up.” He took his hat off and held it out to her. “But that wasn’t the most ingenious idea so why don’t you toss this in your pitiful excuse of a car and we’ll get going?”

  She took offense and snatched the fedora out of his hands. “My car is not a pitiful excuse. Mini Driver is fabulous and you know it.” Yes, she’d named her car after the actress. Come on. How could she not?

  He smirked. The gall of the man, making fun of her beloved automobile. Now she was back to feeling annoyed.

  “Call it whatever you want, but it isn’t a real car unless you can put the seats back and screw in it. Can you?” The look he shot her clearly said he doubted it.

  And honestly . . . “I don’t know.” It hadn’t been tested.

  Peter raised an eyebrow, giving her a Look with a capital L, pitching her stomach off-center. It wasn’t fair.

  “We’re wasting valuable time, girl. Toss it in and let’s ride.”

  Caving because she was curious, Leslie dumped her stuff and grabbed a jacket that had fallen onto the floor. It was a black, fitted jacket that Mark had bought for her to celebrate her first winter snowstorm. The material was lightweight, but high-tech and super warm. Tossing it on, she zipped it up to her chin and shoved a pair of gloves in her pockets just in case. Leslie turned around and found Peter already on the Ducati unstrapping a helmet for her from the bike’s seat.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she asked as she took the glossy black helmet from him and put it on.

  He grinned and flipped the visor down on his own helmet. “You’ll find out soon enough. Hop on.”

  She did just that, and when she was on the back of his shiny sports bike, he fired it up. The way the motorcycle was designed she had to raise her legs up high to reach the foot pedals. Her knees cradled his hard body, and when he grabbed one of her hands and pulled her forward, putting it around his waist, Leslie found herself effectively wrapped all around him.

  Peter revved the engine and the sleek machine vibrated beneath her with barely leashed power, making her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Nice.

  Leslie smiled. Whatever he had up his sleeves was going to be all kinds of fun.

  “Punch it, Kowalskin,” she demanded, suddenly very eager to get on with the spontaneous adventure.

  The pitcher revved the engine again and yelled over the noise, “Hold on tight!”

  With that he kicked the Ducati in gear and leapt into the road. Her ass greeted air and she scrambled forward, wrapping her arms tight around Peter like he was her lifeline. His laughter trailed behind him and he shifted gears again, making the motorcycle leap like a stallion, no doubt just to make her squeal.

  It totally worked.

  She screamed like a frightened schoolgirl and her thighs gripped his hips tightly, her fingers digging into his supple leather jacket at his belly. The man was solid as a rock everywhere. Absolutely everywhere.

  She wasn’t sure that anything could feel better. Except maybe kittens. But the feel of Kowalskin’s sculpted muscles flexed and ready had her thinking that maybe it was a toss-up. In fact, if she had to choose between a soft, fluffy kitten to pet or Peter, she was pretty sure at this moment she’d choose him.

  Hot men on hotter motorcycles were a total turn-on.

  She’d never been able to resist the combination. It had landed her in some very hot water when she was a rebellious seventeen-year-old. Back then she’d taken one look at Billy Wayne Tucker with his crooked grin and beat-up dirt bike and fallen head over heels for the cocky Southern boy.

  For an entire summer she’d ridden around on the back of that old bike in a daze of hormones, convinced that it was true love. And it had been—her first, tender foray into the complex emotion. Everything about the kid had called to her, his wild-child ways an irresistible beacon to her carefree soul.

  That summer he took her heart and her virginity and filled her up with romance and sweet promises under the stars. And when she found out she was pregnant her first time out of the gate, he solemnly promised to love her forever with big, sincere eyes and then went straight down to the local recruiting office and signed his life away to the U.S. Navy, bailing town the very next day.

  Soon after that she’d miscarried, whether from the broken heart she’d suffered or her physiology she’d never know. But it had been for the best, and no one—not even Mark—knew the whole sordid truth about why he’d left and how hurt she’d been. Or how terrified she’d been to find herself pregnant, and how devastated she’d been to go through the miscarriage alone. But most especially, how she still thought sometimes about the kid that had almost been and felt a little sad.

  Regardless, she’d learned a hard lesson about the very real dangers of losing her heart to a man. For more than a decade she avoided those kinds of men, choosing instead dependable types that never quite reached her heart. It kept her safe and in control. Even her ex John had never meant more to her than a reliable warm body. And yeah, she knew how that made her sound. So sue her.

  It had worked too.

  Right up until her reliable and nonthreatening tax accountant boyfriend defrauded the American government in her name and ruined her life.

  Peter shifted in his seat and began leaning to the right as he hit the on-ramp to the interstate headed west toward Golden and the mountains, grabbing her attention. Gripping harder, Leslie leaned with him, her body pressed up against him like she was stuck on Velcro. And it felt good. Really, really good.

  They cruised along the Peak to Peak Highway, looking at the autumn leaves and enjoying the mighty Rocky Mountains in their golden glory. The aspens were absolutely stunning this fall, and Leslie ogled the richly colored leaves, taking it all in. So different it all was from where she’d grown up in rural northern Florida. As much as she loved palm trees and giant elephant ears, it was Colorado with its unpredictable climate and gorgeous rugged scenery that had her heart.

  Kind of like Kowalskin.

  Leslie sighed and relaxed against him as they neared the turn off to Peaceful Valley. Thinking that he was going to take her on a short hike, she was surprised when he ignored the sign and kept on driving. Then they turned off the main road and wandered a maze of dirt roads until they came to a small lane blocked by a NO TRESPASSING sign hung on barbed wire fencing. The lane was really nothing more than two ruts that headed back into a small forest of aspens and stately pines.

  They slowed almost to a stop at the entrance and she shouted, “Are we going in there?”

  Far off in the distance to her right she thought she could see the horns of a large bull elk. It didn’t look like the kind of place for a casual stroll.

  Peter shouted back, “Sure we are. It’s where the surprise is at,” and started down the road, which slowly enveloped them in golden leaves and dappling light.

  It was breathtaking.

  The slender lane meandered back along the floor of a small valley. About a half mile in they rounded a bend in the road and the view opened up before them. A flat meadow sprawled out, dotted with aspen groves and a slow, wandering creek. Leslie’s eyes widened as the stream lead to the valley wall on the far side and she saw a rushing waterfall framed by huge pines. It pooled into a small sub-alpine lake with water the same color as Peter’s eyes.

  It was paradise.

  An elk bugled in the distance just as Peter rolled the Ducati to a stop in the grass by the bank of the small lake. The sound of the rushing waterfall and the calls of wildlife all around made her heart squeeze. How amazing
would it be to have a cabin right here and get to experience this every day?

  Peter came to a stop and turned the engine off, the sudden silence almost jarring. A gentle breeze picked up as he pulled his helmet off, rustling the aspen leaves in the gorgeous light.

  Give her a hammock and a good book and she could stay right here forever.

  “What do you think?” Peter asked after he’d straightened and taken his helmet off.

  Leslie pulled hers off, too, and brushed a few strands of hair back. “It’s stunning.”

  “Yeah? You think?”

  She took a long, slow look around the broad meadow, envisioning it lush and green in the summer and brimming with wildlife. No doubt it was a haven for foxes and deer. It already had elk. “Yes I think, Peter. This place is perfect.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  Leslie arched her back and began to climb off the motorcycle. She laughed when her legs felt shaky. “Why do you care if I like it or not?” It seemed out of character for him. “By the way, is it okay that we’re here? Do you know the owner?”

  Peter swung a muscular leg over and stood too. “Yeah, I know the owner.”

  She waited for him to divulge more information but he didn’t. “Well, who is it?” She finally asked, a little exasperated after waiting on him for a few minutes.

  He held out his hands and motioned down his body, tossing her a self-satisfied grin. “You’re looking at him.”

  Chapter Eight

  “SHUT UP.”

  “Nope, I own it.”

  “But it’s so beautiful.” She gestured loosely at the waterfall behind her.

  He smirked. “Yeah, it was almost too beautiful for me.” Hanging his helmet on a handlebar, he continued, “But seriously, I found this five-acre gem about four years ago and have big plans for it come next year.” He’d wanted to bring her here, show it to her. He thought she’d appreciate it. And yeah, maybe he wanted her opinion. Who cared?

  Besides, it was a hella good make-out spot.

  Leslie unzipped her coat and briefly turned her face into the gentle autumn sun. She had an almost euphoric look on her face, and he felt something stir low in his belly while he watched her enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. Her hands were on her hips and she breathed deep, smiling. “It’s perfection, Peter.”

  Still smiling, she opened her eyes and focused on him, her guard down and happiness lighting her up. Peter felt the power of it hit him like a freight train and it nearly buckled his knees. Christ, the woman was sexy. Potent as moonshine and with twice as much kick.

  Forcing his body to chill, Peter shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over the bike seat. His attention was on her as she made her way toward the lake’s edge. “I agree it’s fantastic the way it is, but I want to build a cabin over there in the middle of the meadow near that aspen stand,” he said, pointing over his shoulder to a large grove behind him, the leaves suddenly a golden yellow blur to his eyes. “It’ll have a helluva view of the waterfall from the front porch, and I plan on spending some quality time with my ass in the swing that’ll go on it.”

  He could see it, all of it, down to the tiniest detail. The first time he’d laid eyes on the land he’d seen the vision, and he had the sketches at home to prove it. A huge front porch dominated the cabin in his mind and he saw himself sitting on it while he picked at his guitar, watched the sun go down over the flower-filled meadow, and tried to figure out what the hell to do with his life after baseball.

  The need to get it sorted out was barreling down on him fast.

  The sudden sharp pain in his chest was his reminder that life was about to make one big paradigm shift, whether he was ready for it or not. His days in the Major Leagues were over. It hadn’t been announced to the team yet, but he was retiring after the season was over.

  Both he and the Rush’s management had quietly done everything they could medically do to stall his exit from the game when his degenerative eye disease had been discovered. And he’d hung in there for years. But his left eye’s health was declining rapidly now, affecting both the center and periphery of his vision. Even with the surgery he had scheduled for next month, his eyesight would never be right again. Certainly not good enough to pitch in professional baseball anymore.

  It was just something he was going to have to learn to live with. Hell, it was time for him to find a new hobby anyway. And he planned on doing just that in his cabin in the mountains just as soon as he won the World Series. Some old-fashioned sweat and hard work while building the place would do him good.

  Shaking off his thoughts, Peter turned back to Leslie and found her sitting on the bank watching the waterfall.

  “Mind if I join you?” he asked as he strode across the ground to her.

  She shook her head and patted the dead grass next to her in invitation. “Have a seat.”

  He lowered himself and had a thought that made him chuckle. “I spent a lot of my youth getting high and telling lies with my friends at this run-down and overgrown little park in the shit part of Philly. It had a pond kinda like this, but without the waterfall, and was probably filled with sewage water.”

  Leslie smiled. “Shame on you doing naughty things.”

  There was no shame about it. He’d been a wild kid and had a damn fun time. “You’re not fooling me, princess. I know you were a hellion when you were young too.” She still was.

  It’s what he liked about her.

  She didn’t even try to lie. “I totally was. But I didn’t hit my pot days until college. Before that it was general rebellion fueled by a brother who cast a really big shadow and my own desperate need for attention.”

  Peter settled back on his elbows and glanced at her sideways. “I’ve wondered about that. It wasn’t so easy being Mark’s little sister was it?”

  She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her arms on them. “It was a pain in the ass. Don’t get me wrong,” she rushed, “I love my brother to death, but because of who he was with his talents and his dyslexia, our parents spent most of their energies on him. I was just kind of left hanging.” She laughed softly and added, “There was so much that I got away with, though, just because they weren’t paying attention. That was pretty sweet.”

  Still, Peter could tell it had also bummed her out. He leaned toward her and nudged her with his shoulder. “Hey, think of all the hearts that wouldn’t have been broken had you been a demure good girl. Where would the fun have been in that?”

  The breeze picked up and stirred a few loose strands of her pale blonde hair at her neck. He wanted to give in to the urge and plant a whisper-soft kiss on the exposed skin there, but he didn’t. He just sat back and took her in.

  “True,” she murmured. Then she glanced at him over her shoulder and asked, “Tell me about you. What were you like as a kid? What makes you”—she waved at him lounging there—“you?”

  It was the first time that Leslie had ever asked about him. Interesting. He wondered briefly what that meant and then shrugged it off. She was probably just making conversation.

  He reached out and rubbed a loose strand of her hair between his fingers, playing with it briefly. Her hair was soft as satin. “It was just me and my pop growing up in South Philly, a stone’s throw from the projects. He did a lot of drinking. When he was sober he worked at a dog food factory and when he wasn’t he liked to rail against the government and all the injustices it had laid upon him, blaming Uncle Sam for the state of his life. He was checked out most of the time.”

  “You don’t talk like a guy who came from the ghetto of Philadelphia.”

  Amusement filled him and he slid her a look, saying like only a Philly boy, born and raised could, “You mean how I should talk like this, yo?”

  She tossed back her head and laughed. “Something like that, yes. How’d you change it?”

  “Practice.” Along with a very handy online English course on proper grammar. It was the one and only college course he’d ever taken.

  A bi
rd flapped its wings in a tree nearby as Leslie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and asked quietly, “What happened to your mom?”

  “She left my dad for another man when I was still in diapers.” It happened to all the men in his family. They just couldn’t keep their women. It was not-so-affectionately known as the Kowalskin Curse.

  “Bummer.”

  Peter smirked. “Yeah.”

  Just then Leslie turned to him, her eyes full of curiosity. “So then how did you get to be a professional ballplayer?”

  With a crooked smile full of chagrin he raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck. “When I was thirteen my pop caught me selling weed in the alley behind our house and beat the shit out of me. Afterward, he enrolled me in some Big Brother–type state-funded program and I met the man who introduced me to baseball and changed my entire world.”

  She studied him. “Isn’t that a little old to be just starting into the sport? Mark started playing when he was five.”

  Peter shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. But I had a gift and ambition. More than that, pitching gave me something to look forward to and feel hopeful about. It was a way out of poverty, and I grabbed onto it with both hands, threw everything I was into it. By the time I got through high school I’d been on some pro scouts’ radars for a while and got picked up by the Rush’s AAA affiliate in Buffalo.” He shrugged casually. “The rest is history. I’ve been playing ball ever since.”

  He considered himself one hell of a success story.

  And that’s why he paid it forward now that he had money. He funded numerous charities and organizations designed to help children in the projects get a chance at life by educating them and opening doors normally unavailable to kids of their socioeconomic status. Over the years he’d helped a lot of people.

  That familiar panicky feeling began to tighten his chest and he breathed deep, then slowly exhaled. For a guy who thrived on challenge he sure was being a pussy about things. It was just a little life overhaul. Nothing he couldn’t handle.