Jennifer Seasons - Throwing Heat

He slid a look at her from the corner of his eyes, his spiky black lashes and the mischievous glint in the blue depths making her knees weak. Energy and raw sexuality. That was Peter. And he was turning it loose on her.

“Excuse me, ladies,” he said to the room after shooting her a cocky wink. “Is there room for one more?”

Warning bells turned into flashing sirens. What? No, he wasn’t crashing her dance class, was he? Would he?

Of course he would.

The question was why? While she watched, he put his sunglasses in his hat and tossed it on the floor by the wall. He was about the only man she knew who could get away with wearing a black fedora and look good. On him the hat was way sexier than it had any right to be.

The room fell silent as all the women stared at Peter in awe. And she couldn’t blame them, really. The man looked hot in his clingy black button-up, leather bracelet, jeans, and finger-combed black hair. The lean, rugged face and piercing eyes only added to the total package.

One of the young women behind her muttered under her breath, “Oh my God.”

Jealously sunk its teeth into her again.

Mine.

What the—? The hell he was. Now the irritation she felt really was aimed at her. Kowalskin belonged to nobody, least of all her.

She didn’t want him.

“Go away, Peter.”

The man just ignored her and sauntered over to the last remaining open pole. To the petite brunette next to him he flashed his wolfish smile and said, “How about you show me how this thing works?”

She stuttered and blushed profusely. “Okay. Yeah.” Then she stopped and stared at him blankly. “Um, what?”

Poor girl. “Leave her alone.”

He wrapped an ankle loosely around the pole and gave a little shake, causing a collective murmur to rise above the music. Finally the instructor, Carlie, cleared her throat and said loudly, “Let’s continue shall we?” She disappeared into the stock room and started a new CD.

An elbow in Leslie’s ribs sent pain and surprise darting through her. She whipped her head around and saw the redhead who’d been next to her leaning in to whisper, “That’s the pitcher for the Denver Rush, isn’t it?”

Leslie nodded, still annoyed. “Yeah.”

“How do you know him?”

She didn’t want to explain because she had a feeling if the women learned of her connection to the Rush, her life of relative obscurity there would be over. And she wasn’t in the mood to be popular. “I manage a club he frequents.” There, hopefully that will shut her up.

Peter caught her attention when he called out to her, “Hey, princess. Go on a date with me.”

There went her obscurity. Terrific.

She shook her head. “No.”

He ground against the pole, rocking his hips suggestively, and she raised a brow. Even though he was totally joking, the man could move. His body rocked with an innate rhythm that had heat flaring low in her belly.

“I’m not leaving until you say yes.” He spun around and used the pole at his back to shimmy against. It made her laugh.

“No.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over Christina Aguilera. So this was his game. He was going to embarrass her into agreeing to go on a date with him. She found it odd that he’d want one with her, but before she could think about that any further, he got her attention with his response.

“Okay, fine.” He straightened and began rolling up his sleeves. Bracing his feet apart, he grabbed the pole with both hands and said, “Let’s dance, ladies.”

And he did. For the next fifteen minutes he shimmied, shook, and rolled—one outrageous move after the other. At one point he even jumped up the pole, locked his legs around it and spun around saying, “Pleeease, Leslie?”

At first she’d been annoyed, then embarrassed, and then finally amused as all get-out. Watching Kowalskin striptease was pure entertainment. And by the time the class was over he’d not only won the adoration of a dozen women, but he’d worn her down too. How could she say no to a man who’d tried an upside-down spread eagle—and failed miserably to her great amusement—just to get a date with her?

She couldn’t.

It didn’t mean she wasn’t going to get him back for pulling this little stunt though. “All right, Kowalskin. You win,” she said to him as the class wound down.

A little out of breath, he grinned like the devil and raised his hands in the air. “She said yes!”

The women watching in avid fascination cheered enthusiastically. From the back someone called out, “Smart girl!” and Leslie laughed right in his face.

Obviously they didn’t know Peter.

PETER WAS WAITING outside for her when she exited the studio with her bag over her shoulder. He’d just finished signing an autograph for one of the class regulars—a sweet, plump woman in her late sixties who was gushing and holding the scrap of paper with his name on it to her chest like it was something precious.

“You make sure you tell Bob hi for me, Laverne. And take care of that left hip of yours, okay?” He smiled charmingly like he was a good boy and not the wolf in sheep’s clothing that she knew him to be. “Remember to alternate hot and cold pads on it for the next few days and you’ll be back to good in no time.”

Laverne giggled like she was sixteen and swatted playfully at him, her green eyes sparkling. “Oh hush.”

When Peter spotted Leslie his smile took on an edge, and he removed himself from the small crowd of admirers, giving Laverne’s arm a gentle parting squeeze. “Excuse me, ladies. My date has arrived.” With an unholy glint in his eyes, Peter strode her way.

Carlie walked past her just then and put a hand briefly on her shoulder, whispering, “Way to go, Leslie.” There was a smile on her face that was more than a little good-naturedly envious. “He’s a stud.”

She didn’t need to be told. “Thanks, hon.”

Sometimes it was easier to let people assume something than it was to sit them down and explain the truth. And there was no harm in letting them think there was more going on between her and Kowalskin than there really was. It gave them something to talk about.

If there was a tiny part of her that thrilled at the idea of people thinking she and Peter were an item, she tried very hard to ignore it. It was wrong anyway. Wasn’t it?

“All right, you got me out here,” she said after the crowd had dispersed. “Now what are you going to do with me?”

The man had his hat back on and looked like a whole mess of trouble, an arresting cross between intense athlete and soulful artist. The unexpected blend did funny things to her. And when he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes with an expression that promised her the most erotic time of her life if she were so inclined, her panties went instantly damp.

But when it came right down to it they were completely and utterly incompatible. For whatever reason, when the moment of truth came she just didn’t do it for him. The proof of it had been humiliating and deflating.

She gave Peter a tough time because the fact of it was that she still felt the sting of his rejection every single stinking time she was around him. One moment he’d been all hot and heavy on her and then, boom! Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

Wet, limp noodle.

And now the man wanted a date and a do-over. Why? What did it matter to him?

More importantly, what did it matter to her?

She adjusted the strap of the duffle bag slung over her shoulder as he said, “Leave your bag and I’ll drop you back here when we’re done. I’m taking you places.”

Leslie spotted his bright blue Ducati parked next to her Mini Cooper and swallowed a grin. She’d been dying to get the chance to ride on his snazzy crotch rocket. Not that she’d ever let him know that. He’d just get an even bigger head and lord it over her at every opportunity. Like he needed more to be egotistical about anyway.

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.