Throwing Heat

Relaxing, Peter glanced briefly around the large room, hoping the clean, simple decor would do. He liked things uncluttered. Maybe it was because his personal life could be such a mess. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

She tossed him a dismissive glance, already toeing off her shoes. “Will do.”

Closing the door, he strode all the way down the hall to his bedroom. When he reached his door he glanced over his shoulder and noticed her suitcase sitting on the floor. Grabbing it, Peter turned the knob and swung her door back open.

“Hey, you left this in the hall.”

Leslie swore in surprise, her T-shirt stuck up around her chin. He’d caught her in the middle of taking it off. Her large breasts were on full display in that pitiful excuse for a bra she wore. He could see her dusky areolas through the white lace.

Holy hell.

Heat pooled in his groin and he went achy. The kind of dull throb that made it real clear his dry spell had gone on for way too long. It started in his balls and weaved its way upward.

Muttering around the pink cotton, Leslie pulled it the rest of the way off and threw it on the bed. Her eyes lit defiantly. “What are you looking at?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

Ignoring the heaviness in his balls, Peter leaned nonchalantly against the door frame, crossed his legs, and hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans, suitcase dangling from his fingers. The woman was staring him down unflinchingly, and all the while her nipples were puckered and almost completely visible behind the delicate lace.

It was killing him.

Letting his eyes go hazy, Peter ratcheted up the Philly in his voice just to annoy her and drawled, “Nothing of yours I haven’t kissed before.” He held out the suitcase, dropped it.

And left her sputtering.

Chapter Two

LESLIE SIGHED AS the last customer filed out of the club for the night. It was almost two in the morning and she was exhausted. Normally the late nights didn’t faze her—she was a night person anyway—but for the past two nights she’d been sleeping in Peter’s house. It wasn’t exactly a recipe for great night’s sleep.

“Hey, Leslie. I’m going to close out the drawers now.”

Glancing up from the notebook open on the bar, Leslie flicked her gaze over the young bartender and nodded. “Sure thing, Seth. Just make sure you put the cash in the money bags this time.” Cute the kid was, smart he wasn’t.

“You betcha, boss.”

She flinched. Make that dumb and overzealous. It was lucky for him she had a soft spot for stupidity. “I’m going to finish this list and lock up. After you and the girls finish what you’re doing you can head home,” she added, referring to the servers.

With any luck, Peter wouldn’t be back until tomorrow and she could veg out on the couch with the leftover Mexican from last night’s dinner and some Big Bang Theory before heading to bed.

“Killing the music now,” one of the employees called from the far corner of the open club. Silence suddenly permeated the space, a welcome relief to her ears. The acoustics in the restored brick building could be deafening.

Straightening, Leslie stretched her arms over her head and smothered a yawn. Her feet were as exhausted as the rest of her and she kicked out of her black stilettos, wiggling her toes as soon as they were free. A groan escaped at the sheer pleasure of it.

Running a nightclub was serious work. Running a nightclub in sexy heels was even harder. But a woman had to have her priorities, and looking good was one of hers. Plus, the extra inches pushed her to six feet and provided a better vantage point to view the club. And if it also made her a little intimidating, well, she didn’t mind.

Looking like an Amazonian man-eater was just fine with her. It kept the dicks at bay.

Placing a hand on her lower back, she rubbed where it ached and surveyed her domain. Seth had his head lowered and was concentrating on the cash drawer. Obviously he’d done one too many beer bongs during his recent college days and couldn’t count past the fingers on his right hand because he kept starting over. But he looked just adorable standing there with such a quizzical expression on his face.

He reminded her of Elliot’s boyfriend Keith on the TV sitcom Scrubs—only Seth was as much dumb as he was pretty. And that’s why she kept him around. Leslie wasn’t ashamed to admit she liked the eye candy.

And the female clientele loved him.

“Goodnight, Leslie.”

Turning her head, she caught sight of Megan, one of the servers, as she headed toward the back door. Waving, Leslie smiled and said, “Night, girl.”

Just a few more loose ends and then she could head out too. When she’d taken over management of her brother’s nightclub, Hotbox, almost two years ago it had barely been functional. She’d taken the old brick warehouse and turned it into a thriving business. All of which she took pride in. Of course she did. But she missed owning her own business like hell.

It was one of the things that grated so much, even after all this time. Leslie was good at public relations and her firm had made big waves, putting her name right up there alongside elite members of the industry. She had been going places.

One bad lapse in judgment and her life had crumbled like the Berlin Wall.

And here she was, after turning her brother’s club into a hot spot for local music. In two years, no less. That wasn’t a small feat. She knew that.

But she wanted more. She wanted Hotbox to be hers.

Which was why she’d been scrimping and saving every spare penny for a down payment to buy the club out from Mark. It was her new dream, her goal. When she’d first approached him about selling it to her, he’d offered just to give the business to her. But she couldn’t do that, couldn’t simply take it. He’d already done so much for her.

Besides, she needed to do this on her own.

After finding out that her credit wasn’t in good standing and that no bank would offer her a loan without a huge down payment, she’d had to face the fact that doing it alone could take a long, long time. Still, she’d rather that than have something given to her that she hadn’t earned.

And if she could finally get Kowalskin to perform with his guitar at the club like she’d been after him to do for the past two years, his presence would draw so much attention that it would put Hotbox on the map for big- name artists and turn it into a real music destination. But the jerk kept refusing her offers and saying no. So all she could do was sit idle while life sorted itself out.

Leslie grabbed a pen and tapped it against her notebook, that restless, searching feeling hitting her again. It made her feel impatient, edgy. Yet it was undeniably there. A nagging feeling that there was supposed to be more to life than what she was doing—this whole waiting thing.

Puffing out a breath that fanned a few stray strands of hair from her face, she looked at the second-story balcony with its tables and carefully arranged couches. Lights hung suspended on long iron poles from the exposed brick ceiling. Copper ducts ran along the top, adding an industrial touch to the overall open, rustic space.

The main floor was wide open and uncluttered, the long bar taking up one wall and the large stage another. An area in front of the stage had become the dance floor and tables dotted the perimeter. In the daylight the warmth of the old red bricks made the place feel almost cozy. Which was good, considering it was her second home.

Seth grabbed her attention. “I think I’m done here, boss.”

With a sigh, Leslie set down her pen and went to assist him. It took another fifteen minutes, but they got it sorted out, and in another five she was back in her heels and locking the back door behind her.