Throwing Heat

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 rose 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.”

“You do, too,” she said and rocked forward a bit onto the balls of her feet like a boxer preparing for an attack, fisting her hands at her side.

While she stood there he flicked a cold gaze toward her and then dropped his towel, going full nude once again in front of her. This time she kept her eyes up. Right where they wouldn’t get her into trouble.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, princess. It’s been a real shitty day. I’m tired and my shoulder’s hurting like hell, so I’m not really in the mood to play mind games.” The muscles in his back flexed as he bent over to pull on a pair of boxers. As soon as she heard the band on them snap into place her gaze plummeted until she was staring at the front buttons on his blue plaid boxers. And as she stared those buttons started to move, his erection growing with every heartbeat her gaze was locked on it.

Shaking her head none too gently, Leslie forced her gaze back up and replied flatly, “I want an explanation for that night in Miami. It’s time you came clean with me about what happened. Because I don’t get it and I’m tired of wondering.”

Peter shrugged his broad shoulders and sat on the edge of the bed, the front slit of his boxers gaping a little. She pretended not to notice. “What’s there to get?”

Oh, like he didn’t know. Was he going to make her spell it out for him? Why? It was already humiliating enough.

“Why you got all heavy with me and then you dropped me dead like a hot potato.” She thought about it for a second and then added, getting worked up all over again, “And why in the hell you want another go at me when you clearly don’t even want to have sex with me!” At this point it wasn’t just a matter of pride, her self-confidence was at stake too.

“I don’t want to have sex with you? Is that what you think?” He gestured to his lap where his hard-on was obvious. “What’s this about, then? The breeze?”

Frustration and self-doubt mixed together, making her shaky, and she raked her hands through her hair, fisting them there. “I don’t know! You tell me, Peter. What is it about?” She dropped her hands and leveled him with a hard stare. “Do you, or don’t you want me?”

It was time for an honest answer from the king of bullshitters. Whatever the answer, no matter how much it hurt, Leslie needed the truth. The not knowing had eaten at her for far too long.

Peter let out a long-suffering sigh and stared her down, eyes guarded and sulky. Then something flickered in them and he broke eye contact. He seemed to deflate, the fight going out of him in one breath. “I want you,” he