him up by the waist and wrapped herself around him like a vice, hooking one heavy thigh around his hip and her hands around his neck, stopping him dead in his tracks. The look of utter astonishment on his face was absolutely priceless.
Leslie started laughing and couldn’t stop. Peter glared at her, tried to unwind himself and failed, glared again. In return she just shrugged delicately and rotated her hips. Her dance partner hollered into her ear, “Can I buy you a drink after?”
That was sweet, really, but, “Thanks for the offer, but no.”
The Lone Ranger stopped moving, clearly disappointed in her response. “I’m done here then,” he practically spat and left her standing alone in the middle of the dance floor with her purple dress around her knees.
Suddenly self-conscious, Leslie reached out and snagged a shot glass full of something from a passing server’s tray and tossed it back. She needed fortification. When she glanced back at Kowalskin, she found him giving her a smile that wasn’t really a smile at all. It was the self-satisfied smirk of a predator who had a clear line on his prey and was just about to pounce.
And she ran.
She couldn’t help it. Every instinct in her told her to tuck tail and run for dear life. The panther had been bated long enough and now he was after her.
It was terrifying. Exhilarating.
Leslie took off through the crowd, blind to anything but putting distance between her and Peter so that she could breathe. She’d made a mistake, teasing him. She took it back.
With a quick glance over her left shoulder, she swallowed a cry when she saw he was right behind her, successfully untangled from the big-chested Latina. And he was still grinning.
Leslie broke free on the far side of the dance floor, “Thrift Shop” still slamming through the speakers to the delight of the party crowd. A laugh bubbled up in her chest and let loose as she took off running down the hall that led to her office. Was he still coming after her?
She glanced back again and there he was, pushing out of the crowd after her.
Leslie reached the door to her office, yanked out the keys she’d shoved between her breasts, and stepped hastily inside. And that’s when it happened.
The lights went out.
A scream rose in her throat. Rationally she knew she was okay. It was her club, her office, and it was Peter stalking down the hall toward her, not some random guy.
But it was
“Come on, lights.” She muttered under her breath and fumbled for the door knob in the pitch dark, trying to close it before he reached her. Because she wasn’t sure what was happening. She’d baited him and now he was coming after her. There would be no turning back if he got his hands on any part of her. The look in his eye had said as much.
And she didn’t know what time it was, didn’t know if she had the willpower to hold him off. Didn’t know if she even
Now anger took a stand and joined her, and she welcomed it. It helped reel her back in. How could she even think of caving now when she was mere minutes away from winning her career back?
Relief flooded her when her hand finally gripped the cool round doorknob and started to pull it shut. It was replaced by a skitter of fear when it was yanked out of her hand and her back was pushed up against a wall, a hard body pressing flush against hers.
He’d found her.
“Now you’re mine,” he growled against her ear, and in the dark with her senses heightened his Yankee- tough voice was just about the most erotic thing she’d ever heard.
She was wet and needy for him in an instant.
“No,” Leslie whispered raggedly, not really meaning it. His mouth was on her neck, kissing her in that sweet spot just below her ear that was so sensitive. She grabbed at her control and fought against the intense arousal coursing through her.
Peter thrust a heavy thigh between her legs and pushed them apart, one hand pinning both of hers above her head, the other streaking boldly, possessively over her hips. “No more games, princess. You want this. You know you do.”
So help her, she did.
His lips scalded her neck and Leslie let her head fall back, moaned when his tongue slowly tasted her, teased her sensitive flesh. Through the door she could see the lights were back on down the hall, but her office was still dark. It only served to excite her more, being in the semi-dark with Peter. The feel of his hard, unforgiving body pressed against hers made her knees weak.
“We can’t do this.” The words sounded hollow even to her ears. One of his hands stroked down her leg until it reached her knee and gathered the fabric of her skirt, pushing it aside. Then his jean-clad thigh was rubbing against her crotch and he was taking her mouth in a hungry kiss. Tongue and teeth and primal, aroused male. Never had she been kissed like this, not with this much unbridled passion.
It pushed the last of her resistance right out of her mind.
On a moan of surrender, Leslie opened to him and began kissing him back with matching heat. She tugged her captive hands, but he held her steady, ground out, “Not yet,” his voice rough with need.
His hand skimmed up her bare thigh and when Peter reached her panties he yanked them to the side and slid a finger in between her slick lips. “Fuck, Leslie,” he growled. “You’re so wet for me.”
Always. She was always wet for him. “Yes,” was all she could say because his thumb had found her clit and was rubbing it, driving her closer and closer to orgasm.
“Come,” he demanded. “Come
Like she was a puppet and he was her master, Leslie came. The orgasm tore through her with almost violent force and she cried out, “Peter!”
“Again,” was all he demanded, his fingers taking no mercy on her as he drove her straight into another orgasm, blowing her mind.
“Why?” Leslie whispered raggedly when the second orgasm began to subside.
Peter trailed kisses over her jaw, searching for her mouth and when he found it he kissed her slowly. “Because you coming is the most beautiful sound in the world,” he breathed against her lips, devastating her.
Her heart flung wide open and tears stung the back of her eyes as love and arousal coursed through her. The rush of emotion that overcame her had her gasping and clinging to him.
“Touch me,” she breathed. His hands on her were what she needed, what she craved most. Every stroke was charged with emotion; so much of what he couldn’t say was communicated through his fingertips.
Needing to feel him, needing to know his heart, Leslie captured his lips with hers in a lingering kiss and moaned when she felt his sexual energy change from aggressive to fluid and erotic. She was suddenly swimming in an ocean of sensuality that verged on dark and decadent. If she’d let him, he would pull her under. And it was so, so tempting.
But she needed to know his feelings first. “Put your hands on me.” Leslie couldn’t tell if it was a command or if he was begging, and she didn’t care. All that mattered was getting his hands on her
And she got them. Peter released her captive wrists and ran his hand down the length of her arm, across her breast and over her rib cage, with a touch that was confident and possessive and oh-so-hungry. “I want more,” he said against her mouth. “More of you coming for me, panting my name.”
She wanted that too. But because she wanted to hear him say it, Leslie ran a freed hand down his flat, chiseled stomach and didn’t stop until she was holding his straining erection in her palm.
“Why so needy?” she whispered as she stroked him through his jeans, loving the feel of him, hard and thick with desire for her. He sucked in a sharp breath and moaned softly.
Then he reached out with a hand and flung the door shut, flicked on a nearby lamp, and looked at her with eyes that melted into her soul. His voice was rough and gravelly against her neck when he growled, his hands stroking boldly up her bare thighs. “Because princess, I’ve come so many times for you, you don’t even know. Now
