Her lips twitched and she looked away, but he caught the grin anyway. “I’m glad I could save you the heartache.”
Peter took the steps and padded barefoot across the plush carpet toward her. “Here, let me take your bag and show you to your room like a proper host.”
Leslie eyed him. “Since when do you give a rip about proper?”
She had a point. Since when did he give a shit? Probably since about the time she walked through his door. “I’m trying on something new.”
The woman laughed right in his face. “Good luck with that.”
Stopping directly in front of her, he could make out the gold and green flecks in her eyes. He knew that they went dark as a forest when she was aroused. Even now they were beginning to change color.
The woman was a lot of things, but immune to him wasn’t one of them.
She’d never admit to it though. Not without a good hard shove, anyway. Lucky for him he didn’t mind getting pushy.
The time had come.
Peter pressed closer to her, invading her personal space until they were eye-to-eye. Hers rounded almost imperceptibly and he grinned. But she stood her ground, squaring her shoulders and trying desperately to look down her nose at him. Given that they were about the same height he imagined it wasn’t so easy to do.
Because it was just so tempting and self-control wasn’t his strong suit, he leaned in and hovered close.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, sounding suspiciously breathy.
Taking a moment to savor the scent of her, he inhaled something creamy and coconut and bent his knees, effectively lowering himself. Tension began to coil inside him when her breasts came into view directly in front of him. Her sharp inhale pushed them out toward him and he fought back the urge to groan.
She had breasts like a goddess.
Her body went taut, but before she could snap at him, he grinned and wrapped his fingers around her suitcase handle. “Just grabbing your luggage.” He held it out for her to see. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Then he stepped back, the charged air dissipating with the distance, and turned toward the stairs. “Your bedroom’s upstairs.”
Leslie cut in front of him, her ass swaying rhythmically with every step of her long legs, and he couldn’t help admiring the way the pocket stitching on her jeans drew attention to her cheeks. They were embellished with tiny sequins that sparkled with every sway of her lush hips. Once she reached the bottom step she tossed him a look. “Shows what you know. I’m not wearing underwear.”
Momentarily at a loss for words, he trailed behind her to the landing, his gaze glued to her backside. Damn if he could see a panty line—which meant she wasn’t kidding.
Tease.
Shaking his head to clear the building haze, Peter barely managed to rip his gaze away from her incredible ass in time to direct her into the second room down the hall on the right. “Over here,” he pointed and took the lead.
He’d known having Leslie stay with him while her apartment was being repaired was asking for trouble. But he was the kind of guy who thrived on it. Bad decisions were his forte, “reckless” his middle name.
And that girl, well, she had trouble in spades.
It trailed after her like a lovelorn stalker. From the moment he’d first met her four years back she’d been entangled in one mess or another. But then she’d moved to Denver, started dating his teammate John Crispin, and her life had seemed to settle down.
Until now.
When she’d called him at two A.M. pissed as a three-legged goose and cursing his name because her bedroom was flooded and she was stranded on her bed, he’d felt guilty. Like, mega guilty. The superintendent had warned him a few weeks back that the building’s plumbing was in pretty bad shape, but they were nearing the postseason and all his focus had been on making it to the Division Series, and he’d told Jerry that he would look into it soon. Then he’d forgotten about it.
Leslie calling him all kinds of creative oaths with that pretty mouth of hers had proven to him just how wrong he’d been to assume that plumbing was the sort of inconvenience someone could put off dealing with.
And yeah, he could have comped her hotel stay, but what would have been the fun in that?
Moreover, he was a little surprised she’d actually taken him up on his offer.
Then again, she wasn’t the most sociable thing. With Crispin traded to Boston and Mark and his wife Lorelei in the middle of a big move, Leslie had more or less no other options besides him.
Oh, there was that young bartender at the club she managed, but the kid was still so green that if he ever got her alone he’d be a nervous wreck before the front door was even shut. Part of him felt for the guy. Sympathized even.
Leslie Cutter was every man’s wet dream.
When he was a kid, while other boys had posters of Cindy Crawford and Claudia Schiffer plastered on their walls, he’d been obsessed with the curves of 1940s pinup girls Ava Gardner and Marilyn Monroe. He’d spent his fair share of nights growing up fantasizing about them.
And now he had the modern-day equivalent standing a few feet behind him in jeans and a pink T-shirt that fit her like second skin.
It was enough to make the horny teen in him weep.
“Your room,” he said as he reached the door and pushed it wide.
Stepping to the side as she brushed past, Peter caught a whiff of creamy coconut again and something stirred low in the pit of his stomach. Ever since that night in Miami the scent of that damn tropical nut did that to him. Got him all kinds of fired up.
“This is a great room.” She sounded surprised.
“Did you think I was going to offer you a dungeon or something?”
Leslie walked to the side of the bed and ran her hand over the sleek gray duvet. Glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes, she quipped, “Something like that.”
“Were you hoping for whips and chains?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
Her eyes flashed. “Would you even know what to do with them, if I was?”
Nope. But he was a real fast learner. “Try me, princess.”
Leslie flipped her hair back and managed to look as regal as the nickname he called her. “You wish.”
Yeah he did. It’d been the bane of his existence for going on three years now.
“There’s a bathroom just through that door.” He pointed to the door on the far right wall, trying to change the subject before he got himself all worked up over nothing.
He and Leslie were never going to happen.
She’d made that abundantly clear after the night they’d sort-of spent together in Miami. Normally that would’ve been just fine and dandy with him. Except that night had gone down in history as what he sadly referred to as “The Shame.” That blew, and it made it hard to just shrug it off.
That ugly little fact had stuck in his craw since the moment she’d fled his hotel room. Her moving to Denver had only made it that much worse. Every time he laid eyes on her it was salt in the wound. And since she was the sister of his best friend and teammate, he saw her a whole frigging lot.
Somehow they’d come to an unspoken agreement about that night, neither of them wanting to rehash the past. It was their secret. Mostly because of the embarrassment, but also because Mark would no doubt bust his nose if he knew what Peter had almost done with his sister.
“Hey, Peter. Thanks for letting me crash here for a few days.” Leslie’s voice cut through his musings and pulled him back into reality.
“No worries. We’re leaving tomorrow to begin the Division Series in St. Louis anyway. I’ll be in and out of here for the next few weeks and it’s nice knowing you’ll be staying over.” He crossed his arms over his chest and added, “Normally I have to hire the neighbor kid to come check on things, and I think he’s been stealing, so this is better.”
“Oh, well, glad I can be of service.” She stood on the far side of the king size bed, trying to hide her stress. But he could see it in the set of her shoulders, the tightness around her mouth. She needed rest.
