Throwing Heat: A Diamonds and Dugouts Novel

by Jennifer Seasons

  He considered himself one hell of a success story.

  And that’s why he paid it forward now that he had money. He funded numerous charities and organizations designed to help children in the projects get a chance at life by educating them and opening doors normally unavailable to kids of their socioeconomic status. Over the years he’d helped a lot of people.

  That familiar panicky feeling began to tighten his chest and he breathed deep, then slowly exhaled. For a guy who thrived on challenge he sure was being a pussy about things. It was just a little life overhaul. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

  Leslie placed a hand on his knee and he stiffened. Just that one small touch from her felt erotic. “That’s an awesome story, Peter.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Did this guy you mentioned teach you to play the guitar too?”

  Her finger was making little circles on his bent knee and it was driving him nuts. “Nope. I learned to play by reading about it.”

  She looked at him like she didn’t believe him and stopped circling. “You read about playing guitar?”

  He nodded and watched some puffy white clouds float on by. Any minute she should start rubbing again. He hoped. Her touch felt good. “Yeah.” It was one of his things. He read all the time. Like all the time. If he didn’t his brain went stir-crazy.

  And he was good at utilizing what he read, so now he played guitar.

  “What else do I not know about you?” she sort-of demanded. It wasn’t really a question, and he couldn’t tell if she was miffed or intrigued. Knowing Leslie, she was probably a little bit of both.

  “I have a ridiculously high IQ. Makes me obnoxious.”

  The woman snorted. “Is that what you blame it on?”

  He grinned and pinched her side gently. “I’m Ukrainian and Black Irish.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I mean something interesting, Peter.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “I wrote really bad poetry when I was sixteen.”

  “Get out.” That got her attention.

  She began rubbing his knee again and he swallowed the urge to groan. “It’s true. I played ball, but I was also this sensitive artsy kid searching for an outlet. This was before I discovered the guitar,” he added, lest she think he still wrote really bad poetry.

  “Better. But, where’s the really juicy stuff?” She gave him a look. “I know you have some.”

  Oh, did she mean like the fact that he’d been with exactly one woman besides her in the past three years and that was only to prove that he could get a hard-on after his disaster with Leslie? Yeah. He was keeping that secret.

  He sat back up. It was time to change the subject. “I brought you here so I could get down your pants.”

  She shoved him in the arm and laughed. “You did not.”

  He grinned like the devil. “Girl, you know I did.”

  Leslie shook her head, still smiling. “Then you’ve failed miserably.”

  “Have I?” he asked, feeling his muscles bunch as he prepared to pounce. Failure wasn’t in his vocabulary.

  “I’m not seeing any making out now, am I?” She looked around like she was scouting for it.

  If he didn’t know better he’d think that Leslie wanted him to kiss her. That maybe she was egging him on. “Maybe I was trying to be a gentleman.”

  She laughed at that. “In who’s dream?” Then she tossed her head back, exposing the graceful line of her throat, taunting him.

  He had her flat on her back with her hands pinned over her head before she could even let out a scream. “This is no dream, princess.”

  Leslie didn’t even try to struggle against him. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, there was a naughty little gleam in her gorgeous eyes. And he was sure he wasn’t mistaking the foot seductively rubbing the back of his calf all of a sudden.

  What was up with that?

  “You want to make out with me, don’t you?” he said as the realization hit him. Her breasts pushed against him and she’d spread her legs to cradle him. He could feel the heat of her crotch, and arousal pooled heavy in his groin. When she rubbed suggestively against him the blood went thick in his veins.

  “It seemed appropriate, given we’re on a date.” The flirty, playful teasing almost made him whimper. She knew just how to slay him.

  Peter stared down into her hazel eyes and watched as they started to turn dark. God, she was beautiful. “Well, now I’m confused,” he said. “It was my understanding that you didn’t want to lose this bet.” If she did that was fine by him. Getting Leslie naked was on the top of his to-do list, and if she wanted to expedite the process then he was all for it. After he accomplished that he’d think about what came next. Because right now he didn’t know. He just knew that Leslie had a hold on him and he had to do something about it before it drove him insane.

  “Making out isn’t having sex.” She pulled a hand free and it began to slide up the back of his thigh. He sucked in air sharply, loving the feel of her under him, all lush and pliant. She definitely knew how to tease.

  Then her hand reached his ass and he lowered his head so that he could kiss her neck, wanting her hand to stay there forever. So she wanted to up the stakes and play a little?

  Sweet. “Let’s not waste such a perfect opportunity, then.”

  “Mmm, let’s don’t,” she whispered just before he covered her mouth with his.

  Coaxing her mouth apart, Peter ran his tongue along the seam of her lips until she opened for him on a soft moan, her hand still gripping his ass. Desire hummed just beneath his skin, urging him to take the kiss deeper, to dive into Leslie.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he kissed her slowly. He kissed her like a man savoring his favorite meal, exploring the sweet taste of her at his leisure until she began moving impatiently against him. Even then he continued to kiss her like he had all the time in the world. And he didn’t stop until she was writhing beneath him and pulling at his hair.

  Smiling against her lips, Peter rocked against her gently, creating a delicious friction until she was panting impatiently.

  Leslie wasn’t the only one who could tease.

  He fed her one last slow, drugging kiss and then pulled away to look at her. She had her eyes closed and her cheeks were flushed.

  Until she realized that he was done. Then her eyes fluttered open and filled with pouty sexual frustration. She slapped him hard on the ass just as he was standing. “Dirty pool, Kowalskin. Very dirty pool.”

  He laughed out loud. Of course it was.

  It was his specialty.

  Chapter Nine

  * * *

  PETER DROPPED HER off back at Pole Fitness and left with a wink and an engine rev, peeling pavement as he hit the road. After that, Leslie headed back to his place to find it empty. Relieved to be alone, she showered, dressed, and was back at her office shortly thereafter. If she was feeling a little off-balance she was doing a great job of ignoring it. She had a ton of work to attend to, what with the Halloween party that Hotbox was throwing and a promotional package to organize for when Peter played at her club. Which he was going to. He was so going to.

  Leslie smiled slyly as she unlocked the door to her office. She had Peter right where she wanted him and it was so much fun. This whole bet idea he’d concocted was turning out to be highly enjoyable. And now that she had a reason to really lay it on him and drive him wild, well, that was just awesome.

  She shook her hair back and tossed her purse on the purple couch. If there was a part of her that was using this opportunity to get back at him for rejecting her three years ago, then she was all right with that too. She wasn’t above a little passive-aggressive behavior.

  That night, Peter had taken her places she’d never seen before and then, just when something inside her had unlocked and flung wide open—because of him—making her feel things she’d thought impossible, the jerk went and lost interest right then and there.

  And then he made her do the one thing she’d swore she would ne
ver do again over a man.

  He made her cry.

  Somehow, some way, Peter had slipped behind her defenses and gotten to her. He’d touched her and made her feel.

  Not before or since had she ever been that exposed and open to another human being. Even though the night had started out being nothing more than a drunken distraction from her wrecked and ravaged life, it had turned into a whole lot more very quickly.

  With Peter she’d glimpsed something elusive, something vast and full of wonder. It had rocked her.

  And he’d slammed the door on it.

  “Which is just fine by me,” she muttered to herself, half disgusted at the direction of her thoughts. Romantic musings were all they amounted to anyway. The reality was that she had a chance to grab her life and her future by the horns and rebuild it right now. Peter was her opportunity and she was going to take it, come hell or high water.

  Her career, her business—those were the things that were solid. They were what she could count on. Hadn’t she learned by now that every single time she put her trust in a man she was involved with she just got tromped?

  Peter wasn’t any different. He had just seemed like it for a moment. But given time he would do the same.

  Sighing, Leslie walked to her desk and flopped down in her chair. There were still tons of decorations to hunt down and orders to double-check. And she still didn’t know what she was going to dress up as for the Halloween bash.

  Maybe something uber-provocative to flaunt in front of Kowalskin? Like Xena, Warrior Princess or a German barmaid costume. Whatever she chose it had to be good.

  Because Halloween night was the end of the bet.

  The terms of the bet were through the last night of the World Series, which was scheduled to be played on All Hallows’ Eve—her favorite holiday of the year. And this year it was going to be the best one ever.

  At midnight on October 31 she would win her life back. As much as she loved running Mark’s club it still felt a little like charity. Which she appreciated, really she did. Her brother had given her a fresh start, a place to hide while she licked her wounds. But now she was ready to step out of the shadows and reclaim what was taken from her.

  The phone rang, startling her, and she snatched it up. “Leslie Cutter.”

  “Ms. Cutter, this is Jerry Patowski.”

  Her spirits lifted. The superintendent from her building was finally returning her twelve or fifteen calls. It was about time. “Hi, Jerry. I’ve been trying to call all week. Is there any word on my apartment?” She missed it and wanted to go home. Mostly she wanted to soak in her own bathtub and sleep in her own bed.

  She heard papers shuffling and a file cabinet squeaking, then a muffled cough, before he said into the speaker, “Nope. Sorry ’bout that, Ms. Cutter. But, more damage than anticipated was found and it’s gonna be a while still. Plus the plumbing’s so old the brand isn’t made anymore.”

  “Can’t you just use a different one?”

  He sighed and then said like he was explaining something to a child, “Not unless you gut the whole thing. Old fixtures are part specific. I had to order some special parts from overseas. It could be another week or so before they arrive.”

  Leslie bit down on the frustration. “Can’t you expedite the parts from wherever they’re coming from?”

  “That is expedited.”

  “How many shipments are you expecting?” She didn’t have the patience to wait for several boxes to trickle in from halfway around the world. Not that she really had any choice in the matter, but still.

  “Just the one.”

  Fine. “Well, can I at least come by and grab some more stuff?” She’d been wearing the same bra for over a week. Even though it had been washed already, she appreciated having more to choose from than one lace bra and one sports bra.

  “No can do, ma’am. We can’t let you inside the construction zone. Ain’t safe, and there’s the liability. The big boss would toss me out on my ass if he knew I’d let you in.”

  She’d deal with Peter. “If I can get him to agree, you’ll let me in so I can get more stuff?”

  The super guffawed into the phone. “You can try, girlie. But he ain’t gonna let you in. I promise.”

  She’d just see about that. “Thanks for getting back to me on this, Jerry.” Finally. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Setting the phone back in its cradle, Leslie smirked. She wiggled a heel off and it fell to the floor. Then she tucked her bare foot underneath her. What she wanted was clean underwear and something to wear to work besides her skinny jeans. She’d ask Peter about it.

  If she were still in Miami with her old life she would have simply run out and bought more, but this new one of hers didn’t include a hefty salary to spend frivolously. This fresh start included budgeting, cooking from scratch, and not tossing a few hundred bucks away on new clothing if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.

  Leslie sighed again. Life.

  Turning her mind to other things, she dug into work for the next few hours, making phone calls and checking the status of things. About six months ago she’d started preparing for the big Halloween party, getting the word out and generating interest. Now that the time was drawing near she was touching base with people again.

  It was Hotbox’s first costume party, and she was going to do it right. The whole place would be turned into a giant haunted house, and the band she’d hired had agreed to dress up like zombies. The night’s winner of the costume contest would receive two coveted tickets to see Blues Traveler perform live at Celtic Tavern. The small venue promised a really good time and Leslie wished she could enter. She’d love to watch the band. John Popper played a mean harmonica.

  Tucking a stray strand behind her ear, she went back to work making sure that all the gift certificates, tickets, and ad promos were in order. By the time she was ready to go for the night, not only was everything in order, but she had gotten a famous local radio duo to come down to Hotspot and do their coverage live on Halloween night.

  Feeling proud of herself, Leslie turned the reigns over to her assistant manager and headed back to Peter’s house. His FJ Cruiser was parked in the garage so she knew he was home. As she entered through the side door Leslie wondered how he was going to react when she asked to get some of her things. If he was still awake, that was. For a big time ballplayer he sure hit the sack early.

  Entering the house, she saw that the lights were still on and wandered down the wide hall toward the kitchen, her heels clacking on the hardwood as she went. Once she reached the kitchen and crossed to the refrigerator for a drink, a sound came from upstairs. It was muffled, but it sounded like Kowalskin was yelling something at her.

  Glancing at the clock, Leslie noted that it was late and frowned. What did he need from her at midnight that wasn’t either a booty call or . . . well, a booty call? Popping the lid on a can of coconut water, she took a drink and headed back down the long hallway to the stairs.

  Once on the second floor she made her way down the corridor to the last door on the right. Peter’s bedroom. It was one of two rooms in his house that she’d never set foot in. Nerves kicked to life in her belly as she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  It wasn’t what she expected. “Whoa.”

  The room was clean and simple and decorated in varying shades or brown, gray, and cream. A thick cocoa-colored rug covered the floor and a huge brick fireplace dominated the far wall. Opposite the bed were a snazzy flat screen TV and a door that was cracked open with the sound of running water spilling through.

  An acoustic Gibson guitar was leaning against a window frame by the bed, and on the wall over the head of the bed was a huge black-and-white canvas print of Bob Dylan’s face, up close and personal. The picture was way cool, with only half his profile showing.

  Overall the room was uncluttered and surprisingly simple and cozy. Leslie shook her head. Would she ever understand Kowalskin?

  “Leslie, is that you?” Peter called from be
hind the cracked door. From the sound of running water she could deduce that he was in the shower. Man, this was too easy.

  She was so going to get him back for embarrassing her at her dance class.

  Strutting across the plush rug, she swung the bathroom door open and said loud enough to be heard over the noise, “Yeah, it’s me. What do you need?” Hopefully it was something she could torment him with, like a towel.

  He pushed the shower stall door open and poked his head out. His hair was wet and dripping and slicked back from his face. It only succeeded in making his eyes even more insanely amazing. “Hey, something’s acting up with the plumbing. I noticed it the other day when you started a load of laundry and I tried to rinse some dishes but all the water was ice cold. So don’t turn on any faucets or flush until I’m done in here, okay?”

  Leslie couldn’t believe her good luck. Paybacks usually took longer to construct than this. “Sure thing, Peter,” she smiled innocently.

  She was going to lure him into complacency first. Leaning against the door, she crossed her arms over her chest and asked, “How was the game today?” She’d missed it with all the work.

  Okay, so maybe she’d missed it a little on purpose. Their trip to the mountains had flustered her and she’d needed some space.

  The glass door was fogged up, but she could just make out the shape of his body and knew he was just starting to soap. He rubbed the bar across his chest and then moved lower to the flat plane of his belly. When his hand went even lower lust pooled heavy between her legs and she shifted.

  The leisurely way he was soaping down there made her wonder if he didn’t know she could see him. It would be just like him to put on a dirty show on purpose.

  “The game was good. We beat the Padres 6–1, so we’re moving on from the Division Series to the League Championships next week.”