The room fell silent as all the women stared at Peter in awe. And she couldn’t blame them, really. The man looked hot in his clingy black button-up, leather bracelet, jeans, and finger-combed black hair. The lean, rugged face and piercing eyes only added to the total package.
One of the young women behind her muttered under her breath, “Oh my God.”
Jealously sunk its teeth into her again.
Mine.
What the—? The hell he was. Now the irritation she felt really was aimed at her. Kowalskin belonged to nobody, least of all her.
She didn’t want him.
“Go away, Peter.”
The man just ignored her and sauntered over to the last remaining open pole. To the petite brunette next to him he flashed his wolfish smile and said, “How about you show me how this thing works?”
She stuttered and blushed profusely. “Okay. Yeah.” Then she stopped and stared at him blankly. “Um, what?”
Poor girl. “Leave her alone.”
He wrapped an ankle loosely around the pole and gave a little shake, causing a collective murmur to rise above the music. Finally the instructor, Carlie, cleared her throat and said loudly, “Let’s continue shall we?” She disappeared into the stock room and started a new CD.
An elbow in Leslie’s ribs sent pain and surprise darting through her. She whipped her head around and saw the redhead who’d been next to her leaning in to whisper, “That’s the pitcher for the Denver Rush, isn’t it?”
Leslie nodded, still annoyed. “Yeah.”
“How do you know him?”
She didn’t want to explain because she had a feeling if the women learned of her connection to the Rush, her life of relative obscurity there would be over. And she wasn’t in the mood to be popular. “I manage a club he frequents.” There, hopefully that will shut her up.
Peter caught her attention when he called out to her, “Hey, princess. Go on a date with me.”
There went her obscurity. Terrific.
She shook her head. “No.”
He ground against the pole, rocking his hips suggestively, and she raised a brow. Even though he was totally joking, the man could move. His body rocked with an innate rhythm that had heat flaring low in her belly.
“I’m not leaving until you say yes.” He spun around and used the pole at his back to shimmy against. It made her laugh.
“No.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over Christina Aguilera. So this was his game. He was going to embarrass her into agreeing to go on a date with him. She found it odd that he’d want one with her, but before she could think about that any further, he got her attention with his response.
“Okay, fine.” He straightened and began rolling up his sleeves. Bracing his feet apart, he grabbed the pole with both hands and said, “Let’s dance, ladies.”
And he did. For the next fifteen minutes he shimmied, shook, and rolled—one outrageous move after the other. At one point he even jumped up the pole, locked his legs around it and spun around saying, “Pleeease, Leslie?”
At first she’d been annoyed, then embarrassed, and then finally amused as all get-out. Watching Kowalskin striptease was pure entertainment. And by the time the class was over he’d not only won the adoration of a dozen women, but he’d worn her down too. How could she say no to a man who’d tried an upside-down spread eagle—and failed miserably to her great amusement—just to get a date with her?
She couldn’t.
It didn’t mean she wasn’t going to get him back for pulling this little stunt though. “All right, Kowalskin. You win,” she said to him as the class wound down.
A little out of breath, he grinned like the devil and raised his hands in the air. “She said yes!”
The women watching in avid fascination cheered enthusiastically. From the back someone called out, “Smart girl!” and Leslie laughed right in his face.
Obviously they didn’t know Peter.
Chapter Seven
PETER WAS WAITING outside for her when she exited the studio with her bag over her shoulder. He’d just finished signing an autograph for one of the class regulars—a sweet, plump woman in her late sixties who was gushing and holding the scrap of paper with his name on it to her chest like it was something precious.
“You make sure you tell Bob hi for me, Laverne. And take care of that left hip of yours, okay?” He smiled charmingly like he was a good boy and not the wolf in sheep’s clothing that she knew him to be. “Remember to alternate hot and cold pads on it for the next few days and you’ll be back to good in no time.”
Laverne giggled like she was sixteen and swatted playfully at him, her green eyes sparkling. “Oh hush.”
When Peter spotted Leslie his smile took on an edge, and he removed himself from the small crowd of admirers, giving Laverne’s arm a gentle parting squeeze. “Excuse me, ladies. My date has arrived.” With an unholy glint in his eyes, Peter strode her way.
Carlie walked past her just then and put a hand briefly on her shoulder, whispering, “Way to go, Leslie.” There was a smile on her face that was more than a little good-naturedly envious. “He’s a stud.”
She didn’t need to be told. “Thanks, hon.”
Sometimes it was easier to let people assume something than it was to sit them down and explain the truth. And there was no harm in letting them think there was more going on between her and Kowalskin than there really was. It gave them something to talk about.
If there was a tiny part of her that thrilled at the idea of people thinking she and Peter were an item, she tried very hard to ignore it. It was wrong anyway. Wasn’t it?
“All right, you got me out here,” she said after the crowd had dispersed. “Now what are you going to do with me?”
The man had his hat back on and looked like a whole mess of trouble, an arresting cross between intense athlete and soulful artist. The unexpected blend did funny things to her. And when he looked at her out of the corner of his eyes with an expression that promised her the most erotic time of her life if she were so inclined, her panties went instantly damp.
But when it came right down to it they were completely and utterly incompatible. For whatever reason, when the moment of truth came she just didn’t do it for him. The proof of it had been humiliating and deflating.
She gave Peter a tough time because the fact of it was that she still felt the sting of his rejection every single stinking time she was around him. One moment he’d been all hot and heavy on her and then, boom! Nothing. Zilch. Nada.
Wet, limp noodle.
And now the man wanted a date and a do-over. Why? What did it matter to him?
More importantly, what did it matter to her?
She adjusted the strap of the duffle bag slung over her shoulder as he said, “Leave your bag and I’ll drop you back here when we’re done. I’m taking you places.”
Leslie spotted his bright blue Ducati parked next to her Mini Cooper and swallowed a grin. She’d been dying to get the chance to ride on his snazzy crotch rocket. Not that she’d ever let him know that. He’d just get an even bigger head and lord it over her at every opportunity. Like he needed more to be egotistical about anyway.
Although she really wanted to leap on the back of his motorcycle and holler, “Freedom, baby!” with her hands in the air, she rolled her eyes and pretended reluctance. “Really, Peter? I don’t have a helmet and you’re wearing a hat.” She pinned him with a suspicious stare. “Why are you wearing a hat, by the way? Did you not wear a helmet?”