Always.
Peter pulled her tight into his embrace, his powerful arms wrapping around her, holding her close as he thrust into her slowly, deeply. Leslie clung to him, her nails digging into his back as the hot circumference of him filled her up and took her right to the edge. The orgasm tore through her with such force that she cried out, tears stinging her eyes, her brain fried.
“I love you, Peter!” she said on a gasp, unaware of what she was saying as she began to float back down, heart pounding and body tingling.
He went still.
“Christ.” He breathed the word like it was a prayer. Then his arms tightened around her almost painfully and he was driving into her, over and over, his breath coming heavy until he thrust into her so deep she could feel him against her womb, and he came forcefully, explosively, calling her name, “Leslie!”
They clung to each other, panting and unmoving, riding on the wave of afterglow and endorphins until they heard a voice from outside the door say loudly, “Shit, where’s the bathroom, man? I don’t wanna miss the apple-bobbing contest that’s about to start. There’s some hot chicks out there who are gonna get nice and wet.”
The bet.
Reality came crashing back with zero mercy. Suddenly apprehensive, Leslie stole a peek around Peter’s shoulder to the clock on the wall, blew a frizzy strand of hair out of her face, and saw the truth.
11:52 P.M.
Her rosy afterglow went poof! and her stomach plummeted. God. Typical frigging Leslie.
So much for getting her life back.
Chapter Twenty-One
PETER FELT LESLIE tense around him and was hit with disappointment. He wasn’t ready to let her go yet. The way her lush body was wrapped all around him felt so good. So very, very good.
In fact, there wasn’t a part of the woman that didn’t feel absolutely amazing. And after all these years, all the regret and humiliation, he had finally sorted it out with Leslie. Now he knew what he had missed out on. Every fantasy, every daydream he’d had of her hadn’t come close to comparing with the reality.
The reality of Leslie was fucking amazing.
“Well played, Kowalskin.”
He thought so too. He’d always been good at catch. But it sounded suspiciously like Leslie wasn’t as thrilled about his skills as he was. Peter pulled back some to get a good look at her, and what he saw had his insides going cold.
Her face was pale and her eyes were bitter. Gone was the passionate woman from a few minutes ago. Now he was looking at a whole lot of angry. Though his brain was in a temporary state of hormone-induced euphoria, he could still tell that something was very wrong with Leslie.
Shit. After all the build-up and anticipation, was she disappointed in his performance?
“I need some air.” Her hands were flat against his chest and she gave a sound push. Letting her go, he skimmed his fingertips down her thigh as she disengaged, needing the feel of her silky skin one more time.
“What’s the deal, princess?” She’d just said she loved him. He was still reeling from it. And now she wanted space. What the hell? She couldn’t just turn off like that. It wasn’t fair.
She practically jumped off the desk and went about straightening her clothing, yanking at the fabric, the whole time scowling and not looking at him. Considering he’d just had the best sex of his entire life with the woman of his dreams, it was a bit deflating to see her in this state. Made him want to have a go at her again and not stop until all she was able to do was lie there and smile.
Because she sure wasn’t smiling now. “Don’t play dumb, Kowalskin. It isn’t becoming.”
Suddenly frustrated, Peter raked his hands through his hair and began redressing. “I don’t know what the hell you’re so upset about.”
She stopped what she was doing and leveled him with a hard stare. “You really don’t know?” The way she said it made it sound like an accusation, not a question.
It was damn irritating. “No, Leslie,” he drawled. “I really don’t know.” How could he? From where he was standing things were way good.
Her face contorted in anger and she flung her arm out toward the wall, pointing. “You won. Are you happy?”
Peter saw the wall clock, noted the time. It wasn’t quite midnight. Well, damn, it looked like he actually had won the bet after all.
Amused, Peter zipped his fly and laughed softly. “Of course. It’s been a damn good day.”
His T-shirt suddenly hit him in the chest and he looked up quizzically just in time to see tears fill Leslie’s eyes. “For you. It’s been a good day for you, Peter.” She fisted a hand in front of her mouth, sucked in air. “I lost.”
She was upset about the bet? “It was just a bet, princess. No big thing.”
Her eyes went huge and she huffed, clearly offended, “No big thing?”
The sudden glint in her eye had him reassessing, backtracking. “Well, that’s not maybe the right wording.” Then he shrugged it off, because yeah it was. “We both know it was nothing more than an extended game of foreplay, an excuse for this.” He gestured between them in their respective states of undress. “Why so upset?”
Leslie exploded. “Because it was my life! It was my chance to reclaim what’s mine—my career, my self-respect. It was my new start.” Her eyes were dark as forests and full of bitter heartache. “The bet was everything, and I went and fucked it up just like usual.”
Peter could see she was working herself into a big tizzy and was about to respond when his cell phone went off in his pocket. What the hell? Nobody called him this late at night.
Reaching into his jeans for it, he glanced at Leslie, who was busy crossing her arms and muttering to herself, and spared his caller ID a quick look. His blood went cold. Shit.
“I have to take this.” He didn’t even wait for her acknowledgment.
His cell continued to ring and he hit the talk button. “This is Peter,” he said tightly in Ukrainian.
The voice on the other side was gruff and spoke only in the Slavic language. Peter listened to the message and responded in his father’s native tongue, his good mood morphing into something else entirely in an instant. By the time the call disconnected his mind was a million miles away and his gut felt hollow.
It must have shown on his face because when he shoved his phone back in his pocket Leslie reached a hand out and placed it on his arm. “What’s wrong, Peter?”
His gaze slid from her hand to her face, and he took in her big, concerned eyes. And he felt nothing. Nothing at all, only numb. “I have to go.”
The moment was gone, his perfect day completely ruined with one phone call. He didn’t see Leslie standing there with her heart on her sleeve. Didn’t see beyond the sudden whiteout in his mind.
“What? Why? What happened, Peter?”
He looked at Leslie without really seeing and said flatly, “My father is dead.”
Then he walked out on his dream to go deal with his nightmare.
“AND THEN HE just left, y’all.”
Drake rubbed his chin, confused. “You’re saying he told you his dad died and now he’s gone? Where?”
Leslie shrugged her bare shoulders, worry for Peter tying her stomach in knots. “Not sure, but I’m assuming Philadelphia. Isn’t that where his dad lived?”
Everybody shrugged back.
“Doesn’t anybody know anything about his family?” she asked with mounting frustration. Her heart ached for Peter and she wanted to help. It was damn aggravating that nobody seemed to have any useful information. How could she go after him if nobody knew where he was?