First to Fail: A Strictly Professional Romance (Unraveled Book 3)

by Marie Johnston

  I chewed my lower lip. We both knew we were hiding what we were doing, but parking in his garage made it sneakier. I had a job to do and someone spotting my car wouldn’t help. Especially after the talk I’d had with Dresden Wentworth’s parents. Do you know how much I pay this school every year?

  Uh, probably what every other parent pays. And his separate donations shouldn’t come with a list of instructions. Sometimes I wished I could say what was really on my mind. I also dreamed of drafting a disclaimer parents should sign that stated Money donated to Preston Academy in no way makes me an authority on how it should be run. If I have ideas and opinions, I will present them at the next school board meeting. However, I will not wine, dine, or bribe my way through the school board members to sway their decision.

  I pulled into the garage with more speed than I intended, stomping on the brakes before I went out his back wall into what was probably a tidy backyard.

  The garage darkened as the door descended. I was officially on a date. With the guy who’d kept me up at night all week. I peeked at him as I gathered my purse. He was climbing out of his vehicle, the twisting motion tightening his T-shirt around his abs. How had I underplayed how good-looking he was? It was like my brain had gone into survival mode because I could plummet hard for a guy like him.

  His dark blond hair rode the line between trimmed and shaggy. Intelligence shone in his eyes without the peacock displays for my benefit. His form-fitting shirt and worn jeans hugged his body at unexpected times. All of it together made him catnip to my inner puma. I wanted to pounce on him and see if he tasted as delicious as he had the first time.

  He had reached my side of the car by the time I got out.

  “Thanks for letting me use the garage.” I glanced around. There wasn’t much extra room outside of the vehicles, but he had a snowblower and a lawn mower neatly lined up on the far side. The workbench that stretched across the front was also organized, but with tools that actually looked used and not for show.

  He didn’t hire a lawn service. How did that exponentially increase his sexiness? I clutched my tote lest I jump into his arms before we stepped foot in his house.

  “I was inventorying my kitchen on the way here,” he said with a lopsided grin. Even his expressions were relaxed and unpracticed. “I’ve come to the conclusion that I can make you the best damn grilled cheese you’ve ever had, or we can order pizza.”

  My stomach took on a mind of its own and flipped and stretched like it was preening under the options. My nanny used to make the best grilled cheeses in the history of cheese and bread, yet I had had enough of the gourmet pizzas in the eateries I went to. Pizza was supposed to be greasy and cheesy and that quality was assumed if a place delivered.

  “I…can’t decide. I don’t have enough of either one in my life.”

  “And you work around teenagers? I’m surprised.” He led me to the door to the house.

  “You have to remember Preston Academy teenagers aren’t like the rest.” Or what was the point of a private school? Our graduates went on to do spectacular things with their lives. Professionally, at least. I was living the Preston Academy dream—for my dad, at least.

  His reaction wasn’t what I expected. “Right? I doubt many of their dads are cooking for them each night.”

  I’d be surprised if their parents knew how to cook. If microwaves hadn’t been invented, I would’ve starved. Ordering in had become so commonplace I was working on my “usual” at every place I ordered, and I’d been in Minneapolis less than two months.

  Good thing I moved so often. My options changed every few years.

  I stepped into his house. Even the entry was cute, with white crown molding and white trim along the walls. I dropped my purse and followed him into the kitchen. The house screamed well used, unlike the brand-new townhome I rented that was so bare not even a ghost would be interested in haunting it.

  The cupboards in the kitchen were all white, but since the space was small, it worked to open it up. The cherrywood floor had to be original, but like the rest of the home, it was well maintained with a glossy sheen.

  I leaned against the counter on the dining room side. There were two barstools and even though an oak table with four chairs was behind me, I suspected he and Jaycee never sat there. “I’m not as interested in whether their parents cook for them or not. I just wish the families would eat together more.” Just like I’d wished my parents had been around for meals. I had enjoyed all my nannies, but it wasn’t the same as feeling like Mom and Dad wanted to be around me, wanted me around for more than carrying on the empire they’d built.

  “Speaking of how awesome I cook, I’m going to order a pizza.” He set his phone on the counter and tapped away at the screen. “I have to admit I think there would’ve been more issues with Jaycee if I hadn’t left my career for a more flexible job. Her mother foisting her off on me did more damage than I could’ve imagined.”

  Again, he agreed with me. I could get used to this. Usually when I brought my frustrations to the school counselor, they felt it was their duty to remind me about all the important things the parents were doing. I understood parents who had to work all hours to pay the bills. But working extra for the vacation home in Belize? Maybe scale back and let the kid know their parents gave a shit. But enough about work. I wanted to learn more about Chris.

  “What career?” I tried to picture him doing…I couldn’t come up with an example. His easy grin and Justice League T-shirt fit him so well. So did the broad shoulders and tight ass I’d glimpsed when he’d entered the house before me.

  He looked up from his phone, finger hovering over the screen. “Would it surprise you that I’m a Preston graduate?”

  I sucked in a breath. With that simple statement, my dream man morphed into everyone I’d ever dated before. “Seriously?” Was my dismay obvious?

  “Done.” He tucked his phone away. “I have an app that is too convenient. Jaycee and I have pizza night once a week, so… Anyway, Preston, yeah. That’s how I met her mother. I wouldn’t have been able to go, but I got a scholarship for basketball. Go Preston Knights, right?”

  “What?” Now my voice was full of horror. Chris was one of the full-ride kids for a freaking sport? But—but—he was my sexy comic book geek.

  “Hard to tell by looking at me, right?” He was misinterpreting my disbelief. Dammit, how could my perception of him spin on a dime? “My dad was a loan officer at a bank, and he was chatting with the president one day about my scoring average. Next thing you know, Preston was calling Dad up. My parents not being able to afford the school otherwise was foul one against me according to Cierra’s parents.”

  I hadn’t even talked to the woman on the phone. Cierra was apparently content to let Chris deal with all things Jaycee.

  “Have you fouled out yet?” I asked, surprised I could match basketball lingo with Chris.

  He grinned and my heart stopped. Those shoulders. His height. I pictured his strong body going in for a jump shot, his focus on the hoop. I didn’t usually go soft over athletes, but when they had a fanboy personality, it was a potent combination.

  “Yes, which brings us back to your earlier question about what I’d been doing for a living. Before I got full custody of Jaycee, I was on the city council for Minneapolis. That wasn’t prestigious enough to impress Cierra’s parents, but I had just gotten elected to the state senate. I stepped down before I even started. I couldn’t be away from Jaycee for those long days.”

  I blinked. He was a politician? An athlete and a politician? And a Preston grad? I apparently wasn’t straying from the type I’d sworn I wouldn’t date again.

  His smile died. “That bad?”

  I tugged one of the stools over even though I shouldn’t be settling in to stay. “It’s not that.” I owed him more of an explanation since I must’ve looked horrified. “I mean, yes, it is. I’ve dated guys just like you and it hasn’t turned out well. But I guess I’ve never met any of them at a comic con.”
>
  “That’s the key.”

  A smile tugged at my lips. “Is it. Does it go the other way? Have you dated other women like me?”

  “That’s a resounding no. They’ve all been disturbingly similar to Cierra.” He went to the stool next to me and we faced each other like we were at a real bar and not in an old but well-cared-for house. “You’ve heard similar stories. Guy tries to marry girl. Girl’s family thinks he’s trash. Breakup and serial dating of the exact same type occurs.”

  “You wanted to marry her?” How old had he been?

  “The sun rose and set with her—at the time. But she made her opinions known.” His expression darkened like he was remembering the pain it had caused. “My dad worked for the bank president instead of being the president. And my mom sold insurance; she didn’t own the company. All those fouls against me and they thought it was better to have an unwed mother for a daughter.”

  “Ouch.” In this day and age, that shouldn’t be a scandal, but it would be for the families who attended Preston.

  He lifted a shoulder, only bringing attention to how close he was and how much I liked gripping his shoulders. “It worked out. We’re both grateful we didn’t marry, and now she’s happily dating and reclaiming those lost years when she was stuck with a child at home.”

  “Role reversal?” This probably wasn’t the sexiest topic but learning about him had become my new favorite pastime.

  “You could say that.” He lifted the hood on my sweater and dropped it. “Looks like I’m not the only Preston Academy grad in the room.”

  “Ding, ding, ding.” The last thing I wanted to talk about was the school. Dresden still hadn’t served his detention and if he didn’t show after school on Monday, the battle went to round two. “I went to the one in Seattle.” And Hartford, Atlanta, and Chicago.

  “Was it as stuffy and uptight as this one? No offense.” He winked.

  “They try to be.” I gave my voice the same inflection as Alfred the butler. “We have standards to maintain, Master Wayne.” I sighed. “It’s exhausting.”

  “Being the villain is never easy.”

  “At least they seem to be having fun in the comics.” Or believed in what they did. “Every bad guy is the hero in their own story. I guess we’ll have to see whether I’ll prevail or not.”

  Chapter 5

  Chris

  “You’re right,” Natalia announced. “It’s better the second time around.”

  I had known she’d agree. I shut the TV off in the middle of the rolling credits and massaged her feet as she reclined against the armrest of the sofa. We’d had our pizza. I hadn’t asked her preference when I’d ordered, but I hadn’t wanted to interrupt our conversation. And the way her eyes lit up when I’d mentioned it, I’d pegged her for a cheese or Canadian bacon girl. Or pepperoni, but I couldn’t stand the stuff, not even for a hot fangirl who looked adorable in my living room.

  That was a lie. I’d eat all the pepperoni if she demanded it. Especially if she was in that tight bun and skirt when she did it.

  Digging into the ball of her right foot, I enjoyed the way her eyes glazed over. “I’m kind of disappointed you’ve only seen Suicide Squad once before tonight.”

  She leaned her head on the armrest and closed her eyes. “Didn’t I mention that I prefer Marvel movies?”

  I ran my finger up the bottom of her foot. She squealed and jerked her foot back. I followed, stretching out on top of her. “You take that back.”

  Her sharp inhale and the desire that flared in her eyes encouraged me not to back away. She stared up at me, her eyes luminous, her body molten underneath me. That damn sweatshirt was covering the best of her curves. It was no longer as cute as it had been in the store.

  “I guess we’re done watching movies?” Her breathy tone ignited the lust that had been simmering all evening. She shifted, her legs parting to cradle me.

  I settled farther over her, propping my arms behind her back to spare her from an awkward angle. Our mouths were a whisper apart, but I didn’t close the distance yet. “Is there anything else you want to see?”

  “I came here to see you and I happen to be exactly where I want to be.” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. Had she surprised herself? Because I was delighted.

  Dropping my head, our lips touched. I took my time, savoring the satin of her lips, the way her chest pressed into me when she took a breath. She opened for me first, her tongue darting out.

  Yes. I’d been dreaming about her body for a week, but it had felt like months. A low rumble reverberated in my chest as I deepened the kiss. She tasted like the sparkling strawberry water we’d been drinking—fresh, fruity, and tingly.

  She skimmed her hands up my back and my shirt bunched up with the effort. I’d take it off, but I didn’t want to break the kiss. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t break the kiss all night. Her embrace tightened as she surged into me, rubbing her pelvis against mine. I’d been half hard around her all night, but blood rushed to my groin until my erection was painful and aching. I answered by rocking into her.

  To keep her from being crunched into the corner of the sofa, I maneuvered one arm between us to tunnel underneath her sweater. Her skin was soft, hot, and so smooth I didn’t think I’d ever be able to keep my hands to myself around her. The inviting curves of her back ran under my hand until the lace of her bra hit my fingertips. Deftly tucking my fingers under the band, I tested its resistance. The elastic gave easily until I could lift the bra above her breasts.

  I closed my hand over a warm mound of flesh, and she arched into me. It was hard to maintain the kiss with an arm between us and our frantic undulating. I abandoned her mouth to nibble a path under her chin. She shivered in my arms, her moan echoing in my ears while her legs wrapped around my hips.

  I wanted her naked, but it was too soon. Having her in my house, in my arms, was more than enough. She was willing to risk discovery, but if we took it too fast, too soon, she might talk herself out of exploring how strong this connection was between us.

  I trailed a path with my mouth to her collarbone, my face tucked into her sweatshirt. Rolling her nipple between my fingers, I debated lifting her top to get at it with my lips, but she was straining under me like she wanted more, needed more. I abandoned her breast, my hand mourning the loss of her heat, and found the waistband to her pants.

  I almost cheered when I realized it was an elastic waist, no button or zipper. Weren’t those called jeggings or something? I didn’t care at the moment. For once the state of women’s fashion didn’t perplex me. She’d loosened the hold her legs had around me, creating enough of a gap I could wedge a hand between her clothing and skin.

  Blood hammered through my cock. Losing the stimulation of her rocking against me was maddening, but it was just as satisfying seeing to her pleasure. I got my own pleasure from her breathy gasps and the way she writhed against me.

  The material of her underwear was lacy like her bra. I bet they matched. Ms. Shaw didn’t go for unmatched undergarments. Maybe someday I’d get to see, but tonight I was content to ride the wave of sensations between us.

  I dipped under her panties. Her skin was hot and the farther I went, the wetter she got. Her excitement made it easier to slide a finger through her folds.

  She jerked in my arms. “Chris.” I was about to quit when she went liquid and rocked her hips up into me. The move stroked my finger along her clit and she moaned.

  Emboldened, I circled her nub again and was rewarded with another breathy moan. Those sounds were going to haunt me each night I went to bed alone. I’d never be able to go to sleep with a cold shower and stroking one off again. I’d been deluding myself for years that I wasn’t missing this.

  And I wasn’t really. I wasn’t losing out on anything with the wrong person. I was missing this with the right person.

  She fit me perfectly.

  I changed positions to rub her clit with my thumb and thread a finger inside of her. She was wet and tight
and so hot I didn’t need any stimulation to worry about coming in my pants. Her hips thrust against me, seeking a release. She groaned and moaned, giving me a glimpse into the uninhibited woman who could dress like Valaria and play a contact sport like roller derby. How many saw this side of her?

  I was selfish to hope I was the only one.

  “Chris,” she whined again. Oh yes. A guy could get used to a woman begging for her release in bed. I’d never felt more powerful. Not after I won the election, not after Arcadia’s opening day, not in any other intimate moment. No other woman made me feel like I should don a cape and stand proudly with my hands on my hips.

  I wanted to kiss her again but muffling those erotic noises would be a sin. Instead, I licked and nibbled along her neck as I circled and thrust with my hand.

  Her legs had untangled from around my waist until they were drawn to her sides.

  My forearm threatened to cramp, but I adjusted my position.

  “Don’t stop,” she barked. At some point, she’d wound her hands through my hair, pinning my head into the crook of her neck.

  Heat flooded my hand and she tensed. “Chris!” She bucked and cried out.

  My hair got pulled as she jerked and shuddered, but I could only smile. I was in a state of pain with the throb of my erection, but I was a happy man.

  She stilled and her grip eased. I lifted my head, unable to hide my huge grin. I kept my hand where it was, still inside of her but no longer stimulating the bundle of nerves.

  “You look proud.” She sounded accusatory, but the smile playing along her lips ruined the effect.

  “I kinda am. That was pretty spectacular.” I slipped my hand out. Desire flashed in her eyes. I couldn’t bring myself to withdraw from her clothing entirely. She was everything warm and feminine I’d been dreaming about in a woman, someone who didn’t laugh off my interests and hobbies as juvenile.

  “For me, yes. You did all the work.” She placed her hands on my shoulders and was starting to push me back, a predatory gleam in her eyes, when the Batman theme song from the sixties burst through the room.