by Cindi Myers
“I don’t think I’ll ever look at a shower the same way.” He picked up a pencil and began turning it, end over end, in his hand.
She laughed. “It’s safe to say I won’t, either. I called to tell you our class project with your father’s book has been approved.”
“That’s great. Dad would be happy.”
“Are you happy with it?”
“Yes, I am.” He laid aside the pencil. “I’ll come speak to your class whenever you’re ready.”
“I’ll have to look at my schedule and get back to you. I just thought you’d want to know it’s a go.”
He thought she might hang up then, and hurried to stop her. “Wait. When can we get together again?” He took a deep breath, telling himself to slow down. “I mean…you must have quite a few more rumors in that diary of yours.”
“Hmm. I seem to recall a few more. There’s no rush, though.”
No rush. Except that he wasn’t going to be good for anything if he didn’t see her again. Soon. “No reason to waste any time, though.”
“Unfortunately, I’m judging a speech tournament next weekend. And I have some sort of meeting every night next week.”
“You couldn’t take to your bed with a sudden cold?” And a certain school-board candidate to keep you warm?
“We can get together next Friday evening.”
A week away. He drummed his fingers on his desk. Was she putting him off to send a message—reminding him she didn’t intend to get too involved with him? “All right. What time should I pick you up?”
“I’ll meet you. You remember the old drive-in?”
“Didn’t they close it down years ago?”
“It’s been for sale for five or six years, but everything’s pretty much the same, though deserted. Meet me there about eight o’clock.”
“We’re not going to run into Pete Alavero again, are we?”
She laughed, a low, throaty chuckle that sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin. “It’s Friday night. Everyone in town will be at the football game. No one will bother us.”
“I’ll be there.”
“See you there. And, Dylan?”
“Yes?”
“Better take your vitamins.”
10
MINDY STUDIED HER reflection in the mirror. The leather miniskirt and low-cut black sweater clung to her like shrink-wrap. Her new black satin Miracle Bra gave her cleavage where she’d never had cleavage before and the three-inch stiletto pumps and black silk stockings made her legs go on forever. She dared Clay Walsh to take one look at her and not think of her as a woman first and a teacher a distant second.
She smoothed the skirt over her hips and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, then turned away from the mirror. She’d spent every moment of the past week anticipating this afternoon. If this didn’t work, she was never going to be able to return to school again. She’d be so embarrassed she’d have to leave town, change her name and become a waitress or something. She’d never have the guts to face Clay again if she threw herself at him and he turned her down.
“Think positive,” she told herself, reaching for her purse. “He’s a man. You’re an attractive woman. Nature will take care of the rest.” She opened the little black handbag and double checked to make sure she had the essentials: vamp-red lipstick, breath mints, credit card, condoms. Everything she needed for an evening of seduction.
She locked the door behind her and picked her way down the gravel drive to the curb, where her car sat waiting, freshly washed and waxed, the top down. The red Jetta convertible was her one true extravagance. He hadn’t said anything about her car when he’d walked her to it the other night, but then, they’d been distracted by Taylor and Dylan. She hoped Clay would think she was as wild as a red convertible implied.
He’d offered to meet her at a restaurant, but she’d insisted on picking him up. “There’s a great place I want to take you,” she’d said. “We can talk on the drive down.”
Clay lived in a new complex west of town, in a nice but unremarkable town home. The kind of place a man lived when he was old enough to be tired of an apartment, but not yet ready to commit to owning a house, she thought. A house meant home and family, so maybe Clay was still looking for those things. She hoped so. The idea made her heart flutter.
She parked at the curb and walked up to the front door, her high heels tap-tapping on the brick pavers. Her stomach felt as though someone had let loose a hive of bees inside her. She rang the bell, then stepped back, trying to look calmer than she felt.
Clay was smiling when he opened the door, but the smile dropped off his face when he saw her. He stared, mouth slightly open, his gaze shifting from her chest to her legs, back to her chest and finally, reluctantly, settling on her face. “Mindy.” He shut his mouth and swallowed. “Hello.”
She pressed her lips together, holding back a smile, and managed to nod. “Hello, Clay. Are you ready for supper?”
He nodded, mute. She turned and led the way back to the car, conscious of the exaggerated sway of her hips in the tight skirt, aware of his gaze fixed on her. She walked around the car to the driver’s side and slid in.
“Nice car,” he said, settling into the passenger seat.
“When I saw it, I couldn’t resist.” She fit the key in the ignition and started the engine. “My motto is, ‘life’s too short not to have what you want.’ In truth, she’d just made that up. But it sounded good, didn’t it?
She pulled into the street and headed west, out of town. Clay shifted in the seat, as if he couldn’t get comfortable. “So, how are your classes going this year?” he asked.
“They’re going well. I have some really good students. A few problems, but nothing I can’t handle.” She shifted smoothly as they hit open highway and eased the gas peddle up to eighty. Wind whipped around them, making conversation difficult. That was okay. She wanted Clay to have plenty of time to look. To think. She shifted and the skirt rode higher up her thighs. She didn’t bother to smooth it down. Anticipation hummed through her, in time with the throbbing of the car’s powerful engine.
She glanced at her passenger out of the corner of her eye and found his gaze focused on her thigh. He wore a slightly dazed expression and was breathing heavily. Her smile widened. Why hadn’t she thought of this approach before?
After about twenty minutes, Clay came out of his trance for a moment and looked around. “Where are we going?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the engine noise.
“I found this great little restaurant out in the country. We’ll be able to talk in private there.” The Hilltop Café was owned by a French chef who had once worked for the finest restaurants in Houston. His wife ran the attached bed-and-breakfast cottages, one of which Mindy had visited yesterday afternoon and reserved for tonight. She only hoped she hadn’t wasted her hundred dollars.
Clay opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it and sat back in the seat, staring out at the countryside. She hoped he wasn’t having a crisis of conscience. After all, they hadn’t done anything to feel guilty about—yet. She had no intentions of feeling guilty about anything they did. If only she could convince him to adopt the same attitude.
Ten minutes later she guided the car into the shaded drive of the Hilltop Café. Purple petunias and orange marigolds spilled from window boxes lining the front deck and larger urns of flowers flanked the doorway. “This looks great,” Clay said as they exited the car.
“The man who owns it used to cook at the Four Seasons in Houston. He retired here and opens the place on weekends now.”
An elegant woman in a black dress greeted them and showed them to a table by the window. It was almost six, early yet for dinner, so they had the dining room to themselves. Clay held her chair for her and she took her time settling in and arranging her napkin over her lap, aware of him standing over her, watching.
She picked up the wine list. “Why don’t we order some wine?”
He frowned. “I do
n’t know.”
“Oh, it’ll be all right. After all, we’re off the clock now.” The words sounded as reckless as she felt. She was going for broke here and why not? She’d tried being subtle and that hadn’t worked. Maybe Taylor was right—some men required a more direct approach.
When the waitress came, she ordered a bottle of Pinot Grigio and the herb-roasted chicken. Clay chose the peppercorn fillet. “So,” he said when they were alone again. “What are some of the ideas you have for the task force?”
“We can talk business later.” She gave him her warmest smile. “Why don’t we enjoy a nice meal first?” She didn’t want Clay to think about business or school tonight. She wanted him to focus on her. To look into her eyes and see her feelings for him.
“Oh. All right.”
She sat back and looked out the window at the view of green countryside and flowers. “It’s nice to get away from school for a while, isn’t it?” she asked. “To get out of our roles of teacher and principal and be just two people, having a nice supper.”
He didn’t answer and she turned to find his gaze fixed on her, his eyes half closed, his expression unreadable. She leaned toward him, wanting to touch his hand, but hesitating. “I’d really like to get to know you better,” she said.
“I’d like that,” he said and those three words made her feel as if she could levitate out of her chair.
The waitress brought the wine and poured them each a glass. Clay raised his in a toast. “To friendship,” he said.
She touched her glass to his. “To friendship.” And more, she silently added. She smiled at him over the rim of her glass. “So tell me about yourself. How did you end up as principal of Cedar Creek High School?”
Over the next half hour, as they ate salad and crusty bread and drank wine, she learned that he was from Corpus Christi on the Texas coast, that he had majored in history at the University of Texas and taught in Houston for ten years before moving to Cedar Creek to take a job as assistant principal and eventually principal at the high school.
“That must have been a big change for you, moving from a big city to a small town like this,” she said.
He shrugged and stabbed at his salad. “After my divorce, I was ready for a change of scenery.”
The arrival of their meals allowed her to hide her shock at this revelation. But of course, it wouldn’t be that unusual for a man his age to have been married before. “Do you have children?” she asked, half afraid of the answer.
“Two boys. They live with their mother in Houston. I see them in the summer and one weekend a month.”
Two boys. Oh, wow. She’d never dated anyone with children before. What would that be like? But she would handle it. Of course she would. She smiled. “Tell me about your sons.”
By the time their plates were cleared, she knew all about Brian, who was twelve, and Josh, who was fourteen. She knew that Clay was a football fan, that he’d once been a rodeo team roper and even had a silver belt buckle he’d won at a Fourth of July rodeo. She knew that his parents had a ranch near Corpus Christi, that he enjoyed his job but sometimes missed teaching and that he was allergic to strawberries—he asked they be left off the cheesecake he ordered for dessert.
She knew everything about him but the one thing she most wanted to know—how did he feel about her?
“You’ve let me do all the talking,” he said, stirring cream into his coffee. “Tell me something about Mindy Lewis.”
“There’s not a lot to tell.” She tore the end off a package of artificial sweetener and watched the white powder drift into her cup. “I’m twenty-four, single. I teach algebra, like to ride my bike or swim, love dogs but can’t have one in my apartment.” She shrugged. “Not terribly exciting, I’m afraid.”
He looked at her for a long moment, not saying anything. She felt warmed by that gaze. What would he do if she leaned across the table and kissed him? Would he think she’d gone crazy? “You said the other night you aren’t seeing anyone,” he said. “Mind if I ask why?”
She swallowed. “Have you checked out the staff of the high school lately? Not a lot of eligible bachelors there. And that’s about all the men I meet.”
He nodded. “But there are other single men in town. Parents of your students…”
She made a face. “That would be…complicated. Don’t you think?” She pushed aside her coffee cup and leaned toward him. “There is one man who interests me, but I don’t know if he even notices me.”
The lines around his eyes tightened and he pressed his lips together as his gaze dropped to her cleavage once more. “I don’t think you’re the kind of woman who goes unnoticed by men. Not unless they’re blind.”
“He’s not blind.” She wet her lips, eyes locked to his. “But we come from different backgrounds.”
“I wouldn’t think that would make much difference these days.”
The waitress brought the check and he turned away from her, reaching for his wallet. “No, I invited you,” she protested. “I’ll pay.”
But he was already counting money out of his wallet and rising. “We’d better go,” he said.
He walked out of the restaurant, leaving her standing by the table. She stared after him, her confusion quickly overcome by anger. What was wrong with him? How dare he walk out on her like that!
She stalked to the door, stopping at the ladies’ room on her way out. She took her time, using the toilet, washing her hands, then combing her hair and touching up her makeup. She studied the results in the mirror. She looked hot! Clay Walsh ought to be thanking his lucky stars she wanted to spend the evening with him. He ought to be doing everything in his power to prolong the encounter instead of cutting her short that way.
She turned on her heel and stalked out of the rest room, intending to give him a piece of her mind.
She found him by the car, leaning against the front fender, arms folded over his chest, gaze fixed on the door of the restaurant. When she came out, he straightened but didn’t alter his irritated expression. She walked up to him, stopping only a few inches away. To move, he’d have to push her out of the way. “What was that all about?” she asked.
“What was what all about?”
“You walking out like that, in the middle of our conversation.”
His gaze slid away from her. “I didn’t think we had anything else to talk about.”
“Maybe you didn’t, but I did.”
“Look, I’m sorry.” He spoke the words through clenched teeth. “But I don’t think I’m qualified to give you advice on your love life.”
“Oh, yeah? Who says I was asking?”
He frowned. “In there…I thought…”
“Dammit, Clay! You think too much! Why don’t you try just feeling for a change?” She put her hands on either side of his face and stood on tiptoe, pulling his lips to hers. She put everything she had into that kiss—anger, passion, hurt, and the longing she’d carried inside of her for months. She wanted him to remember this moment. Even if things didn’t work out between them, he would never forget that kiss.
For a split second they stood frozen in time in an awkward embrace, lips together. Then whatever lock he’d put on his emotions broke and he put his arms around her and gathered her close. His lips parted, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping across hers, sensuous and skillful.
She molded her body to his, feeling the hard planes of his chest, the muscles of his thighs, the thick heat of his erection. Blood pounded in her ears as she struggled to be closer still.
His hands were everywhere, smoothing down her back, squeezing her buttocks, caressing her breasts. He trailed kisses down her throat, along her collarbone, each touch of his tongue and lips sending a searing wave through her. He kissed the top of her breasts, then pulled at the sweater, revealing the lace-trimmed satin of her bra. He slipped his hand beneath her skirt and cupped her bottom. “Do you know how many times I’ve watched you walk down the hall and fantasized about seeing you naked?” he murmured. “
When I saw you standing on my doorstep in this outfit, I thought I would lose it, right there in front of you. It was all I could do not to drag you into the house right then.”
“You should have.” She arched against him, shock waves of arousal spreading through her as he slid his thumb under the edge of her bra and began to fondle her nipple.
“I should have. Then we wouldn’t be looking at a forty-minute drive back to my place.” He unsnapped the front hook of the bra, freeing her breasts. “Frankly, I don’t know if I can wait.”
Any answer she could have made was replaced by a low moan as his mouth closed over her nipple. If he’d laid her back across the hood of the car and taken her right then, in the deepening dusk, she wouldn’t have cared.
With a groan, he dragged himself upright once more and gently pulled her sweater back into place. “We’d better go,” he said. “Before we embarrass ourselves even more.”
She smiled and took his hand in hers. “We don’t have to go.”
“Yes, we do.”
She shook her head, then reached into her purse and fished out a key. “I have a room.”
His eyes widened. “Where?”
“Here.” She nodded toward the row of cottages behind the restaurant. “Number six.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the cottages. “Let’s go.”
She laughed. “Slow down. I can’t walk fast in these heels.”
The next thing she knew, he’d swept her into his arms and was carrying her toward the cottage. She pressed her head against his shoulder, holding back laughter. An incredible feeling of happiness welled up in her, almost too much to contain. Thank you, Taylor, she thought. I hope you’re having as wonderful a time this weekend as I am.
FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Taylor decided to stay at school to grade the essays her students had turned in. She had four hours to kill before she met Dylan at the drive-in. She told herself grading papers would make the time pass faster, but that proved a lie. With the quiet of the empty school wrapping around her, she was reminded of the night she had been here with Dylan, sneaking through the darkened hallways to the boys’ locker room. She smiled at the memory, a warm buzz of arousal humming through her.
