With that, she walked away. He stared too long, and an elbow landed in his side.
“Fess up, Professor. You’re dating students now? She’s what? Twenty-two or three?”
“Oh, leave him alone …” said another. “It isn’t that big a deal. You only have to look at them to see how much they like each other.”
Aarin’s heartbeat skipped. Did you? Was it that obvious? Maybe not to others, but these guys knew him.
“Besides, I don’t see you here with anyone,” the speaker continued.
A chorus of laughter followed the remark, and Aarin tried to look amused. He focused on eating and hoped the comments would die. When Lydia returned sometime later, he figured they were off the hook.
But Henri stirred things up again. “You’re going with us to the rink in the morning, right?”
The rink? Aarin wrinkled his brow.
At his apparent confusion, one of the others tried to explain. “It was in with the invite. We thought for old time’s sake, we’d take a spin around the rink, so we pooled our cash and rented the place. Since all of us are staying in the hotel, it was perfect. You did rent a room, right?”
Aarin exchanged glances with Lydia and cleared his throat, refusal on his tongue. He’d have to apologize for the mix-up, but he had to get her home tonight. There was no question of their not being able to participate. Maybe, he could make his way here tomorrow though. He’d suggest it. “That sounds wonderful. But we hadn’t planned …”
“You have to be there.” Henri interrupted him. “What kind of get-together is it without you? You’re the reason we came to town. Plus …” He nodded toward a couple of the players’ wives. “The ladies have this plan to pick up lunch.”
Aarin’s guilt amplified. “I don’t know, and I’ll be sorry to miss it ….”
“We’ll be there.”
Aarin started.
“It’s unplanned,” Lydia continued, “but we’ll figure something out.”
“You can take my room,” said one of his friends. “Bought me the deluxe with a king-sized bed, but I can stay with Xavier.” He reached out and tapped Xavier playfully on the head. “We’ll have a bachelor party.”
Xavier took a swing at him, and more laughs circled the table.
His mouth dry, Aarin reached for his drink and took a long swig.
“That’s nice of you,” Lydia replied.
Aarin stared at her for a moment, then stood to his feet. “Would you like to dance?”
She gazed upward at him, unmoving, and time slowed to a crawl. Then, in a single breath, she laid her palm in his and rose. “I’d love to.”
Tightening his grip, he led her out of the table’s general view. He curved one hand at her waist and swayed to the song’s nameless beat.
“You’re upset with me.”
He tamped down his frustration. She hadn’t meant anything harmful, but in speaking, she’d made a mess. He circled her to the left. “We need to talk,” he said.
Talk about what was happening between them. He’d waited too long to speak; he could see that now. If he’d addressed this days ago, he wouldn’t feel so torn. At the same time, he could only hope he wasn’t about to ruin the best thing he had.
The softness of her eyes, a million questions resting in them, wrapped around his heart and tugged, and his anger dulled to the barest throb, its beat soon undetectable from his pulse. He pulled her tighter, his arms around her sides, and she laid her cheek flat against his chest. They warmed together, and the conversation he’d wanted to have never happened.
Placing his chin on the top of her head, he sighed.
CHAPTER 6
She hadn’t meant to upset him and couldn’t decide now, two dances in, if he was still angry or not, and the stress of it ate at her, removing any enjoyment she should have being so close to him. Lydia pulled her head back and sought Aarin’s gaze. “Go ahead. Scold me.”
He frowned. “You’re not a child that needs scolding. It’s my mistake. I ignored everything to do with tonight … you know that already. So wherever the information was about tomorrow, I didn’t see it.”
“I only thought you should be there.”
His breath escaped in a rush. “I know that. You had good intentions, but Lydia we can’t take them up on it. We can’t possibly share a room, not to mention we don’t have a change of clothes. It isn’t that far home. I’ll just return in the morning.”
Her brows rose of their own accord. “You’ll drive two hours again tomorrow? And we’ve stayed in the same house together before.”
“In separate rooms,” he replied. “In separate …”
Beds. She heard the word in her head, but didn’t voice it. Being truthful, thought of staying overnight with him in any capacity made her spine tingle. Because it’d be different this time.
“Aarin?” She laid her palm flat on his chest, her fingertips scooping beneath the lapel of his coat. “Aarin, I …”
He hushed her with a quiet hiss. “I know,” he said, his voice low. “I know.”
She pressed her cheek against him once more, and her arms slid around his waist. “It isn’t wrong,” she said. “You know that.”
If he agreed with her, he didn’t say so, however. In fact, the conversation seemed done. The song ended, and they returned to their seats. Considerable interest rose from the others. She didn’t speak, however, allowing him the chance to deal with it. She wouldn’t stick her foot in her mouth again.
However, before the subject could return, a woman appeared at the mic. Slender, in her forties, with a short blonde hair bob. She tapped it with her fingers and leaned in. “Good evening.”
The rustle of voices gradually died, to be replaced by the scrape of chairs.
“My name is Glenda Wright. We’re here tonight to honor the recipient of the W.G. Grant Humanitarian Award.”
A spattering of applause circled the room.
“W.G. Grant was known for his generosity of spirit,” she continued. Her voice echoed from wall to wall. “This foundation’s goal is to recognize those with that same focus. I believe we have the perfect choice tonight. But first …” She waved to the right. “I need to thank our organizer tonight … Mrs. McCready, if you’d stand.”
A heavyset woman in a floral sequined dress rose halfway from a table on the right. More applause followed.
“You, sweet woman, are indispensable.” Glenda waited until Mrs. McCready had seated again, then trailed her gaze around the room. It ended on Aarin. “I’ll just get right to it. There’s nothing worse than a long boring ceremony …”
Light laughter followed her remark.
“We had several people in mind this year for the award and would like to make recognition of those as people of note in our community.” She proceeded to read off a lengthy list, people rising to acknowledge their names. At the end, she took a deep breath.
“Tonight’s winner, though, is the best of our choices. Though sidelined from a promising hockey career, Aarin Kai hasn’t let his injury stop him from helping others. He pours his energy into teaching now, training young minds for many career field … a most noble endeavor. But what makes him even more unique is, to date, he has given the sum total of his entire salary, the years he played professionally, into a scholarship for children like him … exceptionally bright minds, ahead of their peers, from underprivileged families.”
She halted and motioned to him. “Friends, I give you Aarin Kai!”
Applause filled the room, and Aarin’s hockey buddies pounded the table and whistled as he stood. He flashed her a smile, then made his way up to the podium, accepting an etched plaque from Glenda and a short bald man in a gray suit. Glenda steered him toward the mic, and he adjusted the height of it.
Pops and clicks came through the speaker, quieting as he lowered his hands. He stared outward and drew in a breath. “I had a speech prepared,” he began. “But the greater portion of it sounds like a lot of drivel now, and I find I have to tell the truth. I wasn�
��t going to come tonight.”
Whispers lifted in the room, people speaking into each other’s ears.
“Not at all,” he emphasized. “I saw the notice and completely disregarded it. Not out of any hatred for these wonderful people or all the hard efforts to make tonight a success. I appreciate that more than you can imagine. But because I can’t believe anyone would give me an award for doing what’s right.”
He grasped hold of the sides of the podium. “Also, I’ve been feeling sorry for myself. Oh, I have a good job that I enjoy, but some days, I get out of bed and all I can see is myself.” He held his crippled hand within people’s view. “Arthritis is awful. I can’t write. It hurts too much. I can’t do things as simple as tying my tie or my shoes. Dwelling on that day in and day out, I forget about those rare, special people in my life … the friends who nominated me … and I’ll get you back.” He balled up his good hand into a fist.
Laughter broke into his speech.
“They remind me that for all I’ve endured, another kid like me now has an opportunity to make something of himself. That’s why I give it all away. To see a boy or girl discover success and become exactly who they want to be. This is for all the ‘Aarin Kai’s’ in the world. Thank you.”
Several camera flashes went off, the photographer kneeling below the stage.
Aarin lifted the plaque and nodded, shaking hands with the presenters again on his way off stage. Applause followed him to his seat, and Glenda, after a short speech, dismissed.
Lydia waited until his friends had all congratulated him to catch his eye.
He slid the plaque beneath her gaze. “I owe that to you,” he said.
She didn’t have time to respond.
“You really weren’t going to come?” Henri asked.
Aarin’s gaze never left her face. “Lydia made me.”
Her cheeks heated, and she fingered the plaque. “I only suggested …”
“No, you made me,” he replied, “and I’m grateful.”
“And tomorrow? You’ll be there? You’re staying tonight, right?”
Aarin glanced at his friends.
“If you’re worried about clothes, I imagine I have something she can borrow …” said one of the wives. “And you’re about Nelson’s size.”
Nelson, her husband, nodded. “C’mon, don’t let that old hand affect your happiness. I know your legs work.”
Lydia said nothing, and he appeared to debate it, then gave a sharp nod. “Okay,” he replied. “We’ll stay.”
Cheers rounded the table, the noise almost blistering, but what Lydia heard was the tremor of her own nervous breathing.
“See you in the morning. ’Night all.”
The voice of his hockey buddy faded, and Aarin slid the key card in the lock, turned the knob, and opened the door. The air conditioning came on as they entered, sensors triggering an icy gust. He patted Lydia’s shoulder, and she shuffled forward.
Worry sat in her stance, the clench of her fingers at her sides, the stiffness of her limbs. True to her nature, she tried not to show it, continuing to the center of the room. The click of the lock made her jump, however, one hand rising to her throat. She cast him a pained glance, rushing past the single king-sized bed to perch on the rolled edge of the tiny couch.
A knock at the door, seconds later, turned Aarin back around. He reopened it to his friend’s wife, her arms full of clothing.
“Here,” she said, “and please, if you need anything else, let me know.”
He smiled and nodded, taking the stack, then with a short goodbye, spun in place. His gaze met Lydia’s, and her uncertainty struck him in the chest. He owed it to her to make this easier. He exhaled and crossed the room, lowering the items onto a small computer desk.
“I’ll call a cab and send you home,” he said. “There’s no need for you to put yourself through this.”
Her brows knit, and she bit the inside of her lip.
“What’s that look for?” he asked.
She stood again. She walked up in front of him, her head level with his chest, and took a deep breath. “You know what it’s for. How will that look tomorrow when I’m not here? I got us into this. I intend to stick it out.”
“But there’s no need,” he argued. “I can make an excuse of some sort.”
Her head tipped upward. “And have them wonder if I’m really just your student? I saw the looks. They asked you about my age, didn’t they?”
He hesitated.
“Aarin.”
His shoulders slumped some, and he wrapped one hand behind his neck. “Okay, they asked, but it’s not an issue. Not with me. And you’re not ‘just my student’ anymore.”
Her countenance changed, a certain amount of confidence rising on it. “What am I?” she asked. “You offered to send me home. Is that what you want? Because … because say the word and I’ll go, and I won’t bother you anymore.”
Her fears had returned on her face though. She worried that he’d agree, and the old argument clawed, once more, at his mind. He entertained it, staring fully at all the pros and cons, but found doing that too impersonal. What he should do, wasn’t what he wanted at all and to deny that made him the biggest fool.
“You aren’t my student anymore,” he repeated. “Right now, this is me and you doing what’s best for us.”
She didn’t reply for the longest time, then with one finger, she picked at a button on his shirt. “You know what the girls say about you?” Her chin lifted. Her voice was meek, but her gaze bright.
At first, he didn’t know how to respond. Despite his willingness to take things further, it would take time to accept the idea and relax. “Okay, I’ll bite. What do they say?”
She smiled. “You want the clean version?”
He muffled a laugh. Her own laughter broke the tension between them. Her next statement lit a spark, though her girlishness seemed to return. “I’m going to guess that they’re right.”
As quick as she made the comment, she whirled, dug through the stack of clothing, shaking out a t-shirt and shorts, and aimed for the bathroom. He stuck one arm in her path, interrupting her escape. “I can sleep on the couch,” he said. That was what her comments were about. She tested their new boundary, yet was apprehensive about it as well.
She curled the clothes she’d selected against her chest. “You cannot sleep on the couch. You’re too tall, but I appreciate the sentiment. I could offer to sleep on the couch, but I won’t. It looks uncomfortable, and I’d like to look rested tomorrow.” That sounded more like practical Lydia.
“Then I’ll sleep in the floor.”
“Ask yourself this,” she said. “Who’s going to believe we stayed in the same room for a platonic reason?” She didn’t wait for his answer, but pulled free, stepped into the bathroom, and shut the door.
His heartbeat skipped, taking his breath, and he sank onto the bed. No one. No one would believe it, which didn’t mean he should take things any further behind closed doors, but, staring at this night hard, it did mean he was willing to risk their individual reputations and possibly his job.
Was it worth it? He corrected his thought. Was she worth it? His head said no. He didn’t want to lose his tidy life again. He didn’t want to start over with only pieces to build on. But his heart … his heart said any price he paid for her was worth the cost.
What would she say though? Did she agree?
Water rushed through the pipes in the wall, and his orderly thoughts scattered.
Lydia lingered in the shower, using the time to think and calm herself. She really was in a hotel room with Aarin, and he really had referred to their relationship in serious terms. She’d even had the nerve to refuse to sleep on the couch.
What would Karen say? The question popped into her head, and she trembled. Why did she care what Karen would say? Because what Karen thought, others would think, and that could hurt Aarin. She’d never forgive herself for that.
Her fingers pruned from the continual
hot water and so, weary, Lydia exited and toweled dry. Dressed in the borrowed clothing, she wasted five more minutes staring in the mirror, but eventually, ran out of excuses for any more delay and let herself out.
She met eyes with Aarin where he sat on the bed.
He’d removed his coat, draping it over the desk chair, untucked his shirt and removed his shoes. His tie lay over his coat, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck. The lock of hair that always fell out of place hung between his eyes, rakish. Combined with the depth of his gaze, the firm line of his jaw, he was far more handsome than any boy her age.
And here with her.
She pinched the hem of her shirt and gave a play curtsey. “All better now.”
He crooked a smile. “I see that.” In his next breath, he sobered. “Come here.”
He motioned with one hand, and she obeyed, but halted, leaving space between them. He closed it. Placing her between his knees, he took her hands in his and lifted them to his lips, his head bowed.
“I’m going to say this and ‘damn the consequences’.” He raised his chin and compressed her fingers. “I didn’t ask for this to happen. I always thought I was strong.”
“You are …”
He raised one finger to her lips. “Let me finish.”
Lydia silenced, the salty flavor of his skin settling on her tongue.
“I’m stronger than I thought I was. I withstood my injury and restarted my life. But where you’re concerned, I’m not strong at all. I can’t control what’s happening to me,” he said, his voice husky, “and I don’t want to.”
He raised his hands to her face, his thumbs making circles on her cheekbones. Tilting her lips toward his, he brushed his mouth across, the moisture in his breath teasing them apart. “Lydia …” he whispered. His fingers shook, their tremor skating across her skin. “What’s happening to me?”
She laid her hand in the center of his chest and pressed him flat on the bed. Lifting his arm with one hand, she snuggled to his side and wished the moment to last forever.
Sunshine In The Morning (Spring-Summer Romance Book 1) Page 6
