Sunshine In The Morning (Spring-Summer Romance Book 1)

by Alex Greenville

  She had the perfect round bottom, curved upward to the perfect swell of hip, and legs sensual and delicately formed. He even admired her feet, and he’d never thought a woman’s feet anything of note. But it was the purse of her lips while she slept, the length of her lashes lying over her cheeks that entranced him the most. Perfect lips like everything else about her, lips that’d tasted like peace and hope. He couldn’t explain that.

  She represented his freedom. Freedom from the status quo, from being Professor Aarin Kai, former hockey great turned literature guru. She was his youth repackaged and presented to him, proof that he wasn’t so old or out of touch, that his heart still worked, one beat at a time.

  She was anti the establishment, his chance to buck the rules and grab happiness for himself. But she required a decision, a big one that over the next few days would only grow in size. He couldn’t continue on like he was. They couldn’t continue on like they were. If he wanted this, his hand cupped over her waist, his mouth pressed to her neck, the fragrance that was Lydia all around him, then he had to let go of the things that kept him from it.

  She squirmed, wriggling tighter against him, and he couldn’t stop his body from reacting, his need for her preventing sleep. She sighed, a warm breath fleeing those perfect lips, and he shut his eyes content to feel her there.

  Give in, said the voice in his head. Give in to what? Love?

  He startled, thinking it, his eyes reopening. Was it love? He couldn’t quite go there in his head. Instead, he felt like students on the first day, their eyes wide with expectancy. Like Lydia had been, sitting there gazing back at him, and him thinking his pulse raced faster.

  Give in because there was only one direction to fall and each minute of it with her, euphoria.

  “Aarin?” She rolled flat, her eyes blinking, drowsy.

  He silenced her, sampling her perfect lips, and she drifted off again, tucked to his side, her fingers curved over his heart.

  CHAPTER 7

  Sunshine filled the room, lighting textured wallpaper and a lithograph print some ten years old. The TV was on, the news flickering on the screen, the volume muted. But her attention was captured by the rolling food tray at the end of the bed and Aarin’s absorbed expression. Her eyes trailed down his neck and over his shoulders to where the edges of his shirt gapped open, exposing a thin line of his abdomen.

  Exhaling, she raised her gaze. “Good morning.”

  His lips curved. “You hungry?” he asked.

  Pushing to a sitting position, Lydia tucked her knees to her chest. “I could eat.”

  He leaned over her, hooking the fingers of his good hand beneath a plate. Lifting it, he settled it at her side and raised the lid.

  Her eyes spread. “Goodness, there’s only one of me.”

  He made no response to that, but spun the handle of a fork within her grasp. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want.”

  Blueberry pancakes dusted with powdered sugar nestled with scrambled eggs slathered in cheese, two sausage links, two strips of bacon, and a bowl of grits, a puddle of butter swimming in the center. Poking the fork tines into the sausage, she took a bite, chewing slowly.

  She swallowed. “You going to eat or watch?”

  The teasing smile he wore fought against the darkness of his pupils, and her food stuck in her throat. “Aarin, what are we …?” Going to do when they returned. Because their relationship had consequences.

  He shook his head, his voice low. “No, we’re not talking about that right now.”

  She lowered her fork to the plate. “We have to talk about it.”

  His rapt expression faltered, and he blew out a breath. Shifting the plate to a level place out of her reach, he slid up beside her and, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, curled her to his chest. “I want you to trust me to deal with it.” He sounded perturbed though.

  She tilted her gaze to see his. “Don’t do that,” she said. “I trust you, but don’t get depressed.”

  He smiled, once more, though it looked strained. “I’m not depressed, but you have to know, something big has to change in order for us to exist.”

  The lump in her throat seemed to enlarge. He was right. By surrendering to their hearts, they risked everything they’d worked for … his job, her scholarship, the college’s respect. Something as simple as her grade in his class would be called into question if anyone found out.

  But to deny themselves happiness was way worse. They couldn’t stop the road they traveled, anyhow, and go back to not knowing what being together was like. There wasn’t any way to be who they were weeks ago.

  “Hey …”

  Her gaze having drifted, he tipped it back upward with his forefinger.

  “This is the best I’ve felt in a very long time … and right now, I really don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let’s talk about skating instead.”

  She worked up a smile. “I don’t skate and am afraid I’ll break a limb.”

  He shifted his hand to her cheek. “Not with me around. I’m a pro, remember? You can trust me with that, too.”

  But trusting Aarin to hold her up at the hockey rink didn’t quite extend to trusting his friends. They were nice, as they’d been at the ceremony, but she caught their looks in her direction more than once. She avoided them, for a while, sticking close to his side. A half hour working to keep her feet under her wore her out, however, and she begged off the ice to rest.

  He deposited her on a bench, then shot back out after his friends. Let loose, he was another person entirely, not the professor students loved, nor the hesitant man who’d spent too much time alone. He was confident, bold almost. His hand kept him from properly holding the stick, but he definitely wasn’t falling behind in the pace. Rapt, she admired the strength of his form, the intensity on his face, and hearing his playful banter, shouts of frustration mixing with laughter, was glad they’d decided to stay.

  “Lydia, isn’t it?”

  Stiffening, Lydia glanced at the woman seated at her side. Nelson’s wife, whose name escaped her, right then. “I want to thank you for lending the clothes,” Lydia said. “Aarin says he’ll mail them back.”

  The woman smiled and nodded. “Not a problem. We were happy to do it.” Her gaze strayed onto the ice. “Last time I saw him, he was still struggling with his injury.”

  “He’s told me about it, but … to be honest, not the details. I think he wants to put it behind him.”

  The woman held silent for a minute or so. “He’s a good man. He’ll always do the right thing no matter how much it costs. I’d hate to see him feel obligated to act otherwise.”

  Lydia started. Was that a warning? They had no way of knowing she was his student. But the fact she hadn’t openly admitted it didn’t mean they hadn’t figured it out. It also didn’t give them the right to get involved. Yes, they’d gone through a lot of trouble for him, but they didn’t know what’d been said when they were alone.

  “He makes his own decisions,” she replied. “I only want him to be happy.”

  Nelson’s wife didn’t speak after that, and for the rest of their time at the rink, the subject didn’t come back up. Eventually, everyone said their goodbyes, and Aarin thanked his friends again, promising to keep more in touch.

  They got back in his car and headed home. He’d opted to drive this time, and lulled by the hum of the tires, she nodded off. She awakened at the edge of town and blinked sleepily, clearing her muddled mind. Pulling into his driveway, minutes later, the world seemed surreal, the light bright, sounds louder than usual, and little details pin-sharp.

  “You want to come in?” he asked.

  A simple question that rushed reality back in.

  Lydia dipped her chin in acceptance and followed Aarin up the walk, onto the stoop, and through the doorway. Standing in his foyer, she met his gaze. “I can fix dinner. We can read or just talk after.” Like they always did. That was what had brought them together.

  He reached for her, curving his hand around
her side. “That sounds nice.”

  His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her borrowed blouse, their upward path leaving a tingling trail. Not like they had at all.

  Pushing back from his seat at the table, Aarin motioned for Lydia to follow him into the living room. He took a spot at the end of the couch, tugging her down at his side, and she folded there, her cheek against his shoulder, as if it were the most normal reaction and they did so every day. Though, to his thinking, nothing was normal about this.

  “So … to finish my story,” he continued, shaking his thoughts free, “the valedictorian makes this incomprehensible speech tying education and the economy to Beowolf …”

  Lydia angled her gaze upward to his. “Beowolf?”

  He paused, for a moment, taken by the golden cast of the living room lamp on her cheeks.

  They’d crossed a line this weekend, and he’d worried when they came home that who they’d been would change. In his head, he’d known it should change; they should go back to a more professional relationship. But in his heart, he’d feared it. Only, his fears were unfounded because what’d drawn them together from the start, the attraction that’d brought them to the place where they’d admitted their feelings, couldn’t be reversed. If anything, it now stretched the boundaries of their intimacy.

  He snapped himself awake. “Beowolf. And even Professor Kirk, avid historian and Renaissance reenactor, says he has no idea what the boy was talking about. That’s quite a statement considering, half the time, Professor Kirk throws me under the bus in our conversations.”

  “He does seem deep, but very enthusiastic.”

  “Just don’t get him going about the upcoming Medieval Fair. He tried to drag me to last year’s, wanted me to dress up in costume, but I don’t think the world is ready for Aarin Kai in tights.”

  Lydia giggled, but seemed to muffle it, falling further against him, and he inhaled, the scent of her skin, intoxicating.

  “You’d look good in just about anything,” she mumbled. She held there, tight, then twisted around to face him, impulsive almost, her feet tucked beneath her bottom. “You were … hot … on the ice.” Her bold statement colored her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. “Bet you had the girls lining up to be with the handsome hockey star.”

  He chuckled. “There were groupies, yeah, but being honest, I didn’t have time, or willingness, to chase after them. They wouldn’t have hung around after I damaged my hand anyhow.” Not that he was totally innocent, but why rehash the past with her?

  “Did the others?”

  His friends, she meant. Something in the way she asked the question worried him though. He decided, staring at her, he was making too much of it. They hadn’t really ever talked about what’d happened.

  “Sure. They came around, offered their … condolences, for lack of a better word, but I was too caught up in the destruction of my ‘career’ to take much of it in. And to answer your next question … yes, they’ve called from time to time, but that isn’t the same as having someone here. They have their lives, and I understand that.” He took hold of one of her curls and tugged. “Now, see … I have to ask how many boys lined up for you.”

  “There weren’t any. I was always studying too much … or working, after high school.”

  Hesitation flickered on her face, some decision raging within, then she curled one hand around a fold of his shirt. Her voice softened. “I don’t want this to end. I don’t know how I’m going to sleep tonight or pay attention in class on Monday.”

  His throat constricting, he shifted his hand to the base of her neck, and she slid to the right, climbing into his lap. Taking hold of his shirt again, this time, she pulled it over his head. She stared at him, unblinking, her fingers roaming, then dropped her mouth to his breast bone. Her lips palpating his skin, he shut his eyes and the warmth of her breath, the tickle of her hair, the caress of her fingers removed the gap between them. Overcome, he allowed her to have her way, until a groan slipped from his lips and she stopped.

  He opened his eyes and found her staring back at him once more.

  “Ask me to stay,” she said. “I don’t have an early morning Monday class. I’ll be out of here before you need to go.”

  When he didn’t reply, she wiggled closer, and it was all he could do to restrain himself.

  “I’ll behave,” she continued, “or maybe only misbehave a little bit.” She held her thumb and forefinger up, an inch apart.

  He smiled. “Only that much?”

  She nodded, her face brightening.

  The boundary slipped further, the edges blurring in his head. Why did he hesitate? They’d already confessed their interest. He’d kissed her twice, though neither one with any thought past actually doing so. They’d slept in each other’s arms, and he’d lain there, entertaining the longings of a man, not a teacher.

  What was one more night in light of that? Powerful. It could lead places they shouldn’t go. But the pulse in his heart that was Lydia begged to be appeased. He settled his hands on her hips, unable to stop his mind from wandering. She was exquisite and he was drunk on her.

  “Stay with me,” he said, his voice low. “And misbehave a little bit.”

  Aarin’s words rang in her ears, a tantalizing lure, and Lydia’s thoughts split in two. On one side sat disbelief that the good girl, the high school English star, would dare to be here acting this way. It was as if, in some sense, she observed herself from a view overhead. On the other side was a twenty-two-year old woman, tipsy from his attention. He was such a gentle, considerate person, and when you took him out of the classroom, surprisingly low key.

  He was also incredibly restrained, where he and she were concerned. He’d never pushed himself on her nor tried to foster what they’d both known was happening between them. It’d been more that, stuck in the hotel room together, the pressure building had finally forced it out. He’d acted reluctant afterward, too, yet she’d seen in his eyes and noticed in his hands, the slight brush of his fingers in places he wouldn’t go before, how much he wanted things to proceed.

  Admittedly, she’d pushed him, at the same time, pushing herself, and ignored the little voice in her head that said she should stop. Now, he’d openly asked her to stay.

  She listened, once more, as her moral side told her to back down, then shut it off in favor of the other side screaming in her head. “As my first act of ‘misbehaving’,” she began, “I’m going to take a shower and wash my hair. I feel like I’m wearing the skating rink.” She bounced out of his lap to her feet. “You have something I can wear?”

  He was hard to read right then, his jaw tight, gaze deep, but he pushed upright and waved her down the hall. He entered his bedroom, disappearing inside, and she halted, her qualms resurfacing. The thump of a dresser drawer finally pulled her in.

  There wasn’t anything remarkable about the space, queen-sized bed, low dresser with a matching mirror, and in the corner, a door that must go to the closet. It all matched, including the bed cover and the curtains, looking to have been purchased in one of those buy-by-the-room stores.

  Aarin tossed her a t-shirt with the college logo and a pair of boxer shorts. She had a brief lightheaded moment holding the shorts, but whisked it away, not wanting to look too young and inexperienced when, in fact, she was exactly that. She had no way of knowing what kind of relationships he’d had, but he was older than her and had been more places in his life. Times like this, she felt their age difference the most.

  “Which bathroom …?” she began.

  He stared at her, unspeaking, then nodded toward the master. “It doesn’t matter, but that one has soap and shampoo.”

  Tilting her chin up, she gave him a teasing smile, spun on her heel and headed through the doorway. Pushing it to, she undressed, making a mound of her things at the base of the sink, then laid the clean clothes on the toilet lid and spun the shower knob to hot.

  Steam filled the space, and stepping in, she released her tension. It’d been a
long twenty-four hours, and she could stand to relax.

  But in reaching for the soap, the thought this was his space intruded. Soap he used. Shampoo he’d purchased. And that made her shower as personal as his words had been. Goosepimples rose, despite the temperature of the room, and she breathed in the scent of the combined cleansers smelling distinctly like Aarin.

  The slightest flutter of the shower curtain further halted her in place.

  “I forgot …” Aarin said, “… thought I should leave you fresh towels.”

  In the next second, the curtain pulled outward, and he was gone. Her heart fluttering, she leaned her head beneath the spray and rinsed the soap off.

  He was right yesterday; something would have to change. His job, her classes, something. The questions were what and when because the innocence she’d had with him had dissolved like so many suds.

  Shutting the shower off, she peered around the curtain and reached for the bath towel he’d left. She took her time dressing and drying her hair, hanging the towel over the curtain rod afterward. Rolling the clothing into a ball, she realized her bra had been lying on the top, and a thousand needles prickled her spine.

  It took her considerable time to exit, what with figuring out what to say. Stepping out into the bedroom, however, she found it empty. “Aarin?” Worried, she called his name and trailed down the hall, finding him at the living room window. “Aarin? Are you all right?”

  He glanced over his shoulder then revolved. She walked up to him, and his brow wrinkled, neither one speaking. Then taking her hand, he tugged her after him back down the hall. He released her long enough to pull the bed covers back, then lay down and patted his side. She climbed across his legs, to his left, and pillowed her cheek on his shoulder, one finger dancing down his abdomen to encircle his naval.

  He cleared his throat. “You are the finest temptation.”

  She heated at his tone, yet tried to keep the mood light. “I did say ‘misbehave’ just ‘a little’.”