“My mother tells me not to all the time. But that’s the least of my worries right now.” Melody put her hand to her forehead, stopped short of actually touching her skin which was marred by several pimples. “I don’t want to be like my mom,” she said softly.
“Then how would you describe your mom with that idea in mind, of not being like her?” Charlotte asked with equal softness.
“She’s all about food and counting every calorie and never gaining an ounce.” She pulled her sweatshirt away from her body. “That’s why I always wear baggy stuff, or she’ll start nagging me to have liposuction. She always tries the latest fad, every new wrinkle cream or whatever. Like that stuff that grows your eyelashes. I don’t know why she needs it all. I think she looks great for her age.”
For her age. “She’s afraid of growing old, like we all are when we’re past thirty-five.”
“I wanna be old,” Melody said emphatically. “Then you don’t have to care what people think of you anymore.”
Right. When you become invisible. Charlotte didn’t say that. “That’s the thing, though. If you’re all about appearance, you’ll always care what people think of you. You’ll never be able to stand in front of the mirror and look at yourself without wanting to change it all.” She didn’t know if this was the right time to say it. Maybe it was too soon and she’d drive Melody away. But Charlotte took a chance. “You have to like yourself, flat chest, pimples, and all. Or you’ll end up like your mom.”
“But how do I like me when I’m like this?” Melody whispered, tears suddenly brimming in her eyes.
Charlotte tipped her head, considering. “Tell me something you like about yourself.”
“Nothing.”
“Well, for one thing, you’re pretty smart.”
“I guess so.”
“I saw your middle school transcripts. Almost all A’s. Especially in math and science.”
“Yeah.”
“Give me another thing that’s good.”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged.
Charlotte took another chance. “Tell me something that Eric likes about you.”
Melody’s head snapped up. “Eric? He hates me.”
“No, he doesn’t. You two used to be best friends.”
“We’re not best friends anymore.” Charlotte detected a note of sadness in the girl’s voice.
“All right. Then tell me why he used to like you.”
Melody didn’t say anything. Charlotte let the silence hang between them, waiting her out.
“He used to say I was funny. That I made him laugh.”
“Did you make other people laugh, too? They probably liked you for it.”
Melody nodded her head.
“Maybe you used to be able to laugh at yourself. Like when you did something silly. And you and Eric laughed about it.”
“Yeah. There was this time we were flying kites, and I was running and running. And I ran right into him, knocked us both down, and lost my kite. My dad was really mad because the kite cost a lot of money, but Eric and I just laughed and laughed ’cause I was so stupid.” A smile curved her lips, and Charlotte noted how it changed her face. She was pretty despite the acne.
She let Melody sit with the memory a moment, then asked, “Do you feel stupid about it now?”
Melody shook her head. “No, it was just funny.”
“I bet if we asked Eric, there’d be other things he likes about you besides being funny.”
Melody shrugged, suddenly shy.
“Our time’s almost up. But I’ve got some homework for you. I want you to think of some other things that you like about yourself. Because I know there’s more.”
“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Melody said, her tone once again sullen, as if she was suddenly aware that she’d given away too much of her inner self in the meeting and needed to hold it close again.
They had so much to work on, but Melody had opened up for a very short time. Charlotte decided to count that as progress.
* * *
LANCE HADN’T CALLED HER LAST NIGHT, NOT TO CHECK UP ON HER session with Melody, not for phone sex. Nothing. Charlotte told herself not to be disappointed.
Besides, she had clients today. Friday was usually a busy day until midafternoon, then her appointments trailed off. With the weekend coming up, people didn’t want to get into a bunch of messy emotions. She’d been told this by a couple of clients. So with some free time, she was updating file notes.
Hearing a noise out in the waiting room, she glanced up. She’d left the connecting door open since she was alone.
“Hello?” she called, pausing with her fingers on the keyboard.
“Miss Moore?” Eric Collins stopped in the office doorway.
She gaped. “Eric, what on earth are you doing here?”
“I looked you up on the Internet. It has your address and phone number and everything.” He was neat, as usual, wearing jeans and a leather bomber jacket. She hadn’t realized they’d come back in style, at least not for teenagers.
“Well, I’m glad my website comes up in the search engines,” she said noncommittally.
He took one tentative step inside, though she hadn’t invited him. “My mom and stepdad were looking at it last night.”
Her stomach sank. That couldn’t be good. “That’s interesting. Was there a specific reason they were doing that?”
“Something about wanting to know exactly what you did. They shut it down, though, as soon as they saw me.” He shifted from foot to foot.
Definitely not good. But worse was Eric showing up at her office. “You shouldn’t be here without your parents’ permission.”
“I know, but please, I need to talk to you.” He was such an earnest kid. All he wanted to do was help Melody.
Charlotte knew she was on thin ice, but she desperately wanted to help them both. Though it might prove to be the wrong decision, she relented. She had to do whatever she could for these kids. “Sit down.” She indicated a chair. “Pull it over here.”
He sat facing her. Charlotte saved her file, pushed the keyboard aside, and leaned her elbows on the desk. “Is that why you came? Because your parents looked at my website?”
“They’re both acting like total freaks. Always whispering, arguing really, then shutting up the moment one of us walks into the room.” She assumed he was including his half brother and sister.
“You realize your dad wouldn’t like you being here,” she felt obligated to say.
“He’s not my dad. He’s only my stepfather.” His voice held no inflection indicating how he felt about his stepfather. Perhaps it meant that they didn’t get along well.
“Regardless,” she said, “he’s expressly told the principal that you and I shouldn’t be talking. I’m sure he told you that, too.”
Eric tilted his chin defiantly. “I don’t see why. I’m fifteen and if I’m going to follow some prime directive from him, then I deserve to know why. Since he won’t tell me, I decided to ask you.”
A near irresistible urge to slump her shoulders threatened. It all seemed too complicated to explain. Yet she gave Eric as much of the truth as she could because he was correct, he deserved it. “Your stepfather doesn’t approve of my outside practice.”
“That’s because it’s sex therapy,” he said softly, looking at the top of her desk as if suddenly embarrassed.
She wanted to explain how what she did wasn’t about sex in the dirty way David Smith meant it, but that was entering dangerous territory. “I help couples. I help individuals. With a variety of issues. I deal in relationships. But your stepfather has a right to decide whether or not he wants me to be your guidance counselor. And he’s decided not to.”
Eric flared his nostrils mutinously. “But I’m not coming to you for guidance. I wanted to talk to you about Melody. I only want to help her. If I can’t talk to you, how am I supposed to do that?”
Her heart melted for the boy. He was sweet and caring. At his age, so many kids could
be inner-directed, making everything about themselves. Even Melody. But all he cared about was helping her. Yet Charlotte was caught between his parents and the school system of which she was a part. She couldn’t go against a parent’s wishes without a damn good reason.
“I don’t see what the big deal is anyway?” Eric went on. “Why’s he so angry? Why’s he upsetting my mom about what you do outside of school? It’s not a crime or anything.”
A thread of tension tickled her belly. Eric made it sound like David Smith was suddenly on the warpath. And Lance had told her to stay away from the boy. Could the man actually be after her job? He was chairman of the school board. He could make her life very difficult. She loved working with kids. She didn’t want to give that up.
“Here’s my suggestion,” she said calmly. “Talk to Melody on your own.”
He made a disgusted sound in his throat. “I’ve tried that.”
“I have a feeling she might be a little more conducive to listening after all that’s gone on in the last couple of weeks.” She’d sensed a softening in Melody yesterday.
“But what do I say to her?”
“Just tell her how you feel. Tell her things you like about her. That you want to be her friend again. Because that’s what you want, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “What if she rejects me?”
Nobody liked to put themselves out there only to have their heart stomped. “I can’t guarantee she won’t. But you could remind her about the good times you had, the fun things you did together. You could say nothing has changed for you.” Charlotte shrugged. “Maybe she’ll tell you why things changed for her, and that’s at least a starting point.”
He sat silent for a long moment. He was a thoughtful boy—no, not a boy, a young man—and she had high hopes for him. And for Melody. He could be good for her.
Then he brightened. “All right, Miss Moore, I’ll give it one more try.”
“Good.” She hoped Melody would listen to him. Eric would actually do more good for Melody than Charlotte herself could accomplish.
As he rose to leave, she thought about suggesting that he keep their meeting secret. But she couldn’t do that. She could not, in all good conscience, involve a student in a lie.
If he told David Smith, so be it. She’d deal with the fallout.
18
LANCE STOOD ON HER DOORSTEP, ARMS AKIMBO, HANDS ON HIS hips. “Didn’t I tell you not to talk to Eric Collins?”
That got Charlotte’s back up. “Well, hello to you, too.”
He hadn’t contacted her all day. He hadn’t even called to say he was coming over. He’d simply shown up uninvited. How did he even know Eric had been to see her this afternoon? It was eight o’clock on Friday night. What could have happened in the four hours since she’d seen Eric?
“Answer the question,” he snapped.
Okay, that was going too far. She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Eric came to my office. What did you expect me to do, throw him out?”
“Politely escorting him from the premises would have sufficed. Besides, how did he even know where your office is?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“No. I’m asking a question for which the answer confounds me. I was hoping you could clear it up.”
“If you stop yelling at me, maybe I could.”
“I’m not yelling,” he insisted.
It was dark, it was cold, and he wore a thick jacket and dark jeans. She was dressed only in an oversize sweater, black leggings, and silly fuzzy slippers, while the door was standing wide and letting out all her hard-earned heating. Yet she wasn’t sure she wanted to invite him in. “You’re being autocratic and a bit of an asshole. I’m only inviting you in because it’s cold out there and you’re wasting my heat.”
“Thank you.” Once inside, he closed the door behind him, then stood too close, towering over her.
She’d always liked his height, but now she wanted to step back. That, though, seemed like it would be giving him the advantage. “There, now, if you’ll remain calm, I’ll tell you that Eric overheard his parents talking and he saw them looking at my website. My office address is right there for all to see.”
“That’s a reasonable explanation.”
“Well, thank you very much,” she said sarcastically.
“I’m not angry with you,” he said flatly.
“Then why are you standing all tall and mighty and glowering at me?” She glowered right back, though with her height, it didn’t have the same effect.
“I’m simply pissed at Smith’s interference. This is my school, and it will be run my way. I am there every day, and I know what’s best for my students.”
That was pretty autocratic, and know-it-all, too. On the other hand, when the school board started getting into the minutiae of day-to-day procedure, it undermined a principal’s authority in the eyes of the student body and the parents.
“Look,” she said, “Eric came to me. I told him that his stepfather disapproved and that he had to leave.”
Lance raised one brow.
Good God, this was ridiculous. She sighed. “I felt compelled to explain about my practice, but we did not talk about any sexual aspect of what I do. I told him that the best he could do for Melody was to talk to her.” She tipped her head. “So what did Smith say?”
“He said you were counseling Eric in an offsite private office with no supervision whatsoever. After he’d expressly stated that you were not to talk with the boy.”
“It was five minutes,” she said, her tone edged with disgust. “It was definitely not counseling.” She hadn’t told Eric to keep it a secret. But why had he told his stepfather? He must have known it would cause trouble.
“Why can’t you just follow orders, Miss Moore? I told you not to talk to him. I’m taking care of things.”
He was tall, she was short, so she couldn’t very well get right up in his face, but she stood her ground before him, meeting him glare for glare. “Excuse me, but I’m the one coming under fire with Smith, not you. And it’s my job we’re talking about. You will not take care of things for me. I’ll do it myself.” But up to this point, everything she’d tried to do had only made the situation worse.
Lance clenched his back teeth as he spoke. “You need to be taught another lesson, Miss Moore, because you simply didn’t learn the first time.” He pointed. “Get in the bedroom. Right now.”
He was still glaring at her, yet the words completely threw her. They were the things he said to her when they assumed their roles. They were sexual. And they were hot.
“Now,” he whispered, catching her with the gleaming light of his gaze as he reached into his coat pocket for something.
Then she saw what he held: the silk handcuffs. And a coil of rope.
She was suddenly and inexplicably wet.
* * *
CHRIST, SHE MADE HIM HARD WHEN SHE GOT ALL FEISTY.
“Don’t test my patience, Miss Moore,” he said with a hard edge that promised retribution if she didn’t obey.
Her features softened, her eyes going wide, and a little pucker of a frown creased her forehead. “But we were talking about Eric.” Her tone hinted at bewilderment.
“We’re done talking about Eric. Move. Now.” His voice was dangerous enough to make her back up.
“But—”
“Your punishment will be worse with every second you delay.”
Finally realizing there was no alternative, she turned her back on him and flounced down the hall. He enjoyed the incongruous effect of the sexy, skin-tight leggings outlining her thighs versus the fuzzy blue slippers. What were they? The Cookie Monster? Or was it Barney? No, Barney was purple, the Cookie Monster was blue.
Removing his jacket, he tossed it over the back of a chair. Smith had called him over an hour ago. Eric had arrived home extremely late from school, late even for dinner, and when questioned—Lance imagined Smith strong-arming him with gestapo tactics—he’d admi
tted that he’d been to see Charlotte. Smith had been damn near frothing over the phone.
“I won’t have that woman corrupting my son, Hutton.” He’d gone on to say he’d even bring in the Wrights to help “shut that woman down.”
The man had stopped short of demanding Lance fire Charlotte. Which Lance had no intention of doing. She’d done nothing wrong, and he wouldn’t be bullied by Smith. He would stand by her, protect her. She was his. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t use the incident as an excuse for a little punishment session. Damn, he was really getting into the role of master. He followed her into the bedroom.
She stood at the end of the bed, which was covered in a thick flowered comforter. Brass rails stood at the head and the foot. Good thing because he had plans for those rails. The room was done in shades of lavender, with white furniture, the drawers painted a contrasting pale lavender. The lampshade matched. The room was small, as they usually were in these old houses. The closet had only one door with a full-length mirror secured to it.
Her mouth was set in a mutinous line now. She’d obviously gotten over her shock at his abrupt switch from work to sex.
“Pull back the covers and get on the bed,” he directed.
“Make me.” She scowled. His jeans got tighter over the growing bulge of his cock.
Marching to the head of the bed, he laid the rope and silk cuffs on the side table. Then he grabbed the edge of the comforter, making sure to take the top sheet and blanket with it, and pulled the whole assembly down, bunching it at the bottom of the bed. Stomping back to her, he hauled her up and around, then tossed her into the center of the mattress. Landing on her back, she squealed. Before she could scurry away, Lance secured her wrist in his hand and dragged her to the edge of the bed closest to the side table.
Teach Me a Lesson Page 17
