Forbidden: A Student Teacher Romance

by Amanda Heartley

  I nodded, both tired and frantically energetic. “You don’t have to do all this, you know?”

  “I want to, Carla. I can’t wait to. I kind of… like it here.”

  “Yeah?” I chuckled.

  He nodded. “I’ve got an early boat load of real anglers tomorrow,” he said, “and I thought you could move into the cabana for a while until we find something more… permanent.”

  “Permanent?” I croaked, taken by surprise.

  “Not forever permanent,” he teased, squeezing my trembling hand. “But… for the next few months or so, right? Until we see how Roy’s recovery goes.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “I’d do that for us,” he insisted, tugging me off the bench and guiding me through the lobby. “I like it here, the boat suits me, the fresh air feels good, not to mention the manual labor.” He leaned in for a kiss as we stood by his car. “And the fringe benefits aren’t bad, either!”

  I chuckled and kissed him passionately. “When will you be back?” I asked, leaning in his window as he buckled himself into the driver’s seat of his sleek sedan.

  “A few hours’ drive,” he calculated as he fired up the engine, “a few hours in town tying up loose ends, an energy drink and a few hours back. I should be here by nightfall.”

  “Good,” I purred, leaning in to kiss him and give him a taste of what might be waiting for his return trip. “I have this fantasy of fucking you under the moonlight, and it won’t wait until tomorrow.”

  He blushed, gunning the engine dramatically. “Well then,” he chuckled as I slid from the window, “let’s not waste any more time talking so I can get back just after sunset!”

  I watched him peel away, shocked orderlies and nurses frowning at his abrupt departure. If only they knew the power of our love, I thought, returning to the lobby for a day by Roy’s bedside, they’d understand why Kellan drove like a bat out of hell. I knew I did.

  Chapter 32

  Kellan

  The sand felt good beneath my feet, a rare morning off after another long week of ferrying clients from the marina to the ocean and back again, happy and their coolers filled with fresh fish.

  My body felt leaner from the physical labor of prepping the boat each morning, rigging the lines and helping customers reel in giant fish from the ocean, to say nothing of hauling, prepping and slicing them at the marina after their day long cruise.

  My skin was bronzed from the sun, my hair a shade lighter as I gripped Carla’s hand and we walked, side by side, our feet in the sea foam as gentle waves crashed on the beach in front of my rented cottage.

  While I felt invigorated and renewed by my new life on the sea, such a stark contrast to my old one as a male model, Carla seemed to be suffering by degrees. Still beautiful, still caring and conscientious, but her giving nature seemed to be taking a toll on her.

  Ever since her stepfather, Roy, had been moved to a private facility for the physical rehab portion of his recovery, she’d been doing double time between visiting him and trying to get her mother’s house up to code for his inevitable return. There was a lot to do to accommodate Roy’s current, and even predicted, condition. A wheelchair ramp needed to be added to the front deck, resizing the doors inside to be handicap accessible, etc.

  Frazzled and harried, I could feel the nervous energy coming off her in waves, her hand clenched tight in my own. “How long can you keep this up, Carla?” I asked her as we paused, the mid-morning sun soft on her tired face.

  She chuckled dryly before squeezing my hand and letting it go to run her fingers through her long, red hair. “How long can you, captain?” she murmured, poking me in the belly as she turned and walked deeper into the sea.

  “As long as you need me to,” I told her, following her deeper into the ocean as the morning’s warmth caught up to us and we sought relief in the gently lapping waves.

  “You mean that?” she asked, pausing as a wave lapped at her shapely thighs. She’d worn her favorite bikini, brown bottom and blue top, for our morning walk.

  I thought for a moment, then nodded, “I love South Beach, babe, but you and me here, in Siesta Key, has never felt more like home.”

  “But your modeling career,” she murmured unconvincingly as we continued to tread gently through the rolling froth. “Your apartment.”

  “I can always get back into modeling once Roy’s back up to running the boat,” I said cautiously. “But I think you and I both know that’s a year or more out, right?”

  Our eyes met and she nodded. “I’m just worried he’ll never be able to captain a boat again.”

  “I hope he can,” I said earnestly. Even my few weeks at the helm of his 36-foot fishing boat, Roy’s Retreat, had taught me how great life could be on the open water. I couldn’t imagine a man like Roy, who’d never known anything else, not being able to have the wheel in his hand, the salt spray in his face, the engine throttling as he opened her up and raced out to sea. “But I’m prepared to help out as long as it takes, Carla. One way or the other.”

  She nodded again, the water up to our waists now, my favorite pair of orange and tan baggies damp and riding low on my waist as I enjoyed the best of both worlds—the warm sun on my back and the cool sea on my legs.

  “I was hoping you’d say that, Kellan, but… I don’t want to hold you back if you’d rather return to South Beach and your old life.”

  I held her close in the surf, the sun and salt spray mingling on our merged bodies. “My old life was incomplete without you, Carla,” I assured her, peppering her forehead gently with soft, salty kisses. “My home is wherever you are.”

  She nodded and rested her head against my chest, crying softly as warm tears drizzled down her face and onto my skin. I let her, not drawing attention to the emotional display, just one of many in the past few weeks. And who could blame her? From her sunny, vibrant life in South Beach to caring for her mother and stepfather practically overnight, Carla was overworked and under-rested, running on fumes and emotionally and physically vulnerable.

  “You need some sleep, babe,” I said, not for the first time, as we parted and she wiped her eyes with a humorless chortle.

  “I might get some,” she huffed, urging me deeper into the ocean. “If I didn’t have Miami Models hanging over my head.”

  “Get back there,” I urged her just before we sank down into the sea, dousing our bodies and heads in the gentle space between forming waves.

  “I can’t,” she sputtered, brushing her hair back away from her face. “I’ve got too much going on here.”

  I waved her concerns away. “Look, Carla, Roy is in a great facility where they care for him 24-hours a day. You’ve got your Mom in a place where her bills are current, her house is clean, her fridge is stocked—”

  “But the ramp construction,” she whined, fingers trailing lightly in the water as we bobbed in the ocean’s gentle push and pull, feet trailing in the sand. “And Roy likes when I bring him lunch from Bubba’s Burgers.”

  I smirked. “I think between Ryan and me running the charter fishing business, one or the other of us can oversee construction of a ramp on your mom’s house and bring Roy a sack lunch from Bubba’s Burgers every now and then, okay?”

  She shook her head quickly, but slowly began to reconsider. “It would put my mind at ease, Kellan,” she finally said, apologetically.

  “Of course it would,” I murmured, pulling her close. “You have to put your mind at ease or you’ll never be able to care for your mother and Roy the way I know you want to.”

  She nodded, gently, eyes moist again. “It would just be for a few days,” she promised, almost sounding relieved. “And then I’d be back, Kellan. Back for good.”

  Chapter 33

  Carla

  I could feel the energy seeping through South Beach’s pores, the weather was humid, the streets alive as I made the quick walk from my long-shuttered apartment to the office of Miami Models.

  I passed all the old landmarks
—the cafes and bistros, the bodegas and newsstands, the tobaccorias and kiosks—yet they all felt suddenly strange. Although I’d only been gone a few weeks, I felt like a tourist, my feet uncertain and my legs unsteady as I struggled against the mid-morning traffic down Ocean Beach Boulevard.

  The office was quiet and calm as I carried my coffee caddy in and set it on my desk, firing up my laptop and reaching for the phone as I tried to corral the rest of my models and see where I was at.

  “Celine!” I gushed, breathlessly, when the fourth model I called answered the phone. “Thank God you picked up.”

  “Who is this?” she asked, coolly, in a way that made it clear she knew exactly who it was.

  “Carla, honey,” I said, a bit more coolly myself this time. “Your boss, remember?”

  Celine—a world famous derriere model who’d been earning six figures a year since I’d known her—clucked a tongue. “Since when?” she huffed.

  “Okay, look, I know it’s been awhile but I’ve had family issues, and—”

  “Me too,” Celine snapped back. “Like caring for a family without any modeling gigs coming in, Carla.”

  I sagged with disappointment—this wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought. “You’re absolutely right, Celine,” I confessed, my voice raw with emotion, my eyes too cried out to leak any more than they already had. “I dropped the ball and I left you guys hanging. But I’m back now, and I’m going to figure out what to do next.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line, then a soft rush of breath. “Fine, Carla. I mean…the rest of the models and I want to stay with you, but if you’re heart’s not in it…”

  Celine’s voice trailed off, giving me the opening I needed. “I’m not sure where my heart is right now, Celine,” I said, sober and dry. “And I’m not going to apologize for that. Life happens, and people respond. I’m doing my best. What I can tell you is that I’m here through the weekend and I’d like to make it right for you and whoever else might be interested. Do you have any idea who that might be?”

  It took a while, but after less than an hour I had a much better feel for which of my models were still on board and which had already fled. The news wasn’t good, but hardly shocking: six models remained—down from a full dozen when I’d left South Beach.

  After I’d hung up the phone with Celine, I quickly called them—all of them. Those that had left, and those that remained. When I was finished with all my calls—some understanding, some irate, some in between—the lights in my office were dim.

  Most of the day had passed and my head throbbed from lack of caffeine and food. I finally reached for the coffee and scones I’d brought into the office with me that morning and downed them, quietly, while twirling around in my desk chair to face the quiet, peaceful atrium outside my floor to ceiling office window.

  In the late afternoon light, I nibbled my cranberry scone and downed cold cappuccino while considering my fate. This much was clear: Miami Models couldn’t continue with only six models—not even with 600 models if I was going to move back to Siesta Key for the immediate future.

  I didn’t want to leave my models hanging. But it was clear to me after only one day that the best thing to do for them was either let them go out into the world solo, and take their chances—or do them a solid after all they’d been through and find a way to sell Miami Models as a unit—all the models included, and find them a whom.

  But how? I wondered, standing from my desk to signal the end of a long, emotional day. And to whom?

  Chapter 34

  Kellan

  “Another round, boys?” asked Murphy, the appropriately crusty old bartender as Ryan and I sat at The Ship’s Wheel, the marina bar, after another long day out at sea.

  We were sunburned and salty but relieved to have the next day off and sharing a rare beer together with Carla out of town. “Why not?” I said, looking to Ryan for approval.

  He shrugged and pushed his empty beer glass toward Murphy. “Why not?” he sighed in agreement, watching the bartender fill it at the tap before returning it and reaching for mine. “I’ve got nothing waiting on me at home but a microwave dinner and last night’s ballgame.”

  I chuckled, echoing the statement quietly inside my own head. “No girlfriend at the moment?” I pressed, realizing that, other than fishing and figuring out which end of the boat was the bow and which was the stern—I was still working on all that—Ryan and I didn’t do much talking.

  I hoped our first foray into the Ship’s Wheel might change all that. “Not at the moment,” Ryan sighed, peering back at his amber beer in the pint glass in front of him. “Not since Shelly broke up with me over Christmas.”

  “You meant last Christmas?” I asked.

  “No, this coming Christmas,” he teased, nudging me with his elbow. “Didn’t I tell you I was a mind reader?”

  I sighed and sipped my own beer, figuring Ryan would tell me in his own sweet time. It didn’t take long. “I got her these sweet headphones,” he revealed, holding his hands up to show just how sweet they must have been. “And I invited her onto the boat to give them to her, you know?”

  I nodded. “Sounds romantic.”

  Ryan brightened. “I thought so. Anyway, Shelly made it clear she’d rather meet at Sorrento’s, this fancy restaurant downtown. I agreed, and wined and dined her all night, to the tune of three hundred bucks, only to have her tell me she was tired of smelling fish guts on my T-shirt in bed every night and that she was breaking up with me.”

  I literally winced. “That’s cold, Ryan.”

  “Tell me about it,” he huffed, reaching for his beer.

  “I hope you kept the headphones,” I said.

  He shook his head. “No,” he confessed, glumly enough to make me wish I hadn’t brought it up. “I gave them to her before we even sat down to dinner.”

  I slapped him on the shoulders, narrow and scrawny though they were. “Rookie move, my man.”

  He nodded. “I know that now, but… I thought I was in love, you know?”

  I shrugged. “It happens to the best of us, my man.”

  Ryan sighed and settled back into his barstool. “Not to a guy like you, though.”

  My eyes grew wide. “Of course it has. Trust me, I’ve had my heart broken a dozen times before I ever met Carla.”

  Ryan shrugged, looking all of seventeen in his stained “Roy’s Retreat” T-shirt. “Yeah, but now the future’s bright, right?”

  I chuckled, grinning even as I wondered—was it? Everything in my life seemed up for grabs. My job, my income, my future, even my residence. Everything but Carla, I realized. Then again, whenever things went too well for me, they usually mucked right the hell up.

  “I hope so, my man. I really do.”

  He nodded. “It must be hard, with so much family drama involved.”

  I nodded back. “You said a mouthful, Ryan. Carla’s all tied up with her folks, and I don’t blame her. But it’s not the most romantic scenario for a new relationship.”

  “New?” Ryan wrinkled his nose, turning slightly toward me in his barstool. “You guys always seem so great together, it seems like you’ve been with each other forever.”

  “Just a few months,” I said, before correcting myself. “Barely a few months, I mean. This is kind of the most vulnerable point right here.”

  Ryan snorted, looking around the deserted dive bar. It was humble, with the proverbial fish nets and plastic crabs on the walls, wherever there wasn’t a neon beer sign, that is. “Lucky you won’t find any temptation here, Kellan.”

  I frowned. “It’s not here I’m worried about, Ryan. Siesta Key might not be the sexiest town in Florida, but South Beach sure is, and every minute Carla stays there, the more prone she is to temptation.”

  He shook his head. “You must not know Carla well then,” he said, in a slightly scolding tone that made him seem wise beyond his ears. “She’d never do that to someone.”

  I nodded. “You’re probably right, Ryan,�
� I agreed. “I guess I’m just a little paranoid, that’s all.”

  “You must be a lot paranoid if you think a girl like Carla would ever cheat on you,” he harrumphed.

  I shrugged. “Yeah, well, I’m not alone. Not too long ago, just before we came down here, as a matter of fact, Carla thought I was cheating on her.”

  “Were you?”

  I widened my eyes in mock shock. “Hell no! Of course not! But I can see how it might’ve looked that way, which is my point exactly. When you care about someone so much, you’ll do almost anything not to lose them.”

  “Including losing sleep over who they might be sleeping with?” he asked, and his tone made it clear it wasn’t a rhetorical question.

  “Exactly,” I answered, if only to myself.

  Chapter 35

  Carla

  I wasn’t surprised when the outer reception door opened. After all, I’d made the call to Chow’s—my favorite takeout Chinese restaurant around the corner—half-an-hour earlier and they were usually spot-on with their delivery times. But I was surprised by the casual linen suit the delivery person was wearing—or the fact that he was a drop-dead handsome, silver fox with a wry expression on his face.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, holding the white plastic “Have a Nice Day” bag aloft in a tender, delicate hand. “But I took the liberty of buying you dinner.”

  He looked oddly familiar as I studied his handsome features. Salt and pepper hair cropped close to his head, broad shoulders and a commanding, athletic appearance despite being clearly in his early to mid-50s. He wore a soft grey V-neck under a black linen summer jacket while matching linen slacks flattered his long, tapered legs.

  “I’d thank you,” I said, demurely crossing my legs as I sat at my desk, running the numbers for my dwindling modeling company’s worth. “If I had any idea who you are.”

  While I should have been alarmed—a strange man bearing Chinese food and a wry grin in my office at sunset—this was, after all, South Beach. Stranger things had happened, and often did. “I’ll tell you my name,” he teased, approaching my desk cautiously, even gracefully. “If you’ll allow me to treat you to dinner.”