by Renee Roszel
Lyon’s rich laughter rang out over the feminine giggles, and without realizing it, she shifted to stare in his direction. His glance caught hers and cruelly held it, his grin fading only slightly. The captivity lasted two or three seconds before one of the models slipped her arm through his, drawing his glance and releasing Emily once again to breathe, to move, to get on with her life.
She jerked back, numbly accepting a hug from Ivy and trying valiantly to listen to Meg’s chatter. Inside the helicopter, she leaned against the plush leather seat and clutched at her throat, feeling sick. All she could see in her mind’s eye was a dark, hypnotic gaze—a gaze that seemed to hold both fury and tenderness in the same unfathomable glance. How could that be? It suddenly came to her that Lyon Gallant had come to care for her—at least a little—and hated her for it.
As they lifted away from the earth, she closed her eyes, pondering how she would ever manage to erase that painful discovery from her heart.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EMILY tried to be excited about the first day of school. She always had been before. But after leaving Sin Island seven weeks ago, a pall had settled over her heart, letting very little contentment in. She’d compelled herself to think positively, and she’d actually made changes in her life. Both little and big. But nothing she tried could dim her foolish longing for Lyon Gallant.
As she rushed along the high school campus sidewalk toward the 1930s era brick building, she could feel the eyes of her students on her and had to smile inwardly. She supposed she did look different in her trim, tailored suit with the nipped-in waist and short skirt. She had a feeling the senior boys nudging each other nearby hadn’t been aware she even owned a pair of knees before today.
Turning toward the main entrance, she had a misstep when she realized Harry was standing at the bottom of the wide fan of stairs. She inhaled for strength. The man was a glutton for punishment. Clamping her jaws together, she marched toward him. He was beaming at her, but she could see the nervous twitch he always had in his left eye when he was anxious.
He waved a bouquet of yellow roses. “Hi, Em.”
She came up before him and smiled tiredly. “Hello, Harry. Isn’t this out of your way?”
His pale features colored, but gamely he held the roses in her direction. “I wanted to give you these.”
She didn’t shift her briefcase or her purse, but held onto both, making it clear that she didn’t intend to accept the flowers. “Harry, we’ve been through this.”
His rusty eyebrows dipped with apprehension. Taking her elbow, he prodded her off the sidewalk to a more private area among half a dozen dogwood trees. “Em, you can’t be this unfeeling,” he insisted anxiously. “Haven’t I said I’m sorry? Can’t you forgive me for one little mistake?”
One little mistake? She pulled from his hold, trying to keep her expression bland. After all, her students were milling around, waiting until the very last second before they had to enter their classrooms. She didn’t want to make a scene. “Harry, I’ve already told you I forgive you. I’m even sorry this thing between you and Elsa didn’t work out. But I’m not taking you back.”
He sucked in a breath, looking like a scolded puppy. She’d never noticed how really ordinary Harry was. She’d always thought him rather attractive, but for some reason his tall, slender frame seemed frail and drab now. And his russet hair appeared thin and lifeless—rather like a plate of overripe grated carrots. Not even a vegetable she liked. She swallowed hard, hoping every man she met didn’t have the same dreadful fate—being compared to one particular self-centered playboy.
“Em,” Harry interrupted her dour train of thought. “I know I’ve told you this before, but it’s just that you’re so—so different from last May. You’re more independent, you have such strength, and—oh, I don’t know. You’re so arousing, I guess is the word.”
A blush of embarrassment crept up her face. “Harry, a smart woman doesn’t get left at the church without learning a few things that will keep it from happening again.”
“It won’t happen again, honey,” he said, his tone pleading.
She chuckled, but the sound was more tart than agreeable. “At least you’re right about that.” She eyed him levelly, deciding he needed to hear something straight out. “Look, Harry. I’m not the obliging, naive woman you ran out on. I was humiliated by what happened. I hated myself for being such a failure, and I wanted to change. So I went away and I met—I learned things about myself. And the first thing I learned was, though you weren’t to blame for your feelings, you’re a shallow jerk.” His flinch didn’t even faze her. “The second thing I learned was that, though I tried to shift the blame to you and my father for my failures, I realized I couldn’t. I’m responsible for myself. Maybe Dad’s overbearing personality was partly to blame, but Elsa had the same father, and she left.” Shrugging, she turned away. “I stayed, trying to please. I just didn’t have the same wanderlust in my soul. So my staying really had little to do with Daddy browbeating me into submission. I liked being a teacher. The only thing I’d like more is to raise my own children.” When he started to speak, she frowned him down. “Don’t even say it, Harry. They won’t be your children.”
His face fell, and he looked so tragic Emily had to clear her throat to keep her voice even. “I know now I’m a good teacher. And, thanks to your desertion, I’ve found out what’s worthy and right about who I am, and I discovered I’m proud of that.”
“But, Em-”
“So, Harry,” she interrupted. “What you see now is the same Emily I’ve always been. I’ve just been made aware of my self-worth.” It was ironic that a shallow, cold-blooded playboy had taught her the most significant lesson in her life, but it was true. With a huge exhale, she finished, “I’m happy with me, Harry.”
“You should be. It shines out of you like a candle,” he mumbled plaintively.
She smiled at him, feeling pity. He was suffering so, poor man. But she couldn’t help him. She had troubles in that area of her own. “Thank you, Harry. I hope we can be friends.”
She watched his Adam’s apple bob with dismay. “Is that all we can be, Em? Are you sure?”
She nodded. “That’s all. Please accept this as my final word.” Glancing at her wristwatch, she murmured, “I have to go.” Without the heart to look into his sad brown eyes, she dashed up the steps into the building. No one knew better than she how hard it was to get on with your life after your heart had been broken. But she had a feeling Harry finally understood it was time for him to move on. She wished him luck.
She’d lied to him, of course—at least about one thing. She was far from happy. She knew she was a stronger person for meeting Lyon, but she wasn’t really living. She was surviving, existing, trying to cope with an impossible love. But she was far from happy. Now that Meg was pregnant and bubbling over with impending motherhood, Emily hoped she could take on the cheerful mantle of doting godmother and force Lyon Gallant to the back of her heart and soul.
Noise abounded in the hallway as students gathered in clusters, looking at schedules and squealing excitedly when they discovered they had classes together or groaning and grousing when they didn’t.
She was running late and picked up her pace. She’d wanted to have several instructions copied on the blackboard before the first bell. Swinging around the corner into her room, she stopped dead, her briefcase thudding to the scarred wood. A man, so tall, broad-shouldered and gorgeous that he couldn’t be mistaken for a student, lounged against her desk. His profile was contemplative.
At the crash of her briefcase, he turned toward her. Then he grinned. At the stunning show of teeth, her purse followed her briefcase to the floor, scattering compact, lipstick and other clattery things about her feet.
Dark eyes glittered with soft amusement. “Is this dropping of accessories a traditional Iowa ceremony for the first day of school?”
She swallowed, not believing her eyes and ears. He pushed away from the desk and came toward
her, his gait as graceful and seductive as she remembered. When he reached her, she timidly leaned against the doorjamb with no idea how to react.
He didn’t touch her, but hunkered down, replacing her things in her purse. He stood and tucked her bag under one arm and carried it along with her briefcase to the desk. She didn’t move.
When he turned back, the amusement in his gaze was gone. “Emily? What does that look mean?”
She shook her head, unable to find her voice, still trying to comprehend what was happening.
He strode to her, taking her limp hands in his big, warm ones. When his fingers touched hers, desire rushed at her like a great wave, but she fought the feeling.
“Let me try this again.” He tugged her into the room, his expression gentle. “I’m new here. Is this Psychology 101?”
“Lyon?” she managed in a squeak. “What—what...” She didn’t dare ask, didn’t dare hope.
He lifted her fingers to his lips, kissing them, sending ripples of pleasure through her. She went weak, and her breathing grew labored. She couldn’t draw away from the caress of his lips, though she knew it would be the wise move.
“Emily, you were right about your analysis the last night on the island.” Lowering her hand but continuing to hold it, he smiled at her with his lips and his eyes. “I did feel hollow, empty, but I never knew why, until a lovely, shy woman tripped over me one morning, asking for something she never lacked.”
She heard a giggle, and her gaze flitted around. Students were arriving, taking seats, gawking, but she couldn’t react. Her glance lifted on its own to Lyon’s face again. Oh, those eyes. They held a startling sweetness, and glimmered, almost as though they were damp with tears.
He took her face between strong, gentle hands. “I never analyzed it, but building that cabin made me feel at peace—somehow more whole. With everything I had, I didn’t need that cabin, yet somewhere deep inside, I did. I needed what building it gave me.” His gaze moved over her face, and she could tell he was trying to decipher her expression. She felt for him, for she had no idea what she was feeling herself. She was so numb and confused.
Bending toward her, he kissed the corners of her mouth. “With you in my arms that day on the beach, I got a glimpse of that same peace and wholeness. But I fought what I felt for you. I didn’t need some quaintly conservative woman in my life. I had any beautiful toy I wanted, any time I wanted. My feelings for you made no sense, the way building that cabin made no sense.”
She heard a sigh and wasn’t sure if it had issued from her own throat or from some female student. But she didn’t care. She was staring into the eyes of a man who was telling her something extraordinary. Unbelievable. Right out of her fondest dreams. Meaning it.
She opened her lips to speak, but no sound came.
At her continued silence, he shook his head, looking uncertain and aggravated with himself. “Dammit, I’ve been rambling on and left off the most important part.” His scent, his essence tantalized her nostrils as he smiled at her. “I love you, Emily,” he whispered, and suddenly it was all there in his eyes, so profound, so real. “Will you marry me?”
There were squeals, whoops and guttural laughter. Her face went crimson. They had quite an enthralled audience, it seemed. Lyon spared the youngsters a rankled glance, then returned his gaze to her. “Please, say something.”
The hint of anguish in his voice shook her out of her stupor. “You—you love me?” she asked so quietly she hardly heard the query herself.
He chuckled wryly. “I’ve taken up solitary jogging since you left. Do you need any more proof than that?”
Emily felt a new fullness in her heart with his gentle teasing, and an incomparable gladness engulfed her. “Oh, Lyon,” she breathed. “I’ve loved you for so long...”
His expression eased, growing so utterly loving it brought tears of joy to her eyes. “That’s what I needed to hear, sweetheart,” he murmured, lifting her into his arms.
Delirious, she hugged his neck. Taking that as an invitation to kiss her, he repeated his eternal vow against her lips, amid giggles and applause.
His kiss was hot and restless for deeper fulfillment, and she reveled in the depth of his desire. A piercing sweetness overpowered her. Oh, how she loved this man, with a love as strong as—no, stronger than—her need to breathe.
Once she realized he’d taken her out of her classroom and was leaving the school with her, she protested weakly, “My class!”
“I’ve arranged for a substitute.” His eyes shone with devotion and promise. “For the next few years, sweetheart, you’ll be too busy having our babies to worry about teaching.”
Unable to believe her good fortune, she snuggled in his arms, so full of contentment she was afraid she would burst. “You think of everything, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.” His tone was deep and erotic. She had a feeling his thoughts were very definitely on teaching her lesson number four.
Lesson four!
As she kissed him, the staggering truth finally began to sink in. She was the woman who had won the unattainable Lyon Gallant. And no one in his right mind could call her an expert in the field of seduction! With this man loving her, she would never feel like a failure again. Lyon, darling, she pledged silently, just wait until I’ve had a little practice! You’ll be a very happy husband!
Her giggle drew his puzzled gaze, but she only kissed him warmly, sighing. “I hope the cabin is finished. I’d like to spend our honeymoon there.”
“It is.” He nibbled at her earlobe. “When I wasn’t jogging, I did a hell of a lot of hammering.”
Their laughter mingled as they began their lives together. At last, the shy teacher found her true love, and the worldly millionaire discovered what all his wealth and power could never give him.
Real happiness.
ISBN : 978-1-4592-6970-5
GETTING OVER HARRY
First North American Publication 1997.
Copyright © 1996 by Renee Roszel Wilson.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road. Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
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