by Donna Fasano
But he wasn't harmless. Her reaction to him wasn't harmless. She instinctively knew that if she wanted to stay safe, she needed to steer clear of any personal involvement with Ian.
"I've never been to one of these meetings," Ian admitted. "What's going to be discussed?"
"Next year's budget, mostly," she said.
When Andrea saw Mr. Scott approach the microphone, she leaned toward Ian and whispered, "I'm hoping to get more—" Just then, the school's principal tapped on the mike and started his opening address.
"Good evening," he said. "I want to welcome you to Highland and thank you for coming tonight. I want to get right down to business and talk about the main reason that all of you are here—money." He gave a little chuckle. "I'm sure all of you are wondering how the school board has decided to spend your hard-earned dollars. I'd like for everyone to look at this handout." He stepped from behind the lectern and passed a stack of papers to the people in the front row. "So, if you'll please take one and pass the rest toward the back, we can get started."
Mr. Scott shuffled his notes on the lectern and cleared his throat. "As you can see, there have been a few changes in the proposed budget, the biggest of which is the monies that had been allocated to the physical education department will now be spent on computer software and re-landscaping of the school grounds."
Andrea couldn't hold in her astonished gasp.
"Miss O'Connor, would you please stand," Mr. Scott requested.
Heads turned in her direction, and Andrea slowly rose to her feet, forcing a plastic smile on her lips.
"I'd like to thank Miss O'Connor," Mr. Scott said, more to the crowd than to her, "and let all of you know how she's undertaken the task of volunteering her time in exchange for a donation that will enable the physical education department to purchase equipment that had previously been among our projected expenditures."
Andrea quickly sat down after enduring a sparse applause. Cold fury directed at Mr. Scott froze in the pit of her stomach as the same questions reverberated in her brain over and over. How could he take her money away? How? For bushes and flowers?
She was absolutely livid. She stared unseeingly at the paper that had been thrust at her by the man sitting in front of her. Not only was she angry, she felt betrayed.
Mr. Scott and the rest of the school board members knew that Ian's donation wasn't going to be enough to cover the cost of all the equipment that was needed. Her anger slowly evolved into a dark disappointment that clouded her mind.
But when she focused on the numbers that were printed on the report in her hand, her anger burned anew. She had to get out of that room before she did something rash, something that might get her into a lot of trouble.
Crumpling the paper in her fist, she snatched up her purse and sweater and left the auditorium.
She marched down the empty corridor, shoved open the heavy doors and went out into the night.
The chilly May air filled her lungs, and she walked out onto the side yard of the school, then farther onto the track. Tossing her soft angora sweater across her shoulders, she stared out at the track and wished she'd had appropriate running clothes and shoes so she could work off her frustration.
"Andrea!"
Startled, she turned to see Ian coming down the mound of grass toward her.
"You looked upset," he said, reaching out for her. "Like you might need someone to talk to."
The warmth of his hands on her shoulders penetrated the softness of her sweater and the silky material of her blouse, and she was instantly consumed by a sea of calm. She closed her eyes and let the feeling of solid security his presence generated wash over her.
When she raised her eyelids, she was astonished to see that his image was blurred by her tears and she quickly turned away, embarrassed. But he didn't relinquish his hold.
"Hey," he said softly, pressing against her shoulders, "talk to me."
"It's stupid," she said, dashing away the tears.
He pulled out his handkerchief and offered it to her. She took it and twisted it in her fingers.
"It's the money," she admitted. "Mr. Scott knew that what you planned to give the school was only a portion of what I needed."
"I see." He took the, linen hanky from her and gently swiped it across her damp eyelashes.
"I feel like such a baby." Andrea sniffed and tried to smile. "But you can't imagine how important this was to me."
"I think I can," he said. "You're coaching me, and I know it's the last thing you wanted to do."
"That was before I knew you could do it."
He raised an eyebrow. "You think I can do it now?"
She nodded. "I know you can. You've worked hard. I don't mind helping someone who wants to be helped."
He took her hand, and they walked to the center of the football field.
"About the money," he said. "Maybe you can talk to the board again."
"I'll try—" she shook her head "—but the chances are slim to none. I'll just have to make do with your donation."
"Who knows," he said. "Maybe something will come up."
His supportive words lightened her heart. It didn't matter that he said them only because he was trying to cheer her up. In fact, that made them mean even more.
She looked up at the clear night sky; the stars glittered like diamonds against black velvet. Holding Ian's hand gave her comfort; it felt natural. She knew she should let go, but all she wanted at this moment was the solace his touch provided.
She sighed. "Thanks, Ian."
"I didn't do anything," he said, his voice caressing her ears.
"You did a lot." She turned to face him. "How have you put up with me all these weeks?"
"I'll admit, it's been tough." The grin on his face told her he was teasing.
They came upon a soccer ball in the middle of the field, and Ian let go of her hand and dribbled the ball several feet.
"Think you can take it away from me?" he called over his shoulder.
She laughed at his antics.
"I mean it," he said. "Think you can?"
Her eyebrows rose at the challenge. "I know I can." She kicked off her heels and trotted after him.
He maneuvered the ball around her and deftly kept it just out of her reach.
"Very impressive moves, Mr. Powers!"
He stopped and grinned at her. "I know."
She took advantage of the moment and stole the ball, dribbling it in the opposite direction.
"Hey!" he called, running after her.
He bent over and snatched the ball up in his hands and laughed as he abruptly changed direction again.
Her jaw jutted with determination and she raced three paces before springing onto his back.
Ian's pace slowed, but he stubbornly trudged ahead.
"What is this, a new strategy?" he groaned.
She laughed in his ear. "You changed this into a free-for-all when you picked up the ball."
His steps became heavy, and his exaggerated theatrics of staggering under her weight made her laugh even harder. Finally, he fell to his knees and they tumbled to the ground. Ian let the ball slip from his grasp and turned to face her, staring, unsmiling, into her eyes.
"It's beautiful out here," Ian said, encircling her in his arms.
She nodded, splaying her hands, one atop the other, on his chest.
The night was utterly quiet; the moon cast shadows on his face. It was such a handsome face, she thought. His dark eyes were as soft as the velvet sky.
She realized at that moment that she liked Ian Powers. She never meant to, but she did. And he made her feel... She inhaled deeply and looked down at him. He made her feel so good. She grinned.
"I took the ball," she said.
"Not without cheating." He raised his knee and shifted a fraction.
"I didn't cheat," she said with mock indignation. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that you must take every advantage?"
"Take every advantage, huh?" His voice was like silk, smooth
and rich.
She fought, but she was helpless against the slow smile that spread across her lips. "Don't tell me you're planning to take advantage of me?"
"Oh, no." He lifted his hands from where they'd been resting on her back, opening them wide. "I took advantage of the last time we were in this position." He looked around him. "Well, almost this position."
Her smile widened. "What are you suggesting, Mr. Powers?" Her teasing words were sultry, and she marveled at the luxurious sensuality that seemed to envelope them like a warm blanket.
His eyes darkened with the heat of passion until they were as black as the night.
"I'm suggesting, Miss O'Connor," he whispered, "that you heed your own advice."
Chapter 8
Her smile disappeared without a trace. An intense desire was etched in the set of his jaw, his eyes were ablaze with fiery light. She knew what he wanted her to do. And she didn't intend to disappoint him.
Promises be damned! she thought. She wanted this, right here, right now. This moment was all that mattered.
She moved with excruciating slowness, lower and lower, until her lips met his.
Her kiss was at first tentative, timid, and he let her explore. But as a liquid fire began to pulse through her veins, she was no longer satisfied with just the feel of his lips. She needed to touch him, to savor him. And she did.
Her tongue parted his lips and she tasted him with hungry boldness. His mouth was warm and faintly sweet.
She slid one hand around his neck, his hair brushing against the sensitive skin of her wrist. Her other hand traveled over the bunched muscles of his shoulder, and she pushed his arm back around her, needing to feel his embrace.
Her breasts pressed into his broad chest and a shiver rippled down her spine. She wanted more, needed more.
When he tensed the muscles of his arms to crush her to him and raged war on her mouth with his tongue, she welcomed it, reveled in it.
Her breathing was ragged when she lifted her head a fraction, softly rubbing her lips back and forth against his, relishing the feel and smell of him.
He opened his eyes and stared at her.
"That was nice," he whispered.
"But, I'm not finished yet." She gave him a lecherous grin.
He took a deep breath, sliding his hands over her back.
"I'd hoped not," he said, chuckling deep in the back of his throat. He brought one hand to cradle the back of her head and pulled her to him.
When his mouth covered hers, it was as though the earth rumbled and rolled. The blood pounded in her ears and she was sure the clear night sky must be full of booming thunder. She expected to be drenched any minute by the storm that had so quickly moved over them.
But when Ian broke the kiss and nuzzled his face against her neck, she opened her eyes and lifted her head to see the stars sparkling in the moonlit darkness and was once again amazed by her body's reaction to this man.
She lowered her head and smoothed her cheek against his clean-shaven skin. His cologne was rich and spicy and she breathed it deeply. She exhaled and felt his fingers running through her hair. She turned her head toward his touch and his fingers stroked her cheekbone and along her jaw.
Ian shifted and brought her beneath him. He outlined her eyebrows with his fingertip and then lightly rubbed the lobe of her ear.
When he said, "I didn't think you'd do it," she only smiled at him.
"Listen, Andrea," he said, his expression intensifying, "I want to spend some time with you. Besides the training, I mean. I want to take you out."
"Okay." Her voice was barely audible.
"I mean it!" He apparently didn't hear her, his brow wrinkling with feeling. "I want to take you to dinner."
"Ian, I said okay."
His expression relaxed into a warm smile and she laughed softly.
"Okay," he repeated.
He leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the mouth, then lifted his head to look at her. When she felt his touch, she lowered her eyelids. His finger, feather light, traced a line down the bridge of her nose, over its small, rounded tip, across the bow of her lips, down to her chin. His touch drew lower, along her neck to the hollow of her throat. He paused there to lightly kiss the delicate depression.
Andrea's breathing quickened with the brush of his warm breath on the tender skin of her neck. Pushing her sweater from her shoulders, he deftly unbuttoned her silk blouse, and his kisses lowered with each button that was freed.
She raised her hand and buried it in his thick hair. This is crazy, she thought. What if someone saw them? But even the risk of being seen didn't put out the fire of her desire. She didn't want this to end. Not now. Not ever.
The silky material whispered across her skin as he laid aside the facing of her blouse, his warm hand sliding over her stomach and ribs. When his thumb grazed the underside of her breast, her breath caught and held.
His eyes searched hers for... what? She didn't know. What she did know was that she wanted to feel his lips on hers once more.
"Kiss me," she pleaded.
He groaned and pressed his mouth to hers. His hand slid over the lacy material of her bra to caress her rounded breast, his thumb finding the aroused bud of her nipple.
Absolute paradise, she thought. It would be so easy to lose herself all together.
Dragging her mouth from his, she moaned his name.
"I know," he said. "This has to stop."
His gaze held hers an instant longer as he rubbed his thumb over her swollen lips. Then she watched him lean up and carefully button her blouse. She noticed that he was breathing deeply and evenly the entire time he straightened her clothing. Finally, he gently tugged her sweater back onto her shoulders. Andrea didn't rush him. She, too, needed all the time she could get to compose herself.
It awed her, the way they were together; like a spark meeting dry tinder; like thunder and lightning.
Ian stood, smoothing his hands down along his pants legs, and Andrea sat up. She grasped his outstretched hand and he hoisted her up. With his arm encircling her shoulders, they walked back toward the school.
"I have to go back to Connecticut tomorrow morning," Ian told her. "I'll need to spend about four days there, checking in on the factory workers and the plant. And there's something else I need to look into."
He stopped at the double doors of the school building and turned her to face him.
"Will you have dinner with me Monday night?" he asked.
She nodded. "Will you stick with your training?"
"Of course, I will," he assured her. "I'll even take my schedule along with me." His voice took on a huskiness as he added, "I'll run at the same time we usually do, so we'll still be running together."
Andrea felt suddenly shy and averted her gaze, but he gently captured her face between his hands and brought his lips to touch hers in a sweet, tender kiss.
"Until Monday," he said.
"Until Monday," she whispered back.
Those next four days were the longest of Andrea's life. She hadn't realized how much she'd come to enjoy spending her mornings with Ian. After running without him that first morning, she understood that they'd been doing more than just exercising their bodies together; they had talked and listened to each other. And now, without him, Andrea felt utterly alone.
She'd taken Gunther with her, hoping to miss Ian less, but it hadn't worked. She missed his rich laughter, his handsome face, those dark eyes.
Knowing that he was running, too, even if he was hundreds of miles away, made it a little easier. But only a little.
She sat at her desk, tapping her pencil on her attendance book as she waited for the bell that would start her day.
It was hard to have the Monday-morning blues when she was so excited at the thought of spending the evening with Ian.
She'd argued with herself all weekend about her decision to go out with him. But she'd rationalized that her promise to keep their relationship strictly business had been made before
she'd really come to know him.
Ian was a caring man, a loving father. She knew that now. Sure, he'd made some mistakes, but he was only human. Who didn't make mistakes sometimes? The important thing was to learn from those mistakes. And Ian had. She'd been wrong to compare Ian to her own father.
Hadn't Ian been spending more time with his daughter? Hadn't he shown Andrea that he was concerned about Harry's happiness? Hadn't he proved that he was serious in his commitment to run this half marathon?
All these questions had helped to bolster her during the past four days. But a small shadow of doubt kept rearing its ugly head. What would happen after Ian ran the Wilmington Challenge? Would he shed his coat of loving father, caring son and would-be lover and slip once more into the guise of slick entrepreneur?
Andrea shoved the haunting questions aside for the thousandth time. She wanted to pursue a relationship with Ian. What would come of it, she didn't know, but she refused to let her anxiety about the future get in the way.
A light tap on her office door caught her attention and she called, "Come in."
Denise poked her head around the door.
"Hi," she said. "Could I talk to you?"
"Sure." Andrea smiled brightly at Ian's daughter. "Come on in."
Denise sat down, balancing a pile of books on her lap. "Dad's home."
A wave of giddy excitement rushed through Andrea. She did her best to tamp it down and focused on Denise's face.
A tiny frown knit the teenager's brow, and Andrea leaned toward her, tilting her head.
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"No... yes..." Denise looked close to tears. "Oh, I don't know!" She sat back and jammed her finger into her mouth to nibble at her nail.
"What's this all about?" Andrea coaxed.
