Gary nodded.
“You do indeed,” he affirmed, adding with a shrug, “I daresay that this gent is just a bit different, though. More of a rocker, I would say.”
Cara froze, eyes flying wide as she considered these words.
“A rocker?” she squeaked, shaking her head from side to side as she considered the unfathomable.
“Yes, Miss. A rocker.”
Cara relaxed immediately as her senses were soothed by the sound of a deep sonorous voice; one that she immediately recognized, but couldn’t quite place.
The mystery was solved seconds later, as her gaze rose to admire the vision of an angel on earth.
A particularly ripped angel who just happened to look mouthwateringly good in a near strangulating pair of skintight blue jeans and a crisp, bright patterned T-shirt bearing his own ebullient image.
Just then her gaze wandered upward to identify the unmistakable face that topped this tall muscled form; one distinguished by the presence of wide azure eyes, bronzed chiseled cheekbones, and a pair of full moist lips that now spread in a downright catlike smile.
“Or to put it in other terms: You may be able to pull an A minor out of me, Sweetheart, but an A plus? Well that’s entirely unlikely.” He paused here, adding as he extended his hand to her, “Ian McGovern, at your service.”
Cara chuckled.
“Very nice to meet you Ian,” she greeted him, adding silently, “And even nicer that you have no earthly idea as to who the devil I am. Fates be thanked!”
Reaching forth to engage her new student in her usual hearty handshake, Cara almost pulled her hand away as her fingers touched fire; or at least that’s how it felt, when finally she touched the skin of the man she’d admired for so long.
Sparks ignited the instant they touched hands, spreading swift from their fingertips straight to her heart; igniting her senses with a thrilling sensation that energized her from head to toe.
For just a moment she stared into those azure eyes; seeing in their aquiline depths a sense of awareness that unsettled her still further; letting her know that he knew exactly what she was thinking.
“What we seem to be thinking,” she corrected herself, now seeing those same eyes come alight with more than a spark of passionate interest.
Aloud she told him, “No worries about that grade, Ian. If you can write a song, then you can write a paper. All we have to do is tailor your talents to a different art form.”
Ian paused, his smile softening as he squeezed her fingers in his.
“You know, you aren’t the first tutor who has tried to teach me classic lit,” he told her, adding in a thoughtful tone, “But you are the first who hasn’t treated me like a braindead rocker in the process. I appreciate that, Cara.”
“Not a problem,” Cara felt her cheeks flush as she considered this compliment. “Now let’s go back to my station and get to work!”
Soon the pair settled themselves on opposite sides of Cara’s work table, their gazes holding as the tutor asked her student to relate his difficulties in completing a successful lit composition.
“Dude I dunno,” Ian released with a sigh, shifting uncomfortable in the seat beneath him. “It seems like, as a songwriter, I should be able to turn out a kickass…that is, kick butt…I mean, a top quality essay.” He paused here, adding with a frustrated sigh, “I guess it’s just so different when I’m standing onstage, feeling free and in charge—sexy, in a way—with the girls screaming and the guys high fiving me from the front row. Out there I feel like I’m in my element, like I can do no wrong. It’s just not the same as sitting at a classroom desk, with no fans and no music to back me up—only a smug, smirking professor who seems destined to see me fail.”
Cara thought a moment, then nodded.
“Yes, I can clearly see the difference in atmosphere,” she admitted, adding with an encouraging smile, “What you have to remember, though, is that—regardless of where you are or what you’re doing—your gifts and talents never leave you. You just have to know how to tap into them.”
She took in her breath as her pupil met these words with a downright sinful narrow eyed look and a flirty smile.
“And just how would you know about my gifts and talents, Miss?” he purred, piercing her with a penetrating gaze as he added, “Might you have seen a live demonstration of them, at one time or another?”
Cara cleared her throat.
“Well who around this campus—heck, around this entire city—hasn’t heard of Ian McGovern? My roommate has your CD and plays it constantly. Good stuff!” she affirmed, adding with a weak attempt at a casual shrug, “All the same, you have to admit that I don’t exactly look like the type of gal that frequents rock clubs. It’s not often that I venture to pull out my Doc Martens and my fuscia hairspray and really cut loose.”
The laughter that she expected in response to this obvious joke was replaced by a sly, all knowing smile.
“If I’ve learned anything from my time as a rock performer, Cara, it’s that the way a gal looks has next to nothing to do with her ability to really get into and enjoy a rock show—or other, equally exciting life experiences, for that matter,” he told her, arching his eyebrows in a flirtatious tease as he added, “You don’t know how many times I’ve looked out into the crowd to see gorgeous, stylish sorority girls who refuse to crack a smile as they listen to my music. They sit still and frigid at their tables, clutching their Gucci bags and wearing their designer sunglasses—they’re in a friggin’ rock club where, with all the smoke and the low lights, the visibly level is roughly three and a half inches in front of your face. Why in the blazes do they need to be wearin’ sunglasses, of all things? Sure they’re cute and everything, but I dated enough of them freshman year to know that—aside from a noted lack of music appreciation, seeing as how one gal thought that Bob Dylan was the heralded star of There’s Something About Mary and The Outsiders—they lack the passion and the emotion that I need in a woman.”
Cara ducked her head, a strange but not unpleasant wave of warmth coursing her being from head to toe as she considered these soft spoken words; words that seemed meant only for her.
“Well what exactly makes you think that I could be that woman?” she queried, adding as she ran a self-conscious hand down the length of her modestly dressed rubenesque form, “With my glasses and my books and my all-concealing sweaters…not to mention my (ahem!) obvious curves. Now I’m very proud of them mind you—but all things considered, you might be more apt to pin me as the girlfriend of a chemistry major—not an emerging rock star.”
Ian looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head.
“Well while that would be one lucky chemistry major, you also might want to take a good long look at the rocker in the blue jeans,” he purred, adding as he leaned across the table and took her hands in his, “The one who just might see right through to the sexy, vital woman inside you.”
For just a moment she succumbed to the aura that Ian seemed to weave around her; enveloping her in a web of desire that threatened to consumer her whole.
Still she sat up straight in her seat, pulling her hands sharp from his grasp as she folded them tight before her on the desk.
“Listen Ian, I really want to help you,” she told him, adding through pursed lips, “but you have to work with me here—not just try to charm your way to a better grade….”
Ian had heard enough.
“This isn’t about grades Cara, and we both know that,” he interrupted her, holding his newly released hand up before him as he added in a low confidential tone, “I’ve seen you at every one of my last eight shows—and not only have I seen you, I’ve felt you. I see you staring at me on stage, your body moving to my rhythm. You sing along to every single word of every single song, and you smile so pretty when you hear your personal favorite….”
“…Passion of the Night,” Cara supplied on a whisper, adding as she gritted her teeth in a show of keen consternation, “So now we know the full
and true reason for your visit here today. Most specifically, to serve me with a not so rockin’ restraining order. True this?”
Ian guffawed outright.
“You know, it was at last night’s show that I really got a good taste of your sense of humor,” he observed, adding in a darker tone, “I stopped laughing, though, when I saw you run out the door. I was afraid I’d never see you again.”
Cara snorted.
“Well that was the general plan,” she allowed, adding as she arched her eyebrows in his direction, “Do you mean to tell me that you set all of this up just to meet me?” she paused here, adding with crossed eyes, “Are you intentionally flunking classic lit, just so we could connect? Kinda creepy there, dude.”
Ian shook his head.
“Believe me Cara, I sure do wish that I was faking my complete and utter inability to write a composition just so I could meet you. The fact is, though, that I really am in need of your services,” he revealed, adding through gritted teeth, “I must admit, of course, that I have been putting off seeking out the services of yet another tutor who is just going to take particular delight in treating me like an illiterate metal head. So imagine my surprise when I asked around about the mystery girl who keeps popping up at my shows, only to learn that she just happens to be an ace English tutor.”
With these words Ian leaned once again across the table; continuing to pierce her with that unnerving azure eyed stare as he erased all distance between them.
“So what do you think, Teach?” he asked her, voice laced with sensual challenge. “Are you ready to take on a rock’n’roll rebel?”
The tutor pursed her lips, considering his words with arched eyebrows and a decided air of skepticism.
“Take you on?” she repeated in an intentionally vague tone. “You mean as a pupil? Lordy, why am I even bothering to ask?” she finished, more to herself than to Ian.
Yet she smiled as Ian let loose with a deep melodic chuckle that sent tingles down her spine.
“No, actually you’re exactly spot on,” he revealed, adding as his azure eyes came alight with a bold flash of blatant seduction, “I figure that, if you teach me a few things, I just might be able to return the favor.”
Grinning in spite of herself, Cara reached across the table to grace his muscled shoulder with a single playful slap.
“Oh be-have,” she chided him with a playful grin, adding with the slight waggle of her eyebrows, “Or don’t.”
*****
Reluctantly insisting that they set aside all intervals of flirtation and playfulness, at least for the time being, Cara issued a unique challenge to her new pupil; one that she hoped would make him just as comfortable and at ease in a classroom as he was on a concert stage.
Seizing upon the contents of his current learning unit in classic literature, one that revolved around a comprehensive study of Greek mythology and the gods and goddesses that fill its legends, she challenged him to craft an old style ballad about each of these divine heroes and heroines; then working with her to morph these songs into workable grade A compositions— literally, or so they hoped.
As an avid fan of Greek mythology herself, Cara came to relish the weekly music performances involved in this lesson. Bringing his guitar with him to every tutoring session and putting it to excellent use, Ian entertained her with highly theatrical renditions of his original compositions.
For each session he morphed her cubicle into a (very) small scale performance stage, his deep smooth voice booming as he delivered stirring ballads that told tales of legends past; emphasizing each performance with all of his usual performance tricks and ‘shows of showmanship.’
The skillful flip of his smooth gold hair, the flash of his vivid aquiline eyes, the sinuous writhe and slither of his oh so graceful lean muscled form, the agility of his hands as he strummed the chords of the chestnut polish acoustic guitar; he even snuck in a few suggestive dance moves, gyrating his hard trim hips as he purred lyrics that hinted at the passionate relations that were said to have transpired between the legendary couples of Greek mythology: Apollo and Daphne, Psyche and Eros, Persephone and Hades, Aphrodite and Hephaestus, Aphrodite and Adonis, Aphrodite and—well, anyone who just happened to be roaming around ancient Greece at the time.
“He pulls off Adonis particularly well,” she noted, watching enrapt as the young man she’d once perceived as an angel morphed magically into a mythical god; his carved bronzed face upturned to the lights above them as his full moist lips did part to let loose with a soft smooth melody--one that told the tale of the most beautiful god of them all.
Strumming his guitar as though it was a harp, her private performer ensnared her gaze as he delivered the final lines of his ballad; his silky hair flying like a pennant around his sculpted head as he released his culminating chorus in the form of an impassioned wail.
A sob erupted in Cara’s throat as he delivered this last stirring crescendo, bringing her to her feet as she applauded his performance with hoots and whistles to boot.
“Brilliant!” she praised him, meeting him at the center of the room as the two clasped hands between them.
“Why thank you Miss,” he acknowledged with a nod, adding as he gritted his teeth, “I only hope that my lit prof feels the same way tomorrow, when he hands out my first graded composition,” he paused here, squeezing her fingers tight between his as he added, “The first, that is, since I started working with the best tutor on campus—a lady who constantly amazes me with her intelligence, her wit, her creativity,” he paused here, adding as he reached forward to press his soft warm lips against her plump cheek, “You’re a wonder, Cara. I only hope that your influence has well and seeped in to this thick noggin of mine.”
He exhaled as she graced his shoulder with a reassuring pat.
“Listen to me,” she commanded him, staring straight into his eyes as she continued, “If your essays are as half as good as your ballads, then you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Do you understand me? Nothing. Now go to class and knock ‘em dead—to use a really weak and lame analogy that never should pass the lips of an English teacher. Shame on me!”
She fell silent as her student leaned forward to erase all distance between them; touching her lips with a soft sweet kiss.
Although gentle and respectful, Ian’s kiss resounded with a white hot intensity that she felt all the way through to her soul—as well as to other select parts of her body that she’d almost forgotten existed.
“Wow, this dude is good,” she mused in silence, taking a deep breath before adding aloud, “So what, may I ask, was that for?”
Ian smiled; a shy, gentle smile that seemed uncharacteristic for the slick rocker.
“For being awesome and amazing, and for saving my derriere this semester.”
Cara grinned.
“And it is, I must say, an awfully cute derriere,” she observed, adding as she covered her mouth with her hand, “Oh dear Lord, I cannot believe I just made that crass and unprofessional statement. That was nothing short of foolish. I am so sorry!”
She relaxed as Ian once again closed all distance between them; sweeping her up in a warm tight embrace and holding her closer to him.
“Now you listen to me,” he whispered, echoing her earlier sentiment. “I condone and actively encourage you, my tutor, to be as crass, unprofessional, or even outright inappropriate as possible with me. Capiche?”
For a moment the couple said nothing more; just clung tight to one another as Cara savored the feel of his strong muscled arms wound tight around her body.
Their public surroundings dissolved around them as she lost herself in all things Ian; savoring the feel of his hard muscled chest pressed against hers, the light waft of his citrus tinged scent, and the soft brush of his long golden hair as it swayed across her shoulders.
Now, she reasoned, she’d finally kissed and touched the object of her deepest, sweetest fantasy.
And now that she’d had her first taste and touch of her
beloved rock’n’roller, she wondered if she could ever stop.
Abruptly breaking free of his encompassing embrace, Cara cleared her throat loudly as she retreated to her desk; absently shuffling her way through some papers as she told him in a distracted tone, “Well be sure and tell me how things go in class today. Best of luck, Ian.”
Arching his feathered eyebrows with a wolfish white toothed grin, Ian turned with a smooth flourish in the direction of the door.
“Will do Teach,” he assented, adding in a soft purr, “And here’s hoping that good ol’ Ian gets very, very lucky—in more ways than one.”
*****
These words resounded in Cara’s mind the next morning, as she stood once again in her office cubicle; pacing the floor of her modest office as she clenched her hands tight before her.
“His class met mid-day yesterday. Why hasn’t he called me? E-mailed me? Texted me? Alerted me of his essay grade via carrier pigeon? You know, whatever chosen mode of communication works best for the dude,” she reasoned, adding as she lifted her chin to prideful effect, “Of course, I would expend the same amount of care and concern for all of my clients. That’s right. Every. Darned. One. Of. Them. It is my job, after all, to care about the overall welfare and singular academic success of my students.”
She cringed as that annoying little voice in her head—the one she liked to call Cara’s Conscious, and that was the politest term she could conjure—resounded suddenly from her psyche, saying the words she did not want or need to hear.
“It is indeed your job to care about your students,” said the voice, which she thought always sounded a heck of a lot like Dame Maggie Smith for some reason. “It is not your job to slobber profusely all over them—then to dream of them that night, and for the 105th night in a row.”
“Oh, do you have to go and keep count?” Cara scoffed aloud, adding as she rolled her eyes heavenward, “Why don’t you just shuddup!”
“Cara, are you kosher?”
Sucker for the Boss Page 59
