Claimed: The Complete Short Romance Series

by Nichole Rose

  "I'm tying you to the bed when I get home tonight, Paradise," I growl, gripping her ass in my hands and grinding my dick against her because I can't help myself. "You've got me hurting for you, baby."

  "Okay," she whispers, her voice almost dreamlike.

  I chuckle and kiss her again, sweeter this time.

  "What was that for?" she whispers, swaying on her feet when I back off.

  "For you, little owl," I murmur, pressing my lips to her forehead. "Because you're you and you make me so fucking happy. It should be illegal to be as cute as you are when you're happy."

  "That's your fault," she says, making me smile.

  Her smile turns to a grumble when I pop the door of the truck open to help her inside.

  "You need a smaller truck," she complains when I have to lift her into the cab. Even with the step rails, she had to struggle to get in at the school because she's so short. There's not a chance in hell I'm getting higher rails or a smaller truck though. Any excuse to pick her up is a good excuse in my book.

  I buckle her in, which makes her grumble at me again. Once she's settled, I close her door and then pause when I feel the weight of someone's stare on me. I turn, scanning the parking lot of the small deli. It's full of cars. Two women are talking beside an SUV on the far side, but I don't see anyone else.

  Shrugging the feeling off, I jog around to the driver's side and climb in to find Rowan fucking with the controls for the radio, completely unrepentant. Apparently, my music sucks. I don't know what she has against Tupac, but I think he's pretty fucking great.

  "If that's Justin Bieber, I'm spanking you tonight before I tie you up."

  "Justin Bieber? Gross," she says, her nose crinkling. And then she fidgets in her seat like she's changed her mind. She reaches for the controls again, giggling. "I know there's a Bieber station on here somewhere," she mutters, making me throw my head back and laugh loudly.

  God, I love her.

  "Miss Winters?" I blink when I step inside Leslie Holland's office to find Lana Winters seated behind Leslie's desk instead of Leslie. "Where's Leslie?"

  "Hi, Dr. Thorne." Lana smiles at me, twisting back and forth in the chair. "Aunt Leslie stepped out to use the restroom. She should be back in a minute. How are you today?"

  "Aunt Leslie?" I arch a brow, surprised. I knew Leslie had nieces, but I didn't know Lana was one of them. Leslie never mentioned it. Neither did Lana. "I wasn't aware the two of you were related."

  "We're not…exactly." Lana laughs, reaching up to touch her curls. "My mom used to be one of her students. She babysat me during the summers when I was younger so my mom could work. I've always called her Aunt Leslie."

  I smile, not really surprised. Leslie has a heart as big as Rowan's and a tendency to make lifelong friends of her students. It's part of what makes her such a great advocate for kids. She never stops teaching, never stops stepping up to help when it's needed. It's one of the reasons I admire her as much as I do. She's pretty bad ass.

  "I'm guessing you're the reason she called me here?" I ask, leaning back against the wall beside a bookcase. If she's here to file a complaint against Johnson, she may just become my second favorite teacher at Commodore.

  "Not exactly." Lana's face scrunches up. "Well, maybe. I'm not sure. I just…I remember what you said at lunch the other day, and I thought you should know–"

  The door behind me flies open, distracting Lana. Leslie comes sweeping in like a general. Her gaze lands on me.

  "Good. You're here," she says, closing the door behind her. She heads toward the desk, waving her hand in the air in an impatient gesture. "You two already know each other, so we'll skip the polite niceties and get right down to it. Lana, tell him what happened."

  "Yes, ma'am," Lana says, affection in her gaze as Leslie does a little bulldozing of her own. She hops up, letting Leslie reclaim her seat. She opts to stand beside the desk. Like Rowan, she's short. With her curly blonde hair and heart-shaped face, she looks almost elvish, mischievous. Rowan really likes her.

  "Well, out with it, girl," Leslie says, impatient.

  "Like I was saying, I remember what you said the other day about bullies. We all kind of figure you were talking about Principal Johnson, but he's been here forever. He wasn't always so bad, but I guess his wife died about six years ago and he started focusing all his time on the school. Anyway, people still feel a little bad for him, so no one really wanted to say anything. But, um…well, I'm sure you already know that he's a bit difficult."

  "He's a tyrant," I mutter, not beating around the bush. I empathize with him for the loss of his wife, but it doesn't excuse his behavior. There is no justification for being a boorish dick. "But there's not a whole lot we can do about it unless there are actual complaints."

  "Right," Lana says, grimacing. "But, um…what if he were doing something unethical?"

  I cock my head to the side, my curiosity more than piqued now. "Unethical?"

  Lana clams up, fidgeting again.

  "She has reason to believe he's tampering with test scores," Leslie says bluntly.

  Hope dies a quick death.

  "I've been over the scores with a fine-tooth comb this week. There's no way he's fudging the numbers," I state, confident in my examination of them. "I poured over the damn things until I wanted to gouge my eyes out, pulling individual score sheets to check against the numbers reported. There's no way he's distorted them to make the school look as if it's performing better than it actually is. The numbers all match."

  "What if he's doing it before the tests are turned in?" Lana asks.

  "You mean changing answers on the score sheets before they're submitted for grading?" I ask, my tone sharp, sharper than intended. "You have evidence of this?"

  She shakes her head. "I don't have evidence. I can't prove anything, but…"

  "Tell him, dear," Leslie encourages her.

  "Some of the kids with learning disabilities take their tests in a different area than everyone else to allow them whatever special considerations they require," Lana explains and then waits for me to nod. It's a common practice that levels the playing field for students who struggle with learning disabilities.

  "One group of the kids who require extra time does the testing in my room," she continues. "Since I'm a music teacher, I don't have an entire class to oversee. When we came back from our lunchbreak, Principal Johnson was in the classroom. He said he was just checking on a shipment of equipment I'd requested. I didn't think anything of it until I collected the tests and noticed that almost an entire row of answers was changed on one of the tests."

  "You're sure the student didn't change the answers?"

  "Positive. Braxton is a special little boy, very headstrong. Once he makes up his mind about something, there is absolutely no changing it. He wouldn't have changed his answers even if you'd paid him to do it," she says with an indulgent smile. "His attention span isn't very long, so I always make sure to pay extra attention to him during testing to make sure he's staying on task. I never saw him erase one answer, let alone almost an entire column."

  Leslie and I share a look. If what she's saying is true, Principal Johnson just became a huge fucking problem. Even if we can't prove that he changed those answers, the fact that it's a possibility is enough to send the entire School Board into a tizzy. The ramifications are massive, not just for Commodore but for the entire city. Cheating on standardized tests to inflate scores is absolutely unacceptable.

  "He did a lot better on the test than anyone expected," Lana says. "He's a good kid, but he really struggles to grasp certain concepts."

  "Did you notice scores changed on any other tests?" I ask. "Did anyone else score higher than was expected? Anything out of the ordinary?"

  She shakes her head. "To be quite honest, we expect the unexpected with most of the kids who take the test in my group. They have a way of surprising us. Some do far better than we anticipated. Others do far worse. So if any of them did perform better than expected, it would
n't have been something we were shocked to see."

  "Shit," I mutter, raking a hand through my hair.

  "We can go through scores from previous years, see how they stack up to scores from this year," Leslie suggests.

  "If he did it once, he's probably done it before," I say, shaking my head. "We can't trust that he didn't change scores last year or the year before that. We'd be working with potentially corrupted data, trying to establish a baseline that might not even exist."

  There's no way to prove he changed anything. All we can do is request that scores for the kids in that class be excluded from consideration when it comes to school rankings and request the kids be retested. But the damage is already done. We can't undo it now.

  Even if we could, it wouldn't provide us the proof we need to nail his ass to the wall. The kids tested four months ago. They've had four entire months of instruction that would invalidate a comparison between new scores and old scores.

  I sigh heavily and look at Lana. "Thank you for bringing this to us, Miss Winters. You did the right thing," I murmur to her, trying to temper my frustration. I wish she would have brought this to us sooner, but I understand why she didn't.

  She has no proof, no evidence…nothing but a suspicion. Johnson has been in education for over forty years. Leveling this kind of accusation against him with no evidence would give anyone pause. The fact that he's a bully probably didn't help matters.

  If anyone else has suspicions, they've likely remained silent for the same reasons. I can't go back and undo any damage he caused. All I can do is mitigate any future damage.

  "You're welcome," she says, giving me a sympathetic smile. "I know there probably isn't anything you can do about it, but I figured you should know anyway."

  "I appreciate that. Why don't you get back to school and we'll deal with it from here?" I suggest, pushing away from the wall to shake her hand. "If we need anything else from you, your aunt will let you know."

  "Thank you, Dr. Thorne." She shakes my hand and then leans down to hug Leslie. "I'm sorry I couldn't help more. Um, good luck with everything."

  I wait until she scoops up her purse from the floor and then exits before I spin on Leslie.

  "I want him out of that fucking school now," I growl, fury seething through me. "It's bad enough that he terrorizes the teachers in his quest to make Commodore the best school in the district. I won't have him changing test scores to accomplish that goal too."

  "Then I guess it's a good thing he's already on the agenda for the night, isn't it?" she says, her tone grim and unforgiving.

  Chapter Seven

  Rowan

  "Miss Lassiter," Colby Jenson tugs on the hem of my shirt, trying to get my attention. "How come the principal is lookin' at you funny?"

  "Hmm?" I ask, distracted by Jamie and Roger, who are headed toward their bus. Ever since our talk in the lunchroom on Tuesday, Roger has been following her around like he's her personal security guard. And I'm pretty sure they were holding hands under their worktable this afternoon. He likes her, and I'm guessing that's why he was picking on her at lunch.

  Little boys are so weird when they like a girl!

  "Principal Johnson is lookin' at you funny," Colby says again and then he scrunches his face up into his imitation of Principal Johnson's usual glower. "Like this."

  I glance over my shoulder to see the man in question standing beneath the awning with his arms crossed over his chest, silently observing. Just like Colby said, he's looking at me. Glowering, really. Wow. Colby's impression is pretty spot on. Johnson looks like he's perpetually sucking on a Warhead candy, but his scowl is even more severe than usual.

  He notices me looking at him and meets my gaze, crooking a finger.

  Crap. Why do I always look? Being nosy gets me every time!

  I gulp, nodding to let Johnson know I'll be there soon.

  He turns on his heels and walks back inside the school.

  "Shit."

  "You said a bad word!" Colby hisses, popping his eyes open wide.

  "You're right, I did," I say, not lying to him. How can I possibly teach the kids to always be honest if I'm willing to lie every time it's more convenient than telling them the truth? "I shouldn't have said that, but sometimes even teachers slip up and make mistakes."

  "How come you said it?" he demands. Colby is always curious. He would ask questions all day every day if I'd let him. He's very perceptive and has a quick mind. He's also eager to learn. He should be in the Gifted and Talented program, but he's too young to test until next year.

  "Because Principal Johnson makes me nervous," I confess, smoothing my hands down my shirt to make sure it's in place. "Kind of like how he makes you nervous sometimes."

  "Oh." Colby's little face scrunches again. "He's not very nice, Miss Lassiter."

  He's not wrong.

  "Your mom is pulling up now, honey. I'll see you on Monday, all right?"

  "Okay. Bye, Miss Lassiter!" He waves at me and then takes off toward his mom's SUV, his backpack bouncing on his back as he runs.

  Once he's in the car, I glance around to make sure the rest of my students are all on their way home. Jamie and Roger are climbing up the steps to their bus. And I was right today. They were definitely holding hands under the table because they're holding hands again.

  Crap. I'm going to have to move one of them to another table. I hate to do it because Jamie desperately needs friends, but I can't have them holding hands in class. Besides, third grade relationships last, like, two days. And then drama ensues, and a breakup happens. It takes a few days before peace is finally restored. I can't have them at the same table when all of that goes down. It'll get ugly.

  Little kid relationships are very dramatic.

  I watch until Jamie and Roger disappear up the steps of the bus and then turn to make my way back inside the building. I feel a little like I'm headed toward my doom. It's so different than how I've felt every other day this week when I couldn't wait to get back inside to see Sebastian.

  I'm in love with him. Stars in my eyes, floating through the day with a smile on my face, unable to keep my mind off him. All I have to do is think about him and I melt into a little pool of happiness. He is amazing. I feel like I've known him forever and like I'm discovering him all at the same time. He makes me feel so much, so easily.

  Principal Johnson does not engender the same happiness.

  I'm Frodo, marching resolutely toward Mordor where Sauron and his beastly armies await. Only Sauron is less dark lord and more elderly despot. And I would make a terrible Hobbit. I don't like walking that much. Or potatoes.

  The elf is kind of hot though.

  I make a quick stop by my classroom to grab my stuff in case I need an excuse to hurry out of whatever fresh hell awaits me in Johnson's office. My phone is in my desk. I pull it out to check for messages but have nothing from Sebastian. He hasn't texted me all day, so I'm guessing he's tied up with whatever Leslie Holland called him about. I hope it's not anything bad.

  His job is way more stressful than mine. I honestly don't know how he carries it all as effortlessly as he does. His phone is constantly going off as issues arise at one school or another. He handles everything with ease, shooting off replies without missing a beat. It's pretty hot to witness him in work mode. And it definitely doesn't suck that he wears those suits every day. The man looks damn good in a suit.

  He looks even better when we get home at the end of the day and he loses the tie and jacket and roll his sleeves up. He always undoes the first few buttons of his shirt too, providing me with tantalizing little peeks at his chest. He looks so wicked and intense, but he's the exact opposite. He's caring, considerate, and thoughtful. Okay, and also a little intense and wicked. But not in a bad way.

  By the time I make it to Johnson's office, the school has pretty much cleared out. Even Gertrude is gone. I like her. She wears the most garish colors just to torture Principal Johnson. At least that's what we all think. She never cops to anyt
hing, but she takes way too much pleasure in picking out horrible colors he'll hate for it to be anything less than a public service.

  "Enter," Johnson says when I tap on the door.

  I barely avoid rolling my eyes at his pompous tone. Who says enter like that? Elderly despots, that's who.

  "You wanted to see me?" I ask, stopping right inside the door.

  He's seated behind his desk, waiting for me with his hands steepled together. I already know he's going to make me sit because he hates having to look up at anyone, but I try to get away with standing up anyway. Maybe this will be quick.

  "Have a seat," he says, dashing that little sliver of hope.

  I fight the urge to sigh, perching on the edge of a chair across from his desk.

  He watches me for a moment, his brows pulled together. "How long have you worked here, Miss Lassiter?"

  "Four years."

  "Hm. And in that time, have you ever known a teacher to date another teacher here?"

  Icicles start forming in my veins.

  "I don't keep up with who is dating who, sir."

  "Have you ever seen me dating a teacher?" he asks.

  Oh no. He knows.

  My heart thumps hard against my ribcage.

  "Have you?" he asks.

  "No, sir," I mutter. And then, because he annoys me and I can't resist, I add, "I don't believe any of the teachers here are your type."

  His expression sours further, a groove appearing between his bushy brows. But there's something almost…satisfied to the twist of his lips and the gleam in his eyes. As if he's enjoying whatever this is. He probably is. He takes far too much pleasure in being cruel.

  "And yet," he says, spearing me with a look that makes my stomach churn, "You thought it appropriate to carry on an affair with the superintendent. Why is that?"

  My heart stops beating for a split second before it jolts back into action. Anger mixes with dread, sending pure fury pumping through me. How dare he insinuate that what's happening between me and Sebastian is an affair, something cheap and tawdry, hidden because we're ashamed of it. I'm not ashamed of Sebastian, and I know he isn't ashamed of me. We've been discreet because we didn't want to cause an uproar that might hurt the kids, not because either of us is embarrassed.