in demure skirts or drab slacks and flat shoes.
Teacher clothes. But nothing could hide those smooth curves and her
hot, unconsciously sensual movements. It was like trying to contain
fire behind cardboard. It burned through. It burned him. And now he
could have it all.
"Why the M.R.S.?" He bit out the letters in
rapid succession and waited for an answer.
Amy's confused mind tried to make sense of
the letters. The acronym suddenly made sense. Her nerves cranked up
a notch. He wasn't wasting any time. "Oh. Um, well, I was married.
And I've worked at the school a long time. It just kind of stuck
after the divorce. And I thought it was better for Kayla. My
daughter." Relief washed through her as her voice didn't noticeably
shake.
"Where's Kayla now?" His voice was deep,
patient.
"I just took her to the airport. Since she
turned fourteen, her father and I have been letting her fly by
herself to see him in Dallas." This was more conversation than they
had had in all of the previous ten weeks.
"What about your boyfriend? Have you called
him?" He knew he was digging, but didn't give a damn.
"My phone is dead. And I don't have a
boyfriend." His dark eyes burned into hers. She started shaking,
and lowered her lashes in self defense.
He moved his hands to the car door and looked
his fill. She had on more make-up than usual. Her hair was loose
and wild. He looked around the rest of the front of the car. She
had a stack of school books and folders. And a small overnight case
and a soft, material bag next to it. The top of a bottle stuck out
of the bag.
"What's in the bottle, Ms. Sanford?" The
emphasis he put on the 'Ms' was markedly noticeable.
She looked over at the bag in question. "It's
a bottle of wine."
"You haven't been drinking tonight, have
you?" His voice was nonchalant.
"No. Of course not. I brought it with me
because I'm going to spend the night with my friend Renee tonight.
I never drink and drive."
"It looks like it's been open." His voice was
still neutral, bored even.
"Oh, yes. I opened it last weekend. I only
ever have one glass of wine at a time. It usually takes me a month
to finish a bottle." Her voice became strained with nerves.
"You can't have an open container in your
vehicle, Ms. Sanford." Again with the 'Ms.' He drawled it, spread
it out over three syllables.
"I don't have an open container. It's closed.
See?" She pointed over to it.
"Open container means the seal has been
broken, Ms. Sanford. From now on, you might want to remember that.
You're breaking the law." He watched a flush run over her cheeks.
She started to stammer again.
"I'm s-sorry. I didn't know that. I don't
ever break the law." She looked like she was going to cry.
"Don't do it again. Now, pop the hood and let
me take a look." His voice was distracted, already moving on to the
problem at hand. She did as he said. He walked around to the front
of the car and pushed up the hood. He fiddled with something for a
few minutes. He looked around at her and said, "Give it a try." She
turned the key and it started. He slammed the hood and walked back
around to her.
"You definitely need to have it serviced.
It'll hold for now, but it's going to die again. I'm going to pull
around and you can follow me to my house." He turned and started to
walk away.
"W-wait." She yelled at his retreating back.
He slowly turned and sauntered back to her. He raised his eyebrows
in question. "W-what do you mean, follow you to your house?"
He stood there, looking in at her. His booted
feet planted solidly apart. He was blatantly male, his biceps
sinewy and bulging. The weapon strapped to his shoulder solidifying
his stance of authority.
"Well, Ms. Sanford, it's like this. Your bag
is packed. It's Friday night and your daughter is away for the
weekend. And you don't have a husband . You
can forget your girlfriend tonight, you're coming to my house." His
words were final.
"I am not. I c-can't believe you just said
th-that." Her voice was shaking.
"Well, I
Teacher clothes. But nothing could hide those smooth curves and her
hot, unconsciously sensual movements. It was like trying to contain
fire behind cardboard. It burned through. It burned him. And now he
could have it all.
"Why the M.R.S.?" He bit out the letters in
rapid succession and waited for an answer.
Amy's confused mind tried to make sense of
the letters. The acronym suddenly made sense. Her nerves cranked up
a notch. He wasn't wasting any time. "Oh. Um, well, I was married.
And I've worked at the school a long time. It just kind of stuck
after the divorce. And I thought it was better for Kayla. My
daughter." Relief washed through her as her voice didn't noticeably
shake.
"Where's Kayla now?" His voice was deep,
patient.
"I just took her to the airport. Since she
turned fourteen, her father and I have been letting her fly by
herself to see him in Dallas." This was more conversation than they
had had in all of the previous ten weeks.
"What about your boyfriend? Have you called
him?" He knew he was digging, but didn't give a damn.
"My phone is dead. And I don't have a
boyfriend." His dark eyes burned into hers. She started shaking,
and lowered her lashes in self defense.
He moved his hands to the car door and looked
his fill. She had on more make-up than usual. Her hair was loose
and wild. He looked around the rest of the front of the car. She
had a stack of school books and folders. And a small overnight case
and a soft, material bag next to it. The top of a bottle stuck out
of the bag.
"What's in the bottle, Ms. Sanford?" The
emphasis he put on the 'Ms' was markedly noticeable.
She looked over at the bag in question. "It's
a bottle of wine."
"You haven't been drinking tonight, have
you?" His voice was nonchalant.
"No. Of course not. I brought it with me
because I'm going to spend the night with my friend Renee tonight.
I never drink and drive."
"It looks like it's been open." His voice was
still neutral, bored even.
"Oh, yes. I opened it last weekend. I only
ever have one glass of wine at a time. It usually takes me a month
to finish a bottle." Her voice became strained with nerves.
"You can't have an open container in your
vehicle, Ms. Sanford." Again with the 'Ms.' He drawled it, spread
it out over three syllables.
"I don't have an open container. It's closed.
See?" She pointed over to it.
"Open container means the seal has been
broken, Ms. Sanford. From now on, you might want to remember that.
You're breaking the law." He watched a flush run over her cheeks.
She started to stammer again.
"I'm s-sorry. I didn't know that. I don't
ever break the law." She looked like she was going to cry.
"Don't do it again. Now, pop the hood and let
me take a look." His voice was distracted, already moving on to the
problem at hand. She did as he said. He walked around to the front
of the car and pushed up the hood. He fiddled with something for a
few minutes. He looked around at her and said, "Give it a try." She
turned the key and it started. He slammed the hood and walked back
around to her.
"You definitely need to have it serviced.
It'll hold for now, but it's going to die again. I'm going to pull
around and you can follow me to my house." He turned and started to
walk away.
"W-wait." She yelled at his retreating back.
He slowly turned and sauntered back to her. He raised his eyebrows
in question. "W-what do you mean, follow you to your house?"
He stood there, looking in at her. His booted
feet planted solidly apart. He was blatantly male, his biceps
sinewy and bulging. The weapon strapped to his shoulder solidifying
his stance of authority.
"Well, Ms. Sanford, it's like this. Your bag
is packed. It's Friday night and your daughter is away for the
weekend. And you don't have a husband . You
can forget your girlfriend tonight, you're coming to my house." His
words were final.
"I am not. I c-can't believe you just said
th-that." Her voice was shaking.
"Well, I
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