ice cream wasn’t his kind of indulgence. One of his students had told him to try the place, saying, “You gotta go, Mr. Walker. You are ‘seriously’ missing out.”
Who? Ah yes, Michael. The librarian’s son.
He groaned. Why couldn’t he keep that woman out of his head?
Bryce rolled his coup into the last available space in the strip mall’s parking lot. He forced his way through the wall of heat toward the entrance, yanked open the door, and stepped inside. Bells jingled as the door closed.
Ah... air conditioning . Nice. Sugar smell further charged his senses. Perfect.
A woman bent over the counter. The corner of Bryce’s mouth twitched. He’d recognize that round, full posterior anywhere—the ass he’d been avoiding all year.
Fate: the topic of the final exams he’d just finished grading. Discuss the modern, Freudian idea that there are no accidents referencing Homer’s The Odyssey and any other work of art, film, or literature.
Fate’s a bitch.
He rocked back on his heels, glad he’d worn sunglasses. From his position, he could admire her shape at leisure while she considered the flavors. He thought of the nervous way she ran her hand through her hair when he stepped too close in the halls and the way she jingled her keys and stuck out her hip when they chatted after games.
She needed flavor, all right. Flavor of a Walker kind.
Any man in his right mind would have found Christina attractive, but instinct told Bryce they were compatible on other levels.
He grasped the back of his neck and massaged.
Michael had said he would be spending the summer with his father, leaving the librarian alone. With school out and Michael away, time was on Bryce’s side. A little flirting couldn’t cause real harm. If she shut him down, he swore, that would be the end, no worries, no hard feelings.
He ignored the voice in his head saying his cock was calling the shots, and stepped beside Christina and leaned over, mirroring her posture.
“I hear their vanilla is very good,” he said, “but if I were you, I’d be more adventurous.”
****
With a bolt of awareness, Christina recognized Bryce Walker’s throaty baritone. As always, his voice sent chills up her legs. When she glanced sideways, the muscles behind her knees weakened.
Eyes like his should be illegal.
Her reaction to Mr. Walker was the exact reason that she’d avoided the man for months. Damn hormones. She could not control her body’s response to him, no matter how hard she tried. Every time they were within ten feet of one another, a shiver started somewhere behind her lower ribs and slithered down, pulsing in her sex and, eventually, forcing her to seek release—either by distraction or, more frequently, in the privacy of her bedroom with the help of her vibrator.
She only had to look at Bryce to know he was not a man to be trifled with. She’d had her fill of overbearing males, thank -you-very-much.
…but if I were you, I’d be more adventurous.
His mischievous, sexy-as-hell smile stopped just beneath his sunglasses.
Christina recognized his double-entendre, but offense would have been an act. Her body drummed the truth: she wanted nothing more than to pick up what he was putting down.
Screw it.
“Why hello, Mr. Walker,” she said, in her best librarian-voice. “I thank you for your advice, but I’d never consider vanilla.” She lifted an eyebrow. Their eyes locked and the pulse in her sex began.
Bells clanged as another customer entered the shop. She turned back to the server.
“Maple walnut, please,” she said, correcting her posture and straightening her skirt.
“Cup or cone?” the teenage clerk droned.
Bryce was standing way too close. His heat radiated through her blouse, contrasting with the cool sensation of the counter against her belly.
“Cone, thank you.” On impulse she added, “and you know what else I want? Jimmies.”
The clerk nodded, not bothering to glance up as he prepared her order.
Bryce
Who? Ah yes, Michael. The librarian’s son.
He groaned. Why couldn’t he keep that woman out of his head?
Bryce rolled his coup into the last available space in the strip mall’s parking lot. He forced his way through the wall of heat toward the entrance, yanked open the door, and stepped inside. Bells jingled as the door closed.
Ah... air conditioning . Nice. Sugar smell further charged his senses. Perfect.
A woman bent over the counter. The corner of Bryce’s mouth twitched. He’d recognize that round, full posterior anywhere—the ass he’d been avoiding all year.
Fate: the topic of the final exams he’d just finished grading. Discuss the modern, Freudian idea that there are no accidents referencing Homer’s The Odyssey and any other work of art, film, or literature.
Fate’s a bitch.
He rocked back on his heels, glad he’d worn sunglasses. From his position, he could admire her shape at leisure while she considered the flavors. He thought of the nervous way she ran her hand through her hair when he stepped too close in the halls and the way she jingled her keys and stuck out her hip when they chatted after games.
She needed flavor, all right. Flavor of a Walker kind.
Any man in his right mind would have found Christina attractive, but instinct told Bryce they were compatible on other levels.
He grasped the back of his neck and massaged.
Michael had said he would be spending the summer with his father, leaving the librarian alone. With school out and Michael away, time was on Bryce’s side. A little flirting couldn’t cause real harm. If she shut him down, he swore, that would be the end, no worries, no hard feelings.
He ignored the voice in his head saying his cock was calling the shots, and stepped beside Christina and leaned over, mirroring her posture.
“I hear their vanilla is very good,” he said, “but if I were you, I’d be more adventurous.”
****
With a bolt of awareness, Christina recognized Bryce Walker’s throaty baritone. As always, his voice sent chills up her legs. When she glanced sideways, the muscles behind her knees weakened.
Eyes like his should be illegal.
Her reaction to Mr. Walker was the exact reason that she’d avoided the man for months. Damn hormones. She could not control her body’s response to him, no matter how hard she tried. Every time they were within ten feet of one another, a shiver started somewhere behind her lower ribs and slithered down, pulsing in her sex and, eventually, forcing her to seek release—either by distraction or, more frequently, in the privacy of her bedroom with the help of her vibrator.
She only had to look at Bryce to know he was not a man to be trifled with. She’d had her fill of overbearing males, thank -you-very-much.
…but if I were you, I’d be more adventurous.
His mischievous, sexy-as-hell smile stopped just beneath his sunglasses.
Christina recognized his double-entendre, but offense would have been an act. Her body drummed the truth: she wanted nothing more than to pick up what he was putting down.
Screw it.
“Why hello, Mr. Walker,” she said, in her best librarian-voice. “I thank you for your advice, but I’d never consider vanilla.” She lifted an eyebrow. Their eyes locked and the pulse in her sex began.
Bells clanged as another customer entered the shop. She turned back to the server.
“Maple walnut, please,” she said, correcting her posture and straightening her skirt.
“Cup or cone?” the teenage clerk droned.
Bryce was standing way too close. His heat radiated through her blouse, contrasting with the cool sensation of the counter against her belly.
“Cone, thank you.” On impulse she added, “and you know what else I want? Jimmies.”
The clerk nodded, not bothering to glance up as he prepared her order.
Bryce
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