teacher.”
Helen was quiet for a half beat. “Jenna?”
Steven rolled his eyes, damning his own slip of the tongue. “Yes, Jenna.” He should return it, he thought. He should return it to that comfortable little apartment of hers where she was probably sitting on that soft brown sofa with her two dogs at her feet.
She’d be grateful,
he thought. She’d smile up at him with those violet eyes. And those full lips. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, but it was too late. His body had already responded to the image his mind had conjured. He pulled her briefcase from the backseat with a harder jerk than necessary.
He put the bag in Helen’s arms and she stumbled a little from the unexpected weight. “Put it in my study. I’ll return it to her on Sunday.”
“But—”
“I need to get to the office.” He put his briefcase in the backseat and slammed the car door.
Helen winced. “But—”
He climbed into the front seat, pulling his seat belt on with one motion. “Don’t wait up. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pulled out of his driveway and chanced a look back in his rearview mirror. Helen stood in the same place, her mouth slightly open, watching him drive away.
Steven grimaced. He probably could have handled that with more finesse. He shifted his body in the car seat, trying to relieve the pressure against his zipper. It was stupid, just plain foolish. Jenna Marshall had a nice pair of legs. That was all. No, that wasn’t nearly all. Her breasts were nice, too. His hands gripped the steering wheel, hard. And her rear end. He cracked his window to let in some of the cool night air. And her eyes. And her smile. He shifted in the seat again, the pressure unabated. Okay, he could admit it to himself. She was a tidy little package. He was . . . attracted to her.
He pulled his car from his subdivision onto the main highway.
Be honest, Thatcher. She makes your mouth water.
He frowned in the darkness.
Be
really
honest, Thatcher. You want to jump that woman’s bones.
He shuddered, able to imagine it all too well.
It was just that it had been such a long time. A very, very long time. Maybe he just needed to get it out of his system. A little honest sex, with no expectations for a long-term commitment. No promises made, no regrets when he walked away. Because he
would
walk away.
He’d almost made himself believe casual sex with Jenna Marshall was a feasible solution to his problems when he remembered the way her eyes softened in compassion over his son, then again over saving a puppy about to be put to sleep. A woman like that was not a candidate for a no-strings sexual relationship. She was just not that kind of woman.
Steven sighed. No more than he was that kind of man. That’s why it had been such a very, very long time since he’d been with a woman.
That’s why it would continue to be a very, very long time.
Frustrated and alone, he turned his thoughts to the subject of Samantha Eggleston. Her parents would want an update. Hoping Kent was still in the lab, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket.
Friday, September 30, 11:00 P.M.
“So they lost.”
Victor Lutz looked over his mostly empty glass with a sneer. His wife stood in the doorway of his study, dressed for bed in the same nightgown she’d worn every night of their miserable marriage. It wasn’t really the same nightgown, but one of ten identical gowns that hung in her closet, magically replicating themselves year after year. It had to be magic. No one in their right mind would buy such an ugly garment on purpose, much less ten of them year after year.
After year after year after year.
On top of being hopelessly stupid, Nora Lutz had absolutely no sense of style. Unlike Rudy’s teacher. Not that
Miss
Marshall had style either, but with a body like that he’d be willing to turn a blind eye to the prim suit. Unfortunately on top of having a great body, she also had guts.
Victor hated women with guts. Guts, brains—they only
Helen was quiet for a half beat. “Jenna?”
Steven rolled his eyes, damning his own slip of the tongue. “Yes, Jenna.” He should return it, he thought. He should return it to that comfortable little apartment of hers where she was probably sitting on that soft brown sofa with her two dogs at her feet.
She’d be grateful,
he thought. She’d smile up at him with those violet eyes. And those full lips. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, but it was too late. His body had already responded to the image his mind had conjured. He pulled her briefcase from the backseat with a harder jerk than necessary.
He put the bag in Helen’s arms and she stumbled a little from the unexpected weight. “Put it in my study. I’ll return it to her on Sunday.”
“But—”
“I need to get to the office.” He put his briefcase in the backseat and slammed the car door.
Helen winced. “But—”
He climbed into the front seat, pulling his seat belt on with one motion. “Don’t wait up. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pulled out of his driveway and chanced a look back in his rearview mirror. Helen stood in the same place, her mouth slightly open, watching him drive away.
Steven grimaced. He probably could have handled that with more finesse. He shifted his body in the car seat, trying to relieve the pressure against his zipper. It was stupid, just plain foolish. Jenna Marshall had a nice pair of legs. That was all. No, that wasn’t nearly all. Her breasts were nice, too. His hands gripped the steering wheel, hard. And her rear end. He cracked his window to let in some of the cool night air. And her eyes. And her smile. He shifted in the seat again, the pressure unabated. Okay, he could admit it to himself. She was a tidy little package. He was . . . attracted to her.
He pulled his car from his subdivision onto the main highway.
Be honest, Thatcher. She makes your mouth water.
He frowned in the darkness.
Be
really
honest, Thatcher. You want to jump that woman’s bones.
He shuddered, able to imagine it all too well.
It was just that it had been such a long time. A very, very long time. Maybe he just needed to get it out of his system. A little honest sex, with no expectations for a long-term commitment. No promises made, no regrets when he walked away. Because he
would
walk away.
He’d almost made himself believe casual sex with Jenna Marshall was a feasible solution to his problems when he remembered the way her eyes softened in compassion over his son, then again over saving a puppy about to be put to sleep. A woman like that was not a candidate for a no-strings sexual relationship. She was just not that kind of woman.
Steven sighed. No more than he was that kind of man. That’s why it had been such a very, very long time since he’d been with a woman.
That’s why it would continue to be a very, very long time.
Frustrated and alone, he turned his thoughts to the subject of Samantha Eggleston. Her parents would want an update. Hoping Kent was still in the lab, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket.
Friday, September 30, 11:00 P.M.
“So they lost.”
Victor Lutz looked over his mostly empty glass with a sneer. His wife stood in the doorway of his study, dressed for bed in the same nightgown she’d worn every night of their miserable marriage. It wasn’t really the same nightgown, but one of ten identical gowns that hung in her closet, magically replicating themselves year after year. It had to be magic. No one in their right mind would buy such an ugly garment on purpose, much less ten of them year after year.
After year after year after year.
On top of being hopelessly stupid, Nora Lutz had absolutely no sense of style. Unlike Rudy’s teacher. Not that
Miss
Marshall had style either, but with a body like that he’d be willing to turn a blind eye to the prim suit. Unfortunately on top of having a great body, she also had guts.
Victor hated women with guts. Guts, brains—they only
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