I’m already late, fifteen minutes past the scheduled time for this meeting, whose purpose sounds like bullshit.A meet and greet.We did this at the start of the year, and I’ve got no patience for something that’s clearly a waste of time.
But this is for Sara, so here I am.
My boots echo in the empty hall as I make my way to the classroom. The door is open, but I stop a few feet from the entrance. There’s a woman inside, and she’s not Sara’s usual teacher. Right. The caller mentioned a new teacher.
The woman’s back is to me, her hand moving across the board, writing something. She’s in a simple navy dress with little yellow flowers, and I don’t know why, but looking at her, at the curve of her waist, the way the afternoon light catches the honey-blonde strands of hair spilling from the big claw clip at the back of her head, my heart starts to palpitate.
I don’t move because I can’t move. My boots are rooted to the floor. And yet, my body screams to close the distance.
What the hell?
She must feel the weight of my stare because her hand freezes on the board, mid-letter. Her head tilts enough to signal that she knows someone is here.
Then she turns, and our gazes meet. Her eyes widen for a second, a flash of green or maybe hazel, and they hold me in place.
I’ve never been one to believe in cosmic timing or any of that fate bullshit, but the way my heart is palpitating now makes me question that.
I don’t look away.
Neither does she.
My brain, scrambling to catch up to what is happening inside my body, spits out a damning conclusion of why both of us are frozen.Mine. She’s mine.
The second thought, hot on its heels, is a vision of me getting her on that desk, hiking her floral dress up to her waist, pulling her panties down, and burying my face between her thighs until her legs lock around my head and she’s sobbing my name into the ceiling of her own classroom. I can almost taste her. The thought is so graphic, so unsolicited, and my cock stiffens so fast it borders on painful.
Shit.This can’t be happening.
Not her of all women.
She looks like she just graduated from college, and I’m a thirty-five-year-old broken man. This is no good.
She brushes her face with an absent flick of her hair, her expression smoothing out.
“Mr. Rutherford?”
I force myself back into my own body, jogging my brain loose from whatever is possessing me as I make my legs walk through the door, only to nearly lose my footing when she follows the question with a small, hesitant smile.
She’s a grenade tossed my way, and I’m not ready for her.
“Come in. Please come in.”
Her tone holds, professional even, but I catch the way her spine stiffens as she turns to face me fully. Her gaze drops to theink on my arms, then snaps back to my face. She’s gauging me, assessing the threat. I can see it in the way her shoulders square.
But her pupils are dilated. She doesn’t know I can see that from here, but I can. Her body is reacting to me the same way mine is reacting to her, and she has no idea how dangerous that information is in my hands.
Still, she’s afraid, which is how it should be. If she’s wary, she’ll keep her distance. That’s better for both of us.
Mine.The word fires again, and I grit my teeth against the thought. This is not happening. Whatever wiring in my brain decides to short-circuit needs to sort itself out immediately.
“I’m Thea Walsh. Sara’s new teacher.” A pause, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. “ Thanks for coming in.”
Thea. The name lands in my chest and stays.
“What about?” I ask, and I make sure I look impatient.
Her brow goes up.
Fuck, even that tiny movement is hypnotic. How is she doing that? I need to get out of this room. She deserves no less than total devotion without the wreckage attached. Her man is not me.
