Bad Teacher (Bad Girls Club Book 3)

by Carmen Falcone

  The muscle in his jaw jumped. “I’m not paying you to be my shrink, or my daughter’s.”

  No, but she hoped he paid a professional one day. He certainly needed intensive therapy. What a stubborn man. “I’ve just recently recovered my mental health, and I’ll be damned if I lose it again because of an asshole like you. I’m out.”

  “You walked out?” Lara asked.

  “Yes. Thankfully his daughter had gone to her room, I didn’t have to explain myself to her,” Violet said, still unsure if that had been a good or bad call. She’d enjoyed spending time with Marcelle and truthfully wanted her to get better, but she couldn’t allow that man to treat her like a second-class citizen.

  Lara lifted her glass of wine and clinked Violet’s. “Well done.”

  “I feel bad for walking out… when I was finally getting somewhere with Marcelle.” Not to mention, she’d have to explain to the principal when he came back from vacation in a few days that not only did she not do her job kicking Marcelle out of the school, she stopped helping her improve her grades along with her attitude.

  Lara picked a piece of gouda cheese from the platter that Violet had set out for them. “Are Nikki and Brit coming?”

  Violet shook her head. “Nikki wasn’t feeling well, and Brit is having sex with my ex-husband.”

  Lara chuckled. “Skanks.”

  Violet took another sip of red wine. “Right?”

  Lara leaned closer. “You know, Noelle founded the Bad Girls Club, and maybe we should consider adding more sassy women to it.” Noelle had been a wonderful friend, who had died far too young but she left her a solid legacy of friendship behind. Vibrant and fearless, Noelle had always encouraged them to be more curious and spontaneous.

  Violet sucked in a breath. She didn’t have the time or the energy to get to know new people. “Maybe,” she said, too tired to argue against Lara’s idea.

  Trusting people didn’t come easily for her. Hell, she still hadn’t told her best friends all the reasons why she’d left her then husband and kids for several months to get help. She’d told him and circumvented around the subject with the girls. But the dark details of her childhood she maintained in the vault. She’d opened it, to her shrink, to her family, and the idea of doing it over and over again made agony lance through her chest. Maybe one day—when she’d be strong enough.

  Now, just being here and showing up was enough. Baby steps.

  The doorbell rang and she stood, walking to the door. “Who knows—perhaps one of them had a change of heart,” she said to Lara.

  When she opened the door, her blood froze. Instead of either of her friends, her gaze landed on an impossibly handsome man, with a hand jammed in his pocket. A flicker of anticipation gleamed in his eyes, and she swallowed. “Theo?” she said, not worrying about formalities. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came here to apologize. Are you going to let me in?”

  Theo swallowed, hoping to dissolve the knot of frustration thickening his throat. He glanced at the stunning woman in front of him, who threaded her fingers together, regarding him with curiosity.

  Merde. Even when he tried to make amends he sounded like an asshole. He sucked in a breath, and slapped on a neutral smile. “I’d like to talk to you if that’s okay.”

  Nodding, she opened the door wider and gestured for him to come in.

  He entered her home, studying the cozy, cottage style property. Pastel colors filled the walls and the set of couches, contrasting with a couple of signature pieces—like a large floor lamp that draped over a chase longue, and the silver coffee table with curly legs that reminded him of old Hollywood. Even though he didn’t know her that well, a look in her living room and everything meshed, harmoniously. Pragmatic, but not boring—just like Violet.

  “Have a seat,” she said. “I was with a friend and—”

  Friend? An odd sensation punched him in the gut. His eyes searched for the friend she’d been entertaining, but relief loosened his muscles when he found a lovely woman with long, dark hair, sitting on one of the stools in the kitchen area. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  Violet crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s okay, you can tell me whatever you need to tell me and then go.”

  The friend slid from her chair, grabbed her keys and purse and walked up to him. “No, that’s totally fine. I was on my way.”

  “Lara, you don’t have to—”

  Lara stretched her hand. “Lara Nunes, nice to meet you.”

  “Theo Brodeur,” he said, shaking her hand. “Again, I didn’t mean to cut your time short. Please stay.”

  Lara kept shaking his head. “I’d love to, but I just got a text. Hmmm, you have a firm handshake… nice,” she said, widening her eyes. Sounded to him like she was being playful and teasing Violet rather than flirting with him.

  “Lara,” Violet said behind her, an edge in her voice.

  “Okay, fine. I’m out of here. Be careful, you guys,” she said and dashed out of the house, closing the door behind her.

  “I guess we’re alone now,” she said. “I’m going to keep drinking wine because I may just need it to get through tonight. Want some?”

  “Sure.”

  She strode to the kitchen, grabbed a clean glass from the cupboard and poured red wine in it. When she returned to him, she held her glass and handed his. When he took it from her, the light, accidental brush of her finger on his shot a jolt of awareness up his arm. He regarded her, and she took a step or two backward, fingers clenching the stem of the glass.

  “I’m sorry I was curt with you earlier,” he said, wasting no time to clear the air.

  “Curt?” She shook her head. “You accused me of wanting her to fail on purpose.”

  He scratched his chin. “A mistake.”

  “Why would you say that? You don’t even know me.”

  He took a sip of the wine. Damn. Embarrassment washed over him. When he’d come tonight, his main goal was to appease her and make things right again. Not lose the only tutor his daughter somewhat enjoyed. When Marcelle had asked him what had happened after she left, he hadn’t had the heart to tell her he’d foolishly pushed Violet away. He came up with some excuse and promised himself to undo the mistake he’d made. But now, pain flickered her eyes, and the wave of embarrassment hit him harder. He’d hurt her, and he’d been an idiot.

  “I was a jerk.” He took another sip then sat on the sofa, plopping down so the red contents nearly sloshed out of the glass. “Ever since my wife died, I have this anger inside me… and usually take it out on the wrong person.” His employees would certainly agree.

  Her facial expression softened, and she sat across from him. “I understand.”

  “Have you ever lost someone?”

  She sighed. “Only my mind. It’s a long story. I ended up divorced and sharing my children with my ex-husband.”

  “I’m sorry. Are the kids okay?”

  She smiled. “Yes. They are doing well. They’re at their father’s today.”

  He detected a trace of resignation in her voice, but didn’t comment on it.

  “The oldest one, Amanda, she’s seven now. She’s been having some separation anxiety issues, mainly when she comes over my house.”

  “She doesn’t want to go back to her father’s?”

  “No. She enjoys it there too. She gets worried sometimes that I’ll leave her if she’s away from me.”

  He leaned in, setting the glass of wine on the coffee table. “I’m sorry. I know divorce can be really hard on kids,” he said, remembering the day his parents brought him and his sister to the living room and told them they’d go their separate ways. “The back and forth, the resentment.”

  “I can’t blame my ex. Damian is a great father and he never screwed me over.”

  Had she? What had she done to her ex to carry that veneer of guilt? The tips of his fingers itched to touch her, to hold her, and when his brain caught up with the idea, he willed it away. What a bad, bad move i
t would be. She was a wounded soul, a broken spirit.

  And honest. She’d been straightforward from the beginning—even too much at first, when they first met.

  “Theo?” she called him, yanking him from dreamland. “How’s Marcelle?”

  “She’s good. I want you to keep tutoring her.” And I’m ready to beg, he added inwardly. “Please,” he said in a softer tone. He flashed her a look he hoped translated his desperation.

  She took a glass to her lips and spoke over the brim. “Only if you don’t micromanage me.”

  His gaze dropped to her pink lips. They were bow shaped, and full. What would they taste like? He erased the distance between them, scooting closer. He hadn’t meant to, but a powerful energy pulled him to her. “I’ll try my hardest.”

  “Trying isn’t doing. Doing is doing,” she said, enunciating every word.

  Challenge lit in the depths of her eyes, and he wondered if she believed his promise. Hell, a part of him didn’t believe it himself. Old habits died hard—but he had to go against Brodeur blood and give up control to her. His daughter’s future was on the line.

  He raised his eyes to hers. “I won’t micromanage you.”

  She took a swig of wine. “Was that so hard?”

  He chuckled. “Yes, actually. If you meet my vendors and employees, they’ll tell you I don’t agree with things quickly.” God, if she spent one minute with his father, she’d come to the same conclusion.

  She smiled. “I would have guessed that, yes. I thought people from a kingdom were, hhmmm, mild mannered? Possessing some old-world charm, maybe?”

  “Most of them are,” he said, thinking of his sister Anna. His family had stayed behind in his home country, where he visited a couple times a year. His mom and his sister now had a much better life thanks to him. When he immigrated to the United States, he didn’t have much money in his pocket but enough ambitions to fill his mind—and a need to prove his father wrong. “I broke the mold.”

  A touch of mischief sparked in her eyes.

  “What?” he asked.

  She waved him off. “Nothing. It’s just… it’s been a long time since I had alcohol with a man. I know this is work related stuff, but, at least it’s not awkward.”

  When was the last time he’d shared a glass of wine with a woman? Too long—but didn’t seem like it until today. His pulse kicked up a notch. Until now. “It’s not awkward. You know how to compliment a man.”

  “I’m sure you get all kinds of compliments when you put your mind to it.”

  He did, but why admit to it? Most times, female clients gave him long stares or hinted at sexual innuendos, some of them involving food. But he usually took it in stride and didn’t encourage their advances. Truth to be told, until Violet, he hadn’t missed being with a woman. Fantasizing about what she’d be like in bed. In the shower. On the kitchen island. “It’s been a while for me too.”

  She squared her shoulders. “That’s right.”

  He lifted his hand to keep her from apologizing. “It’s okay, I like you. You don’t mince words, but you have a classy delivery.”

  She tilted her head to the side, amusement flaring in her eyes like they shared a secret. “I have a knack for diplomacy. Both a curse and a blessing.”

  He pinched his nose. Her words hit the very wall he tried to build, because they opened his mind to a series of images he most likely shouldn’t entertain. What would she be like in bed? Would she be coy and mysterious, or passionate and rough? He didn’t need to close his eyes to see her straddling him, naked, while he pumped into her until both of them came together. A shiver of excitement traveled down his spine, and he cleared his throat, startled by his own lust.

  She leaned closer, so close he smelled her scent—a delightful mix of peonies and roses. “What? Tell me.”

  “I was just thinking you’re the type of decent woman who men like me want to do indecent things with,” he said, looking deep into her eyes. He should have suppressed the words before they parted his lips, but for a moment, he didn’t feel like thinking about what he should have done right. His heart drummed in his ears, blood thrumming in his temples. He had done a lot of strenuous physical activities in his life, but none of them stole his breath like now—waiting for her reaction.

  She chewed her bottom lip. Her eyes spoke of an emotion he couldn’t read, but strong enough to increase his internal temperature. “Is that a promise or a threat?”

  4

  A promise or a threat? The words played in her ear with the seduction of a violin. She looked up at him, hoping a part of her wouldn’t betray her. At that point, she wasn’t sure if betraying meant letting herself go for it or turning away from him.

  Her entire body stirred with heat, desire spreading faster than fire on timber. What to do? She swallowed, entranced by the twinkle of lust in his eyes. She hadn’t imagined any of it—when he first told her about being indecent, she’d wondered if he joked. But the way his muscles tensed, nearly stretching out of his shirt, the vein ticking in his jaw cemented that he wanted her too. In his bed.

  Or in this case, hers, since they were at her house.

  He erased the gap between them and pulled her into his arms. “That’s a reality.”

  She snatched him even closer and stretched to her full height. He dipped his head down, the intensity in his eyes burning into her soul. When her lips touched his, it was like an electric short-circuit bolted through her veins, saving her from a black and white existence and bringing her to a more colorful life. He coaxed her into parting her mouth and delved his tongue inside her. She cupped his face, feeling each little hair in his trimmed beard. When he intensified the kiss, she also felt his facial hair rubbing on her flesh, branding her.

  Her nipples tightened into diamond tips. She melted into his arms, feeling all her defenses dissipate and a wave of raw desire rush through her. A moan formed in her throat. He claimed her mouth with the fervor of a thirsty man desperate to quench his thirst. They moved a few steps, stumbling into furniture, all a big blur.

  When he slammed her against the wall, she gasped, but only held him tighter. The feel of his strong, warm, massive body offered her a sense of security she never knew she needed. When he reached down her shorts, pulling them out of the way along with her underwear, a cold draft whispered beneath her skin, and the little hairs behind her neck stood on end.

  He wretched his mouth from hers, and she moaned, caressing his scalp vigorously as he slid down her body and with both hands, ripped her shirt apart, buttons flying everywhere. He pulled her breasts out of her bra without removing it. The urgency of his actions only added to her arousal. Desire creamed between her legs.

  There was something undeniably hot about how he caught her nipple in his mouth, then lapped his tongue around it, teasing, alternating between sucking and nipping. Blood pounded in her veins, every part of her painfully aware of him. When he stood upright again, for the briefest moments she saw a flicker of an emotion she couldn’t discern in his eyes. Dark, sultry and forbidden.

  He bent her over a chair, and soon she felt his hand cupping her sex from behind, his deft long fingers parting her slick folds. A low, animalistic sound leaped from her throat. She splayed her hands on the tufted chair for support, her fingers biting into the fabric.

  His exploring of her pussy became bolder, sexier. With deep strokes, he claimed her most intimate part. She’d never in a million years imagined she’d ended up like this—bent over a chair, with Theo Brodeur caressing her with an odd mix of roughness and gentleness.

  She grasped the fabric of the chair until her knuckles whitened, and a pained sound escaped her lips. He nudged her thighs apart, and she felt the tip of his cock teasing her entrance. She undulated her hips like some movie star vixen had taken over her body, and she moved sensually, desperate to turn him on as much as he did her.

  “Fuck, you’re so sexy,” he whispered in her ear, and heat coiled low at the pit of her stomach.

  She moaned
again, throwing her head back, and granting him access to kiss her earlobe, to capture her neck and run his finger along it. Shivers of excitement ran through her. Damn, never in her life had she experienced this fire burning through her, consuming her completely. He played with her folds again, but this time, he added his cock, rubbing it against her drenching wet folds.

  “God. Please—”

  “Please what?”

  Fuck me. The words thumped in staccato, her heart jumping up her throat. No, she couldn’t talk like this—that wasn’t her. She groaned, frustrated and aroused, and reached to his cock, driving it into her.

  He retaliated by sliding out until she didn’t feel him close to her anymore. She was about to protest and look behind her shoulder, when he swiftly pressed her back, making it impossible for her to turn. The strong hand on her brought a level of relief she hadn’t known she needed.

  He parted her thighs, and this time, he thrust inside her all the way, filling her up. She drew in a breath, needing a second or two to adjust to his size and girth. Wow. He eased his hold on her back, and took that hand to her face, a couple of fingers sliding into her mouth.

  Shame filled her cheeks—for wanting this so bad. For not saying no—for starting to suck his two digits in and out as he began fucking her, driving himself in and out of her with quick, shallow thrusts. Did he know he could hurt her with his thick, long cock?

  He didn’t seem to care, which only enhanced the ardor eating her up inside. She didn’t need him to care about anything, but she needed him taking her and making her forget about anything else but him. Even without seeing him, she could picture the dark desire in his eyes, the close-lipped smile on his face. The beads of sweat traveling down his neck.

  Like ocean waves crashing hard against the shore, he intensified the pace, slamming in and out of her, the friction sizzling her nerve endings. He nipped her neck. Fireworks dotted her vision, and she felt a rush of blood thickening in her veins, the pressure building, building until… after one quick contraction, her body released the agonizing pressure, and she gushed over him, feeling a generous amount of her essence pouring out of her and on his cock, while her body trembled, her limbs weak, her heart about to gallop out of her chest.