by Olivia Dade
Several other kids hadn’t found a large enough hiding spot, either, and he knew without asking Rose what that meant. She wouldn’t duck behind a desk or into a closet while any of her students crouched there in the open, exposed.
Come what may, she’d remain in front of that desk, chin tipped high and proud as she shielded the students with her body. Just as she was doing now.
Without a word, she’d nudged the unprotected kids behind herself. They glanced up at her after obediently moving into place, faces drawn as they realized what her position implied.
What she’d do for them, if she could. What she’d sacrifice.
Footsteps down the hall slowly grew louder. Doorknobs rattled.
Rose waved him behind her too. When he didn’t move from her side, she tried—gently—to push him back to the only shelter she could provide him.
He didn’t budge, and her flared-nostril glare should have incinerated him on the spot.
That’s when he knew.
He loved her.
And AP exam or no AP exam, he was done waiting.
As soon as Rose noticed Martin in the doorway, she frowned at him.
He really should have been grading review packets. Or dreaming up new ways to remind his students about thousands of years of world history before their AP and state tests later in the week. Or, best of all, sleeping, since Nosferatu would take one look at those bags under Martin’s eyes and feel comparatively well-rested and fresh-faced.
Instead, however, Martin was lounging in the entrance to her classroom at nine o’clock at night, tie uncharacteristically loose around his neck, as if he had nothing better to do with his time.
“What’s going on?” He tilted his head in the direction of her classroom’s back counter, where she’d laid out just under one hundred brown paper lunch bags. “You decided to run a meal delivery service in your spare time?”
“Ha-ha,” she said. “These are for my kids tomorrow. They’ll come by here right before getting on the bus for the AP test.”
He edged around the student desks to reach her side. “You’ve done some shopping.”
After her last students had left for the day, she’d stopped at the local big box store for supplies, then returned to the classroom to put together her offerings. Given her limited funds, she’d done the best she could.
He nudged the top of one of the store’s plastic bags. “May I?”
“Feel free.”
If he was investigating, she was sitting. Bared feet aching, she plopped into the closest blue plastic chair and watched him sort through her loot.
“Black pens. Number two pencils. Water bottles. Granola bars. Peanut butter crackers. Apples.” He directed a questioning look her way. “Beef jerky?”
“Alternate source of protein.”
He nodded. “And, of course, sticky notes. Many of which you’ve filled with personalized praise and encouragement for each student.”
That was everything. She’d distributed the water bottles, pencils, and pens into each bag already, but the rest of the job lay before her. Composing individual messages for each sticky note took the longest, she’d found. Especially once her hand started cramping.
He settled into the seat next to hers and quirked a brow. “I’m surprised a heart as black and bitter as yours can still beat.”
She threw an extra pen at him. “Shut up, Krause.”
“So you’re making sure they can write their test answers. But you’re also feeding them.” After scanning her bags a second time, he turned back to her. “Carbohydrates and protein and water. Not to mention love.”
Some of them don’t get their recommended daily allowance of that.
Nope. Too sappy to say aloud.
“They can eat on the bus to the test, or during the testing break.” She spread her hands. “I can’t afford to feed them every day. But I can afford to feed them tomorrow, so a year’s effort doesn’t go to waste because they’re too hungry to concentrate.”
With his typical deliberateness, he thought for a minute before responding.
“Don’t get me wrong. I think this”—he gestured to the bags—“is wonderful. Beautiful, actually. But don’t needy kids have access to free breakfast and lunch at school?”
“Even some of the kids who can afford breakfast might forget to eat.” Her arms ached from carrying the bags from the parking lot, and her head had begun to throb an hour or so ago. She was too tired to prevaricate, and she didn’t need to. Not with him. “Besides, if they’re anything like me, some of the poorest kids in my class haven’t applied for free breakfast and lunch in the first place.”
He closed his eyes in understanding. “Pride.”
“It’s humiliating. And as much as staff members try to be discreet, other kids usually find out at some point.” She shrugged. “Most days, I had an off-brand Pop-Tart in the morning and didn’t eat again until Mom came home for dinner. I imagine many of my kids do the same. Tomorrow, they won’t have to.”
In a minute, she’d have to get going again, so she could head home and grab a few hours of much-needed sleep before returning early in the morning.
But first, she needed to make sure Martin was okay.
She heaved her chair ninety degrees, until she was facing him. “Bea told me she made her final decision about schools last week. How are you holding up?”
“I’m happy for her.” His attempt at a smile hurt to witness. “I know she misses her old friends in Wisconsin, and UW-Madison is a great school. I think she’ll love it there.”
She rested her elbows on a nearby desk and propped her chin on her hands. “Okay, let’s try this again. How are you holding up?”
He deflated. “Well, I’m not delighted at the prospect of paying out-of-state tuition for a school located ten miles away from our old house. But that’s what the college fund is for, I suppose.”
“And?”
“And I’m kind of…” He cleared his throat. “I’m kind of devastated that she’ll be living a thousand miles away from me.”
Oh, fuck. She hadn’t even considered… “Will you move back there to be closer to her?”
“No.” He abruptly straightened in his chair, his face no longer quite so drawn in misery. “One, I can’t afford to do that again, not with closing costs and moving expenses. Two, Marysburg is my home now.” His eyes met hers. “Everything I want is here.”
Her pulse tripped at that look, but she wouldn’t be distracted. Not if he needed to talk more. “Except Bea.”
“Except Bea.” He sighed. “Parenting is a real bitch, Rose. Anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to sell you wet wipes or formula.”
They were sitting in her classroom. This wasn’t the place for any sort of intimacy, no matter how innocent. Still, she reached over to stroke her knuckles down his bristly cheek, unable to keep herself from giving him some sort of physical comfort.
“I’m sorry you’re hurting. What can I do to help?”
The line between his brows smoothed under her touch, and he reached up to catch her fingertips. Bring them to his mouth for a kiss.
This smile looked more genuine, and he squeezed her fingers. “You’re already doing it.” After a long, slow breath, he returned his attention to the plastic bags. “Let’s knock this out so we can get you home. You’re squinting like you have a headache.”
How in the world had he noticed that, especially while steeped in his own misery?
When he offered his arm, she let him help her to her feet. “You’re willing to help?”
He shot her a chiding look, which was answer enough.
For an hour, he helped her fill the bags and waited as she wrote notes to all her AP kids. When she’d finished, and all the bags were labeled and resting in neat rows on her back counter, he hoisted her briefcase alongside his and walked her to the parking lot.
Theirs were the only two remaining vehicles. By that time, she could barely see straight, and Martin had devolved from Nosferatu to Crypt Kee
per. But his presence had turned the evening from torturous to tolerable.
More than tolerable. Companionable. Exciting.
Especially when they’d tossed her bags in her passenger’s seat, and she was leaning against the driver’s door, too tired to stand upright without support.
“Good night, Martin,” she said.
He didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he took a step closer. Another. Until his pants brushed the thin flounce of her skirt, his breath mingled with hers, and he became everything she could see. Everything she cared to see.
His blue eyes didn’t stray from her face. Didn’t flicker away in indecision or embarrassment. Instead, he watched his own fingers trace her cheek. Brush along her lower lip like a whisper. Stroke the line of her neck so slowly and gently she shivered.
He leaned closer. Smoothed her hair back from her ear, making her skin prickle everywhere. Spoke with low, unhurried intimacy into that sensitive ear, like a man who intended to savor the way their bodies fit, the way their oxygen mingled.
“I want to kiss you,” he said. “May I?”
She nodded.
One more step forward, and all that lean strength pressed into her softness. Backed her into the cool metal of the car door. Her breath hitched at the immediate heat against her breasts and belly, the forest scent of him, the way he let her take some of his weight. He didn’t try to hide his arousal, but he didn’t impose it upon her either, and when her thighs parted to allow one of his in between, he didn’t immediately accept the offer.
Instead, his sensitive fingers cradled her skull, sliding through the hair she’d loosened from a twist once her headache began. His thumbs slid along her cheekbones and followed the line of her jaw. Tipped her chin downward a tiny bit.
She felt surrounded. Sheltered bodily in the same way she’d tried to shelter him earlier that day, in her classroom.
Then his mouth settled over hers, and her world became velvet.
Soft. He was so soft with her. Careful in a way she’d never experienced.
There was no demand. Only invitation. A quiet offer of pleasure as his lips nuzzled hers, exploring the plush give of her mouth and the slickness just inside. Encouraging the low hum in her throat as her tongue met his for the first time.
Oh, this was luxury like she’d never known.
She teased his inner lip, sucked on the tip of his tongue, and he took that final step forward with a rough moan. So carefully, his thigh fitted between hers. Pressed.
When her head fell back, he trailed his mouth down her neck. Deliberately took a bit of flesh between his teeth and tugged. Just a little, until she arched into him and let his thigh ease her ache for a moment.
His hands left her face, slid down her sides in a lingering caress. Then they were on her bottom, hitching her forward. Hitching her tighter against his leg, rocking her, until the slow, easy rhythm had her short of breath, clutching his shoulders, and remarkably, damnably close to orgasm. She was tightening between her legs, swollen and trembling in little spasms.
In the past, she’d had to fight for her pleasure.
There was no struggle here. Only a man who paid attention, determined for her to have everything she wanted.
Another slow slide of that thigh over her clit, and she’d come. Here. At school.
She managed to rasp out two words. “Parking lot.”
He let her go, but not quickly. His hands tightened on her bottom for a moment, and only released her with a final, savoring stroke of the generous curves. And his mouth didn’t lift from her neck until he’d had one more lingering suckle of her tingling flesh.
He licked a path up to her ear. Bit her earlobe gently.
Whispered, “Were you about to come, Rose?”
Oh, he was pleased with himself. Which was fair, because she was rather pleased with him too.
“Yes.” She scratched her nails down his back, just to see his satisfying shudder. “About five seconds away, if my calculations are correct.”
He laughed softly into her ear, and her second countdown began again with that warm tickle. “Me too. You saved me from a ruined pair of pants.”
She turned her head to press one last, light kiss on his mouth. “I’d invite you home, but I need to be back here in about eight hours. That’s not enough time for what I have planned.”
“You’ve made plans?” He looked delighted. “Again, me too.”
“Let’s save those plans for one night soon, then.” She fumbled for her keys with unsteady fingers. “Maybe after our AP and state tests are done, a week when you don’t have Bea.”
“It’s a date.” When she moved to swing open her car door, he caught her hand. “Hold on. One more thing.”
For the first time, those worry lines appeared on his brow again, and he adjusted his weight from foot to foot. But why in the world would he be nervous now? They’d already made out, already proposed plans for actual, full-on sex within the next several weeks.
“I haven’t done this before,” he began, and she couldn’t help but snort.
“I don’t think that’s true.” She patted his cheek. “Unless you really did pluck Bea from the cabbage patch. And based on your performance tonight, you’d have to be a prodigy of some kind. A sexual wunderkind.”
He took a moment to bask in the praise. Smugness looked good on him.
Then he sort of shook himself. “That’s not what I meant. When I said I haven’t done this before, I wasn’t talking about sex. I was talking about prom.”
Poor thing worried way too much. “You haven’t chaperoned before? That’s okay. It’s not for another month or so. I’ll fill you in before then.” A yawn caught her by surprise, one so big her jaw cracked. “But I should really get g—”
“No, Rose. Please let me finish.” His hands clasped her shoulders in a gentle hold. “What I’m trying to say is that I’ve never asked anyone to prom before.”
She blinked at him, too tired to make sense of it.
“But I’m asking you. Now. Will you go with me to prom as my date?”
Prom. In front of the entire school. Teachers and students and staff, all suddenly aware of her relationship with Martin. All suddenly able to speculate. Gossip.
Pity and mock her if everything fell apart.
She cared about him too much. She wouldn’t be able to hide her devastation if they broke up, and then all her armor wouldn’t help her fend off the scrutiny and judgment of others.
No. Never again.
His thumbs stroked her skin through her blouse. “We’ll still have to chaperone, of course, but we could talk. Dance. Spend the whole evening together without a single paper to grade or parent call to make.”
His blue eyes were so earnest, so sincere. So nervous. So beloved.
She had no clue what to think. What to say.
God, her head hurt. For a moment, in his arms, she’d completely forgotten.
He brushed a tender kiss on her temple. “Please, Rose.”
“I don’t know.” The words emerged in a tumble. “I just…don’t know. My headache is getting worse. Can we talk about this later?”
And then, like a coward, she got into her car and drove away before he could request a more definitive response from her. Because the only answer she could give right now was one he wouldn’t want to hear.
Fourteen
Martin sat at his social studies department office desk and opened a new document on his laptop. Then stared at the white screen, unable to remember what he’d wanted to write.
At some point this morning, he was going to have to stop last night’s encounter with Rose from tumbling over and over in his mind, but he hadn’t found that off switch yet.
Another mug of heavily-sugared coffee didn’t help. Neither did a perfunctory check of his e-mails. Five minutes later, he closed the blank document with a disgruntled mumble and gave in to his need to obsess over, replay, and analyze everything that had happened.
In his past, he could claim exactly
one previous girlfriend. One previous lover.
Sabrina. His ex-wife.
So on the one hand, his ability to arouse Rose almost to orgasm in an empty school parking lot—up against the side of her car, for Christ’s sake—seemed somewhat miraculous. A gift he hadn’t even dared request, given the decidedly temperate nature of his union with Sabrina.
He’d expected awkwardness. Fumbling. Possibly apologies on his part.
Instead, Rose had melted like marshmallow fluff under his hands and mouth. And in return, she’d kept him aflame the entire night with the memory of her nails in his back, the heat between her thighs.
He could only count that as a win.
On the other hand, asking a woman to prom for the first time ever and having her plead a headache and speed away as if pursued by ravenous, educator-eating zombies didn’t feel great. Especially since she wasn’t just any woman, but Rose. Gorgeous, brilliant, fierce Rose. The culmination of every desire, every longing, he’d never let himself acknowledge.
It had simply never occurred to him that she might be willing—no, blessedly eager—to have sex with him, but leery about dating him in public. Sabrina’s preferences had tended toward the opposite.
But he should have known. Dammit, if he’d thought about it for more than five minutes using an organ not located in his boxer-briefs, he would have known.
A woman who guarded her privacy like jewels and wore pride like armor wouldn’t want her personal life made public, especially when that personal life involved a colleague. Not unless she knew—knew, with the sort of certainty that had built and toppled monuments—her relationship with that colleague would never damage that pride, never leave her exposed and humiliated before the unkind gaze of near-strangers.
He’d pushed her too hard, when she was already hurting and exhausted and worried about the AP exam. From the social studies department window that morning, he’d seen her wave off the buses full of her kids, all of whom were carrying brown paper bags filled with concrete manifestations of her love for them.
She’d stared after that bus, hands on her hips, for a minute before returning inside. No doubt to keep working on review prep for the state exams, which occurred later in the week.