by Cindi Myers
She leaned in to kiss him again and bumped his arm. The soap squirted out of his fingers, landing with a wet plop! on the tile and skidding away. “I’d better get that before one of us steps on it,” he said.
He bent to retrieve the runaway bar, presenting a tantalizing view of his tight rear end. Unable to resist, she grabbed a towel from a hook on the wall and snapped it at him.
“Oh no you don’t!” He lunged for her and she darted away, squealing. She managed to evade him for several seconds before he caught her and hauled her, breathless, up against the far shower wall.
Laughing, she looked into his eyes and the heat she saw there—the naked wanting—made her knees weaken and her arms go limp. His mouth claimed hers, the kiss powerful, bruising, blocking out thought and reason and anything but the feel of his lips on hers, the heat of his tongue in her mouth, a connection forged between them that went beyond the physical. Mouth to mouth like this, their bodies melded together to almost one being, who was to say they didn’t glimpse one another’s souls?
She clung to him, drinking in that kiss, his hands moving down her body, parting her legs, his fingers delving into her, caressing, desire building past bearing.
She thrust against him, trying to climb to that height she knew he would help her reach. Immediately, his hand stilled, leaving her poised on the brink, gasping for breath, eyes squeezed shut. Water beat around them and, underneath the drum of the shower on tile, she heard his ragged breathing. “Hold on,” he whispered. “Just a minute.”
He reached above his head, groping for and finding the condom he’d balanced on the edge of the stall. He ripped the packet open with his teeth and sheathed himself, grunting with the effort of maintaining control.
She closed her eyes again and leaned her head back, waiting. He kissed her neck, her throat, his mouth burning a path down, to her breasts, while his hands kneaded her hips. She felt him, poised at her entrance and arched toward him.
Some sound disturbed her, something out of place. She caught her breath. Was someone out there? Had they been discovered?
Then it was too late. He plunged into her, the feel of him taking her breath away. She wrapped one leg around him, both steadying herself and coaxing him deeper. His movements were strong and sure, each withdrawal sending tremors through her, each return making her coil around him, tensed and ready.
On the edge of consciousness, she thought she heard the noise again. An image flashed through her mind of someone watching them, mesmerized by the force of their passion. The idea sent her over the edge in a blinding, quaking climax. She bit his shoulder to keep from screaming her pleasure, shock waves still rocking her as he followed her to his release.
She didn’t know how long she clung to him, but eventually she became aware of her surroundings once more: the slick tile at her back, the cooling water flowing over her, his chest crushing her against the wall. She shifted and he pulled away, turning to shut off the water.
Neither of them spoke as he lifted a towel from a hook and began drying her. His movements were gentle. Tender. He blotted the water from her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach and back, focused on his work. She closed her eyes and sighed. When had she ever felt so cared for? So cherished?
So vulnerable, whispered a voice inside her head, but she pushed the thought away. She had nothing to fear from Dylan. “Do you think I could get you to come over every morning and give me a shower?” she asked softly.
He grinned. “If I did that, neither one of us would ever get to work.”
The sound of a toilet flushing in the next room made them both jump. She choked back a scream and stared at him. “Somebody’s here!” she hissed.
He nodded and handed her the towel, then snatched up one for himself. “We’d better get dressed and get out of here.”
They hurried into their clothes, frantically groping for buttonholes, hopping on one foot and then the other as they pulled socks on over still-damp skin. Taylor’s hands shook as she zipped up her jeans. What would happen if they were caught? Would she be fired? Would Dylan’s political career be over before it even started? She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and moaned. All her makeup had washed off and her hair was plastered against her scalp in a tangled mess. She searched in her purse and found a comb, but she’d barely dragged it through her hair before Dylan grabbed her hand and pulled her behind a laundry cart just as the door opened and lights blazed on.
Kneeling on the hard tile floor, she peered around the edge of the laundry cart and saw the janitor wheeling a mop bucket into the room. Head bobbing and hips swaying, he hummed snatches of a song. She realized he was listening to the stereo hooked to his belt.
He moved over to the sinks and began to spray cleaner from an industrial-size plastic bottle. Dylan squeezed her hand and indicated they should keep low to the ground—out of view of the mirrors—and slip out the door.
Heart pounding, she swallowed hard. She checked the janitor again. He was scrubbing the sinks now, still humming to himself. Dylan nodded and jerked her toward the door.
They ran, feet slapping against the floor, out the shower room door, across the gym and down the hall. They didn’t stop running until they were in the parking lot, where they collapsed against the side of Dylan’s truck, gasping.
“D-do you th-think he saw us?” she asked, clinging to the truck door handle. She had a stitch in her side from running so hard.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He glanced back toward the door leading into the school. “He didn’t come after us, so I’m sure he didn’t see anything.”
“Then I guess…we’d better go.”
He looked around them again. “Where are you parked?”
“In the teacher’s lot—up front.”
“I’ll walk you.”
MINDY SAT IN THE conference room off the principal’s office and tried to concentrate on the standardized-test-score statistics Clay was presenting to them, but her mind kept focusing on the man himself. He pointed to a graph on the wall and she thought about what nice hands he had. You could tell a lot about a man from his hands. Clay had long, thick fingers and nicely trimmed nails. No rings. A classic gold watch. His hands practically shouted respectable and conservative.
Not the kind of man who would get involved with someone he supervised. Someone fifteen years younger.
She hadn’t realized she’d sighed until she looked up to find everyone staring at her. “Is something wrong, Miss Lewis?” Clay asked.
She sat up straight, aware of the hot flush of embarrassment creeping across her cheeks. “No. Everything’s fine.”
“Some of us are very interested in these issues.” Alyson gave her a withering look, then turned to Clay. “I think we should make improved test scores the main focus of our teaching.”
“You can’t just teach the test,” Sara Stafford, the sophomore biology teacher, countered. “What happened to a well-rounded education?”
Everyone started debating ideas then. Mindy slumped in her chair, trying to follow the conversation, uncomfortably aware of Clay’s eyes on her. He wore a puzzled expression. Who could blame him? He probably wondered what she was doing here. She was beginning to wonder that herself.
After what seemed like hours, the meeting adjourned and everyone began to file out. Mindy was last in line, reluctant to leave. This wasn’t working out the way she’d planned. She hadn’t had a chance to say one word to Clay.
He looked up just then and caught her eye. “Mindy, do you mind staying for a minute? There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
Her stomach sank to her ankles. Was he angry she’d let her mind wander? Was he going to ask her to resign from the committee? “Y-yes. What is it?”
He went around the table, collecting leftover papers, not looking at her. “I’m curious. Why did you volunteer for this task force?”
Because I wanted to be close to you. But of course, she couldn’t tell him that. “I thought it sounded interestin
g.”
“You didn’t appear too interested tonight.”
She flushed again. “I’m sorry, I—”
“No need to apologize.” He looked up, smiling. “I didn’t mean that as a reprimand. Frankly, I find these things incredibly boring myself. And I know I’m not the world’s most scintillating speaker.”
Scintillating. How many men did she know who used words like scintillating? None. Well, one. Clay. The other men she’d dated didn’t even know what the word meant. There she went, letting her mind wander again. “I’m sorry. I guess I just have a lot on my mind.”
He looked concerned. “If it’s anything I can help you with, I hope you’ll come to me.”
That’s the whole problem, I can’t come to you. She lowered her gaze. “Thank you. I—I appreciate the offer.”
“In any case, I wanted to thank you for signing up for the committee. It’s refreshing to have someone with your youth and energy and enthusiasm to keep the rest of us on our toes.”
Oh, no, he’d called her young. Did he think she was too young? That he was too old?
He turned away and her heart sank. She hadn’t had a chance to say any of the things she’d rehearsed in front of the bathroom mirror last night. “Wait…I—”
He turned around, eyes alert. “Yes?”
“I—I do have some good ideas for the committee.” She took a deep breath, searching for courage. “Maybe we could get together to discuss them. Over lunch or…or dinner?”
His smile could have melted chocolate. “I’d like that. When?”
When? She hadn’t thought this far. She hadn’t dared think he’d even be interested. “Wh-when would you be available?”
“Next Friday is a teacher’s work day. Everyone goes home at two. Perhaps we could meet for a late lunch or an early supper.”
A meal together would be a good start. “Okay. Next Friday. Supper. That would be nice.”
He picked up his briefcase. “Let me walk you to your car. It’s already late.”
They walked slowly, as if neither was in a hurry to leave. She kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye and was surprised to find that he kept looking at her, that same puzzled expression in his eyes she’d noticed earlier. When they reached the front doors of the building, he paused, his hand on the bar that opened the door. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
She swallowed. “I guess.”
“Are you, um, seeing anyone?”
“Seeing anyone?” As in, a doctor? Or a psychiatrist. Oh, God, did he think she needed professional help?
“Are you dating anyone? I know it’s none of my business, but—”
“No. I mean no, I’m not dating anyone.” Are you? But she couldn’t bring herself to ask that.
He nodded and opened the door and held it for her. She walked past him, scarcely breathing. Did he have a particular reason for wanting to know if she was dating anyone? Was he—maybe-going to ask her out himself?
“Isn’t that Taylor Reed’s car over there?”
She blinked at the sudden shift in the conversation and followed his gaze to the familiar Honda Civic. “That is Taylor’s car.” She frowned. “What’s she doing up here this time of night?”
About that time, Taylor herself appeared, walking across the parking lot with a tall, handsome man. The closer they got, the more…disheveled they looked. The man’s shirt was untucked and…was Taylor’s hair wet?
“We’d better find out what’s going on,” Clay said. He took her arm and tugged her across the lot, toward her friend and the mysterious handsome stranger.
TAYLOR DIDN’T PROTEST when Dylan put his arm around her. No one was here to see them and, besides, it felt too good in his arms. She told herself she should enjoy this while she could.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said.
“Oh?” She glanced up at him, suddenly wary. Had he been thinking about them? Was he about to say something about his feelings for her or the things they’d been doing? She didn’t want to hear anything that would take them out of the fantasy world they’d re-created, into a more treacherous territory of feelings and emotions and consequences for the future. “I’ve been thinking, too,” she hastened to add. “About your running for school board. I definitely think you should do it.”
“Really?” He looked down at her. “Why do you say that?”
“You were so good with the kids tonight. I know you’d keep their best interests in mind and that’s exactly the kind of person who ought to be on the school board.”
He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I’m supposed to give my backers a decision tomorrow.”
“What will you tell them?”
He grinned. “If you think I’d do a good job, then I think I’ll tell them yes.” He patted her shoulder. “Your opinion means a lot to me, you know.”
There he went, talking about feelings again. Feelings she wasn’t ready to explore. She searched her mind for another distraction, but one was provided as they turned the corner of the building. She was surprised to see several cars still in the lot.
“Is something going on here tonight?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not that I know of. But it could be some group or other meeting.”
She straightened and moved out of his arms and said a silent prayer that no one would come along and see them like this. She thought her prayer had been granted when they stopped beside her car and she took out her keys. “Good night,” she told Dylan and started to unlock her door.
“Good night.” He touched her arm, stopping her and making her look up at him. “And thanks. For everything.” He grinned. “For inviting me to meet the kids and for the shower.”
She felt herself blushing. “Thank you, too.” She couldn’t stop looking at him and she couldn’t stop smiling. She felt seventeen again, her insides turned to warm applesauce by his mere presence.
“Taylor! Hey, Taylor!”
Her heart climbed into her throat as she whirled to see Mindy striding toward her, followed closely by Clay Walsh. Mindy grinned and stopped in front of them. “What are you doing here this time of night?” She cast a questioning look at Dylan.
“Taylor, is everything all right?” Clay stopped behind Mindy, his forehead creased in a frown.
“Everything’s fine,” she said, a little too brightly. “Um, this is Dylan Gates.” She nodded to Dylan. “Dylan, this is my friend and fellow teacher, Mindy Lewis, and our principal, Clay Walsh.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Dylan shook hands with them both, his warm smile and easy manner betraying no hint of the nervousness and panic Taylor felt.
“Um, Dylan and I were working on a special project.” She fought to keep from blushing farther. “That is, the students and I are thinking of studying a book Dylan’s father wrote about the civil rights movement in Bee County. Dylan came to talk to us about his father.”
“That’s really nice of you.” Mindy’s smile brightened a few watts and she not-so-subtly checked him out.
Clay was still frowning. “Why is your hair wet?”
Taylor wished a sinkhole would open in the asphalt and swallow her up. Now. She put a hand to her damp hair. “I, uh…”
“We fell in the pool.”
She stared at Dylan. His eyes met hers, telling her she should just go along with him. “Uh…that’s right. I, uh…Dylan went to school here and he wanted to look around, so I was showing him the new pool that was put in a few years ago. I guess I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking and I slipped and fell in.”
“So, of course, I had to jump in after her.”
Clay however, was still frowning. “But your clothes are dry.”
Dylan’s smile faltered for half a second. Then he brightened. “Microfiber.”
“Microfiber?” Mindy looked as if she was trying hard not to laugh.
“Dries like that.” Dylan snapped his fingers. “Amazing stuff, huh?”
“Oh, it’s amazing all right.” Mindy’s smi
le was a full-fledged smirk now.
“Well, we’d better be going.” Taylor faked a huge yawn. “Big day tomorrow, you know.” She jabbed her key into the lock and opened the car door. “Good night.”
“Good night.” Dylan was already backing away. Mindy and Clay stared at both of them as if they weren’t sure who was crazier. They were still looking like that when Taylor started the car and backed out of her parking space. She waved and smiled and managed to drive somewhat sedately all the way to the street before dissolving into uncontrollable laughter. It was either that or give in to panicky tears.
9
TAYLOR’S GRANDMOTHER had always told her that if she had an unpleasant chore to take care of, to get it out of the way first so that it didn’t ruin the rest of her day. So Taylor was waiting outside Grady Murphy’s office the next morning when the head of the English department showed up for work. “Good morning, Taylor. To what do I owe this pleasure?” He grinned and unlocked the door.
“Good morning, Grady.” She followed him into the office, A Ranger Remembers cradled in her arms. “My class has selected a book for their semester project, but it’s not on the preapproved list.”
Grady shoved his briefcase onto his desk and flipped on the desk lamp. “Now the whole point of having an approved list is so teachers will use those books in the classroom. There are plenty of good titles on there to choose from. I don’t see why we need to even consider others.”
Well, of course Grady wouldn’t see. He’d made an art of upholding the administration’s policies, no matter how shortsighted they were. She forced a pleasant, and she hoped persuasive, smile to her lips. “The students felt like this book would be an important one for them to study. And I agree.”
“What do they want—Catcher in the Rye again? You’d think Salinger invented teenage angst.”
“No, they’ve decided to go with a local author. And nonfiction.”
He raised one eyebrow. “That’s a new one on me. What did they choose?”
She held out the book, watching his eyes for his reaction. “It’s called A Ranger Remembers, by Samuel Gates.”