by Petrova, Em
“Starting a relationship now will shatter my non-fraternization rule like a bullet to glass. I’m afraid I’ll regret this. And that’s no way for us to begin.”
God, he wished there was a simple way to ease her doubt. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then trailed his fingers down her silky cheek to her jaw. “I will do my damnedest to keep our relationship apart from your role as assistant principal. I don’t want you to regret anything.”
The murky doubt clouding her eyes cleared, and a smile tugged up the corners of her mouth.
He leaned in without closing the distance between them and sealed his lips over hers. She responded, her lush mouth opening, deepening the kiss. While the situation south of his belt had returned to an at ease position as they’d spoken, everything snapped back to attention when she cupped his cheeks to prolong the kiss.
He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “I could kiss you forever.”
“I know the feeling.” Sarah moved her hands to his shoulders and pushed gently. “Go wash up. My rule-bashing self will be here when you get back.”
Warmth unfurled like a flag in the breeze when he realized she would break a personal principle for him. The space around his heart filled with the trust she had in him. Holding the feeling tight, he pressed one last kiss to her forehead before moving toward the steps. Pausing in the doorway, he glanced over his shoulder. The smile on her face, in her eyes, made her creamy complexion glow. She remained leaning against the counter, watching him, her expression open and warm.
The level of attraction he felt for this woman exceeded everything he’d ever known. Even the first few months with Larie paled in comparison to the pull on his heart toward Sarah. And it was his heart, not just his libido. It should scare him, but for some reason, he was invigorated.
He turned and walked away from her, climbing the steps.
Her bathroom was spacious and smelled of lemon cleaner and bleach. When he opened the closet behind the door, he found neatly stacked navy blue towels. He marveled at the tidy organization of her shelves. He stood with the door open, surveying the contents. Toiletries were arranged by product type in neat rows.
Cleaning products were lined up on the shelf below, right next to an assortment of light bulbs and spare paper products. There was an empty laundry basket in the bottom, right next to a toolbox.
He dropped to his haunches. The pointy metal clasp dug into his fingertip when he flipped it up and then opened the black plastic box, turning into a world-class snoop. She’d filled the box with screwdrivers, a two-pound hammer, a tin of nails, fasteners and picture wire, and a box of socket wrenches. He couldn’t explain why, but he found the little kit unbelievably sexy.
Shoving back to his feet, he steadied himself on the doorframe. He pulled a towel from the shelf, releasing a trace of some earthy floral fragrance. Holding the towel to his nose, he inhaled, relishing the calming scent. He scoffed at his behavior as he turned toward the sink. What was next? A hair care product commercial moment? He sent a look toward the tub, discovering her brand of shampoo and conditioner.
He dropped the towel on the vanity. Grasping the hem of his shirt, he lifted and pulled the fabric over his head. Feeling sheepish, he lifted the shirt to his nose and sniffed. It didn’t smell too bad, a good thing since he didn’t have a spare. Maybe she’d have some Febreeze in the closet. He draped the shirt over a towel rack to put back on later.
By the time he finished washing up and finger combing his hair, he looked fairly presentable. The smell of baking pizza overrode the lemony fragrance in the room. His stomach rumbled as he wiped down the sink, removing the excess water he’d splashed as he’d washed his face. He dropped the towel in the laundry basket before he left the room.
Another odor assailed his nostrils as he moved toward the steps. He lifted his face and sucked in a deep breath. Turpentine. A memory of the apartment he and Larie shared flared to life. Their home had always smelled of paint thinner. The only thing in the apartment Larie had ever cleaned had been her brushes and the studio area she’d carved out of the corner of the living room.
Cris stopped at a half-closed door and nudged it wider. Chaotic colors and scents filled his vision, swamping him with boiling déjà vu and dread. His gut churned as he stood transfixed, reliving the worst months of his life. Sarah was an artist and hadn’t bothered to mention it to him while he’d puked out the story of his fucked up existence with Larie.
Clenching his hand around his bicep, he stared at what could have been his future. He rubbed a fist over his breastbone, trying to force away the rising shame. Larie had assaulted him, knocked him unconscious and then left, taking only her artwork from their life together. Not him, and not their son. Moisture bit like a fucking snake at the back of his eyes. He blinked hard as forgotten hurt slammed into him.
Goddammit, Sarah had seemed like such a level-headed woman. One he’d gladly get to know and perhaps build a life with. He crossed his arms over his chest as he scanned the room. Knowing she shared this “hobby” with Larie, there was no way in hell he’d risk pursuing a relationship with her.
He had to leave before crazy jumped back into his life with both feet. He’d come too far, been responsible for Trip’s well-being for too long to open this door again. Grasping the cool metal of the handle, he swung the door shut with such force the pictures in the hallway rattled on the walls. He raced toward the steps, his tennis shoes pounding hollowly with each step.
Sarah stood at the kitchen door, glancing up at him as he slammed down the stairs. “What’s wrong?” A frown pinched her brows together, the corner of her lips turned down.
“I wish you’d told me.” His arm tensed as he clenched his fist behind his back. He forced his fingers to relax and grabbed the crystal knob. With a quick jerk, he opened the door. Flattening his hand on the screen door, he shoved it open.
Sarah’s footsteps echoed on the hardwood as she raced after him. “Cris?”
Without another word, he hurried to the street where he’d parked his car.
Sarah stood at the top of the step, staring after him. “Cris, what the hell is wrong? What should I have told you?”
He rested his hands on the roof. “This won’t work between us. It’s not worth the risk to me and Trip.” He pursed his lips against the hurt. Silently he climbed into the car. The engine roared to life, and he peeled away from the curb.
As he drove away, heart heavy in his chest, he watched her in the rearview mirror. She’d skidded to a stop on the sidewalk, arm lifted, as if beckoning him to come back. But no way in hell that would happen. Not now. Not ever.
Chapter Nine
“What’s eating you, Gilbert Grape?” Pippa teased Sarah three days later right before play practice began. Classes had just been dismissed, and the students weren’t scheduled to arrive for another ten minutes.
Sarah dropped a stack of scripts on the table behind the stage. Her emotions had swung between despair and pissed off since Saturday. Today, anger over Cris’s sudden departure had kept her typical sunny personality at bay. She’d even snapped at Molly when the woman walked in with a donut and the coffee pot to refill her mug.
She dipped her chin to her chest, hoping to keep her flaming cheeks to herself. “Bad day is all.”
Pippa’s scoffing laughter filled the cavernous area. “Lady, that’s a lie. You never have bad days. Do you even know how?”
Refusing to look at her friend, Sarah toyed with the peeling edge of the table in front of her. “Apparently, I do this week. Can you leave it, Pippa? Please?” She risked a glance from under her brows, chagrined to see pity on her friend’s face.
Pippa reached for Sarah’s hand. After guiding her into a nearby chair, Pip settled next to her. She shoved the scripts to the side and propped her elbow on the cleared space. “Spill it. Do it fast before the kids start to arrive. Just rip it off like a bandage.”
Sarah bit the inside of her cheek. She tamped down anger and reached
for objectivity. “I broke my hard-and-fast relationship rule.”
“Which one? The rule where you don’t set up teacher friends on blind dates? Or the one about not getting involved with anyone who wears Crocs?”
That drew a laugh, which was probably Pip’s intention. “No, those are still unbroken.” She sighed and clutched her fingers together in her lap. She hadn’t only broken her sensible rule; she’d smashed it to smithereens. And he’d raced away from her without a word of explanation. He hadn’t replied to her calls and texts. Shame had nearly suffocated her when she’d stopped Kit in the office and oh-so-nonchalantly asked about Cris.
She lifted her gaze and caught Pip’s eye. “The one about not getting involved with a parent.”
Pip’s mouth gaped open for an instant before she snapped it shut. “When did this happen? I spoke to you last week, and you never mentioned anything. You’re holding out on me?”
“I met the man, Cris Bayfield, a few weeks ago when he came in for a conference about his son. Friday, after practice, that same son showed up at my house and redecorated my fence. Then sprained his ankle.” She winced with the memory. “I had to call the dad to come get Kit and take him to the emergency room. Dammit, Pippa. I tried to hold the man at arm’s length, but he was like a retriever with a duck. He just kept at me, charming me with his wit, beguiling me with his good looks.”
“Nothing wrong with that. He’s funny and cute. Sounds like a good combination.”
Sarah sent Pippa a look that quelled most students and their parents. The woman didn’t flinch. In fact, her smile popped the dimples Sarah always had envied and lightened her pretty eyes to cornflower blue.
Slouching back on her chair, Sarah shook her head and continued. “Cris showed up bright and early Saturday morning to clean up the kid’s artwork, which, by the way, rivals most professional graffiti. My resolve to keep Mr. Off-Limits at arms’ length cratered like that sink hole by Settlers Lake.”
Pippa whistled a soft whooshing sound. “Really? That hole happened in like three hours. Clay and I were picnicking with the kids that day. He got it all on his cell phone camera.”
“Just like that! One second, he’s a parent, he’s a parent, he’s a parent, and the next I’m like, what harm could come from letting my guard down? So I did.” Sarah shoved her hands under her thighs to stop fidgeting. “We were in my kitchen, just talking. Except suddenly, I’m practically ripping off his clothes. I have no idea what came over me.”
“So far, so good.” Pippa propped her ankle on her knee and gestured for Sarah to continue.
“Well, smarter heads prevailed, and we stopped. Cris went to the bathroom to clean up after doing yard work for me. Next thing you know, a door slammed, and I heard him racing down the steps. He barely stopped to speak to me on his way out the door. Demanded to know why I didn’t tell him. Said there was no way he’d risk his kid.” Confusion and anger nearly choked her as she tried to reason out an explanation. “I don’t know what I was supposed to tell him.”
Pip pressed her fingers against her lips. “He just left? Just like that?”
“I have no idea what I did to upset him. One minute we’re destined for a session on my freshly washed sheets, then wham! He’s outta there like his ass was on fire. I don’t keep anything in my bathroom that could cause that. My bedroom was clean and my studio—”
Oh hell! Was that what set him off? She’d just listened to him pour his guts out about Kit’s mom, the unbalanced artist. He couldn’t possible compare her, could he?
“Your studio what?” Pip demanded while Sarah thought.
“The door to my studio was open. He must have seen my paintings.”
“Why would your art set him off? Were you painting some other man naked?”
Sarah bit her lip. She couldn’t reveal what Cris had confided in her. It wouldn’t be right. The things he’d said had been painful for him to share.
But he shouldn’t have gotten so bent out of shape about her hobby. It wasn’t like she planned to have something in common with a woman she didn’t know. “Pip, I...I can’t explain. But if he got mad about what I think set him off, I’m more pissed. He’s ignored my attempts to reach out to him, didn’t tell me why he’s mad, and didn’t give me an opportunity to explain. That’s a sucky way to treat anyone.”
“Darn straight. He’s a flipping goofball.” The expression on Pip’s face soured, as though she might finally be willing to break her own rule against using coarse language.
“You won’t say it so I will. He’s a fucking jackass.” Whoa! Letting those words rip out of her mouth was liberating. The legs of the folding chair screeched when Sarah jolted upright. Curling her hands into fists, she propped them on her hips. “That sorry son... he tried to get in my pants, then just ran away like a little chicken shit.”
Something hit the wooden stage with a loud thud. “Ms. Willis!”
Sarah whirled around to find two of her student actors standing inside the curtained area where she and Pip had been talking. Both had their cell phones in hand, and one had dropped her backpack.
Embarrassment flamed in her cheeks. She covered her mouth with her fingers and shot a wild glance over her shoulder toward Pippa.
Pip stood. She cleared her throat as she moved around the table. “Well done, Ms. Willis! That’s exactly the technique to use to portray an emotion on stage. Draw from deep within and channel strong feelings outward.” She clutched one hand to her middle and used the other to pinch Sarah’s arm, warning her to stay silent. Pip turned toward the students and lifted her hand. “Wasn’t that great? Ms. Willis and I were just discussing how to convince an audience that a reaction is genuine. Didn’t she do great? I bet you thought she was really angry, didn’t you, girls?”
Sarah remained mute while the girls giggled behind their hands. The heat in her cheeks didn’t dissipate. Neither did her anger at Cris.
“Ladies, we aren’t quite ready for you yet. Can you set up some chairs around the piano on the stage? We’ll get started in five minutes.” Pip’s tone held a mother’s authority, and the girls left immediately.
Sarah’s shoulders slumped as she oozed out a long breath. She sent Pip a grateful look. “Good save.”
“I learned quick thinking from Clay after the twins caught us...uh, getting jiggy with it in the barn.” Pip’s cheeks pinked up. “You need to go talk to this man and straighten out his thinking about whatever it might be.”
“Except I can’t leave now. We have practice.” The sound of dragging chairs filtered through the heavy stage curtain.
“There really isn’t a reason for both of us to be here. I’ll take the practice and work with the kids on the musical numbers.”
Sarah grasped Pip’s arm. “You’re sure?”
“Go. I’ve got this.”
Impulsively, Sarah wrapped her friend in a giant hug. She whispered into Pip’s ear. “You’re the best.”
Pip’s laugh tinkled musically. “Don’t I know it.”
“I owe you.” Sarah flipped the flap on her messenger bag open and began digging for her car keys.
“Believe me, I’ll collect next time I need an overnight sitter for Mason and Mia.”
She found the oversize key ring and wrapped her fingers around them. “I love your twins, and I love you, Pippa Mathers.” She walked backward toward the exit. “The custodian will be here until six. He’ll lock up for you.”
Pip circled her finger, as though encouraging her to turn around, then waved her hands to shoo her away. Sarah didn’t need to be told twice.
Clenching the strap of her bag, she turned, sucked in a deep breath, and trotted to the stage door.
Chapter Ten
Sarah didn’t care that she broke speed limit laws in her haste to get to the fire station where Cris worked. She’d never tested the limits of her poor old Camry this way before. But the heat of indignation that had started at the school had risen to the murder-on-her-mind stage by the time she screeched into the p
arking lot. And that anger made confrontation easier, a situation she’d normally avoid at all costs.
She viciously slammed the car door, releasing a satisfying surge of endorphins in the process. A firefighter in the truck bay leaned away from the vehicle and watched as she stalked through the opened overhead door. He took a hasty step sideways as she skidded to a stop in front of him.
“Where can I find Crispin Bayfield?” There was no mistaking the command in her voice.
“Uh...I think he’s out back.” The dude’s black T-shirt stretched taut over his muscle-bound chest when he pointed behind him. “You can go through that door, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” Son of a bitch. That stung a little. But she should have expected it, coming in hot the way she had. The firefighter ducked his head. Sarah gentled her tone. “Thank you for your help.” She kept the young’un comment to herself.
Her heels hammered on the concrete as she proceeded, making her hand itch to crack itself over Cris’s cheek when she found him. She abhorred violence, and she’d never given in to the urge to harm anyone, but knowing she wouldn’t lift her hand to another human being didn’t lessen the desire.
As she wrapped her fingers around the door handle leading toward the back of the station, she paused. Larie had hit Cris, had cut him so he bore a permanent reminder of her abuse. Finding him and yelling at him wasn’t going to help Sarah’s cause. Which was to make him understand she’d never be like Kit’s mom. She dropped her hand from the knob and flattened it against her dark green skirt. Pressing her forehead on the metal frame, she took a moment to rein in her temper, to push it away.
Why the hell it was so important for her to make him understand eluded her. He was a parent, and her brain sent a frantic message that she should not get attached to him. Her heart, on the other hand, cackled at her it was too late. Denying her attraction was already a lost cause.