Twenty Times Tempted: A Sexy Contemporary Romance Collection

by Petrova, Em

  Trip shrugged again as he slipped into gear. He edged forward. “It’s cool, Deuce. Whether you like her or not, she’s okay. Just don’t do anything to embarrass— Shit!”

  Trip slammed on the brakes, jolting Cris forward. The seat belt locked into place across Cris’s chest with a tight, painful grab. “Oof!” Cris’s breath escaped in a rush.

  Another car had careened past them. The dark sedan missed contacting their front bumper by a cat’s whisker and continued on through the lot until it disappeared behind the building.

  What kind of asswipe drove into a parking lot like that? Trip sat bolt upright in his seat, face pale, his fists white-knuckling the wheel. Cris’s stomach clenched with anger and worry. “Are you okay?”

  “What the hell!” Trip gasped. The car inched forward as the kid’s foot slipped on the brake, then jerked to a stop again when he stomped down hard. He shoved the gear shift into park and unbuckled his safety restraint. “I can’t... That was close. You have to drive.”

  If he let Trip get out from behind the wheel, it might be months before the boy found the confidence to drive again. Cris put his hand on Trip’s arm. “Uh-uh. You’re driving. You handled that just great. Fast response time.”

  “I can’t. What if it happens again and I’m not fast enough?” Trip’s voice shook, matching the quivering in Cris’s heart. “I don’t want to take the chance.”

  That had pretty much been Cris’s excuse for not getting seriously involved with anyone since Larie had left. He hadn’t wanted to chance being hurt again. It was easier to indulge in quick and dirty affairs, hiding his heart behind the scars carved into it, not giving anything but his body to a woman.

  Until Sarah.

  With her, he’d wanted more, but now he knew the risk wasn’t worth it. Their brief affair ended, and while his body might not end up hurt, his heart most certainly had shattered into millions of pieces...a jigsaw puzzle he might never be able to put back together.

  But right now, it wasn’t about him or his damn heart.

  “Trip, you’ll get nothing out of life if you don’t risk a little something. It’s natural to be scared after a close call like that. But if you stop now, if you get out from behind the wheel, it just gets harder to get back in the driver’s seat later. This risk is worth the reward.”

  Trip canted his head to the side and slid him a knowing look. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not actually talking about driving?”

  “Not to get all philosophical and shit on you, but I’m not. I’m talking about life in general.”

  Reaching over his shoulder, Trip grasped the safety belt and stretched it across his body. When he shoved the hardware together, the snap was loud, the final period on their conversation. “I guess you’re right, Deuce. Sometimes ya gotta take a risk.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  As much as it gave her no pleasure, Sarah had to tell Simon he was out and his understudy was in. At least the dilemma of Simon’s failing grades had taken her mind off Cris. When she’d informed Simon he was academically ineligible, he’d simply shrugged and wandered away. The little peckerhead didn’t seem upset. And, as far as Sarah was concerned, it was no real loss for the rest of the cast since Simon had mostly phoned in his performance at rehearsals.

  By the time Sarah had arrived at school this morning, there had been two voicemails and one email from Mrs. Patterson. The first bell rung, and after a quick patrol of the halls to make sure no students loitered where they shouldn’t, Sarah returned to her office.

  As she picked up the phone to call Simon’s mom, her intercom buzzed.

  “Sarah, Mrs. Patterson is waiting for you in reception.” Molly’s voice floated from the phone.

  More unwelcome words. Since the tirade Cris had spouted at her backstage on Sunday, it seemed like she hadn’t heard a single damned positive thing. Raw pain from the sudden memory of the confrontation with the man swamped her, bringing the oh-so-familiar sting of tears to her eyes.

  Blinking rapidly to stem the flow, she dropped her chin to her chest. She shoved away the insistent pang of hurt and eased out a tight, worried sigh.

  That Mrs. Patterson had shown up in person told her that Simon’s mom wasn’t happy.

  “Thanks, Molly.” Sarah pulled Simon’s file from the stack waiting in the organizer and centered it on her desk. Tapping her fingers on the manila folder, she decided dealing with parents was ten times worse than disciplining students. She despised the tight knot that had developed in her throat.

  Rising slowly from her chair, Sarah’s stomach churned like the cauldron at the bottom of a waterfall. She’d dealt with Mrs. Patterson in the past. Simon’s older brother had been in trouble more often than not.

  Footsteps dragging, Sarah gave herself a mental pep talk—you can do this, Sarah, piece of cake—as she crossed her office. She paused in the doorway and scanned the room.

  Mrs. Patterson sat bolt upright on one of the hard wooden chairs, a dark scowl on her face. The instant she caught sight of Sarah, she leapt up, knocking over a coffeehouse to-go cup. “Ms. Willis, why haven’t you returned my calls?” She didn’t bother to pick up the leaking container.

  Going the kill-her-with-kindness route, Sarah smiled gently and motioned the helicopter mom to approach. “Mrs. Patterson, won’t you come in. Molly,” she addressed the long-suffering secretary, “would you call the custodian to clean this up?” She gestured to the mess and rolled her eyes. Molly shook her fist at Mrs. Patterson’s back.

  A cloud of sickly sweet perfume enveloped Sarah as the woman swept past and plopped down onto the seat next to the desk. After a fast internal debate, Sarah opted to leave the door open. What she really wanted was to open the window to eliminate the overpowering stench of the woman’s cologne. She crossed the room and rounded the desk. She pulled Simon’s file closer to the edge as she dropped into the imitation leather chair.

  “Why is my son off the play?” Mrs. P. for pain-in-my-ass demanded, charging ahead like a runaway steamroller. “The play is the day after tomorrow, and Simon is perfect in the role. I’ve rehearsed the lines with him myself. You simply cannot remove him. He’s the star!”

  Star, her fat Aunt Fanny. “Simon is failing in two very important classes. His academic career is more important.” Sarah silently questioned why Mrs. P didn’t quite seem to grasp that point.

  It was an issue she’d dealt with when student athletes were declared ineligible. Most parents understood, but there were a few who thought she was personally responsible for destroying their kid’s chance at being a standout collegiate or professional jock.

  “He won’t need those classes once he makes it big in the film industry. My son is a very gifted actor.”

  Sarah suppressed the huge sigh welling up from the bottom of her lungs as she flipped the cover open on the file. She located the line detailing Simon’s marks. “The classes Simon is struggling in are algebra and law. Once he is making millions of dollars as a sought after actor, it’s possible he’d be able to afford to hire people to oversee his fortune. But...if he fails in those two basic classes, he might never be able to tell if someone is swindling him.”

  Sarah swept up her Sharpie, the clip digging into her thumb. She clenched her fingers tighter, but didn’t pop the cap. She didn’t need to resort to the soothing gesture. She was right, and Mrs. P. was going to have to accept that her little wannabe Brad Pitt wasn’t getting back on the play. Sarah was more than prepared to stand her ground on this point. She was done being non-confrontational-Nellie.

  Mrs. P. harrumphed. “They wouldn’t dare. We’d never hire anyone we couldn’t trust. I insist you reinstate him in the play. He’ll be destroyed if you don’t.”

  More like Mrs. P. would be devastated. Forcing her shoulders back, Sarah closed the file. “School policy prohibits academically ineligible students from participating in activities that will take time from the effort to improve their grades. Simon is out of the play, and there is nothing you or I can do. However
, I’d be happy to give you a list of student tutors and organizations that can help Simon with these courses.” She rose behind her desk, hoping Mrs. P. would get the message. This conversation was over.

  Taking charge felt awesome, liberating. For once, she conquered her nerves and handled the meeting with smooth aplomb. Pride rose within her like a helium balloon. She would always remember this moment as the point at which dealing with parents had become easier.

  She ushered the defeated Mrs. Patterson from her office with a light step. After asking Molly to find the tutor list, she returned to her office and eased the door closed.

  Hidden behind closed blinds, she danced a fast, happy jig, celebrating her freedom from fear of confrontation. For a full thirty seconds, she twirled in circles, pumping her hands in the air, stomping her feet, a huge dopey grin stretching the corners of her mouth.

  Her head reeled a little as she stopped spinning and smoothed her skirt over her hips. At a more sedate pace, she walked back to her desk. Triumphantly, she scooped up Simon’s file and fanned herself. With a celebratory flourish, she deposited it back into the organizer on the corner of her desk. She plopped onto her chair, and after swiveling in one complete circle, she picked up the Sharpie and dropped it into the cup on her desk. Selecting a completely different pen, she turned her attention to the day’s tasks.

  ***

  “Okay, kids. Break’s over.” Sarah put the clipboard on the cushioned seat next to her. “Places everybody. Full dress run-through starts now.”

  All around her, students scurried to their designated spots. About ten rows behind her, parents who’d made a special trip to the school for this run-through spoke in hushed tones. Sporadic laughter reached her ears. She identified the distinctive pop of a beer can being opened and smelled the popcorn the small crowd passed around. She should say something about the school district’s policy regarding alcohol on the premises to the guilty parties, but opted not to. First, they were consenting adults, and second, in less than three months, they’d be able to buy beer at the spring fish fries. As long as they were discrete, she wouldn’t say anything.

  The sounds of instruments tuning filled her ears as Pippa slid in next to her, running her hands through her short dark curls. “The orchestra is in place and ready. Gotta confess, I’m a little giddy about this. I haven’t had this much fun since I was student music director for the college band.”

  The sense of accomplishment hit her with a rush of emotion. “You know, when I first took over, I dreaded it. But it’s been fun.”

  “We make a good team.” A student called for Pippa from the pit in front of the stage. “Gotta go. Break a leg.”

  Sarah froze as Pip clambered under the fabric-draped stanchions separating the orchestra pit from the auditorium. Wracking her brain, she tried to remember if it was bad luck to wish someone good luck during dry runs. She cast her eyes heavenward and breathed a quiet prayer.

  “Sarah!” Cris’s angry voice filled her ear. “I’ve been looking everywhere for Trip. He hasn’t been answering his phone. I thought I’d told you he was through with the play.”

  Sarah faced him, her breath stilling in her lungs as she caught sight of his glinting eyes. After a brief reminder to herself to inhale then exhale, she straightened her spine and thrust her shoulders back. “You should have told Kit. He showed up and said Sam had called him in for some last minute issues. He isn’t here because I asked him.”

  He leaned forward until his breath tickled her cheek. “I don’t want him anywhere near this production.”

  “Cris, please let him stay. At least for tonight. He’s so happy. He was even singing with the other cast members. You can sit with the parents who are here to watch.”

  Only days ago, his obvious desire had nearly melted her. Now, his hard, cold stare chilled her to the core. Chin held high, she waited for his response.

  He glanced toward the stage where the crew scurried to move the set furniture into place for the first act. When he looked back at her, his brow was creased into a solid line on his forehead. But he nodded curtly. “Just tonight. Then no more. I’ll talk to him.” His words were sharp.

  She took a step back, worried his tone had carried. She cast a nervous glance first at the stage, then at the parents assembled behind her. Fortunately, the kids were too busy getting into place and the parents too distracted by their spontaneous party.

  On the stage, the heavy red-velvet curtain emblazoned with the school insignia swished closed.

  “Look, I’m sorry.” She shook her head. She had nothing to apologize for. “Just...please take a seat with the other parents. We’re about to get started.”

  Cris stalked up the aisle away from her. One of the other dads stood and extended his right hand to greet Cris, then his left hand to deliver a can. She bit her lip and clenched her fists, holding on to her anger and hurt. She was working hard to reclaim her non-fraternization rule. Shouting at him that he was a big-ass prick would not be the most professional move she could execute.

  Giving herself a mental shake, Sarah forced her attention back to the task at hand. “Cast in place?” she shouted to the kids.

  The students responded as a group. “Oy!”

  “Crew? You ready to move?” She hollered to the stagehands.

  “Ready and eager,” came the unified response.

  Sarah scooped up her walkie-talkie and keyed the mic button. “Tech crew standing by?” She hurried to the access stairs at the side of the stage.

  “Roger that, Ms. Willis.”

  “Remember, take the house lights down, give it thirty seconds, then open the curtain and bring the stage lights up.” She scrambled up the steps as silence descended behind her. Her ankle brushed the curtain as she slid behind it.

  “Go the lights,” she instructed over the two-way radio.

  Peeking through a gap at the edge of the curtain, she smiled as the auditorium lights dimmed. In spite of the mini-confrontation with Cris, her stomach fizzed like sparkling wine. This was her favorite moment, whether she was in the play or the audience. Anticipation stole her breath and raised the hairs on her arms.

  Mentally counting down from thirty, she silently motioned to the actors waiting in the wings to get ready for their entrance. In front of the stage, the orchestra struck up the overture. Show time.

  A mechanical sound signaled the curtain opening. A cloud of dusty air puffed against her face. Sarah stepped farther into the wing to avoid being seen. Ten students waltzed into place in the dim light for the opening party scene. Mischa, the lead actress, fawned around the guests, animated, smiling and flitting from one to the other as the stage lights came up.

  The spots illuminated an empty area of the stage. What the hell? That wasn’t right. Collectively, the actors stilled, confusion and surprise on their faces.

  A sharp and incredibly loud pop filled the air above the stage. Sarah swiveled her head in an arc toward the overhead sound, just as a shower of sparks dripped toward the floor and the center bank of lights went black, plunging the stage into semi-darkness. Several of the female actors screeched while lower male voices shouted.

  The smell of ozone seared her nostrils. Sarah froze before she could raise the radio. A pale flicker above the can lights caught her eye. Her blood iced, refusing to move through her veins. The flicker grew in intensity and swelled to the size of a torch, then the trunk of a small tree.

  Someone near her shrieked, “Fire!”

  The urgency and fear in the kid’s voice vaulted Sarah into action. This situation was her biggest nightmare. She alone was responsible for these lives. No one else. They had to evacuate. Now!

  She lifted her radio. “Sam? Get the house lights up now. You’re in charge of the people in the auditorium and the orchestra. Tell everyone to head to the nearest exit. Rendezvous at the tennis courts.”

  Above her, flames licked the catwalk. Over the PA system, Sam’s voice blared out the order to evacuate. Racing to center stage, she grabbed the f
irst student she encountered, forcing panic away for the sake of the students. She pulled her participant list from the back pocket of her jeans and slapped it into the kid’s hand. She pointed toward the exit at the rear of the stage. “Bruce, I’m appointing you marshal. Get the cast and crew out through the stage door. Move at least a hundred feet from the building. Direct everyone to the tennis court. Do not lose that list.”

  She sprinted away from him as he herded students toward the exit. The fire extinguisher gleamed like a red beacon from stage left, right next to the spiral stairs that led to the catwalk. That was her goal. Grab the extinguisher and get to the source of the fire as quickly as possible. Overhead the catwalk shook like someone was on it.

  She jerked the canister from its hook. As she pulled the pin, the stage door banged open. From the corner of her eye, she saw the first students escaping to safety. She started up the circular steps.

  “Sarah, stop!” Cris’s bellow sounded over the pandemonium surrounding her.

  She paused three steps up and glanced at him, then back to the ceiling. Oh, God, the flames had reached the secondary curtain line. “There’s another extinguisher stage right, by the service steps. Grab it and meet me up top.”

  Something she never expected to see in Cris’s face startled her. Fear. “I’ve called it in to the department. We need to leave now. Have you seen Trip?” he yelled.

  Darting a glance at the last of the students filing out the stage door, she scanned for Cris’s son, but didn’t see him. He might have already exited. She climbed the stairs, which wobbled with each step like the scariest suspension bridge. “He must be outside already. Cris, we need to try to contain this.”

  “Dammit!” Cris raced to the opposite side of the stage as she continued up. He slid to a halt, then spun back toward the spiral stairs. “Fuck! Sarah, there’s no other extinguisher.”

  She paused, terror clutching her heart. An instant later a piece of metal pinged on the railing as it fell to the ground. She shot a panicked look above her and saw movement through the metal grated walkway. A flash of red caught her eye, and she heard the hiss of an extinguisher being activated. Who the hell was up there?