The only thing that grated on his nerves was the way she wore her hair. He remembered seeing it down one time, accidentally. He’d come into her office, and she was combing it and putting it back into the dreaded bun. He hated that bun. Whoever had invented that hairstyle needed to be stoned by a public mob.
But in spite of that, it didn’t deter him from fantasizing about her. He wanted to lock the door, rip off her clothes, and have her spread-eagle on her desk.
How many times had he sat in detention, barely paying attention to her orders, just thinking about ways of fucking her? How many times had he been tempted to take her when they were alone? Just the thought of taking a woman forbidden to him made him hard every day. It was a tawdry magazine confessional scenario: I’m a high school senior who made my teacher come after class—and she loved it!
Seeing her again, the urge to be inside her was back and stronger than ever. When he’d first walked in, it was lust, pure and simple. Now, after that call with her boyfriend, he was a bit thrown off his game. What would be his plan of attack now?
There had been other times when he’d seen the caring, nurturing side of her. He’d always fantasized about dominating the drill-sergeant side of her, but when she softened, so had he. Looking back, he could admit those feelings had frightened and confused him then, too. He had been scared of losing control, so he’d always backed off before those feelings got out of hand. It was easier to think of his senior shenanigans as a phase or an infatuation that would die over time. But Mia Bradford was always with him, no matter how far he went from Fremont High and his senior year.
He’d purposely avoided taking any of her classes because he never would have finished an assignment. He would have been too busy thinking about her in his bed. Socially unacceptable? Yes. Hot? Oh, hell yeah! So when he turned eighteen, he wanted to make his dream become reality. Had it all planned, too. The place, the condoms. But he’d chickened out, knowing that if word had gotten around he had fucked the vice-principal, she would have been ruined.
Now, as she recounted her relationship with Frank Sampson, he wanted to do more than comfort her. Her vulnerability got to him, and he wanted, for once, to love her gently. Not the animalistic fucking he’d been thinking about, but to truly love her.
But there was a new twist. She had a boyfriend. There were a lot of things in his life that he had no control over, and he resented it. This wasn’t going to be one of them.
When her phone rang again, he waited by the door.
“Mia Bradford speaking.” She took off her glasses. “Oh, Tim, you’re so crazy.”
She laughed. To Brett, it was like angels singing.
“Eight tonight? Okay…wait….” She looked up to see Brett waving his arms, then signaling time-out.
“Tim, I have a former Fremont student visiting me. He’s out of town and needs something from me, so I’ll call you back.”
Brett continued to stand by the door, silently seething.
“You’re a dear,” she said into the phone. “We’ll make it this weekend. Bye. Talk with you later.”
She got up and walked toward Brett as he opened the door. “I’m so sorry, Brett. I completely forgot. I’ll get on that letter right away. I’m sure you have a lot to do before you leave.”
“I’ll be in Cincinnati for the summer.” He couldn’t hold back a cheese-eating grin.
“But…I just assumed that….” She pointed to her desk. “You were waving your hands like you needed me to cancel my date! Do you realize how hard it is to get a reservation at The Blue Oyster? You haven’t changed a bit.” She folded her arms and tapped her foot.
“You think so?”
Chapter Four
“I hear Brett Wyndam is back in town,” Tracy said as she scarfed up the last slice of Mia’s meatloaf.
“Yep.” Mia continued to put away the dishes, hoping her curt answer would put an end to the subject.
“I heard he bought a house and came to the school, too,” Tracy continued, scraping the plate with her biscuit for the juices.
Well, so much for that. “Yeah, he needed letters of recommendation for a Master’s program.” She wiped her hands on her apron before pulling it off and heading for the den. That should be a sufficient explanation.
“So you did see him?” Tracy asked, running behind her.
Mia rolled her eyes skyward, mentally asking the heavens why me? “Yes, I saw him.”
Still trying to shake bloodhound Tracy off the scent, she reached for the television remote and began channel-surfing.
Tracy grabbed the remote, and threw it on the couch. “Well?” Tracy asked, all wide-eyed and nosy.
“There is nothing to tell,” Mia finally broke from Tracy’s grip and went to the CD player. She began scanning through her classical music collection, hoping Rachmaninoff would quiet her friend down.
“Yeah, right. Then why are you trying so hard to avoid making eye contact with me?”
Mia sighed. This conversation wasn’t going to crash and burn like she hoped. “Whatever.”
“Whatever? Honey, that boy turned out to be a fine-looking man. I didn’t think a man could look any finer. You know, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to really catch up on things, if you know what I mean.”
Mia looked over at her insane friend. It was a shame, such a great mind gone to waste. “Yeah, I get what you’re saying, but you seem to forget one thing.”
“What’s that?” Tracy asked, getting more comfortable on the sofa.
“I’m a lot older than him; I used to be his vice-principal; and finally, he’s not my type anyway.” Mia went back into the kitchen. All three of those explanations were either lies or lame excuses. Brett was any straight woman’s type. He was no longer a student at her school, or a student period, and the cougar thing was in. Besides, she knew what she felt when she first laid eyes on him, and she knew how she felt when he held her. It wasn’t warm fuzzies, but hot. And bothered.
“Hon, you need a check-up!” Tracy yelled from the living room.
Mia sighed and tried to think of another topic to focus on. “Hey, how’s your new dog? What is it again? A Labradoodle?” Mia returned to the living room with some ice-cold sweet tea.
“Don’t try to change the subject,” Tracy said as she took a glass. “Brett’s back in town for a reason, and for some reason, he made a beeline for you.”
“News sure does travel fast.”
“Yes, it does. Spill it.”
Mia figured she might as well get it over with. Tracy grabbed a pillow from the couch and made herself even more comfortable, tucking her legs underneath her. Mia recounted what had happened that afternoon, and when she finished, the expression on Tracy’s face spoke volumes.
“He tried to comfort you?” Tracy asked with a quirked eyebrow and a stupid grin. “Do you mean holding you comfort or words of comfort?”
“Both,” Mia quickly said as she tried to get up. Unfortunately, there was a strong current keeping her on the couch: Tracy’s hand was tugging on her shirt.
“Girl.” Tracy responded, drawing the word out.
“Look, it was nothing. He was just as hurt and upset about Frank’s death as I was.”
“That’s another thing that’s confusing. This boy gave you both nothing but grief his senior year,” Tracy pointed out.
“He was just a teenager,” Mia corrected her. She was finally able to get off the couch, find the remote, and resume her surfing.
“That’s true. If a thiry-three-year-old man can’t act right, what can you expect from.”
Mia cast her eyes skyward in exasperation as Tracy mumbled about her ex. It seemed every man reminded Tracy of Paul. Every bad song, bad food, bad movie. It was more than a bit depressing and had started rubbing off on Mia.
Luckily, Tim had showed up just in time and had counteracted all those negative vibes about men in general. Or had he?
Seeing Brett all of a sudden brought up some unresolved feelings for Mia. Those same feelings
had helped her end her marriage. And it was more than just wanting a man to act like a man and take control. It was something else. What Brett seemed to exude was something beyond a take-control kind of person. She sensed it, and her body responded to it.
“So why do you suppose he came to you to get a recommendation?” Tracy’s question broke into her thoughts.
“Like I told you—”
“Yeah, yeah, some biology-class thing, but you were an administrator, not his teacher. You were practically his warden during all those stints in detention,” Tracy said with a sly smile.
Mia stopped flipping through the channels. That’s right. Why did he need a letter from her? She thought a moment, squinting her eyes and looking at the television—she had left her glasses on the kitchen counter. “Well, maybe he needs a character reference.”
As soon as the words left her lips, she looked over at Tracy. They were both thinking the same thing—Puhleeeze! Besides, she reminded herself, he said he needed letters that referred to his academic achievements and character. How could he be sure that she would give him a good one? Especially since most of their interactions had been when he’d served detention—in her office, no less, Mia was really confused.
Brett Wyndam was up to something. She knew it from the moment he’d swaggered into her office. Then that stunt he pulled right before they left. Why had he been so happy when she canceled her dinner plans with Tim? Well, it was for the best. She really wasn’t in the mood anyway.
Mia came to realize that Brett hit something in her nervous system she couldn’t shake off. And she wasn’t too sure if she wanted to. She could still feel his strong arms wrapped around her, and the scent of his cologne still tickled her nose.
“Mia!” Tracy snapped her fingers in Mia’s face.
“Huh?”
“Welcome back to earth,” Tracy said, smiling.
“Oh, sorry.”
“Well?”
“I don’t know why he came to me. Maybe he just wanted to talk to all the old teachers. Like I said, he seemed pretty upset about Frank. It was only natural that he would come see me.”
“That still doesn’t explain the recommendation,” Tracy reminded her.
“Okay!” Mia threw up her arms in defeat. “I don’t know the answer.” Mia hugged herself to keep from shivering and walked back into the kitchen. Good going, Mia, you just lost it in front of your best friend. But why? Maybe because there was a part of her that was happy Brett was staying in Cincinnati for the summer, but that didn’t make sense either. He was too young….
Okay, she needed to take command of the situation.
“Gee, Mia, I didn’t mean….” Tracy got up and walked over to her. “Hey.” She placed her hand on Mia’s shoulder and turned her around. “What’s going on? There’s more to this little visit, isn’t there?”
“I’m not sure.” But I am sure as hell going to find out.
***
Brett returned home from a night on the town. Actually, it hadn’t been so much painting the town red, as much as simply visiting old friends. Real friends.
Ever since he’d landed back in Cincinnati, he’d been bombarded with people asking if he remembered them and for a handout in the same breath. Phony condolences about his father were thrown in for good measure.
Disgusted, he threw his keys and wallet down on the kitchen counter and went to the fridge. Trying to decide between a beer or something healthier, he chose some of the fresh OJ he’d squeezed that morning. He finished it off in three gulps and tossed the plastic pitcher in the sink.
He walked over to the phone to check his messages. Nothing very interesting, except…hmm. That was very interesting. Mia Bradford’s name and number flashed. His heart actually skipped a beat. He smiled and mentally thanked the man who invented caller ID. He jotted the number on a piece of paper and put it in his pocket. She had been reluctant to give him her number earlier in the afternoon, especially after the way he’d acted right before they left her office.
At that moment, he hadn’t been concerned about whatever assumptions she had, but he couldn’t have sat back and allowed another man to lay further claim to his woman.
His woman.
He was really gone. Shaking his head, he rubbed his hands over his face. He needed to think, and he needed sleep.
As he sat in his recliner, barely paying attention to the television, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Wait? Or call her back? Why not?Obviously she wanted something, although she hadn’t left a message.
Had she figured out that he really didn’t need a letter from her after all, or had she wanted something else?
“Well, sitting here contemplating the reasons isn’t going to solve anything,” he grumbled.
Restless for the first time in years, he went upstairs to his bedroom. He took a shower, dried off, and laid on his bed. Staring up at the ceiling, he tried to think of his next move. If he was going to pull this off, he needed to tread carefully. Mia Bradford was no one’s fool or plaything, although he planned to change the latter. She’d lost control over Frank’s death. Those four years at Fremont, he never once saw her lose it. There was methodical planning of punishments, yes, but never the slightest hint of being out of control.
Deep down, he knew what was under those schoolmarm clothes, that tight bun, those horn-rimmed glasses, and that cool, calm temperament. True, she was nurturing and caring, but that power issue must be a front to cover up something deeper, something she didn’t want exposed. He didn’t really understand it then, but as the years wore on and the more he researched his new lifestyle, the more it made sense.
He joined groups, hung out at clubs that specialized in bondage, and bought the tools of his trade. He had more BDSM videos than any adult store. He was a Dom. At eighteen, he had been exposed to BDSM. Hell, he’d sought it out. He’d read about it as a teenager, and once he’d become a legal adult, there was no stopping him with this singular pursuit.
He’d taken his time, studying the personalities and needs of a sub. Now, he spotted them everywhere, whether in the clubs or at the grocery store. There were certain strong, obvious traits a true sub possessed.
He’d always known he wanted to be a Dom. So he decided to pursue it eagerly; he’d apprenticed in the scene and had finally gotten the hands-on exposure he’d wanted for years.
And Mia…his assumptions were correct—he hoped.
He leaned over, reached for his cell phone, and dialed her number. He smiled at the sound of the first ring.
“Well, Ms. Bradford, let’s see how you control this.”
***
Mia climbed into bed to finish grading papers. As she began, her thoughts went back to the day she’d had. First, Brett Wyndam showed up out of the blue. Then, Tracy forced her to admit her little crush on him, and although nothing happened, it stirred up thoughts and feelings that Mia wasn’t ready to deal with. Last, Mia had decided to call Brett to get to the bottom of whatever he was up to, but she’d freaked out when his voicemail came on.
What would she have said? That she was guessing she didn’t need to write a letter of recommendation for him, and she wasn’t going to do it? That she was still angry at the fact he’d led her to believe he was only in town for a short time and had made her cancel her dinner date? Or would she have gotten to the real reason for her call, asking him why, of all people, had he come to see her?
She ignored the ringing of her house phone and let it go to voicemail. She would check it in the morning. If it was an emergency, people who knew her knew how to get in touch with her.
She tried to go over some of her students’ essays. After reading the first few pages of one, she had to stop. She put her glasses down, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and sighed. Her world was spinning out of control…out of control for someone like herself.
She just liked order. Why was that such a bad thing? Tracy called her anal-retentive. Mia saw it as keeping her life sane and drama-free. Brett Wyndam had managed to disrupt h
er perfect, ordered world. That’s why, if she was going to have any peace of mind, she had to find out what he was up to. She decided to call him the next from her office. She had a better handle on the situation from behind her desk than in her bed, and with the thoughts that had been swirling in her head, that’s the last place she wanted to be when talking to Brett.
When she realized she wasn’t going to get any work done, she put away her papers, set her glasses on the end table, and turned out the light. Just when she was getting comfortable, her phone rang again. Mia looked at the alarm clock. It was eleven-thirty. Who would be calling now?
She answered the phone, not bothering to turn on the light. If this wasn’t an emergency, she wasn’t going to be on long.
“Hello?”
“Good evening, Ms. Bradford. It’s Brett.”
No, no, no! She composed herself before speaking. “Brett, how did you…?” Then she realized: everyone had caller ID. She silently cursed the man who invented that Big Brother mechanism.
“I saw your number on my machine, but you didn’t leave a message. Was there something you wanted to talk about?” His voice was smooth as velvet. It was a man’s voice, deep and darkly sensual.
“I…I, um, was wondering, since you were going to be in Cincinnati for the summer, if I could take some time on that recommendation?” Good going, Mia.
“Take all the time you need. But that’s not what you called about, was it?”
“Wha-what do you mean?”
“Come on, Ms. Bradford, you could have left that message on my machine.”
Mia sat straight up in her bed. How dare he call her and tell her what she was calling him for. “Mr. Wyndam—”
“Uh-oh. Whenever you get formal, it only means that I’m in trouble.”
“I would appreciate it if you would get to the point of this conversation. I was sleeping.”
“Mmm, in bed all nice and tucked in.”
“Brett!” Good Lord, the way he said that got her damp. Watch it, Mia!
There was a seductive chuckle on the other end of the line, then a pause. “Ms. Bradford, you and I need to talk.”
Detention Page 4