Mike touched her arm. “I’m sorry. I never offered you any refreshments. Would you like anything?”
“I’m a little thirsty. Thanks.” Nervousness wound through her at his touch. She hadn’t imagined he would be so attentive. And to think I’d considered not coming.
A man approached Mike, hand extended.
She couldn’t monopolize his time. Tonight was Mike’s night. Excusing herself, she wove through the crowd. At the table against the opposite wall, she took a plastic cup of white wine. Still afloat from Mike’s attention, she sipped and surveyed the room.
At the entrance, a striking blonde in a black sleeveless dress sauntered in, stopped and scanned the room as though she owned it. Her gaze leveled on Mike, and she glided toward him.
Becca’s gut clenched as she glanced from the woman to the photograph. No question—one in the same. No mistaking that predatory look.
Even though he stood engrossed in conversation with another man, the blonde touched Mike’s arm, spoke to him with an unapologetic smile. Here was a woman who knew what she wanted, and didn’t take no for an answer. The hopes Becca so carefully allowed to build throughout the night shattered. She’d stand no chance against such someone so polished, so perfect.
The expression on Mike’s face spoke of polite surprise rather than genuine pleasure. A couple stepped in front of Becca and blocked her view. Uncertain whether to approach Mike, she shifted her stance.
“Hey, you made it,” said a guy nearby.
Startled, Becca turned. Andy. She’d forgotten about his invitation. “Hi. Did you just get here?” A stupid question, she realized too late. She tucked her hair behind her ear, and sipped her wine.
He reached for a cheese cube and popped it in his mouth, then filled a glass with wine. “A minute ago. You?”
She glanced to where Mike had just stood. He’d gone. And so had the woman. Her breath caught in her throat, she peered through the crowd for a glimpse. Should she search for him?
“Becca?” As he reached behind her for more food, Andy tipped his head, brows furrowed, and then his gaze swept the room.
“Yes?” she asked absently. Where had they gone? Visions of Mike moving in toward the woman for a close-up flashed in her mind. You should have known better. When she swallowed back her hurt, she was left with a bitter aftertaste.
Andy jammed a hand in his jeans pocket. “Never mind. Anyone else here that we know?”
“No, not that I’ve seen.”
“Are you feeling all right?” Andy leaned closer.
Her stomach churned. No, she felt rather foolish. “I’m fine.” She checked her watch. “Actually, I should go.” She didn’t want to hang around now. Mike had probably forgotten her the instant the blonde entered. Becca had obviously misinterpreted his politeness as a personal interest. A professional, he’d based their friendship on a mutual love of art. Nothing more.
“You’re leaving already?” Andy whined and his shoulders slumped.
With his rounded eyes and pouty mouth, he looked like a little boy. Becca would have hugged him, but he’d have misinterpreted it. “I told Mom I wouldn’t be late.” She threw her half-filled cup into the waste can.
He winced. “But it’s only quarter to ten.”
“Then the gallery is closing in fifteen minutes anyway.” Not even Andy could argue with that logic.
When a female voice rose above the din of the crowd, Becca gasped. The words sounded indistinct, but the displeasure in the shrill tone came through clearly.
“What the—” Andy glanced toward the noise.
On her tip toes, she strained to look through the sea of heads, but her height provided no advantage. She couldn’t see Mike anywhere. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Sounds like a fight.” Slouching, Andy slurped his wine and studied the food.
She already knew that much. But who?
At the far end of the room, the blonde stalked from a hallway out the door.
With hesitation, Mike followed, and raked fingers through his hair. A man approached him, said something. Mike held out a hand, and nodded.
Andy chuckled. “He looks embarrassed.”
She stifled her anger at her classmate’s juvenile reaction. “I don’t blame him. This is supposed to be his big night.” The incident marred the event, and people would remember tonight for all the wrong reasons.
“Wonder who she is.” His narrowed gaze followed the woman.
His gossipy tone irritated her, but Becca said nothing while she watched another woman and a man approach Mike.
With a smile, he shook each of their hands, and then touched the woman’s shoulder.
The same greeting he gives everyone. Who was Becca kidding? He extended the same courtesy to each visitor, and she was merely one of the many people who’d come tonight. With a sharp tug, she shouldered her handbag. “I have to go.”
Andy lurched in front of her. “I thought we might go get some pizza or something.”
“No, thanks.” She tried to step past.
He blocked her path again. “If you’re not hungry, we could go get a drink somewhere. Or whatever.” He eased closer, so close his arm grazed hers.
Uncertain how to dissuade him without hurting his feelings, she stepped back. “Sorry, Andy. I can’t.” Hopefully he’d leave it at that. Or just leave. Tightness gathered in her throat as she glanced at Mike, wishing she’d never left his side.
Standing with three people, he watched her intently but made no move to approach.
Her heart tugged with an ache. So much for her lucky amethyst sweater. Maybe she should return it for a refund.
Pulling car keys from her purse, she headed out the door and down the sidewalk, sprinting past a man and woman arm in arm.
“Becca,” called a man.
Mike. She whirled and stopped, heart racing, but met only the surprised faces of the couple, who halted.
“Sorry.” She stepped to the side to allow them to pass.
Mike jogged down the walk. “Where are you going?”
His furrowed brow made his dark eyes appear darker. He had a way of making her feel she was the only one near, though he probably intended only to bid her goodnight.
“I–” She wanted to tell him goodbye, but her mouth wouldn’t form the words. They would sound so final. Ducking her head, she forced a smile. “Thanks for inviting the class tonight. I had a good time.”
“Please stay.” He laid a hand on her arm.
Her face warmed. “But the showing’s almost over.” She glanced back and saw people milled toward the door. Soon they’d be streaming outside.
He stepped closer. “I know. I was hoping you’d have coffee with me.”
His low voice sounded so inviting, she resisted the urge to nestle into him. “Mr. Hunter…” Her emotions tangled, she sighed. The last thing she wanted to be to him was one of a group. Not just one of his students. Definitely not just one of the women he dated.
“No, not Mr. Hunter.” His hands at her shoulders, he guided her onto a walkway along the side of the building, out of view. “Mike.”
Searching his face for any clue he might mean something other what she thought, she hoped the invitation came not from a teacher to his student, but from a man to a woman.
As if he’d read her thoughts, he cupped her face in his hands, and brushed soft lips against hers.
Heat flared through her as she pressed against him. To be sure she wasn’t dreaming, she slid both arms around his neck, and ran fingers through his hair. None of her dreams had made her pulse surge so hard, or the roar in her head so deafening. The Mike in her dreams hadn’t felt this warm and tender.
At the sound of footsteps on the main walk, he lifted his lips. “I’ve wanted to do that for three years.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “I have to go back in until they close up. Will you come with me?”
“Yes.” Her answer came not from her head, but her heart. Whatever confusion she had about him, she coul
dn’t risk letting him go without even giving him a chance to explain.
Flashing a smile, he took her hand and walked. When they reached the door, he rested his hand at the small of her back. “I won’t be long.” He strode toward a bespectacled man, and said something. The man nodded, and they spoke for a moment.
The man turned to those remaining in the room and, in a booming voice, said, “Thank you for coming, everyone. Tonight marked an extraordinary first exhibit from talented photographer Mike Hunter.” He waited for applause to die down before adding, “Anyone interested in making a purchase, please see me.”
With an accusatory glare, Andy appeared at Becca’s side. “I thought you left.”
“I almost did.” She didn’t know what to say. If her classmates knew she was seeing their teacher in a different capacity, class sessions would become very awkward.
As he stepped closer, his brows lifted and his shoulder straightened. “But you came back.”
Oh no. He thought she’d come back for him. “Andy, listen…”
Smiling, Mike walked toward them. “Andy, hey thanks for coming.” His shoulder grazed Becca’s, and he touched the small of her back.
“You’re kidding.” As he glanced from Mike to Becca, Andy’s gaze cooled, lips tightening.
Reaching for his arm, she had to make him understand. Their friendship hadn’t changed. How could she make him see there had never been anything more? “Let me explain.”
“Don’t bother. I get it.” He flinched from her touch and strode out the door.
Mike’s gaze flicked from Becca to Andy’s retreating form. “Sorry, did I interrupt?”
“I think we got our signals crossed.” Poor Andy. She should have told him she was busy tonight, and avoided this whole mess. She hadn’t intended to give him false hopes.
Mike’s shoulders relaxed. Someone patted his back as he passed. “Good night. Thanks for coming.” To Becca, he said, “Ready?”
“Yes.” A shiver passed through her and she smiled. She hoped she was.
Chapter Four
With the lone guitarist on the tiny corner stage, and every table filled once Becca and Mike took the last one, The Brew bustled with noise. She didn’t mind, since they had to lean their heads close to talk. Smelling the tangy coffee on his breath made her want to taste him again.
The brilliance of his smile, the sparkle in his umber eyes grew more vivid at close range. “Tell me something.”
“What?” Being this close to him made her so lightheaded, she’d tell him anything.
With a mischievous grin, he narrowed his eyes. “What secrets lurk in that humungous handbag? A body, maybe?”
“No.” She laughed. “Only two-dimensional figures.”
He arched his brows. “Your sketches? Let’s see.”
“Oh, I—” Other than her teacher at art school, she’d only shown a few people. Her mom. the Basket of Blooms ladies. Her close friends at school. Showing him the sketches was like baring her soul. If he hated them, it would crush her.
“Come on, show me.”
The warmth in his tone reassured her. With a steadying breath, she pulled the sketch book from the handbag. After wiping a coffee smudge from the table, she laid the pad between them. “They’re very rough.”
Flipping slowly through page by page, he shook his head. “These aren’t rough. These are professional quality. Weren’t you working on something like this in high school?”
Something inside her dissolved, some barrier of nagging questions. No longer did the inner voice warn her she shouldn’t be here, that next Thursday night, when class convened, they’d be back to teacher and student.
“You remembered.” The amazement she felt echoed in her voice.
His gaze skipped from the sketch pad to hers, searching. “A lot of things. The way you slung your backpack over your shoulder like you were going mountain climbing or something. How your auburn hair caught the sunlight and swayed as you moved.” He closed the pad, placed it on the floor against the wall and leaned closer. “So much more.”
Her nerves tingled in excitement. She smiled, her hand light on his sleeve, itching to explore. “You do have a good eye for detail.”
Grinning, he laced his fingers in hers. “The curse of an artist, as you well know.” He glanced out the window and smiled. “Nice night for a walk, don’t you think?”
“Yes, the stars are lovely.” Not as lovely as the light in his deep brown eyes.
His gaze fell to her lips. “And quiet. Shall we?” Standing, he pulled a dollar from his wallet and left it on the table. As they walked by the guitarist, he tucked a bill into the jar and nodded.
They stepped outside, and the crisp night air was like a heady tonic. A couple strolled toward them hand in hand and entered the coffee shop. On the other side of the road, a man walked a black Labrador. Otherwise, they had the street to themselves.
“Ah. Now we can have a real conversation.” He paused, looking up the sidewalk and down. “Where to?”
She shrugged. “Anywhere. Let’s just walk.” Location didn’t matter, so long as she stayed near him.
“All right.” With a short laugh, he gestured down the street.
They strolled, staring ahead, glancing at each other.
When he didn’t reach for her hand as before, disappointment welled inside her. He appeared to want to say something, but maybe didn’t know how. So many questions remained unanswered–what happened with that woman, who she was. Becca sensed he’d taken this woman to the theater awards dinner.
The silence stretched into an awkward time. Finally, she blurted, “So who was that woman—?”
At the same time, he said, “Becca, there’s something I—”
They exchanged tense smiles.
“You first,” he said, his voice as tight as his shoulders.
“No, please. Go ahead.” First, she had to hear whatever he wanted to explain. She jammed her hands into her pockets and clenched them into fists.
He huffed a breath and rubbed his neck. “You asked about the woman at the gallery. Jill is someone I dated. I was crazy about her for awhile. She claimed she wanted to be an actress, but never really pursued it. She also said she was crazy about me, but pursued other guys.”
He said it casually enough, but beneath his smile lingered pain. This woman still meant something to him, but what? Confusion roiled her insides, and she blurted, “But her pictures were in your exhibit.” She really wanted to ask, are you still in love with her?
“True. I thought they were great shots. And they are.” He stared into the shop windows as they passed.
With him facing away, she struggled to read his body language. Concealing his embarrassment about tonight’s incident? Or had Jill left an indelible mark no other could erase?
“And she’s who you brought to the awards?” Such questions pried into his privacy, but he had volunteered the information first. And she had to understand, especially since he’d kissed her.
Glancing over, he flashed a thin smile. “Yes. Jill called me, said she was in town for a few weeks and wanted to see me again. After the dinner that night, she kept calling, though I knew our relationship was long over. I didn’t invite her tonight.” He jammed his hands into his jacket. “She just showed up. As you no doubt saw, she has a definite flair for the dramatic.”
“Was she upset about the photos?” Or because he’d refused Jill’s attentions? Becca’s nerves tightened as she studied his profile, backlit by the shop windows. The details seared into her mind as they walked. Later, she wanted to commit them to paper—even if tonight was the only night they spent time together.
“Not at all, she loved them. Jill loves exposing herself to the world, to see what kind of reaction she can provoke. An actress and performance artist.” His mouth curled, as if remembering left a bitter taste. When he slowed his pace, his shoulder brushed hers.
The touch made her yearn for more. Becca didn’t know what to say. To ask anything more would b
e an interrogation, a further invasion of his privacy. If he willingly shared more with her, great. If he didn’t, then she should go home and forget tonight. Let him work out his issues with this woman alone.
He grabbed her hand and tugged her to a stop. “Becca, what I wanted to explain was–”
“Yes?” Her heart fluttered against her ribs.
He reached for her other hand. “When I saw you that night in the classroom, so many old feelings came back in a rush.”
Her feelings had rushed back, too, but in a jumble. His warm, gentle grip steadied her, helped her cling to hope. “What feelings?”
His thumbs caressed the back of her hands. “I was only twenty-three when I took that job at Greensburg High. I had feelings for you that no teacher should have for a student.”
Electricity zipped through her. “You did?”
With a devilish grin, he slipped his hands around her waist. “At the time, I thought it was a passing thing. But I thought of you quite a bit after school ended. I even considered calling you.”
If he hadn’t been holding her, she would have felt light enough to float away. “Why didn’t you?”
He brushed her hair behind her shoulder, and his gaze swept her face. “You were too young. The thing is, I can’t be in that position again.”
“Oh.” A lead weight formed within her chest. Why ask her here to tell her this? Fighting tears, she pulled away.
Tightening his hold, he peered into her eyes. “So I’m quitting.”
Her body stiffened and her mouth fell open. “What? No, you can’t.” She couldn’t let him.
He chuckled. “I already have. Next week is my last night to teach there.”
“But–” Dread filled her. She couldn’t bear the thought of him changing his career. Of never seeing him again.
He held a finger to her lips. “I only substituted for Mrs. Leonard’s maternity leave anyway. I’ve worked full-time for Mohr and Thomas for two years. And now, I’ll have time to focus on my own art again.” He leaned closer, moonlight glinting off his glasses. “And see you without any conflict of interest. If you want.”
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