by Bonnie Dee
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
The Valentine Effect
A Strangers in the Night Story
Copyright © 2008 by Bonnie Dee
ISBN: 1-59998-865-8
Edited by Laurie Rauch
Cover by Scott Carpenter
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: January 2008
www.samhainpublishing.com
The Valentine Effect
Bonnie Dee
Dedication
To my Valentine, Mike.
Chapter One
Carrie stared past the chaos in her classroom to the glowing red plastic heart pressed on the windowpane. The sun shone through it, making a ruby patch on the floor, a distorted version of the heart on the glass. She wanted to put her hand in the colored light, to see it bathed in blood-red, but there was a cluster of kids around her desk, demanding attention. No time for odd, idle thoughts, and no time to herself until after school.
“Can I, Ms. Morrison? Can I?” Nando Torres did everything but climb up on her desk to get her notice. His hand waved wildly in the air.
“I’m sorry, Nando. Alyssa’s in charge of the cookies. You can pass out napkins, though.” She handed him a stack of scarlet napkins to match the paper plates Erika was already giving to each of the students. Carrie had almost bought cups too, before reconsidering and choosing juice-boxes, a less spillable beverage alternative.
“Now?” Alyssa demanded, an anxious frown creasing her forehead. “Can I start?”
Carrie smiled at the uptight little girl, whose constant state of near anxiety kind of reminded her of herself. “Yes. Two each.” She’d decided to monitor the kids’ sugar-intake this year. Valentine cards were the main event of the day, anyway. She’d freeze the extra cookies parents had sent in and take them out for future use.
The noise level in the classroom dropped off slightly as the children ingested heart-shaped cookies and sucked down juice, but rose again when Carrie carried the decorated cardboard mailbox to her desk and opened it. She’d considered letting one of the better readers in class deliver the Valentines, but after reading some of the illegible scrawls on the envelopes, decided to do the job herself. Besides, if there were any kids who got shorted on the number of cards they received, she had extra ones signed Anonymous to add to their collection.
With the box in the crook of her arm, she made her way around the room. She passed out small white envelopes signifying economy-pack Valentines with goofy puns, construction paper confections given by kids with artistic mothers, and occasional large pink or red envelopes from a girl or boy who wanted to make a big impression on someone special. Valentine’s day—despite all efforts to make it egalitarian—highlighted the social hierarchy of the classroom. Pretty, popular little girls got those special envelopes. Socially inadequate kids were lucky to receive a handful of bargain bin, last year’s superhero-themed cards.
I hate Valentine’s Day, too, Brian. Carrie gave the overweight mouth-breather a couple of her anonymous cards, each signed in different colors with a different slant to the letters. She smiled at the boy and patted his shoulder as she passed. No cards for me either, kiddo. It doesn’t get better just because you get older.
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, until the final bell rang freedom. Soon, Carrie had the last kid coated, lunch-boxed and out the door. Sighing with relief, she walked to the window and gazed out at the multicolored hats filing into buses or climbing into the queue of cars waiting by the curb. Another day over. Another peaceful evening before her.
She’d love to share a romantic Valentine’s dinner with someone special, but would gladly settle for a hot and heavy Valentine’s fuck with someone random—anything but another quiet night alone. The sun slanted low through the window, and the red heart cast its glow on her shoulder and arm. I’m wearing my heart on my sleeve. She smiled at the irony.
“Ms. Morrison?” A deep voice from the doorway made her jump.
She turned toward the man standing just inside the classroom, and her heart leaped to her throat. “Oh!”
Was her mouth hanging open? Was she staring? He was riveting—tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, with eyes that pierced her like an arrow from across the room. What the hell just happened here? He was dressed in jeans and a torn T-shirt underneath a beat-up brown jacket. Dusty work boots covered his feet, puddles of melted snow pooling around them.
He took another step into the room and Carrie resisted the urge to back up a step. “You wanted to talk to me about Hernando?” he asked. The flat New York A’s and rolling Spanish R’s made the innocent words sound exotic and fraught with sexuality. Her pussy clenched in response.
Carrie remembered to breathe in. “Oh, yes. But I thought our appointment was for tomorrow. I’m…” She walked toward him with her hand extended. “I’m… Excuse me. I was just… My mistake. You’re right. It was today, Mr. Torres.”
He gripped her hand and shook it. His palm was calloused and huge, enveloping hers warmly for a moment before letting it go. “I know it was today. I planned my work schedule around it.” White teeth flashed against brown skin then disappeared. His full lips closed in a straight line, but it was impossible for that sensual mouth to look severe. “Has Nando been acting up? I’ll set him straight if he’s been giving you trouble.”
“What?” Kiss me. “Oh no. Nothing like that. He’s a delight, such an imaginative, bright boy.” She inhaled and smelled him, a solid wall of pheromones bowling her over. Christ, how could male sweat smell so ripe and rich that a woman just wanted to roll in it?
His finely arched brow rose slightly higher. “What, then?”
She cleared her throat. “Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Torres.” With him towering over her, it was impossible to think. Best to put some distance between them. She led him to the front of the room, offered him one of the adult-size chairs she kept for parent-teacher conferences, and retreated behind her desk.
Sitting in her teacher seat, she regained some of her composure and remembered why she’d set up this appointment. “Do you have time to talk? Nando’s not waiting for you outside?”
“No. He goes to my ma’s after school. I didn’t tell him I’d be here today.” He settled his big frame into the small wooden chair, his legs sprawled out before him. “If the boy’s not in trouble, what am I here for?” he asked bluntly.
Carrie had only met Gloria Torres, the grandmother, at conferences, and now understood why she’d never seen Nando’s father before. He was one of those If-it-ain’t-broke-don’t-fix-it-type parents. As long as his child received good grades and stayed out of trouble, he was satisfied and saw no point in meeting the teacher.
“Honestly, it’s hard to say exactly what’s wrong. I’ve just felt, lately, that Nando is unhappy. He isn’t interacting with the other children like he used to. His grades are fine, but his attention during class is…elsewhere.”
Mr. Torres gazed at her a beat, as if waiting for her to add more. She had time to notice a stray dark curl tumbling onto his forehead,
before he frowned and said, “That’s it? He’s not misbehaving?”
She felt instantly foolish for calling him in. “Well, it’s not nothing, Mr. Torres, and I thought maybe together we could figure out what’s bothering him—maybe nip it in the bud before his grades do start to slip.”
“Enrique. Call me Ric.” He leaned forward in the chair, resting his arms on his knees. “Look, Ms. Morrison, sometimes kids are just moody. I’m sure Nando will get over what’s bothering him.”
“So, you’ve noticed it, too? Have you talked to him?”
His eyes narrowed. “With twenty-some kids in your class, I’m surprised you have time to worry about one kid’s temporary bad mood.”
“It’s my job to pay attention.” And yours. Carrie’s temper began to rise, but she kept her voice calm. Never a good idea to antagonize a parent by questioning his parenting skills. “I thought you’d like to know what I’d noticed and discuss it, but if not, just take the information and do with it what you will.”
Enrique—Ric’s eyes did a lightning-quick scan of the portion of her body visible above the desk before meeting her gaze. “How long you been teaching, Ms. Morrison?”
Never a good idea to antagonize a teacher by questioning her skills, either. “Long enough to know when something is troubling a child.” She met his level gaze, refusing to back down. The hair at her nape prickled and her breasts felt suddenly tender, pressed into the cups of her bra. She wanted to fold her arms over them, but kept her hands resting in her lap.
Ric leaned back in his chair. His gaze dropped to the top of her desk, and he sat silently for a long moment before exhaling loudly. “Okay. I know things aren’t right with Nando. Ever since his mom… He just gets sad sometimes. It comes and goes. It’s natural. He’ll get over it in his own time.”
She waited to see if he’d say more. Gloria Torres had mentioned Nando losing his mother to breast cancer almost two years ago. And, although Carrie had guessed the boy’s trouble was rooted in that loss, she’d wanted to check with his father to make sure there was nothing else more immediate bothering him.
The moment of silence spun out. The pain in Ric’s dark eyes made her chest tighten. His words might be about his son, but it was clear he spoke for himself, too.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to touch on such a sensitive subject.”
Lifting a hand, he made a wordless negative sound. “It’s okay. Gotta talk about it to get past it, right? That’s what everyone says. Point is, the kid’s going to be down sometimes, but there’s nothing to be done about it. It just takes time to heal.”
“How about you?” Carrie blurted, crossing a line. She wasn’t a counselor. She was his son’s third grade teacher, but the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “How are you doing?”
He looked up in surprise, frowning, but with a half-smile curving his lips. “Pretty crappy. Thanks for asking.”
Shrugging, he gestured at the room around them. “Fucking Valentine’s Day. Sorry. Excuse the language. It’s hard. Angelina used to love the damn holiday. Hearts, flowers, chocolate, all that.”
And I bet you gave her all of them. Bet you’re the kind of man who knows how to worship a woman when you’re in love with her.
“I’m sorry,” Carrie repeated, not knowing what else to say.
“It’s not as bad as it was right after she passed. It’s getting better. But today…” His big shoulders lifted and fell again. “It’s just the damn day, you know.”
She nodded. “I hate this holiday, too.” Her confession was so soft it was barely audible, yet the words seemed to ring out and fill the room. She was definitely crossing a line here, falling fast down a slippery slope of unprofessionalism.
“No way.” He cocked his head and studied her. “A woman like you probably has her pick of guys to take her out on Valentine’s Day, or, hell, any day of the week.”
A compliment. She was charmed and taken aback, surprised and thrilled.
“Thank you, but no—not so fortunate.” Her cheeks felt suddenly sunburned and she knew they were pink. She always flushed so easily. “Anyway, holidays are hard for everyone.”
“That’s a fact.” He tapped his fingers, blunt, and dirty underneath the nails, against his worn-kneed jeans. They were the hands of a man who did manual labor, the hands of a hard worker, who wasn’t used to knocking off early for some pointless meeting with a teacher to discuss his son’s feelings. Hands that would feel rough yet gentle caressing a woman’s skin.
She shivered and dragged her gaze away. Hidden safely behind her desk and several layers of clothing, her pussy throbbed at the image of those rough, workman’s hands touching her in all sorts of places.
“Where do you work, Mr. Torres?” she asked, aware the conversation was winding down to a conclusion and not wanting it to end, not wanting to watch his broad back walk away from her through the door.
“Ric,” he reminded her. “I’m half-owner of Osborne’s Garage over on Barclay and Third. I worked there as a mechanic during high school and afterward. I took some certification, and when the old man was ready to semi-retire, he let me buy in.”
“So you like cars.”
“Love cars, but I especially love having my own business. It’s something my dad always wanted for himself, but could never manage. Now I’ll have something I can pass on to my son.”
Carrie smiled, wondering if Nando liked cars or if he had different dreams.
“Have you always wanted to teach?” Again his black eyes looked at her and into her, stealing her breath.
“Well…” Her smile turned to a small laugh. “Probably shouldn’t tell this to the parent of a student, but, no, teaching wasn’t my first career choice.”
“What did you want to be?” Once more he leaned forward, propping his forearms on his knees and bridging the space between them.
“When I was young, I wanted to be a dancer. My mother enrolled me in tap, jazz and ballet classes, but ultimately I settled on ballet. Unfortunately, sheer desire isn’t enough in the dance world. You have to have more than a little talent to turn a passion into a career.”
“Mm. I can see you as a dancer. You move very gracefully.”
Carrie’s pulse sped up. Maybe he was just adept at handing out easy compliments, a natural flirt, or maybe he’d noticed her walk as she’d led the way across the room. Maybe his eyes had been trained on her ass, watching it sway back and forth, and maybe he’d thought, “She moves like a dancer.”
“Anyway,” she laughed nervously. “By the time I was a teen, I realized dance was just a dream I had to put away. Nothing else spoke to me so I… Oh Lord, I shouldn’t say I settled for teaching. Although I may have at first, I’ve truly grown to love it. The kids are often a challenge, but wonderful, too. I wouldn’t give it up for anything.”
He smiled. “I think it was lucky for these kids you gave up dancing. My son talks about you all the time, what Ms. Morrison said or did today. You’re a great teacher.”
“Thank you. And please, call me Carrie.” She returned his smile and for a moment, as their eyes met and their smiles greeted one another, the air between them was charged with energy. Again the hair on her neck rose, and her skin tingled all over as if she had a fever.
She broke the contact with a blink, and looked just past him rather than get sucked into those mesmerizing eyes again. “Anyway, as I said, Nando is a joy. He’s usually eager to participate or volunteer to help with classroom chores. You’ve done a fine job with him.”
Ric shifted on the too-small chair and did his own share of staring around the classroom rather than at her. “My mom has. Since Angelina died, she’s taken over a lot of the work of raising him. I’ve been so busy keeping my business going and…” He broke off, shaking his head. “You probably hear that excuse a lot.”
“It’s not easy being a single parent, balancing work and family time.” Carrie offered. “I’m sure you’re doing everything you can.”
A rueful smile twisted his mouth. “Except I’m here on a weekday afternoon talking with you about my kid being unhappy, so I can’t be doing so great, right?”
The thick brush of his long eyelashes swept against his cheeks as he blinked, and her stomach gave another leap. Down, girl.
“I’m sure you’re right and it’s a passing mood. He’ll probably be bright and sunny again soon,” she assured him. “He was certainly eager to help out with the party today.”
Ric scanned the array of cards with hearts fanned across the surface of her desk, most of them proclaiming “To Teacher” across the top.
“So, no grown-up Valentine cards for you? No special plans for the day?”
“Um, no.” She was taken aback at the abrupt change in subject. Was he actually asking her—?
He laughed. “Aw, hell, there’s no suave way to ask this. Coming way out of left field here, but if you’re not busy right now, would you like to go for a cup of coffee?
“I…” Was there some school policy on dating students’ parents? She didn’t remember anything in the handbook, but then she hadn’t expected the situation to come up. She certainly hadn’t expected one of her pupils to have a dad so hot her panties were wet just from the timbre of his voice and the magnetism of his eyes. “I guess that would be…”
The sun moved from behind a cloud and sent a shaft of light piercing through the red plastic heart in the window, this time casting its light on the wall opposite the window.
A perfect ruby heart glowed across from its counterpart.
She looked Nando’s father in the eye. “Yes, Mr. Torres…Ric. I could use coffee right about now. Thank you for asking.”
Chapter Two
Standing beside Ric in the line at the coffee shop, Carrie was hyper-aware of his big presence beside her, the heat rolling off his body, and the scent of sawdust and male his skin exuded. She glanced down at his boots, noted again the coating of dust, and tried to figure out why a mechanic smelled like a carpenter.