by Bonnie Dee
Now that they were outside the classroom, an awkward silence had fallen between them. She searched for something intelligent to say. “Busy day?” Oh, that was brilliant.
“I knocked off at the garage early, one of the perks of ownership, and helped a friend with a building project. He’s adding a room to his house.” Ric brushed his hand over his sleeve and motes of sawdust fluttered off him like flecks of gold. “Took longer than I thought. I would’ve cleaned up first, but I didn’t want to be late meeting you.”
“Sorry I pulled you away from your work.” No, I’m not.
“I’m not.” He repeated her thought aloud, and her heart jolted at the unexpected echo. Carrie turned toward him, looking up—way up—to meet his eyes. They were heavy-lidded, sensual, bedroom eyes that gazed at her with definite interest. “I’m glad to have met you, and not just to talk about my kid.” He laughed. “I’m coming on way too strong, aren’t I?”
She shook her head, her gaze still meshed with his. Did I just shake my head? Did I just give him a keep it coming signal?
“No. I… It’s good. The coffee. And the talking.” A nervous giggle burst from her mouth at the stilted phrases, which were all she could manage.
His broad answering smile showed a mouthful of pretty white teeth and a flash of dimple in his left cheek. He pressed his hand against the small of her back, guiding her forward, and Carrie realized the line in front of them had moved up. She’d been so focused on his face that she would’ve stayed rooted to the spot forever if he hadn’t nudged her. The point of contact between them burned like fire, even after he took his hand away. Her reaction was way out of proportion to a mere touch, but she couldn’t stop her body’s hair-trigger response to this gorgeous man.
I am so pathetic.
After they’d ordered—she, a mocha cappuccino, he, espresso—they waited in silence for their coffee. Carrie stared at the biscotti and muffins, at a stack of CDs featuring a local band, at the hand-printed price list on the wall. She stared at everything but what she really wanted to stare at, the rock-hard pecs straining his gray T-shirt at eye level, if she turned slightly to her left.
Ric escorted her to a table for two near the window, guiding her with a hand on her back. Ooh, he could keep that hand there forever as far as she was concerned. He set his coffee on the table and pulled her chair out with old-fashioned courtesy.
“Thank you.” Carrie set her purse aside and settled into the chair, adjusting her skirt and wishing she’d had more than a couple of minutes alone in her car on the drive over to check her makeup and hair in the rearview mirror.
Her brown hair was so baby-fine, it got embarrassingly static-filled in dry winter weather. It was probably doing the flyaway thing right now, straight tendrils sticking up in random directions. Was her lipstick completely devoured after chewing her lips all the way to the café? Was the small cluster of zits near her ear noticeable and why hadn’t she worn foundation this morning? Her skin must look blotchy as hell.
Ric sat across from her, elbows resting on the table, gaze trained on her face once more. If he didn’t stop studying her like that, making her tits and pussy go hard as stone, she was going to have an orgasm in her underpants from all the clenching and releasing going on down there. The light shining through the window caught and held in his eyes and she saw they weren’t black as obsidian but a rich, deep brown like the finest dark chocolate.
“How long have you been teaching?” His question startled her from her love affair with his eyes.
“Four years. I graduated from U-Mass and started teaching the following fall. The first year was tough and I considered finding a different job over the summer, but ended up sticking with it. Now I’m glad I did.” She smiled. “Turns out it is my calling after all, I guess. I’m pretty good at it.”
“Are you from Hartford originally?” Underneath the table, his knees bumped hers, and she shifted her legs aside.
“Mm-hm. Westfield, Connecticut. Not too far away. You?”
His leg touched hers again, denim scraping against bare skin, the roughness sending a frisson of lust racing through her. Was he brushing against her on purpose?
“New York. My parents had friends in the Puerto Rican community here and thought they’d escape big-city crime by moving someplace smaller, but there’s the same shit everywhere—even in Connecticut.”
“So, your family’s Puerto Rican.”
“Mostly. My paternal grandmother is African American, and there’s some Irish mixed in there, too.” His sexy smile flashed again. “What’s your background?”
“Let’s see.” She held up her hand and ticked off on her fingers. “Dutch, Dutch and, oh yes, Dutch with a side of Dutch. My family’s not inbred or anything, just genetically predisposed to Dutchness.”
His laugh was like chocolate, too, warm, rich, rolling waves of hot chocolate that washed over her.
“So, little Dutch girl, besides dancing, what do you like? Any hobbies or sports you’re interested in? Do you like baseball?”
“Have to admit I’m not a huge sports fan, but I’ll occasionally watch part of a game,” she said diplomatically.
“If you’re at a sports bar and there’s no possible way you can avoid seeing it on the big screen TV,” he guessed.
“All right. You caught me. Occasionally means never. I’m not a sports fan at all. I like music of all kinds, and going to concerts and shows. And ballet, of course. I like biking, jogging—well, maybe I don’t actually like jogging, but I do it. I like movies.”
“What kind?” Arms crossed on the table, he leaned forward, invading her personal space, and making her nervous and horny.
“A little of everything. Depends on my mood. How about you? Action and suspense, right?” She held the warm coffee mug between her hands, but didn’t take a sip, her stomach already too jumpy to accept a jolt of caffeine.
“Hey, don’t stereotype. I can sit through a chick flick with the best of them.” He bit his lower lip between his teeth then let it go again.
She stared at his soft, pillowy lips. What would it be like to kiss them? They’d feel like down comforters covering hers.
“Do you like Latin dancing?” he asked. “Ever been to La Palma? If I were to ask you out on a real date, like maybe for dinner and dancing a little later this evening, would that be something you’d consider?”
“You don’t waste any time do you? We just sat down to coffee.” Carrie made her voice light and teasing, covering her excitement and the urge to yell, “Hell, yeah!”
“I’m not usually like this.” He sat back in his chair, retreating into his own space, arms folded over his chest. “Trust me. I don’t go around asking women I just met to go on dates. I know that sounds like a line, but believe me, it’s true.”
Somehow she did believe him. Despite his stunning looks and flirtatious manner, he didn’t seem sleazy or deceitful—but then false honesty and modesty were the trademarks of a player, weren’t they?
“It’s the Valentine effect,” she said. “The undeniable urge to hook up with someone, anyone, even a person you just met, on this most couple-centric of holidays.” She sipped her coffee, playing for more time.
“Valentine effect. I like that.” He smiled at his nearly empty coffee cup then looked into her eyes again and his expression was suddenly dead serious. “But I don’t want you to think I’m asking you out because you crossed my path and I’m lonely. When I saw you standing at the window and you turned toward me, I…”
He shook his head and left the thought dangling. “I just want to get to know you better. That’s all.”
Why me? You’re gorgeous. You could have any girl in this city. Hell, the barista about creamed her pants serving your coffee.
“I’d like to get to know you better, too,” she said, simply. “It’s a little quick, but yes, I’d like to go out for dinner—and dancing. I don’t completely suck at salsa and merengue.”
“Good. ’Cause I do. I’m going to need all
the help I can get.” His smile was back, like the sun coming from behind a cloud. “I’ll have to call my ma and make sure she can watch Nando this evening, but otherwise, we’re on.”
Carrie’s elation at the sudden turn her day had taken dimmed. Dating a student’s father could become awkward—assuming they went on more than one date, assuming something developed between them, and assuming it went sour but she still had to deal with him as a parent.
Assuming a hell of a lot! She’d just imagined their entire relationship in an instant. It was the typical over-thinking that kept her from trying far too many things.
Ric shifted in his chair as he pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and again his knee bumped hers. The thrill it gave her was ridiculous. As quickly as she’d imagined their relationship, she flashed on the possibilities inherent in the evening ahead—quiet talk and laughter over dinner, his hand on her waist as they danced, perhaps later his body pressed even closer as they kissed, and maybe the jeans-clad knee touching hers now would nudge her legs apart while—
“Hey. You’re not having second thoughts?” His voice made her jerk as if he’d caught her with her hand down her pants. “You look worried.”
This isn’t my worry-face. It’s lust.
“No. Not at all.” She smiled. “Just tell me where and when to meet you.”
Chapter Three
Out of the sphere of Ric’s hypnotic influence and back in the sane realm of her apartment, Carrie began to second-guess her decision. Naturally. She was neurotic like that, unable to make the simplest decision without questioning it. So the leap of faith she had taken this afternoon was far outside her normal behavior. Blame it on the Valentine effect.
“I don’t even know this guy. It’s too strange how fast all this developed. Maybe he’s some kind of freak or maybe he’s just a player and I’ll get my heart bitch-slapped. What do you think?”
Kitty stared at her with transparent green eyes that gave no indication what she was thinking. She opened her mouth in a silent “meow,” then closed it again and looked away. She lifted her rear leg in the air and began licking her genitals.
“Exactly!” Shaking her head, Carrie looked in the mirror. “A girl has to be willing to please herself and not get bowled over by some charming guy with amazing eyes and kissable lips and a body that could advertise a gym. Holy crap, what am I getting myself into?”
Her pale blue eyes stared back at her with no more answers than Kitty offered. What was it about her plain oval face, her stick-straight, light brown hair and her totally average features that had caught Ric’s attention? He’d claimed seeing her across the room had… Had what? He never actually said what looking at her had done to him. Maybe it really was just the Valentine effect for him, too. Lonely day. Lonely widower. Convenient female.
She sighed and put down the brush on the bathroom counter. She chose a tube of lipstick and applied it to her mouth. Such a pale, boring rose color. Why didn’t she have even one tube of scarlet or magenta? Something that screamed sex?
A look in her closet told the same story. There wasn’t a flamboyant or seductive outfit on any of the hangers. Carrie settled for a soft, pink cashmere sweater with a scooped neckline. At least it showed some chest, if not actual cleavage. She coupled it with a black skirt, and then went to the mirror again to check out the effect.
Meh. She looked exactly like what she was, an elementary school teacher. Nothing sexier than that.
Maybe it was time to beef up her wardrobe a little. The last time she’d needed date clothes was far too long ago. Over six months. His name was Jason and he was someone her friend Mia had set her up with. The date was pleasant, forgettable and not repeated. Had to be her boring clothes. They didn’t say, “Come, fuck me,” as much as “Nice, polite, girl next door.”
Would tonight be any different? She sure as hell hoped so, yet at the same time, she had a strong desire to call off the whole thing and spend the evening curled up on the couch watching a movie, alone.
Turning from the mirror, she tripped over Kitty, coiling around her ankles, begging. “Stupid cat! I already fed you. Shoo!”
Carrie scooped her shoes off the bedroom floor and slipped them on. She grabbed her purse and checked her cell phone to see if Ric might have called to cancel while she was in the bathroom. There were no messages. The date was on.
She’d insisted on meeting him at the restaurant, not ready to have him pick her up at her apartment. She wanted the control of having her own vehicle in case something went wrong and she needed to bail. Her mother assured her the need to control was part of her neuroses, but then her mother liked to toss out psycho-babble she’d heard on talk shows.
Driving over to the restaurant a dozen blocks from her apartment gave her plenty of time to eat her carefully applied lipstick. Lip chewing when she got nervous was a childish habit she’d never been able to break. At least she wasn’t a nail biter.
The restaurant Ric had suggested was one she hadn’t been to, Surritos. It was tucked away on a side street. Carrie was able to find parking and walked down the sidewalk to the historic building, a converted turn-of-the-century home.
Standing in front of the entrance, looking the opposite way down the street, was a man in a black leather coat that spanned broad shoulders and ended mid-thigh. He turned, and Carrie stopped walking, the breath sucked from her body by his profile. He had chiseled cheekbones, a strong jaw and chin, and a prominent nose that gave him a leonine bearing. And the lips. She could just graze on those soft, soft lips given half a chance.
My date. My Valentine date. The thought was inconceivable. Dressed for an evening out, Ric Torres had switched from blue-collar rough to GQ-model perfection. She didn’t know if she was going to be able to eat around him without choking on her food or slobbering all over herself.
Then he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye and turned toward her with a welcoming smile. “Hey. Have any trouble finding the place? It’s a little off the beaten path, but it’s the only place I knew I could get a table this evening. Relatives,” he explained, wrapping an arm around her waist assuredly, as if they’d been dating for months instead of minutes.
He guided her through the mini-light-draped arbor leading to the door. “Once my parents moved here, the rest of the family started migrating from the Bronx. The Torres family established its own barrio in Hartford. So, we’re eating at my uncle’s restaurant tonight.”
Carrie breathed in the scent of leather emanating from his coat and a subtle, spicy cologne. Her heart fluttered wildly and all her erogenous zones reacted simultaneously. She thought she might faint against his supporting arm and have to be carried the rest of the way into the restaurant.
She managed a moderately clever observation. “Families have to supply some kind of perks to balance all the headaches they give you. How large is your family? Do you have siblings?”
“Three brothers. One sister. I’m in the middle. Lots of aunts, uncles and cousins, although a number of them are still back in New York. My Torres grandparents moved here, but Grandma Salinas couldn’t be pried out of her home with a crowbar.”
Ric helped Carrie out of her coat, his hands resting for a moment on her shoulders as she unbuttoned it. She felt their weight even after he’d left to hang up the coats.
The hostess greeted them, then a silver-haired man in a suit hailed them from across the room and came to join them. He and Ric exchanged a hug before the man turned to Carrie and grasped her hand in a two-fisted grip.
“Encantada, querida. So pleased to meet you. I’m Ric’s Uncle Leo.” He gazed into her eyes and smiled broadly. “I have a special table for you.”
After leading them through the restaurant, Leo seated them in a secluded booth for two in a bower of fake potted trees. He recommended the special and took their drink orders.
“Valerie will be serving you this evening, but I’m at your disposal. Whatever you want—even if it’s not on the menu—just let me know.” H
e smiled again, his face lit up like the mini-lights that decorated the restaurant, and left them.
“Wow, what service,” Carrie commented.
“Yeah, sorry about that. My uncle’s kind of overenthusiastic. I haven’t been out too often since my wife died. The family is concerned and someone’s always dragging some poor woman to family events to meet me. Leo’s just a little revved up to see me on an actual date.”
She smiled. “Being single is like having a target on your back as far as families go, isn’t it? I can’t count how many blind dates my sister arranged before I simply refused to go on any more.”
“So, you’re between boyfriends right now?” That sexy arched eyebrow quirked even higher.
“You could say that. Way between. I’ve honestly never had what I’d call a serious relationship, just guys I occasionally dated. No high school sweetheart, no college romance, and no one since I started teaching. An elementary school isn’t the most conducive place for meeting men. Ninety-percent of the teachers are female, and after work, I’m too exhausted from dealing with kids all day to go out. Weekends…” She shrugged. “That’s where my sister and well-meaning friends come in, shoving potential dates at me.”
He nodded. “I feel ya. Relatives!”
The ice was broken. Having singlehood and interfering families in common gave them a start. Carrie found herself sharing some of her relationship issues with her mother and sister—their high expectations, her inability to meet them. From there the conversation ranged over a wide variety of topics from life stories to current events.
As they chatted and laughed over drinks, appetizers and dinner, Carrie relaxed so much she almost forgot how ridiculously, heart-stoppingly attractive Ric was. Almost. But every now and then his gaze would settle on her and her body would go into a tingly, near-feverish mode. Her skin prickled all over and her breasts ached to be touched. She clenched her thighs tight together to soothe the pulsing of her eager sex. It was disconcerting to say the least, keeping up a light, breezy conversation while subtler physical messages ignited the air between them.