Claiming Her_A Romance Collection

by R. R. Banks

  "So, you are moral support?" I asked.

  "Not entirely," she said. "I hung some crepe paper and I pushed a bunch of balloons that were apparently too blue to be blue into a back storage room. I also made a dessert."

  She was adorable trying to explain her involvement in the party and I felt my stomach tightening. She had been sexy and exciting when I met her at the bar, but she was enticing in a different way now. She was cute, but not in the giggly, flaky way that so many women were. She was sassy, and I could see a spark in her that intrigued me.

  "Which dessert did you make?" I asked.

  She pointed to the nearly empty trifle dish in the center of the table.

  "The trifle," she said. "It's my signature dessert."

  "That was my favorite," I told her. "I had three servings."

  "So, it's your fault that we're almost out of it," she said.

  I shrugged.

  "The other people just weren't fast enough."

  She laughed softly, then quieted and continued to look at me for several seconds.

  "So," she said. "I guess we managed to find each other again."

  "I guess we did," I said.

  "Well, if we're going to be in the same town, we should probably come clean."

  Oh, lord. What did she mean by that?

  "Come clean?" I asked.

  She nodded.

  "I happen to know that your name isn't Ethan," she said.

  I withheld a sigh of relief.

  "And you're not Debbie," I said.

  She shook her head.

  "My name is Gwendolyn," she told me. "And I don't run a flea circus."

  "To be fair," I said, "you didn't say that you ran the flea circus. You said that you were the costume designer for the flea circus."

  She laughed.

  "Alright," she said. "Well, I'm not the costume designer, either."

  "So why did you pick Debbie? You don't really look like a Debbie."

  "I've been having a major craving for a snack cake," she admitted.

  "A snack cake?" I asked with a laugh. "You can make a trifle like this and you reach for box snack cakes?"

  "Hey," she said with mock defensiveness. "I might be able to layer, but I don't have anything on Little Debbie."

  "Fair enough," I said.

  I started to reintroduce myself to her, but I felt a hand on my elbow and I looked over my shoulder to see Anthony, the man who had hired me, standing behind me.

  "I'm sorry, Gwendolyn, but I'm going to need to steal him for a minute."

  She shrugged, and I smiled at her before following Anthony toward the podium across the room. I knew it was time for me to do my speech. By the time that I stepped behind the podium my nervousness at speaking in front of the group was gone as was virtually everything that I had planned to say. Fortunately, I managed to ramble on for a few minutes, elicited a few laughs, and walked away with the applause of the crowd I felt I had effectively convinced that if they happened to find themselves in a fire or other such an emergency, they could trust me to actually be there for them and help them out of it. Shaking hands and graciously accepting the congratulations and welcome wishes of the people who crowded up to the podium after I spoke, I made my way back across the room toward the dessert table to continue my conversation with Gwendolyn. When I arrived, however, I found the plate that she had been holding sitting on the edge of the table, and she was gone.

  This wasn't exactly the reenactment of our last encounter that I was thinking about.

  Chapter Six

  Gwendolyn

  I was still thinking about Garrett when I got to school the next morning.

  Garrett. Not Ethan. Somehow that fits so much better.

  Every thought about him made me feel a little bit woozy and I couldn't get my mind off the night that we had spent together. It was those thoughts, though, that had caused me to rush out of the party the night before, while he was still up at the podium speaking. I didn't know how I could possibly be so stupid that I didn't know who he was when I saw him. How could I possibly help throw a party to welcome the new fire chief in town, and then not recognize him when I saw him? Even more than that, how could I not know that I had already been his very own welcome committee in a way I'm sure the elderly members of the community were just not up for providing?

  As soon as I saw Anthony leading him away from me and up to the podium to make his speech, I had felt my stomach drop. He hadn't had the opportunity to, so it was up to me to make the slow, embarrassing realization of who he was as he stood up there and thanked everyone in attendance, including me, for being so friendly and gracious. It wasn't that we had a one-night stand. It wasn't even that I had left the hotel in the morning before he was able to wake up. What embarrassed me is that he had uncovered who I really was. Now it made so much sense why he was more than happy to give fake names and create ridiculous stories for ourselves when we were still in the bar. He didn't have anything to cover up. Other than his name, he was essentially the same person that I had met in the bar. Gorgeous. Strong. Charismatic.

  What was completely different was me. Yes, I had a fake name that was inspired by my favorite cream-filled snack cakes, not a little bit because from the minute I saw him I hoped that I might get a chance to be a little cream filled myself, but that wasn't the only thing that I faked. I was a complete construct when he met me in that bar. I was wearing clothing that I had only worn once before. I had packed on more makeup then I had probably worn cumulatively in the last month. I had a swagger and a confidence about me that had been fueled by my frustration and tension. It wasn't me he had met in that bar, or who he had brought back to the hotel, or who he had ravished and left blissfully satisfied. That was the person I had created. I couldn't imagine that he would feel the same way about me now that he knew what I usually looked like, or if he knew that I was just a quiet divorcee High School teacher who got excitement from binge-watching salacious TV far more frequently than I did from another human being.

  It felt easier just to walk away from the party the night before. I was mad at myself for doing it, but at the same time, I didn't know how I would handle having him walk down from that podium and approach me again. My thoughts of him and our night together had only become more common and more intense as the days and weeks passed, and I knew that I still wanted him. But just as much as I worried about how he would react to the real me, I was tangled in my thoughts and emotions about who he really was. The night that we spent together, his intensity and strength had been thrilling and enticing. He was a fantasy, a sexy dream that I had managed to somehow will into reality. I didn't have to think about the type of person he was outside of that room. I didn't have to think about how that smoldering, bad boy vibe played out when we weren't in bed. It was like I could go home and pretend that he wasn't even real. Now I didn't have that option. He was very real and very tangible, and I knew that the more time that I spent with him, the more I would learn about him, and the truth was I was afraid of what I might find.

  I was all too familiar with men who carried themselves with that confidence and who had that alluring, almost irresistible bad boy persona. The experiences that I had had with that type of personality had left me with deep scars that no one could see, but that had shaped and influenced me. The thought of men like that made me bristle. I feared men like that. I couldn't trust them. The thought that Garrett could be anything like the other men in my life was enough to make me wish I had never seen him again. At the same time, however, I didn't get the same feeling from him that I had from the other men who had hurt me so much. Especially one. The one who I would never forget. The one who had changed me. Garrett didn't strike me as being like them. He was powerful and intense, but he didn't seem to have the same level of disregard for others. He walked through a room with absolute confidence and I had to admit that there was some arrogance in him, but he was also kind and friendly to those who were speaking to him.

  Yes, our night together had been ano
nymous. He had lied to me about his name and about who he was. But that was my doing. I was just as much of a liar as he was. Our exchange had been light-hearted and consensual, fun and playful. There had been nothing about it that seemed manipulative or truly deceptive. It hadn't upset me then, but I was having trouble understanding how I should feel about him now.

  I didn't have the same block of classes that day that I had the day before, which meant that I wasn't going to have to wonder if Jason Baxter was going to a show up in my classroom. The only time that I was supposed to see him was in the brief homeroom of the day, and I was a little surprised when he walked in just before the late bell rang. He walked in staring directly at me as if he wanted to make sure that I made eye contact with him and acknowledged that he was there. It wasn't the same as my more eager students who didn't get enough from maintaining impeccable grades and also felt the compulsion to add exemplary attendance, conduct, and citizenship to their string of accomplishments. Instead, it felt almost like a dare. It was as though he had shown up just so that he could have that brief moment of silent confrontation with me like he was making his move and wanted to see how I would react. I hated to admit that I was relieved when homeroom was over, and I saw him walk out among the other students. He wasn't my problem for the rest of the day and if he didn't show up to any of his other classes, at least I could say that he was there for mine.

  That wasn't the way that I was supposed to feel about my students, and I knew it. It wasn't like this was the first time that a student had acted out in my class. This is only my first year of teaching, but I was dealing with teenagers and that age group was not exactly known as the most pleasant and cooperative of people. There have been others in my class who wanted to test their boundaries, to push me and see just how much the new teacher would tolerate. This is my chance to prove myself, to set the tone of the type of teacher that I was going to be for the rest of my career. I could either stand my ground and insist on respect and adherence to the school rules, or I could bend to the pressures of the students. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I was as stern as the gray-haired math teacher who walked around with a metal ruler in her hand as if presenting a relic from the more daunting and violent days of public education, but I also refused to be pushed around or forced to be soft on students. My stance had brought those students that had bucked against me in the first week of class back under my control and now were actually some of my favorite students. As much as I would like to think that I was going to be that successful with any difficult student I came across, I wasn't as eager to try with Jason. He seemed like he was going to be a handful, and not just because he wanted to see how far he could stretch the boundaries. Instead, I saw something in him, something that made me want to reach out to him and to help him. It was that thing, that quality that I didn't yet understand that was making him the way that he was.

  I went home that night with a stack of assignments to grade. My students had acted like I had committed a crime against humanity when I assigned a project to be completed over the course of the winter holidays, but I had been pleasantly surprised to see that everyone in the class had managed to turn theirs in on time. Whether they would all have any level of quality, however, was still yet to be seen. I dropped the stack of folders onto my sofa as I walked through the living room toward the kitchen. It wasn't usually my style to drink coffee in the evening, but I had a feeling that I was going to need it. The Reverend lifted his head to look at me from his bed on the floor and then dropped it down again, deciding that his nap and whatever dreams that were populating his little kitty head at that moment were much more important than listening to me talk about my day. I turned the coffee maker on and was reaching into the cabinet for my favorite double sized coffee mug when I caught sight of the trifle bowl sitting in the sink. I should have washed it the night before, but I hadn't felt like going through the process. Instead, I had filled it with water and a squirt of dish liquid and convinced myself that it was soaking.

  Seeing the trifle dish now didn't bring to mind thoughts of my domestic failures. Instead, they made me think of Garrett's smile and the sound of his laugh. It had made me happier than it should have to hear that he enjoyed the dessert that I made, and I couldn't help but wonder if his lush lips would have tasted like the sweet trifle. I tucked my coffee mug into place and pressed the brew button before walking over to the sink and starting to clean out the dish. He said that he had enjoyed the trifle, and he had only gotten to have three little servings. Maybe I could just head over to the firehouse and make sure that he was getting settled in alright.

  The Reverend was standing in the doorway of the kitchen when I turned around. I paused and looked at him.

  "It's the neighborly thing to do," I said.

  Two hours later, I stepped out of my bedroom with my hair freshly styled and my makeup reapplied, the skirt of the dress I was wearing swirling around my thighs. The cut was seasonally inappropriate, but I told myself that the dark blue color made it just fine for a winter night. I put the finishing touches on the fresh trifle that I had made and stretched plastic wrap over the top of it to protect it in the car. I caught a glimpse of The Reverend walking across the top of the sofa as I slipped into my jacket and I looked over at him before picking up the trifle.

  "Don't judge me," I said.

  I walked out of my house and got into the car to head to the firehouse.

  There weren't any cars in the front parking lot of the firehouse when I pulled in. I sat there in my car wondering if I should drive around to the back lot to see if I could recognize Garrett's car from my jacket-stealing escapade. I realized that was entirely possible that he wasn't even in the firehouse that night. I had just assumed that the welcoming party had been a sort of official installment and that he would be on duty thereafter. It occurred to me, though, that even a fire chief would get time off and that maybe he hadn't even started yet. That would certainly make for an awkward entrance, but I'd already come out this far. I might as well go inside.

  I got out of my car and walked around to unhook the trifle from the seat belt that I had lovingly latched around it to keep it from sliding across the seat while I was driving. I walked up to the door of the firehouse and knocked. The truth was that I didn't really know the protocol for visiting a firehouse. I knew that I had gone on a field trip to this particular firehouse when I was in elementary school, but the firefighters had been waiting outside for us when we arrived, and we were ushered through the station and out to the shiny red truck where we climbed and played for the majority of the trip. And to this day I wasn't completely sure of what it was that we were supposed to learn on that trip.

  I didn't hear any movement or sound from inside the firehouse, so I reached for the bell. I rang it and took a partial step back from the door. That movement was a remnant of the lessons that my mother taught me when I was younger. She put as much effort as she could into teaching me to be polite. One of the manners that she had emphasized was that when you approached a door, you stepped back so that whoever was inside could have a chance to see you through the peephole before opening it. I always felt like that it was an extremely judgmental approach. It was like I was stepping back and presenting myself for scrutiny so that the person inside could decide whether or not they wanted to be bothered with me that day. Yet, here I was, standing a few feet back from the door and wondering if someone was inside the firehouse peeking through some unseen window or peephole, and sizing me up. I was tempted to turn around, scurry back across the parking lot, get into my car, go back home, and keep the entire trifle for myself, but before I could, I heard the locks releasing on the inside of the door. It opened, and I saw Garrett looking out at me. Any desire to go back home and gorge myself on trifle immediately melted away.

  Suddenly the only thing I wanted anywhere near my mouth was him.

  Garrett seemed to have the same thing on his mind. His eyes traveled up and down my body, grazed briefly over the trifle I held in front of me
, then rose to my face and locked on mine. I saw his tongue slip out and run across his lips. My heart was beating faster, and I could hear the blood rushing in my ears as my body woke up.

  "Hi there," he said.

  His voice was low and velvety, lacking the pop and spark that it had had when he was talking at the party the night before. Then he was addressing everybody, trying to draw them in. Now he was speaking only to me. I was all that mattered, and his voice made it abundantly clear that that was exactly how he wanted it to be.

  "Hello," I said. I held the trifle up a little higher. "I wanted to welcome you to Silver Lake now that I actually know who you are."

  "Oh, really?" he asked. "That's very friendly of you." He reached forward and tucked his fingers into the belt of my jacket, drawing me forward toward him. "Let me thank you."

  I have always been the type of woman who likes to feel in control like I know what's coming. I always read the last page of a book before starting. In that moment, I knew exactly what was coming, but I felt far from in control.

  I let Garrett pull me through the door and into the firehouse. The small lobby was empty, the desk that sat against one wall deserted. We continued past the small collection of furniture that I couldn't imagine getting a tremendous amount of use and through a door that led into the section of the firehouse set aside just for the firefighters to use while they waited for the next call. In a community like Silver Lake, there were far more nights than not when that call never came, which accounted for how well-appointed this section of the house seemed to be. I vaguely remembered being brought through this part during the field trip, but it was more elaborate now, filled with enough furniture, game machines, and electronics to make it look more a bachelor's apartment and less a place where heroes waited for the next moment of adrenaline and terror.

  He took the trifle from my hands and placed it on the table that sat in the middle of the room. As soon as the glass dish had left my grasp, I was in his arms. His mouth caught mine and I felt something inside me snap. Need and arousal rushed through me and I gave myself over to the kiss, pressing my body close to Garrett's and seeking his tongue with mine. Our tongues tangled, and my hands dug into the hair at the back of his neck. The heels I was wearing that night weren't as high as the ones I had been wearing the last time that we were together, so Garrett had to lean over further to touch his hands to my thighs. This crushed our bodies more tightly together and I could feel the hard, delicious nudging of his growing erection in my belly. His hands ran up the backs of my legs, lifting my skirt out of the way as he went until it pooled at my hips and his fingers caught the bottom swells of my ass.