A Flower for Angela

by Sandra Leesmith

  Ricardo’s questions were pointed and astute. Now that Angela no longer felt threatened by them, she could see how they revealed the theory and basis for her methods. Her respect for him rose another notch.

  She smiled and continued, "The students' high achievements are partly due to their teacher's expectations. Just as we know all children learn to talk, we know that they can also learn to read and write. We don't limit them by assuming that because they're Spanish speaking or because they live in the barrio, they won't succeed."

  She turned abruptly and faced Ricardo. He shifted in his chair as if caught daydreaming. Surely he was listening?

  Dr. Wheeler added, “I regularly see students in other schools who don't try because they don't believe they can succeed."

  "I've been in classes," another professor spoke up, “where students are continually told by their teachers that they're in the ‘low’ group or the ‘slow’ group."

  While the professors continued to debate, Angela studied Ricardo, wanting to trace her finger along his jaw. Then he looked up and their glances met. A cough brought her up with a start. She tore her eyes away from him and gazed at Dr. Wheeler.

  "I can see your point," Ricardo interjected. "But how can we alter these ingrained beliefs about failure?”

  Dr. Wheeler responded and Angela smiled in thanks. In her opinion, that represented the primary advantage of the whole language method. After Dr. Wheeler finished, she leaned toward Ricardo for emphasis and spoke in an excited voice, "Success and pride in their work motivate the children to want to learn even more."

  Ricardo sat back, enjoying Angela's enthusiasm. In spite of exhaustion that etched tiny lines around her eyes, they sparkled with animation.

  He wondered how secure she was personally. He had the feeling that she wasn't so self-assured in her intimate life. He longed to find out.

  Shifting in his seat, he tried to concentrate on her words. It was too easy to be distracted by the movement of her moist lips, by her graceful hand gesturing in emphasis and the flowery fragrance that drifted his way whenever she moved.

  "Using their own language and experiences encourages pride of their culture and position in society." Angela explained.

  Dr. Wheeler cleared her throat and Ricardo swiveled around to face her. As she remarked, “You ought to appreciate that, being Hispanic yourself," he remembered the humiliation he had once felt because of his accent and his determination to rid himself of it. Although he loved his family, he had still been deeply ashamed of his Chicano heritage.

  If he'd grown up proud of the traditions of his people, he might not have built such a wall around his inner feelings. Yet that toughness had brought him to where he was today. Obtaining fluency in English and gaining knowledge of "the system" had been absolute essentials.

  "The students need to learn English," he said with conviction.

  "That is definitely encouraged," Angela assured him. "And they do learn English. But they do so with pride in being able to speak two languages rather than being embarrassed that they speak Spanish."

  Suddenly the image of an English teacher he had had in his freshman year at the university came to mind. She had made him feel good about being bilingual. Due to her influence and nurturing of Ricardo's lost sense of pride, he'd set out in a new direction toward a successful career. Yet, in all these years, he'd never before given the credit to that instructor. When he thought about it now, he could see that her true dedication had been a major influence in his life. Angela was such a teacher—one who would affect others in a similar way.

  Ricardo appreciated the quality that drove her to care for her students. His admiration for her generous and giving nature grew deeper the longer he knew her. She had gained his respect and friendship, elements that—for the first time in his life—he felt were essential to his interest in a woman.

  BY FIVE, everyone in the conference room was exhausted. Ricardo felt as if he'd been blitzed with a full college curriculum in the space of a few hours. In fact, he supposed he had been. Rubbing the back of his neck, he stood to stretch his legs, stalling for a moment to gather his thoughts before presenting the anxious group with his reaction.

  All eyes—tired, yet attentive—were upon him. But he was only aware of Angela's gaze. He looked at her and smiled.

  "What you've discussed today, in combination with my observations of Angela's classroom, has been impressive."

  Several sets of shoulders, including Angela’s, sagged in relief.

  Dr. Wheeler spoke up. "It's revolutionizing education, although the system has been slow in accepting it. Students do respond to the whole language approach. It stimulates their minds and instills in them a love of reading and research."

  When Dr. Wheeler paused, Angela continued, "The main problem, now, is changing the thinking of teachers and parents. We adults are the products of the old, traditional system. It's hard for us to understand how this process can work."

  Ricardo reacted defensively to what she said at first, but realizing he'd been guilty of exactly what she'd described, he admitted to the group, "I thought I was open-minded about education, but, until now, I couldn't even see how rigid my ideas were."

  "Don't feel discouraged," Dr. Wheeler assured him. "Even we have trouble assimilating it completely."

  "It's also why we have so much difficulty with implementing the program," another professor added. "Teachers like Angela help us prove what can be done with the whole language approach."

  "Seeing is believing." Dr. Wheeler added.

  The last comment sparked an idea in Ricardo. Perhaps he could be of help. "Would you give me permission to polish the editing on this tape and combine it with a voice-over explanation of your theory?"

  Angela's eyes narrowed. "What for?"

  "I might be able to devise a tool you can use when presenting your theory."

  Dr. Wheeler insisted, "We'd want input."

  "Of course. Angela can help me and you can preview the film before it’s a wrap." There wouldn't be any problem finding time to get together with Angela. He'd already planned ahead on that score.

  In spite of their exhaustion, enthusiasm spurred the group to participate in another half-hour of discussion until, weary but hopeful, they finally adjourned the meeting.

  Ricardo went immediately to Angela's side, ready to whisk her away from the others. As far as he was concerned, his so-called private investigation was over. Now he was ready for a personal quest.

  But before he could steer Angela away, Mrs. Edwards confronted her. "We need to talk, Angela. I'll call you later."

  Ricardo groaned when he saw the puzzled expression on Angela's face. Don't ask now, he silently ordered.

  The side door opened and the two teachers who'd introduced themselves in Angela's room approached. He groaned again, impatient to leave.

  "Lupe, Cathy," Angela acknowledged their presence, her tone oddly strained.

  "How'd everything go?" the tall one asked Angela.

  "Fine. If you'll excuse us, we were just leaving."

  Her chilly tone and abrupt dismissal startled Ricardo. He wasn't about to complain, however. Eagerly, he followed Angela as she thanked the professors and then hurried out the door. When they were finally outside, he guided her to his car.

  "What was that last bit all about?"

  "You don't want to know. Talking about those two will make me grumpy, and I'm too tired to even be that."

  Ricardo chuckled as he helped her settle into the seat. She was touchy at this time of day. He'd have to do something to remedy that. All sorts of ideas came to mind.

  He slid into the driver's side and reached across to cup Angela's cheek before starting the engine. "Alone at last."

  "And Friday night at that." Angela smiled as she fastened her belt.

  The weekend he'd been dreaming about all week was here at last. He'd made dinner reservations, but for a brief moment he was tempted to take her to his home and start right there. No. First things first. He p
ut the Ferrari in gear and headed out of the parking lot.

  "What did you think of today's discussion?" Angela asked him as he wove in and out of the Friday night traffic.

  "No you don't," he cast a critical glance her way. "You promised me the weekend, and we don't talk shop on time off."

  "But, Ricardo—” she laughed “—I'm dying to know."

  Ricardo gripped the steering wheel. From her laughter, he knew she thought he was teasing her. But even if he wanted to, he couldn't tell her his response. Besides, he had other things on his mind. "We'll go over it all later, when we view the videos."

  "You're serious, aren't you?" she observed.

  "Never more so," he assured her. He could feel her studying his profile and sought to distract her. "How does dinner and dancing at The Matador sound?"

  "Sure. They serve good Mexican food there."

  He preferred to anticipate the weekend awaiting them. As he pulled up in front of the Matador, he realized this would be their first intimate time together and he vowed it would be memorable for them both.

  RICARDO SWERVED the sleek Ferrari into the long, curved driveway. He had always admired the elegant grandeur of the old mansions along the city's exclusive central corridor. He loved living in the area. Even though his house was considerably smaller than those surrounding it, the structure was built in the same architectural style.

  He glanced over at Angela. She sat with eyes closed, leaning her head against the headrest. Pobrecita. It had been a rough day for her. Tonight, he would make it all worthwhile. Ricardo's heartbeat quickened with eager expectation. He pulled into the garage, doused the lights and turned to Angela.

  "Sweetheart." When he gently drew her close to him, desire hit him in a rush, and he paused, enjoying it.

  "Where are we?" She shifted slightly and her fragrance drifted up to tantalize his heightened senses. "Sorry I drifted off. I'm so full."

  "You ate a huge dinner," he teased.

  "I'm always ravenous after I've been nervous. Today just about did me in."

  "You aren't nervous now, are you?" he asked.

  "No." She nudged her head into the curve of his neck. "Dinner was wonderful."

  Her gesture tested his composure. He bent his head and nuzzled the wispy tendrils of hair at her temple.

  "Are we at your place yet?" she mumbled before she started trailing butterfly kisses along his neck. The light feathery touches tested his self-control but not as much as when she raised her head and captured his lips.

  "Uh-hmm." He finally broke away from her. "Let's go."

  Shifting her weight off of him, he edged out of his side of the car and went around to help her out. He resisted the urge to pull her into his arms right there in the musty garage.

  "Are you sure it's a good idea for me to stay here?" She seemed reluctant to follow him into the flower-scented yard.

  "Afraid?" he challenged.

  "Maybe." She tilted her chin at a stubborn angle.

  "Angela." He pulled her against him and wrapped persuasive arms around her slender curves. She molded against him in automatic response, and Ricardo smiled in satisfaction. "It's more private here than at your place. Besides, we won't do anything you don't want to do."

  "You can promise me that?" she asked, disbelief edging her sultry tone.

  Before he answered, he bent his head to gently brush his lips against hers. It took tremendous willpower not to crush her to him and deepen the kiss. Just that light touch had clenched his insides into a painful knot and sent his heart skittering. He whispered into her parted lips. "We'll only go as far as you say."

  "I don't believe it."

  "Ah, but you see, querida, I plan to make sure you want it all."

  "That sounds promising."

  He reached down and, with ease, lifted and carried her outside under the star laden skies. Her smooth arms curled around his neck, sending shivers of pleasure throbbing through his body.

  The night air of spring wafted around them, and with it, the scent of orange blossoms. Ricardo's footsteps echoed in the quiet as he followed the walkway to his backyard patio.

  He carried Angela into a trellised gazebo at the far end. Honeysuckle vines covered the latticed structure darkening the interior like a cave. When the lapping of water reminded Ricardo of the nearness of the Jacuzzi, he set Angela on her feet.

  "Are your muscles sore from all our dancing?" he asked.

  "I couldn't dance another step." She sighed and started to move away from him.

  "Careful," he warned as he caught her around the waist. "The Jacuzzi is right here, so don't fall in."

  "Is it hot?"

  "Very."

  "My feet are going to thank you for this."

  Ricardo laughed.

  "Take your shoes off. There’s a room over there where you can change into your swimsuit and then you can sit here on the edge." He guided her to the raised deck that framed the pool. "I'll go get us some brandy."

  He headed for the house.

  CHAPTER 9

  ANGELA STEPPED OUT OF her shoes, bent to remove her pantyhose and then felt her way to the side of the pool. She sighed with relief as she eased her aching legs into the soothing heat. If only she knew Ricardo better. She could relax and enjoy.

  The thought of sitting in the sensual pool with him sent tingles racing up her spine. Maybe someday they would—

  "How does it feel?" His voice startled her.

  "Wonderful." She kicked her feet to splash water in the air. The droplets sparkled as they reflected the faint traces of moonlight that filtered into the gazebo. The glasses clinked when Ricardo set them down near her. His hand brushed her shoulder as he sat next to her.

  She didn't need to see him to know he was very close. The lime scent that she'd breathed while they'd danced drifted about her. The heat of his body teased her into wanting to touch.

  Ricardo leaned close for a kiss. Pings echoed on the redwood deck as he took the pins out of her chignon and let them drop. Her hair tumbled free.

  A conservative and modest part of her held back in front of this virtual stranger. And yet she longed to offer herself to him in the moonlight.

  "Much better." Satisfaction tinged his voice as he raked his fingers through her hair. "Now, for your jacket."

  A tremor of desire shivered through her when he eased his warm hands under her lapels to shrug the piece of clothing off her shoulders.

  "Are you cold?" he asked, quick to respond to her every need.

  “No, I—”

  Before she could voice her doubts, his lips captured hers in a silencing kiss. Her heart raced and she grasped his arms to keep her balance. Caught up in the sensations coursing through her, she barely noticed that he'd undone the pearl buttons at the back of her blouse. The cool night air caressed her skin.

  "Your skin is like silk." His breath fanned her cheeks as he mouthed kisses there. His hands stroked down her back. Angela arched against his caresses like a contented cat.

  He backed away, giving her breathing room. "We'll take this slow and easy."

  Did she want slow and easy anymore? In fact, a strong urge clamored for her to rip off her clothes. "I'd better change." She could sense his reluctance to let her go.

  Angela drew her feet from the water and stood. Ricardo smiled as he guided her to the changing rooms. "I'll change, too." His voice held promise.

  When she stood before him again, Angela longed to throw herself into his arms, but she waited. Her heart hammered against her ribs. It seemed an eternity that she stood there. A breeze caught strands of her hair, feathering it across her skin.

  Ricardo, who had changed much more quickly and was already in the water when she came out, stepped from the pool and lifted her into his arms. The breeze had cooled his skin, but it burned where it pressed against hers. She moaned deep in her throat—an animal sound that expressed her need.

  Ricardo carried her down the steps with tender care and lowered her with him into the swirling hot wa
ter.

  Clouds of steam rose around them. Ricardo still hadn’t turned on any lights, but Angela could see the wispy vapors in the pale moonlight. She tried to determine Ricardo's expression but could only see the dark silhouette of his head and the brandy snifter he held in the air.

  "Here's to us." He clinked her glass in salute.

  "To us," she repeated, her voice husky with emotion. What did that toast mean—“us” as in lovers or “us” as in a relationship? She wanted both, but not so soon.

  The brandy warmed her. Water lapped at her skin while jets of bubbles pounded on the muscles of her back.

  "How does it feel?" he asked as he shifted closer to her.

  "Like heaven," she told him and closed her eyes in dreamy contentment. "All of the week's hassles have melted away."

  "Did it make extra work for you with us taping in your room?"

  "You were my biggest hassle," she teased.

  "But I'm not melting away," he assured her. To emphasize his point he traced his finger along the waterline across her shoulders.

  The initial lethargy the heat of the whirlpool had caused disappeared. She held her breath.

  His lazy pace disturbed her growing alertness. What game was he playing to torment her like this? She wanted him to continue, but he withdrew his hand and settled back in the pool.

  "Ricardo." She couldn’t help her groan of frustration. "Why did you stop?"

  Laughter floated around her. Ricardo set down his snifter and reached for her. "Come here, sweetheart." He slid her onto his lap.

  "What do you want?" he asked, tracing the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue. "This?"

  She slid her wet arms around his neck and pressed close against his chest. Turning, she planted tiny kisses on his eyelids, forehead and cheeks. "I want this."

  He shuddered beneath her. "I've wanted to hear you say that," he whispered as he kissed her.