And now with him close…

He continued to study me, an eyebrow arched, and I was suddenly nervous. He looked formidable. Not at all as playful as he’d looked that night.

“Christian,” he called to his son. “Come here.”

His son barely looked up from his phone or the video game he played as he walked past us.

“I’ve been here,” he said, anger twisting his voice. “I need something to drink.”

“There’s bottled water by the door,” I instructed, but he just kept walking, leaving the room without another word.

His father’s jaw hardened, and I could tell he was angry.

“Excuse my son,” he apologized. “His mother is away for a year, and he’s a little out of sorts.”

His mother. Not my wife, then.

The air-conditioning poured down from overhead, caressing my face, and I felt it waft lightly against my blouse, cooling the light layer of sweat.

Tyler and I were alone in the room, and I inhaled through my nose, smelling his intoxicating scent, which I could almost taste on my tongue.

I walked around him, toward the papers by the door. “Well, I know you have other classrooms to visit and not much time,” I told him, “so here is a letter explaining my background and plans for the year.” I picked up a single-sided letter off the desk and also a two-page detailed calendar, walking over and handing both to him.

“And there’s also a syllabus with a rundown of dates when tests occur and when papers and projects are due,” I continued as his eyes left mine to peruse the documents.

His eyebrows nose-dived as he studied them.

“All of this information is also on my website,” I told him. “This is just a hard copy in case you prefer it.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to keep my voice light. “Do you have any questions for me?”

I probably sounded like I was trying to rush him out of here, but the longer he stayed, the greater the chance that he would remember me.

“Yes,” he said quietly, still flipping through the papers. “I do have a question.”

I stiffened, trying to remember to breathe.

“How long have you been a teacher?” he asked.

“This will be my first year,” I said in all confidence.

He raised his eyebrows, the edges of his mouth curling. “I hope you’re good.”

I cocked my head, peering at him. “Excuse me?” I asked, trying not to sound offended at the innuendo.

“My son can be a handful,” he clarified. “He doesn’t misbehave, but he’s willful. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

I nodded slightly and turned to go back to my desk.

Doesn’t misbehave?

From what I’d already seen, he was very much a handful. I just hoped I didn’t need to call his father or deal with him for anything.

Back behind my desk, I looked up and saw that he was still by the door, looking at me like he was trying to figure something out.

“Was there something else?” I tried to sound polite.

He shook his head as if he was still thinking. “I’m just… almost sure I know you.”

“Easton?” Kristen poked her head inside my door, interrupting. “Some of us are going – oh, I’m sorry.” She stopped, seeing the parent still in the room.

My eyes fluttered closed, and my stomach flipped.

Shit.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she chirped. “Stop by my room when you’re done, okay?”

And then she let the door close, leaving us alone.

I darted my gaze over to Mr. Marek, and he turned his eyes away from the door and pinned me with a sharp stare.

And then, like the raging sun over a cube of ice, his hard gaze melted, turning into one of knowing as realization hit, his eyes softened, and his mouth curled with amusement.

Fuck.

“Your name is Easton?” He stepped toward me slowly, every step shooting through my veins and making my blood rush.

“That’s an unusual name for a woman,” he went on, inching closer. “In fact, I’ve met only one other with the name.”

I let the air drift out of my lungs, and I raised my eyes, meeting his.

But his eyes fell away from my face and moved down my body as if he was trying to connect who I was now with what he remembered from six months ago.

He finally met my gaze again and leaned in, looking expectant. “You haven’t asked my name yet,” he toyed.

The hair on my neck stood on end.

“Would you like to know?” he pressed, playing with me.

As the parent of a student, introductions were in order.

But he was having fun with me right now, and while I wanted a good relationship with my students’ parents, I needed to sever the hand to save the arm.

I didn’t know what would happen if he saw me as anything other than Christian’s teacher, and that’s the only way he should see me.

“Mr. Marek.” I spoke calmly but firmly. “If you have no further questions, I’m sure your son is waiting for you. Again,” I added. “Perhaps you should make sure he’s okay.”

The hint of the smile in his eyes immediately disappeared, and I watched him straighten and his expression harden.

He was insulted. Good.

I glanced to the door and back to him. “Have a good evening.”

THREE

TYLER

“You’re smiling,” my brother, Jay, observed, sitting opposite me in the back of the Range Rover.

I ignored him as I watched the pedestrians race by, mostly joggers and some students carrying backpacks, as Patrick, my driver, took us home.

I wasn’t smiling.

I was insulted, amused, and intrigued, picturing her beautiful and flushed face in my head.

Her blouse, buttoned up to the neck¸ her tight red skirt and those heels accentuating her shapely calves, and her proper little attitude were so different from what I remembered from last Mardi Gras.

But they definitely weren’t a disappointment, either.

She’d been tough and sexy, almost untouchable, last winter, and she’d fascinated the hell out of me. She’d had a mouth on her that had amused me and had gotten me hard, and then she’d stunned me when she’d just up and left, not the slightest bit interested in making it easy for me.

But unfortunately, I hadn’t been able to find her after the Mardi Gras ball.

She hadn’t been on the guest list, which meant she’d come with someone, and I hadn’t wanted to go poking around and start people talking, so I’d let it go.

But now here she was, my kid’s teacher, dangerous and forbidden, which only increased her allure, and she’d been just as hot tonight as she’d been on that balcony all those months ago – the difference being now I couldn’t fucking touch her.

I loosened my tie, my neck sweating even though the AC was on full blast, and I looked over at my son, sitting in the seat next to me with his head buried in his phone.

It was going to be a long fucking year.

“Well, get ready for a kick in the nuts.” My brother leaned back in his seat, tapping his phone with its stylus. “Mason Blackwell just got a two-million-dollar donation from the Earhart Fellowship. They’re officially backing him for representing their high moral fiber.”

Mason Blackwell. My only real opponent for the Senate.

“High moral fiber,” I repeated under my breath. “While I eat babies and bathe in blood, right?”

Jay chuckled, finally looking up. “They don’t say that,” he assured. “Not exactly anyway. They really don’t say anything. You’re a mystery,” he chirped, his eyes condescending.

We’d had this conversation, but the issue was never settled for him. He just kept digging, hoping to wear me down, but there was no fucking way I was letting the press into my personal life. It was his responsibility to spin the media and keep the focus on what was important.

“This is your job,” I reminded him, hardening my eyes so he knew I meant business.

But he shook his head at me and leaned forward. “Tyler.” He’d lowered his voice to a whisper for my son’s sake. “I can feed the papers whatever you want, but in front of the cameras you’d better start coming up with some answers. It’s the twenty-first century, and people – voters,” he clarified, “want to know everything.”