Читать книгу Propositioned by the Playboy - Cara Colter - Страница 9
ОглавлениеBETH Maple heard a slightly muffled snicker just as she was sliding open her top desk drawer looking for a prize for Mary Kay Narsunchuk, who had just won the weekly spelling bee.
During the whole spelling bee, out of the corner of her eye, Beth had seen Kyle O. Anderson looking absently out the window, seeming not to pay attention, unaware his mouth was silently forming every letter of every word she had challenged the class with, including the one that had finally stumped Mary Kay, finesse. But every time she had called on him to spell a word, Kyle had just frowned and ducked his head.
It was an improvement over last week’s spelling bee. Whenever she had called on Kyle that time, he had spelled a word, all right, but never the word he’d been given. When the word was tarry, he spelled tarantula, when she gave him forte, he spelled, or started to spell fornication. She had cut him off before he’d completed the word. Thankfully, no one in her grade-five class seemed to have any idea what that exchange had been about.
But Kyle was being suspiciously well-behaved for this spelling bee. At her most optimistic she hoped that meant his uncle had talked to him after their meeting last night about the plan, and had implemented the reward system at home.
It was probably that momentary lapse, thinking about Kyle’s uncle, that made Beth react slowly to the snicker as she was opening her desk drawer. Her brain shouting “Beware” did not get to her hand in time. Of course, her brain could just as well have been warning her off the gorgeous, full-of-himself, Ben Anderson, as the contents of her desk drawer!
A blob of green exploded from the desk, and collided with her hand, unbelievably squishy and revolting. Beth did what no grade-five teacher should ever do.
She screamed, then caught herself and stuffed her fist in her mouth. She regarded the largest frog she had ever seen, which sat not three feet in front of her on the floor, glaring at her with beady reptilian eyes.
It’s only a frog, she told herself sternly, but nevertheless she screamed again when it leaped forward. She could hear Kyle’s satisfied chortles above all the other sounds in a classroom that was quickly dissolving into pandemonium.
Twelve economy-size knights rushed to rescue their teacher, aka damsel-in-distress, though she was not naive enough to believe chivalry had trumped the pure temptation of the frog.
Casper Hearn led the charge, a big boy, throwing desks and hysterical girls out of his way as he stampeded around the room in pursuit of the frog.
But somehow, out of the melee, it was Kyle who emerged, panting, the frog clutched to his chest. Now he faced the other boys, something desperate in his pinched, pale face as they surrounded him. His freckles were standing out in relief he was so white.
“Give me the frog,” Casper ordered Kyle with distinct menace.
“I’ll warn you once to stay away from me,” Kyle said, a warning that might have been more effective if his voice wasn’t shaking and Casper didn’t outweigh him by a good thirty pounds.
Casper laughed. “Is that so? Then what?”
“Then the aisles will run with the fat melting from your bodies!” Kyle shouted, slipping the frog inside his shirt.
Casper took a startled step back from Kyle. The classroom became eerily silent. Casper stared at Kyle, shook his head and then went and sat down, followed by the other boys.
Kyle gave Beth a look she interpreted as apologetic and darted out the door, Kermit happily ensconced in his shirt.
When he didn’t return, she realized with a horrible sense of resignation she was going to have to inform Kyle’s uncle she had lost his nephew.
And the truth was, Beth Maple would have been just as happy if she never had to speak to Ben Anderson again.
Or at least the part of her that hadn’t nearly swooned from the pure and powerful presence of the man would be happy.
The other part, despicably weak, yearned for just one more peek at him.
Beth thought that Ben Anderson was the type of man who should have a warning label on him. There was that word again. “Beware.” Followed by “Contents too potent to handle.”
She did not think she had ever been around a man who was so casually and extraordinarily sexy. When he had walked into her room yesterday, it was as if everything but him had faded to nothing. No wonder she had thought he was in the wrong place, hopelessly lost amongst the welcoming fall leaves that dripped from her ceiling and brushed the top of his head.
Ben Anderson was all masculine power. Every single thing about him, from the ease with which he held that amazing male body, to the cast of features made more mesmerizing by the fact his once-perfect nose had the crook of a break in it, radiated some kind of vital male energy.
He oozed strength and self-assurance, from the ripple of muscle, to the upward quirk of a sexy lip. But somehow all that self-assurance was saved from becoming arrogance by the light that danced in eyes as green as a summer swimming hole. Ben Anderson’s eyes were warm and laughter filled. Kyle’s propensity for mischief was undoubtedly genetic.
Still, something lurked behind the easy laughter of his eyes, the upward quirk of that sexy mouth. There was an untouchable place in Ben Anderson that was as remote as a mountaintop. But unfortunately, rather than making him less attractive, it intrigued, added to a kind of sizzling sensuality that tingled in the air around him.
Ben Anderson had that certain indefinable something that made women melt.
And he knew it, too, the scoundrel.
Beth, sharing her classroom with him last evening, had been totally aware she was an impossibly unworldly grade-five teacher, with nothing at all in her experience to prepare her for a man like that.
You didn’t meet a man like Ben Anderson on the university campus. No, his type went to high, lonely places and battlefields. Even if Kyle had not mentioned to Beth that his uncle had been a marine, she would have known he had something other men did not have. It was in the warrior cast in his face, and the calm readiness in the way he carried himself.
He was not the kind of man she met at the parent-teacher conference, the kind who had devoted himself to a wife and children and a dream of picket fences. She met the occasional single dad, attractive in an expensive charcoal-gray suit, but never anything even remotely comparable to Ben Anderson.
Ben’s eyes resting on her face had made her feel as if an unwanted trembling, pre-earthquake, had started deep inside of her.
She hated that feeling, of somehow not being in control of herself, which probably explained why she had been driven to explain the educational benefits of her classroom tree to him. And to quote Aristotle! Who did that to a man like him?
But Beth Maple loved being in control, and she especially loved it since her one crazy and totally uncharacteristic trip outside her comfort zone had left her humiliated and ridiculously heartbroken.
She had known better. She was the least likely person to ever make the mistake she had made. She was well educated. Cautious. Conventional. Conservative. But she had been lured into love over the Internet.
Her love, Rock Kildore, had turned out to be a complete fabrication, as if the name shouldn’t have warned her. “Rock” was really Ralph Kaminsky, a fifty-two-year-old married postal clerk from Tarpool Springs, Mississippi. What he was not was a single jet-setting computer whiz from Oakland, California, who worked largely in Abu Dhabi and who claimed to have fallen hopelessly in love with a fifth-grade teacher. Even the pictures he’d posted had been fake.
But for a whole year, Beth Maple had believed what she wanted desperately to believe, exchanging increasingly steamy love letters, falling in love with being in love, anticipating that moment each day when she would open her e-mail and find Rock waiting for her. Beth had passed many a dreamy day planning the day all his work and travel obstacles would be overcome and she would meet the love of her life.
She had been so smitten she had believed his excuses, and been irritated by the pessimism of her friends and co-workers. Her mother’s and father’s concern had grated on her, partly because it was a relationship like theirs that she yearned for: stable but still wildly romantic even after forty years!
The youngest in her family, she hated being treated like a baby, as if she couldn’t make the right decisions.
After her virtual affair had ended in catastrophe that was anything but virtual, Beth had retreated to her true nature with a vengeance. Most disturbing to her had been that underlying the sympathy of her mom and dad had been their disappointment in her. Well, she was disappointed in herself, too.
Now she had something to prove: that she was mature, rational, professional, quiet and controlled. These were the qualities that had always been hers—before she had been lured into an uncharacteristic loss of her head. They were the qualities that made her an exemplary teacher, and that she returned to with conviction.
Teaching would be enough for her. Her substantial ability to love would be devoted to her students now. Her passion would be turned on making the grade-five learning experience a delight worth remembering. And she was giving up on pleasing her parents, too, since they didn’t seem any happier when she announced her choice to be single forever than they had been about Rock.
But looking at Ben Anderson, she had felt rattled, aware that all her control was an illusion, that if a man like that ever touched his lips to hers, she would surrender control with humiliating ease, dive into something hitherto wild and unexplored in herself.
Looking at Ben Anderson, Beth had thought, No wonder I liked virtual love. The real thing might be too hot too handle!
But even more humiliating than the fact Beth had recognized this shockingly lustful weakness in herself was the fact that she was almost positive he had recognized it in her, as well! There had been knowing in his eyes, in the little smile that tickled the firm line of his lips, in the fact his hand had touched hers just a trifle too long when he had passed her his business card with his cell-phone number on it.
Ben Anderson had obviously been the conqueror of thousands of hearts.
And all of them left broken, too, Beth was willing to bet.
Not that she had let the smallest iota of any of that creep into her voice when she had spoken to him. She hoped.
When he had handed her his business card, just in case she had needed to consult with him, she’d had the ugly feeling he expected her to find some pretext to use it.
And here she was, dialing his number, and hating it, even if this was a true emergency. And at the same time she hated it, a wicked little part of her was completely oblivious to the urgency of this situation, and wanted to hear his voice again, and compare it to her memory. No man could really sound that sexy.
Except he did.
His voice, when he answered, was deep and mesmerizing. Beth asked herself if she would think it was that sexy if she had never met him in person.
The answer was an unfortunate and emphatic yes.
There was a machine running in the background and Ben sounded faintly impatient, even when Beth said who she was and even though she could have sworn he would be pleased if she called him.
“Mr. Anderson, Kyle has gone missing.”
“I can’t hear you. Sorry.”
“Kyle’s gone,” she screamed, just as the machine behind him shut off.
The silence was deafening, and she rushed to fill it, which was what a man like that did to a woman like her, took all her calm and measured responses and turned them on their head.
She explained the frog incident. Ben listened without comment. She finished with, “And then he ran off. I checked all the usual hideouts, under the stage in the gym, the last stall in the boy’s washroom, the janitorial closet. I’m afraid he’s not here.”
“Thanks for letting me know,” Ben said. “Don’t worry.”
And then Beth was left holding a dead phone, caught between admiration for his I-can-handle-this attitude when obviously he was fairly new and naive to the trouble little boys could get themselves into, and irritation that somehow, just because he had told her not to worry, she did feel less worried.
He was that kind of man. Ridiculous to plan picket fences around him, and yet if you had your back against the wall, and the enemy rushing at you with knives in their teeth, he was the one you would want to be with you.
Beth told herself, sternly, it was absolutely idiotic to think you could know that about a man from having seen him once, and heard his supersexy voice on the phone. But she knew it all the same. If the ship was sinking, he would be the one who would find the life raft.
And the desert island.
She spent a silly moment contemplating that. Being with Ben Anderson on a desert island. It was enough to make her forget she had lost a child! It was enough to remind her her ability to imagine things had gotten her into trouble before.
An hour later, just as school was letting out and she was watching the children swirl down the hallway in an amazing rainbow of energy and color, the outside doors swung open and Ben Anderson stood there, silhouetted by light. He came through the children, the wave parting around him, looking like Gulliver in the land of little people.
There was something in his face that made Beth feel oddly relieved, even though his expression was grim and Kyle was not with him.
“Did you find him?” she asked.
The hallway was now empty. The absence of little people did not make Ben Anderson seem any smaller. In fact, she was very aware that she felt small as she stood in his shadow.
Small and exquisitely feminine despite the fact she was wearing not a spec of makeup, her hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense bun and she was dressed exactly like the fifth-grade teacher that she was.
“Not yet. I thought he might be at home, but he wasn’t.” He was very calm, and that made her feel even more as if he was a man you could lean into, be protected by.
Without warning, his finger pressed into her brow. “Hey, don’t worry, he’s okay.”
“How could you possibly know that?” she asked, aware that the certain shrill note in her voice had nothing to do with the loss of a child who had been in her charge, but everything to do with the rough texture of his hand pressed into her forehead.
“Kyle’s eleven going on 102. He’s been looking after himself in some pretty mean surroundings for a long, long time. He’s okay.”
He said that with complete confidence. He withdrew his hand from her forehead, looked at it and frowned, as though it had touched her without his permission. He jammed it in his pocket, and she felt the tiniest little thrill that the contact had apparently rattled him, as well as her.
“If he’s not at home, where did he go?” she asked him. The news was full of all the hazards that awaited eleven-year-old boys who were not careful. In the week and a half that Kyle had been in her class, he had shown no sign that he was predisposed to careful behavior.
Of course, his uncle did not look as if he had ever been careful a day in his life, and he seemed to have survived just fine.
Probably to the woe of every female within a hundred miles of him.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Kyle’s not that familiar with Cranberry Corners yet. Is he hiding somewhere? How much trouble does he think he’s in?”
“It’s not just about the frog,” she told him, and repeated Kyle’s awful remark.
“The aisles will run with the fat melting from your bodies?” Ben repeated. She couldn’t tell if he was appalled or appreciative. “He said that?”
“Do you think he was threatening to burn down the school?” she whispered.
Ben actually laughed, which shouldn’t have made her feel better, but it did. “Naw. He’s a scrawny little guy. He used his brains to back down the bully, and it worked. Boy, where would he get a line like that?”
She was oddly relieved that it was not from his uncle!
“The History of Khan?” she guessed.
“Bingo!” he said, with approval for her powers of deduction.
She could not let herself preen under his approval. She couldn’t. Wanting a man like him to approve of you could be the beginning of bending over backward to see that appreciative light in his eyes.
“Now if we could use those same powers of deduction to figure out where he is.”
“You know him better than me,” she said, backing away from the approval game. Besides, she really was drawing a blank about Kyle’s whereabouts.
She saw the doubt cross his face, but he regarded her thoughtfully. “You said he still had the frog, right?”
She nodded.
“You said the other boys wanted the frog and he wouldn’t give it to them.”
Silly to be pleased that he had listened so carefully to what she had said. Troublesome how easily he could nudge down her defenses, even before they were rebuilt from the last collapse!
“So, let’s assume he cared about the frog. Maybe he wanted to return it to where he got it from.”
That made such perfect sense Beth wished she had thought of it herself.
“We went on a little field trip for science class last week. Migg’s Pond,” she said. “It’s not far from here. We walked.”
“I’m sure I can find it.”
She was sure he could, too. But she was going with him. And not to spend time with him, either. Not because just standing beside him made her feel soft, and small and delicate.
She would go because this wasn’t really about Ben nor her, nor even about a frog. It was about a child who, despite the fact he was street smart, was still a child. Somehow, someway, somebody needed to let him know that. That they would come for him when he had lost his way.
“I’ll just get my jacket,” she said. “And my boots.” The boots were hideous, proof to herself that she was indifferent to the kind of impression she was making on Ben Anderson. No woman with the least bit of interest in how he perceived her would be seen dead in a skirt and gum boots by him.
“It’s wet by the pond,” she said, pleased with how rational she was being. She even leveled her grade-five-teacher look at his feet.
And then was sorry she had because her eyes had to travel the very long length of his hard-muscled legs to find the feet at the end of them.
“I’m not worried about getting my feet wet,” he said, something flat in his voice letting her know that he had been in places and experienced things that made him scorn small discomforts.
Today Beth was wearing a plaid tartan skirt, which did not seem as pretty to her now as it had when she put it on this morning. The boots, unfashionable black rubbers with dull red toes, were kept in the coatroom for just such educational excursions. They looked hideous with her skirt, but since they were going to a swamp and she was determined to not try and impress him, she thought they were perfect for the occasion.
Still, when she saw the laughter light his eyes as she emerged from the coatroom, she wished she hadn’t been quite so intent on appearing indifferent to his opinions. She wished she would have ruined her shoes!
In an effort not to look as rattled as she felt in her gum boot fashion disaster, she said conversationally, “I like the name of your business. Garden of Weedin’. Very original.”
He glanced down at his shirt and grinned. A knowing grin, that accused her of studying his chest, which of course she had been.
“Very creative,” she said stiffly, keeping on topic with stern determination as he held the door open for her to leave the school.
“Yeah, well, I stole it.”
“What?”
“I saw it on a sign in a little town I was passing through a long time ago. It kind of stuck with me.”
“I don’t think you can steal names,” she said. “That would be like saying my mother stole the name Beth from the aunt I was named after.”
“Beth,” he said, pleased, as if she had given away a secret he longed to know.
The way he said it made a funny tingle go up and down her spine. You could imagine a man saying your name like that, like a benediction, right before he kissed you. Or right before he talked you into his bed, the promise of bliss erasing the fact there had been the lack of a single promise for tomorrow.
She shot him a wary look, but he was looking ahead, scanning the terrain where the playground of the school met an undeveloped area behind it.
“Migg’s Pond is out of bounds,” she said. “The children aren’t supposed to come back here by themselves.”
He grunted. With amusement?
“Are you one of those people who scoffs at rules?” she asked.
“No, ma’am,” he said, but his amusement seemed to be deepening.
“You are! I can tell.”
“Now, how can you tell that?” he drawled, glancing at her with a lazy, sexy look that made her tingle just the way it had when he had spoken her name.
“I’m afraid I can picture you in fifth grade. Quite easily. Out of bounds would have just made it seem irresistible to you.”
“Guilty.”
“Frog in the teacher’s drawer?” she asked.
“Only if I really liked her.”
She contemplated that, and then said, “I don’t think Kyle likes me at all.”
“I would have, if I was in grade five. Not that I would have ever let on. How uncool would that be? To like the teacher.”
How uncool would it be to feel flattered that a man would have liked you in grade five? It didn’t mean he liked you now. Only a person without an ounce of pride would even pursue such a thing.
“What makes you think you would have liked me in grade five? I’m very strict. I think some of the kids think I’m mean.”
He snorted, and she realized he was trying not to laugh.
“I am! I always start off the year at my most formidable.”
“And I bet that’s some formidable,” he said, ignoring her glare.
“Because, you can’t go back if you lose respect from the start. You can soften up later if you have to.” She sounded like she was quoting from the teacher’s manual, and Ben Anderson did not look convinced by how formidable she was capable of being!
“Well, I would have liked you because you were cute. And relatively young. And obviously you are into the Aristotle school of learning, which would mean really fun things like have everyone making a fall leaf with their name on it to hang from the roof.”
He hadn’t just used the tree to flatter her, which she had suspected at the time. He’d actually liked it. Why else would he have noticed details? She could not allow herself to feel flattered by that. Weakened.
He’d been a marine. He was probably trained to notice all the details of his environment.
They arrived at the pond. As she had tried to tell him, the whole area around it was muddy and damp.
But it wasn’t him who nearly slipped and fell, it was her. She found his hand on her elbow, steadying her.
His grip, strong, sure, had the effect, again, of making her feel tiny and feminine. A lovely tingling was starting where his fingers dug lightly into her flesh.
She stopped and removed herself from his grip, moved a careful few steps away from him and scanned the small area around the pond with her best professional fifth-grade-teacher look.
As good as her intentions had been in coming here, and even though she had placed Kyle first, she had challenged herself as much as she intended to for one day.
“He’s not here,” she said. “I should go.”
But Ben tilted his head, listening to something she couldn’t hear. “He’s here,” he whispered.
She looked around. Nothing moved. Not even the grass stirred.
“How do you know?”
With his toe, he nudged a small sneaker print in the mud that she would have completely overlooked.
“It’s fresh. Within an hour or so. So is this.” His hand grazed a broken twig on a shrub near the pathway.
She didn’t even want to know how he knew how fresh a print was, or a broken branch. She didn’t want to know about the life he had led as a warrior, trained to see things others missed. Trained to shrug off hardship, go where others feared to go. Trained to deal with what came at him with calm and control. She didn’t want to know all the multi-faceted layers that went into making such a self-assured man. Or maybe she did. Maybe she wanted to know every single thing about him that there was to know.
“Well,” she said brightly, afraid of herself, her curiosity, terrified of the pull of him, “I’m sure you can take it from here. I’ll talk to Kyle tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he said, scanning her face as if she didn’t fool him one little bit, as if he knew how uncomfortable he made her feel, how aware of her needs.
“Are you going to follow the print?” she asked when he didn’t move.
“I’d like him to come to us.”
Us? She had clearly said she was leaving.
“Are you going to call him?” she asked.
“No. I’m going to wait for him. He knows we’re here.”
“He does?”
“Yeah.”
She could go. Probably should go. But somehow she needed to put all her self-preserving caution aside, just for the time being. She needed to see this moment. Needed to be with the man who understood instinctively not to chase that frightened child, but to just wait. Or was that the pull of him, overriding her own carefully honed survival skills?
Ben took off his jacket, and put it on the soggy ground, patted it for her to sit on, just as if she had never said she was leaving, and just as if he had never said okay.
Something sighed in her, surrender, and she settled on his jacket, and he went down on his haunches beside her. Ben Anderson was so close she could smell his soap and how late-summer sunshine reacted to his skin.
“So,” he said after a bit, “why don’t you tell me something interesting about yourself?”
She slid him a look. This whole experience was suffused with an unsettling atmosphere of intimacy, and now he wanted to know something interesting about her? He had actually asked that as if he had not a doubt there was something interesting about her.
“What you consider interesting and what I consider interesting are probably two different things,” she hedged.
“Uh-huh,” he agreed. “Tell me, anyway.”
And she realized he wanted Kyle to hear them talking, to hear that it was just a normal conversation, not about him, not loaded with anger or anxiety.
She suddenly could not think of one interesting thing about herself. Not one. “You first,” she said primly.
“I like the ocean and warm weather,” he said, almost absently, scanning the marshy ground, the reeds, the tall grass around Migg’s Pond, not looking at her. “I like waves, and boats, swimming and surfing and deep-sea fishing. I like the moodiness of the sea, that it’s cranky some days and calm others. I was stationed in Hawaii for a while, and I still miss it.”
She tried not to gulp visibly. This was a little too close to her desert-island fantasy. She could picture him, with impossible clarity, standing at the water’s edge, half-naked, sun and salt kissing his flawless body and his beautiful golden skin, white-foamed waves caressing the hard lines of his legs.
As if that vision had not made her feel weak with some unnamed wanting, he kept talking.
“I used to swim at night sometimes, the water black, and the sky black, and no line between them. It’s like swimming in the stars.”
“It sounds cold,” she said, a pure defensive move against the picture he was painting, against the wanting unfurling within her like a limp flag in a gathering breeze.
“No,” he said. “It’s not cold at all. Even on colder days, the ocean stays about the same temperature year round. It’s not warm like a bathtub, but kind of like—” he paused, thinking “—like silk that’s been left outside in a spring breeze.”
He did not look like a man who would know silk from flannel. But of course he would. The finest lingerie was made of silk, and no doubt he had worlds of experience with that.
“Parachutes,” he said succinctly.
“Excuse me?”
“Made of silk.”
As if it was that easy to read her mind! She hoped he wasn’t going to ask her about her interesting experiences again. She had nothing at all to offer a man intimately familiar with night swimming, silk and jumping out of airplanes.
“Have you ever gone swimming in the dark, Beth?”
She hoped she was not blushing. This was totally unfair. Totally. She couldn’t even sputter out a correction, that she wanted him to call her Miss Maple. Because she didn’t. She wanted him to call her Beth, and she wanted to swim in the darkness. And run out and buy silk underwear. And maybe sign up for skydiving lessons while she was at it.
The problem with a man like him was that he could make a person with a perfectly normal, satisfying life feel a kind of restless yearning for something more.
A restless yearning that had made her throw caution to the wind once before, she reminded herself. In her virtual romance with Rock, she had dared to embrace the unknown, the concept of adventure.
It had ended badly, and it would be worse if she let this man past her defenses, defenses which had seemed substantial until an hour ago.
Ben Anderson, conqueror of thousands of hearts, she reminded herself desperately. Possibly more!
“No,” she managed to choke out. “I’ve never gone swimming in the dark.” It felt like a confession, way too personal, desert-island confidences, not swamp exchanges.
“Too bad,” he said, and looked at her, his pity real, as if it was written all over her she’d never swum in the dark.
She wondered, suddenly, horribly, if his nighttime swimming escapades had included swimming trunks.
Another thing she could add to the list of things she had never done, skinny-dipping. And would never do, either, if she had an ounce of self-respect!
Never mind that the thought of silk warm water on naked skin triggered some longing in her that was primal, dangerous and sensual.
“Though, I love to swim,” she said. “We always had a pool.”
“Ah, a pool,” he said, as if that sounded tame indeed.
“Couldn’t you have lived there?” she asked, wishing he had stayed there. “In Hawaii?”
“I guess I could have.”
“Then why didn’t you?” She didn’t mean it to come out as an accusation, but it did anyway. She felt as if her whole life could have remained so much safer and so much more predictable if he had made that choice. She certainly wouldn’t be sitting here, longing for sensuality!
Buck up, she told herself sternly, you can have a bubble bath when you get home.
“I grew up here. My sister was here,” he said, softly. “And Kyle.”
She saw a nearby patch of rushes rustle, and realized Kyle had been that close all along, listening. He had heard every word. How had she missed that he was there?
Her eyes met the boy’s. “Why, Kyle,” she said. “There you are! We came here hoping to find you.”
She hoped she had not spoken too soon, that he would not get up and bolt away, not ready to be found.
But Kyle stood up awkwardly and made his way over the slippery ground toward them. Which was a relief, not just because he was safe, and found, but because she didn’t have to try and come up with something interesting to share with his uncle about herself.
As if she had anything that could compare to swimming in the dark in Hawaii!
Ben stood up then, and if he was affected by the long wait, crouched on his haunches, it did not show. Kyle came with no hesitation. Beth could see he was relieved to have been found, relieved his uncle was not angry with him. He had heard his uncle, and somehow his uncle had said exactly the right thing, exactly what that child needed to hear.
That someone had come back for him.
No man left behind.
Watching him watch his nephew, his gaze calm and measured, she understood Ben Anderson was a man who knew instinctively how to get the job done and, more importantly, how to do the right thing. He was a man who trusted his instincts, and his instincts were good, sharp-honed by the fact that he, unlike most men she had met, had relied on his instinct, his gut, for his survival, and for the survival of his brothers.
If ever there was a child who needed that, it was Kyle.
But the sneaky appalling thought blipped, uninvited and uncensored through Beth Maple’s brain, And if ever a woman needed that, it is me.
Wrong, she told herself. He was a man who could turn a swamp into a desert island. She was a woman who could turn a nonexistent person into her prince in shining armor.
She wasn’t risking herself. She’d learned her lesson. She was sticking to teaching school, giving all her love to the children who came to her year after year.
A rather alarming picture of her in her dotage: alone, white hair in a crisp bun, marking papers with a cat on her lap crowded into her mind. But she pushed it away and jumped to her feet. The damp had seeped through the jacket Ben had set so chivalrously on the ground for her.
“Well,” she said brightly, fighting an urge to swipe at her sodden rear end. “Child found. Emergency over. Goodbye.” Totally unprofessional. She needed to discuss the events of the day with Kyle. There had to be consequences for putting the frog in her desk. For uttering the threat. For running away from school.
Instead she waggled her fingers ineffectually at Kyle, and made the mistake of looking once more at Ben.
He was looking at her with those sea-green amused eyes, a hint of a smile turning up his way-too-sexy mouth, and she turned briskly away from him and did not look back.
Because she knew his amusement would only deepen when he saw the condition of her dress, and she could not handle his amusement at her expense.
She could not handle him at all. He was a little too much of everything—too good-looking, too good with his instincts, too charming, even, stunningly, too poetic.
Her world was safe, and a man like that spelled one thing, danger.
“Hey, Beth?” he called after her.
She turned reluctantly, planning to tell him it was Miss Maple, especially in front of children, but somehow she couldn’t. Somehow they had progressed beyond that, without her permission, when he had told her about swimming in the warm Pacific Ocean with the stars.
She hoped he wasn’t going to remind her of her responsibilities, that they needed to deal with Kyle.
Oh, no, it was so much worse than that.
“You should have a bubble bath when you get home. It will take the chill off.”
She was that transparent to him. He probably knew just how his tales of swimming in the dark had tugged at some secret place in her, too. She spun on the heel of her rubber boot so fast she nearly made her exit even more graceless than it already was by falling.
She heard the rumble of his laughter behind her, but she didn’t turn to look again.
