Page 77 of Second Time Around
“They can’t be any more difficult than managing my sales force.”
“It would be a big change from being a CEO,” she said. “No corner office, no power suits, no minions kowtowing to you. I guess you could grow back your ponytail, though.”
“The ponytail is a definite point in favor of becoming a teacher,” he said. “But my minions would miss me.”
“You could just teach a class once a week or something.”
He appeared to consider it before he shook his head again. “It wouldn’t be fair for me to promise a class every week. I’d have too many conflicts with work. If you’re going to commit to something, especially for children, you have the responsibility to be there.”
“That’s very honorable, but some ancient history would be better than none for those boys.” She pulled the duvet tighter around her breasts. “Just think about it.”
A flash of heat flared in his eyes and he hooked a finger in the duvet where it stretched over her cleavage.
“Nope,” she said. “I have to get ready for Stratus.”
His expression darkened. “I wish you didn’t have that job.”
“That job pays the bills,” she said, trying to pull away from his touch. He feathered his fingertips over the swell of her breasts, making tingles dance over her skin, before he removed his hand.
She realized she was going to have to drop the duvet and walk to the bathroom naked since he was stretched out on top of the bed. She was less worried about being exposed than she was about Will persuading her to be late for work. But she’d just have to be strong.
“I need to shower.” She threw him a saucy smile. “To wash off the smell of kitchen spices and satisfied woman.”
“I’ll scrub your back,” he said, his eyelids heavy with seduction. He shifted to prop himself up against her pillows, hands behind his head, long legs stretched out on the duvet and crossed at the ankles soshe could see the dog bones on his lavender socks. She was afraid that, from now on, she would imagine him there on her bed, looking like sin incarnate, every time she walked into her bedroom.
“I’m pretty sure you’d end up scrubbing more than my back, so I’ll say no to that kind offer.” She threw off the duvet and strode toward the hallway.
As she walked out the door, she was followed by a long, appreciative wolf whistle.
Will didn’t want to leave. Kyra’s bedroom was like a cozy cocoon that he could wrap himself in. A floating sense of well-being permeated his body while he allowed his gaze to scan over the carefully chosen furniture and knickknacks that showed him the private woman. There were a few photographs he would have to look at more closely, but right now, he just wanted to absorb the atmosphere.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled, parsing the scents he’d drawn into his nostrils. Sex. That made his lips curve in satisfaction. A faint aroma of the casserole she’d cooked today, which was probably as much from his clothing as hers. An old-fashioned cosmetic fragrance that he couldn’t place. Perfume or a cream of some sort. That old-house smell that combined wood, furniture polish, and age.
The sounds of New York drifted into his consciousness. Distant sirens, a barking dog, traffic ... always traffic, and the bang of a dumpster lid slamming down. Closer, he could hear the shower running, which sent his mind off in directions that made his cock stir.
He reluctantly banished the image of Kyra, her long, wet hair clinging to her breasts and back, while water sluiced over her naked body.
The idea of teaching nagged at the corner of his mind. He’d loved studying the classics and their history at Brunell, but he’d never been tempted to shut himself up in a musty archive to do scholarly research.At the time, that had seemed the only way to continue with his chosen field of knowledge. But passing that knowledge on ...
It had never occurred to him to become a teacher. He realized now that it was because of his parents’ weighty expectations.
If they hadn’t lavished both their attention and their money on him, maybe he would have had an easier time thwarting their desires for him. But they loved him in their own demanding, self-centered ways. It was hard to disappoint them.
That unwelcome thought had him swinging his legs off the bed so he could examine the framed photos arrayed on the top of Kyra’s blond wood dresser. A faded picture of a young couple holding a baby as they stood on a cement patio must be her parents and her. She’d gotten her luminous brown eyes from her mother and her smile that always hinted at an inside joke from her father. Her father wore coveralls with the Mack Trucks logo. His hair was cut short on the sides and left long and curly on top. Where his rolled-up sleeves revealed his forearms, some serious muscle showed on his wiry frame.
Her mother was dressed in tight-fitting jeans and a denim jacket with shoulder pads, her hair layered and blown away from her face, her lipstick glossy pink, huge triangles of gold dangling from her ears. Kyra was reaching one of her tiny infant hands toward the nearest earring, her face rapt with fascination.
Pride and love shone in both her parents’ faces as they smiled for the photographer.
Next he picked up a posed head shot of a young Kyra, one of those photos they took in public schools every year. He guessed she was ten or eleven, like the kids at the center. Despite her braces and the roundness of immaturity, her fresh, innocent beauty struck him in the gut. This was Kyra before life had dumped two dying parents and a mountain of debt on her shoulders.
He stroked a fingertip along her two-dimensional cheek. He wished he could give her back that innocence.
The shower noise ceased and he replaced the photo, quickly skimming over the rest, which were groups of friends at various ages. Until he came to one of himself. Well, there were three other people in the picture, including Kyra, all dressed in Brunell blue and orange as they sat in the bleachers of the football stadium.
Memory surged through him. He’d gotten two tickets to that game so he could invite Babette but she’d been busy ... probably with a different boyfriend. So he’d asked Kyra to come because she was in the suite when Babette turned him down. Then he’d gotten two more tickets and brought along two other random friends, just so Babette wouldn’t mistake his outing with Kyra as a date of any kind.
But the day had been an unexpected pleasure. Kyra knew a lot about football because her father was a Steelers fan, so she kept up a running commentary on the game. All four of them had gotten mildly drunk on the scotch he’d smuggled past the security guards in flasks concealed under his jacket. The booze had swept away their inhibitions so they cheered, booed, and sang along with the spirit band. Things he would never have done with Babette.
