Page 19 of Wintertime Heat (Holiday 1)

I didn’t want to be attracted to this man. But, as Scarlett so eloquently put it, I definitely wanted into his pants.

I close my eyes.

This wasn’t me.

I was always in control of my emotions. I always knew how to handle a situation. Scarlett was the wild one while I was the calm and collected one.

Three meetings with this man and every time he looked at me, I found myself squirming as my body reacted to his very presence. It didn’t matter what it was, whether it was his voice, or the way his hands felt on my skin, I couldn’t control myself.

Maybe that’s why I found myself so irritated by his presence.

Because I couldn’t control the situation.

I take out the sliced bread and start applying the batter.

He was a billionaire. I was a school teacher.

There was a massive difference between us and there was no chance in hell that he was interested in me for anything more than a dalliance, if he was interested to begin with.

I seal the sandwiches.

Forget him, I warned myself.

All I had to do was be on my guard today, and make sure there was a desk between us.

I start grinning.

Yes, this could work.

Throughout the day, I am distracted.

Even the students noticed I wasn’t all there, and I could hear the gossip mill begin. I watched the students file out, absently, and a small child darting into the room.

Aaron made sure no one was watching before he climbs onto my desk, which was now his official seat because it kept him at eye level with me when I am standing.

I vaguely wonder when he stopped treating me like a teacher and graduated me to a more friend level. I wond

er whether it was such a wise move to encourage him.

But when he gave me that brilliant smile, which revealed his missing tooth, I couldn’t help melting. He was too adorable.

“My class had a party, today,” He informs me, kicking his legs in the air, as I start checking the quizzes that were due to be handed in tomorrow.

“Was it fun?” I ask him, smiling, a quick glance in his direction to show him that I was paying attention.

He nods, chattering like a little monkey, “I brought chicken rolls, and Noah brought the same. But mine were better than his because Dad and I put ketchup over them last night.”

I snort at the image of the father-son duo hunched over chicken rolls, squirting ketchup all over them, in the middle of the night.

Aaron gives me a strange look, before pardoning my laughter and continuing, “Everyone finished Noah’s rolls first, though. But I saved one for you. Miss Roberts said I could.”

He took out a red stained tissue paper which contained a mushed dry chicken roll.

Honestly, I was hesitant to touch it, but his feelings were more important to me than mine, so I unwrap it, gingerly, and bite into it.

“It’s really good,” I tell him when he shoots me an expectant look.

It was absolutely terrible.

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