by Fran Lee
Excerpt
Copyright 2011/2012/2013/2014/2015 Fran Lee
As she placed the books on the shelves, she saw the
classroom door open and glanced up expecting to see Mr. Wyatt, the principal,
and found herself staring at a man she could only describe mentally as the
primest piece of oh-my-god-beautiful masculinity she'd had the pleasure of
ogling in a long time. Her belly fluttered a joyful salute to his delicious,
hot looks. Sheesh! Down girl! It hit her on a primal level that she couldn’t
quite define…
“Can I help you?” Her quickly pasted on smile was polite and
pleasant. Probably a parent, checking out the new teacher. Damn. They didn’t
build single males like him these days.
Night dark eyes slid past her, wandered around the classroom
slowly, and then returned to her. Eyes that would normally have set her pulses
off like a shot, but these held a cold, aloof quality that let her know she was
beneath his interest.
“Is Ms. Red Wolf still here?” The dark chocolate voice held a quiet, tense
note.
“I'm Cheyenne Red Wolf.” She repeated the polite smile. “How
can I help you?”
The look of shock in those obsidian eyes made her bite back
a grin. It wasn't an unusual reaction to her definitely un-Indian looks
attached to a very Indian name. But the desire to grin dissolved the instant
those eyes turned angry.
“You are Cheyenne Red
Wolf? Our new Native American Studies teacher?” Every word was clipped and reflected a fury
that was barely held back.
She moved back from the book shelf, and resisted the urge to
cross her arms defensively over her chest. The animosity rolling off that man
was enough to choke her. It was only through sheer will power than she didn't
cut and run. He took a step toward her, and she had to crane her neck to meet
his glare. She drew herself up to her tallest possible height which wasn't much
over 5' 6” in shoes and lifted her chin slightly in answer to his unspoken but
clearly heard challenge. Damn! She wished now that she'd worn heels.
Forcing her voice to remain softly calm wasn’t easy. “I am.
And you are…?” she coached gently, refusing to take a step back as he invaded
her personal space with all that hulking, broad shouldered menace that he
exuded.
His eyes moved from the riotous mop of copper-penny red hair
she'd dragged back into a bun before her first class, all the way down her
fuzzy blue cardigan sweater and travel-wrinkled beige linen slacks to her
vintage 50's penny loafers, then back with a disbelieving insolence that was as
insulting as it was scary. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to take a
few steps back and get a desk between them, but she'd be damned if she'd let
him intimidate her.
She had no real reason to fear him, after all—it was broad
daylight and they were in a school full of—empty classrooms. Oh, shit. As the realization hit her
that regular classes had let out over half an hour ago, and most of the
teachers were gone for the day, she inhaled slowly and wondered if maybe it
might be wiser if she turned tail and sprinted for the still open door.
But her common sense returned after one panicky moment, and
she frowned at her own silliness. What the hell was he gonna do? Attack her? He
was understandably shocked to find a non-Native American woman teaching a class
that should by all rights be taught by a Native American. There were a lot of
Native Americans who resented what she did, simply because she was not one of
them. Not really. And being one in spirit didn't quite cut the mustard.
She made a point of glancing at her watch, and lifted her
eyes back to his face. “I really can't take time to go over lesson plans right
now. If you'll just tell me which student is yours, I can give you a call
tomorrow…” but he didn’t let her get another word out before he interrupted.
“There's been a mistake, Ms. Red Wolf.” The voice was low
and controlled.
“A mistake?” She had
to work damn hard to keep a tremor of anger out of her own voice.
Those almost-too-damn-sexy-to-be-real lips twisted into a
sneer as he seemed to loom even closer in the suddenly airless classroom. “A
big one.”
Her breath caught at the back of her throat, and she hated
the fact that she was shaking under his glare. “If you have a problem with me
teaching this class, you'll need to take it up with Mr. Wyatt or Ms. Running
Deer of the school board. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have someone waiting.” A
lie was better than letting him think she had no backup here.
“He can keep on waiting.” The clipped statement startled
her, but only because it was coupled with another forward movement of that
intimidating body that had somehow moved so close she could feel the heat
sifting off of him through her clothes.
This guy had
absolutely no friggin’ concept of personal space.
She suddenly decided that retreat was entirely acceptable
under such unfriendly fire. She took a quick step backward, and felt the bite
of a wooden desk on the soft flesh of her fanny. The startled gasp she gave
seemed to make those nearly black eyes darken even more, and she blushed hotly
to have let him know he frightened her. Her temper rose.
When under attack, counter attack, Frank had always said.
“Excuse me—whoever you
are—but if you have a complaint about me teaching your child, like I said,
take it up with the school board and the principal, who felt I was very well
qualified to…”
She gave a yelp of shock as a book that had been too close
to the edge of the desk she was nearly sitting on fell to the floor with a
resounding smack, and she jumped away from the desk automatically, coming into
full frontal contact with her tormentor. And he didn't miss a beat as he caught
her around the waist with a pair of lean, strong hands and glared down into her
startled face.
His beautiful lip curled. “Just like a woman—trying to use
any weapon at hand to avoid the consequences of her actions.” His voice was
scathing, and she blinked up at him, not getting his meaning.
“Weapon? Consequences? What the hell are you talking about?”
She gasped, and shoved at his hands without much success as she twisted to try
and get free.
“Those weapons…” he hissed a breath inward through his teeth
as her hips twisted against his, and her movements brought her generous chest
tight against his. His rasping words instantly halted her movements as she
realized what he was talking about, and her eyes widened in horror, and then
narrowed in fury. Damn, but the man was blaming her for his own actions now.
“If you will take your hands off me, I will happily remove
my weapons from your vicinity,” she
hissed, her temper flaring at his insinuation that she was trying to use her
sex to escape whatever “consequences” he imagined were due her. It didn't take
a Rhodes Scholar to get his meaning, and it didn't take much imagination to
realize their confrontation had produced a hard-on from hell on his part. It
was jabbing against her belly quite insistently. It had already grown even
larger and more dangerous in the several seconds they’d been plastered
together.
For a moment, he didn't respond, and in that tense moment,
she sensed that he was considering his next response with extreme care. Her
incensed glare met his, and she waited with lips compressed and indignant fury
in her expression. Dark eyes warred with blue. It became a battle of wills as
he remained tautly silent, staring down into her furious face without any
change in his expression of angry disdain. His hands remained firmly clamped
around her body, making it impossible to move away without a struggle, and
she’d be damned if she was going to give him his jollies by wiggling and
twisting against him to try to get loose again. His hands were long and
powerful. The pads of his fingertips rested firmly on the upper swell of her
buttocks. The sensations running rampant inside her traitorous pussy were
indescribable.
After what felt like hours of silent, glaring antagonism so
thick it could easily be cut with a knife, she irritably decided the only way
she was going to get him to let go of her was to say something. She slowly drew
a shaky breath and spoke in a low, careful tone like one might use when talking
to a suicide jumper on a ledge. “How about you and me calling a truce? You take
your hands off me, and we’ll both back away. Then maybe you can calmly tell me
what the hell you are so damn bent out of shape over.”
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Purchase this book now at HALF PRICE from Ellora's Cave!
