Play Date (Play Makers Book 3) (17 page)

No big deal.

Except to Rachel.

If her calculations were correct, he would finish with the sixth-graders at one thirty and head straight for her room, giving her—and her class—a little less than half an hour with him.

“All right, everyone, let’s settle down,” she said in a too-high voice when one thirty rolled around. “We’ll have story time in a few minutes. And I might have a surprise for you before then.”

Murmurs arose from the adorable crowd, and she was tempted to elaborate—to mention Bannerman by name, and maybe even practice that name with them a bit so they could surprise him by pronouncing it correctly. But it was always possible he wouldn’t show. Wasn’t that why she had a backup surprise in her purse?

A DVD of baby chicks hatching. The children would enjoy it, but it wouldn’t do anything for Ms. Gillette. Not in her condition.

When a firm knock sounded on the door, she gulped, then steadied herself. Luckily, he didn’t wait to be admitted, but rather, just pushed the door open and gave her a sheepish smile.

Oh, God
. . .

He looked more amazing than ever. Huger, hotter, more ripped. A navy blue long-sleeved dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose powerful forearms. And an expression that made her literally drip with arousal.

Then the children erupted in a wave of excitement.

“Mr. Brannanerman!”

“Mr. Bananarom!”

“Mr. Brammammam!”

Taking advantage of the chaos, Rachel turned away from the guest and eyed the students sternly. “Is this how we greet a guest in our classroom? Can you say, ‘Good afternoon, Mr. Bannerman’?”

They settled down and gave it another garbled try, most of them waving a hand or two as though craving his personal attention.

“Hey, short stuff.” He strode over and beamed at them. Then he gave Rachel another smile. “Hey, teach.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bannerman,” she said breathlessly.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No.” She exhaled sharply, then found her teacherly voice. “We’ve been practicing football, Mr. Bannerman. Haven’t we, children?”

They all shouted “yay” and jumped to their feet again.

“Mr. Brannmerman!” Alicia waved her arm. “I made a touchdown!”

Bannerman grinned at Rachel.
“You’ve
been teaching them? That’s scary.”

“I’ve been watching your Super Bowl, so I think I’ve got the hang of it.”

“Yeah?” He stepped closer, his eyes sparking. “How about a preview?”

“Be good.” She walked to her desk and pulled out the new foam football she had purchased at a toy store. Then she tossed it to him playfully.

He burst out laughing. “What’s this supposed to be?”

“It’s a baby ball,” Tommy agreed loudly. “We like the real one better.”

“Yeah, it’s a baby ball,” Alicia shouted, and the rest chimed in.

Rachel grimaced. “You seemed to like it in the park on Wednesday.”

“We didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Kyle explained. “So we
bretended
to like it. For you.”

Bannerman chuckled. “So are we gonna talk? Or are we gonna play?”

Rachel held up her hand to stop them from shouting. Then she nodded. “We can play outside. No running in the room. And please don’t trample our guest.”

The children rushed to the door and burst out into the playground, leaving Rachel alone with the halfback.

“Hey, teach.” He stepped closer, not touching her with his body, relying instead on his eyes and smile to do the fondling.

“Hi.”

“I tried to stay away. But you’re just too damned bang-able.”

She giggled helplessly. “Go outside. And
please
be good.”

He grinned, picked up his gym bag, and ambled through the doorway to join the class.

Get a grip,
she pleaded with herself.
Just keep it together here, and when you get home—well, wow.

• • •

Out on the playground he ordered them to form two groups—kids with tennis shoes, kids with sandals. It pleased her he didn’t divide them into boys and girls or any other stereotypical grouping. It was bad enough he had given them boy-girl nicknames.

Oddly enough, the two groups were almost exactly the same size. Coincidence, or had he scanned the crowd and made a quick calculation? Wasn’t that what the announcers on TV said about him?

Great vision. Just like Johnny Spurling.

Uncanny awareness of the field.

And Rachel’s favorite:
Great hands
.

Jenny Johnson ran up to him. “Mr. Brammerman? Are these tennis shoes? Or sandals?” She held up her foot to display ballet shoes made of thin canvas.

He grinned down at her. “You’re Numbers Girl, right? How old are you?”

“This many,” she replied, holding up five fingers.

“How many ears do you have?”

She poked two fingers into the air.
“This
many.”

“You’re a crack-up, kid. Let’s let the ref make the call. What do you say, Ms. Gillette? Shoes or sandals?”

She had wondered where he had come up with a name like Numbers Girl. And as usual, he had his reasons.

Now she eyed the ballet shoes carefully. “It’s a close call, but they’re pretty thin. Not much protection there.”

“I agree. You’re with the sandals team,” Bannerman told Jenny, who seemed excited by the answer and ran to join her group.

Stepping closer to Rachel, he murmured, “Good call, teach.”

She felt her cheeks redden. “I’ll set up story time while you stay out with them. Just please be really careful.”

“We’re gonna practice kicking. The tennis shoe kids will kick, the sandals kids will receive.”

“Fine, but use the foam ball.”

“The baby ball?” He flashed a grin. “Anything to stay on your good side.”

“Okay, then.” She forced herself to take another breath, then backed away, struggling not to smile like a fool. “Just five minutes. Then I’ll be back.”

Rushing into the room, she took a huge swig from her water bottle, then closed her eyes and ordered her pulse to slow. She couldn’t keep reacting this way. Not at school, at least. What if Mrs. Rayburn paid a surprise visit? Or one of the parents showed up early?

Keeping one eye on the playground through the windows, she scattered soft, round “lily pads” on the floor to prepare for the next installment of
The Odyssey
. She would read the story of the Sirens in honor of Bannerman. It was Rachel’s personal favorite from childhood—the sailors with wax in their ears, immune to the lure of the beautiful voices, while their leader had himself lashed to the mast, no wax, anxious to hear the seductive song.

She was tempted to let their hunky guest stay and listen, but the whole point of Friday story time was to settle the children down for the weekend. And she knew from personal experience how exciting their guest of honor could be.

So she rejoined them, then had the children file back into the room and take seats on their lily pads. Meanwhile, she drew Bannerman aside. “I don’t mean to kick you out . . .”

“Yeah, I know. Story time, right? I’ll just head over to your place.” His eyes twinkled. “Come straight home this time. Don’t stop for rubbers or beer.”

Her cheeks warmed again. “I left a key in the drain pipe near the back door. Feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

“I’ll just sit out back. I’ve got a scouting report to read.”

She stepped back from him and nodded, then turned to the children. “Class? Can you thank Mr. Bannerman for the football lesson?”

“Why does he have to go?” Tommy demanded.

“She’s kicking me out,” Bannerman explained, prompting a chorus of protests.

When Rachel eyed them sternly they quieted right down. Then she gave Bannerman the same look, arching her eyebrow for emphasis.

“Sorry, teach,” he murmured, but his eyes were still sparkling. “Can I come back next Friday?”

“We’ll see. For now”—she turned back to the children—“what do you say to Mr. Bannerman?”

A chorus of grateful voices erupted, with some saying “Thank you” and others saying “Good-bye.” Apparently they had settled on Brammerman as the correct pronunciation of his name, and it predominated, with just a few stragglers using more syllables.

“Very good,” she told them. Then she took their guest by the arm and led him to the door.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked playfully.

“We’ll discuss it when I get home.”

“Face it, teach. You’ve got it bad.”

“Well, luckily, I have access to antibiotics.”

He leaned in as if to kiss her good-bye, chuckling again when she drew back and arched an eyebrow.

“Make it quick,” he reminded her. Then he turned and ambled down the hallway.

She couldn’t resist watching him, loving the way he moved. She had always noticed men’s shoulders, coming and going. And from the front? Eyes and jaws. Maybe the chest.

But
this
guy? She loved him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. His wild brown hair with bronze streaks, ultra-broad shoulders that tapered down a muscular back. Perfect buttocks and long, powerful legs.

Pull yourself together,
she teased herself, closing the door before she actually started drooling. Then she turned to the children, expecting them to be restless.

But they were just staring, visibly intrigued, like a bunch of pint-sized detectives.

“Does anyone need to use the restroom before we start the story?”

Predictably, every hand shot up, and she smiled in relief, glad to have shifted the focus away from Bannerman. The last thing she needed was a child telling a parent that Ms. Gillette was seducing football players in the classroom.

Time enough for that when she got home.

Chapter 7

A rental car, red this time, was parked at the curb, so she pulled into the driveway and found him on the back porch, cell phone in hand. He put it away quickly, his face filled with anticipation.

After a long, steadying breath, she got out and hurried over, her pulse still racing.

He rested his hands on her hips. “Hey, teach.”

“Hi.”

Something blazed in his eyes. No teasing this time. More like raw emotion. Then he backed her slowly against the house. “Turns out I’m not done with us yet.”

“Me either,” she admitted.

“Awesome.”

“I have a question, though.”

Both of his eyebrows raised slightly, as though he was wary. Or feeling guilty. Maybe a little of both. But he nodded and said, “Go ahead.”

“If you’re just here to do it doggie-style—”

“What?”
He grinned in relief. “Hell, no. I want it face-to-face. It’s more romantic that way, right?”

She bit back a laugh. “I just want to be clear.”

“Yeah, we’re clear.” He lowered his head and kissed her hungrily.

She moaned as his hand shifted down her back, fixing her more firmly against him. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck, her passion exploding.

“Hey, teach,” he whispered in her ear. “What about the neighbors?”

“Oh!” She wriggled free, grateful but embarrassed. “Let’s go inside.”

“I brought you something.” He pulled a pair of white lace panties from his pocket and dangled them in front of her.

“Again?” She laughed and grabbed them, knowing he must have swiped them during the last visit. A silly game, but like everything about him, it turned her on, and she exhaled to steady herself. She wanted him so bad she could barely be civilized. And she knew he knew it, and was getting off on it.

“I’ve got a game plan,” he assured her. “Come on.”

She fumbled for her key, then opened the door and dashed through it, turning to face him as soon as he was inside. “So? What’s this plan?”

“Take off your panties.”

“Okay.” She did as he asked, then stuffed them into his pants pocket.

He laughed out loud. Then he tapped the top of a butcher block island she kept in the corner of the room. “Up here.”

She whooped with delight when he hoisted her onto the island. Then he was kissing her again, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as though preparing her for what was coming.

While he put on a condom, she tore at the buttons on his shirt, mindlessly anxious to run her fingers through the wiry chest hair that had fueled so many hot fantasies over the last week. His fingers teased her, preparing her, and then he was entering her with his huge erection, pumping slowly, gently, tauntingly.

“How’s this height?” he asked.

“What?” She realized he meant the butcher block and said breathlessly, “I like it. And it’s easier on your back, so it’s perfect.”

“Huh?” He swept her off the surface, bracing her higher on his body, using only his arms and the power of his thighs to support her as he’d done in the past, thrusting himself into her rapaciously. She gasped at the improvement, wrapping her legs around him and shrieking softly as waves of white-hot pleasure assaulted her until she was gripped by a climax so powerful she dug her nails into his neck and moaned happily.

He came hard then, pumping wildly for a long, thrilling sequence, then groaning her name into her ear. “Man, I love it in there,” he told her reverently. “It’s unbelievable.”

Laughter bubbled up in her throat. “Like the Wild West? I still don’t know what that means.”

“Sure you do.” He set her bottom back on the island. “You’re really something, teach.”

“You too.”

“I was joking when I said my back hurt. So never worry about that. Got it?”

She nodded.

“Now kiss me.”

She sighed, remembering how he had given her the same instructions at the wedding. And she felt that same way too, so gloriously happy. So appreciative of his wild ways. So she grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him lovingly, then slid one hand behind his neck and deepened the kiss.

When they were satiated, he smiled down at her. “Should I take you out to dinner or something?”

“I bought lasagna. With meat.”

“Sounds good.” He kissed her again, then nibbled her ear. “Wanna get naked?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she said, pulling her top over her head with a flourish.