Teach Me a Lesson (20 page)

He was too old to ache for a woman. Yet he ached for
her
. And liked it, too. He reveled in the crazy things he did to her, relished the risk of fucking in a parked car. He loved the feel of her ass, hot and sweet against his palm.

But she’d said no. Again.

She was driving him mad.

Christ, he even liked that.

“You’ve got a visitor,” Mrs. Rivers mouthed in exaggerated lip movements, pointing to his office.

He glanced at his watch, confirming that he was starting his workday fifteen minutes early. Who would arrive early without having a scheduled appointment? He raised his brow, but Mrs. Rivers’ extravagant hand gestures, pointing, and head bobbing didn’t elucidate.

David Smith was seated at Lance’s conference table, his fingers drumming the wood top. “We need to talk.”

His face was florid, his pupils dilated, his breathing fast. Lance worried about all the cream sauce on his country club lunches and the potential risk for hypertension. He hoped the man wasn’t about to have a heart attack in his office.

Closing the door, Lance said, “I’m at your disposal.” He took the chair opposite.

“Do you realize that woman is a sex surrogate?” Smith’s complexion deepened.

Lance had an inkling, but he asked anyway, “What are you talking about?”

“That counselor.”

“Miss Moore?”

“Yes. That one. She’s a sex surrogate three days a week, and she spends two days here at the high school counseling kids. My God, do you have any idea how she could be influencing impressionable young minds?”

Lance didn’t let out the bark of laughter surging up from his gut. He didn’t even smile. He maintained his composure and his diplomacy. “Miss Moore is a part-time guidance counselor with an outside therapy practice. She is most certainly
not
a sex surrogate.” Did the man even know what a sex surrogate was?

Smith pounded the table. “How can you allow this in your school, Hutton? What if she’s sexually harassing students who come to see her, making advances? What if she actually touches them?”

“David,” he said harshly, “stop right there. I assure you that none of our counselors ever touch the students. They do not sexually harass them. They do not make advances.”

But Smith wasn’t listening. “My son was alone in her office with her.” He was almost snorting with indignation now, and Eric had become his son, not just his stepson. “
Completely
alone. No supervision whatsoever.”

Lance narrowed his eyes on Smith. “Did Eric say Miss Moore was inappropriate in some way?”

“No, but—”

“Then what’s gotten you so worked up, David?” He used the man’s name gently, hoping to calm him down before he burst a blood vessel. He was sure Eric wouldn’t have lied about such a thing. Just as he was sure Charlotte would never say or do anything improper.

Smith spluttered a moment, then managed to say, “I’ve heard things about her.”

“What exactly? We need to deal in specifics here if you’re going to comment on her practice.” He didn’t want to use the word
accuse
yet. It was too strong.

“She tells her patients to commit deviant acts.”

He also didn’t want to use the word
ridiculous
. Smith might go apoplectic at that. Just the same, the man was definitely ridiculous. “You’ve misinterpreted whatever you were told, David. Miss Moore is a therapist. She helps people work through their feelings about what’s happened in their lives, past and present. What you’ve heard is gossip, nothing more.”

“It’s not gossip, dammit.” Hand raised, Smith looked ready to pound the table. “I
know
.”

“You can’t know unless you’re in her office when she’s talking to a client.”

Smith glared at him. “I know because my wife is her patient.” Then he spoke through gritted teeth, “And that woman has been giving her unspeakable advice.”

Shit. Suddenly everything made sense.

* * *

LANCE HAD MANAGED TO CALM SMITH DOWN, BUT NOT WITHOUT
one last parting shot. “Keep her away from my son, Hutton.”

The man had ended there, just short of making a threat, which had surprised Lance. He’d expected it, but for some reason Smith hadn’t taken that last step. Perhaps he’d been afraid of repercussions. Who knew?

What pissed Lance off was that Charlotte hadn’t forewarned him about the wife being her client. He didn’t like being blindsided. If he’d known, he’d have prepared a response.

He pushed her button on his cell phone. She was now one of his speed dial numbers. In his memory. Indelible.

She didn’t answer. He was forced to leave a message. “This is your principal, Miss Moore. Call me right away.”

So what could she have said to Smith’s wife that would make the man foam at the mouth? He thought about the client whose husband wanted her to have sex with other men. Instead of denouncing the desire, Charlotte’s suggestion had been to fantasize about it. She was certainly unorthodox, but he wouldn’t call her deviant. Not for creating a fantasy for him that damn near blew his brain circuitry. Good God, if she would be considered deviant, what was he after all the things he’d made her do? Sex in his back seat. Anyone could have returned to the Park and Ride to pick up their car. What about that night at Lookout Point? Risky, public sex. But he still wouldn’t call anything they’d done deviant. People thought about having sex in public all the time. It was probably a universal fantasy, at least for men.

She returned his call half an hour later. Glancing at the time, it was close to the top of the hour and he realized she must have been with a client.

“I’m at your service, Principal Hutton.”

Just her voice made him smile. Her words made him hard. “We need a meeting.”

“Tonight.”

“Today.” It was a delicate situation and a phone call wouldn’t suffice. Or maybe he was just searching for an excuse to see her.

“Well, um . . .” She did a little hemming and hawing. “I have back-to-back appointments with only half an hour at lunch. I can’t get to the school and back and have any time to . . . talk.”

“I’ll come to you. Where are you?”

She gave him brief directions to her office.

It wasn’t far. “What time do you finish your last appointment before lunch?”

“A little before noon.”

“Thirty minutes. That should be enough time. I’ll be there at noon.”

He wouldn’t touch her. He wouldn’t spank her. All they had time for was the discussion about David Smith and his wife.

* * *

A NOONER. CHARLOTTE DIDN’T HAVE TIME, BUT SHE COULDN’T SAY
no either. Not because he was her master or any such thing, but because she wanted it. That sexy little episode last night in his car had only whet her appetite for more. And so what? What was wrong with getting dirty during lunch? If a married couple had come to her and said they’d made time for a little noontime nookie, she’d have cheered. People needed to make time for intimacy, do something wild and crazy, add pizzazz to their lives.

But if a woman had said she was having nooner sex with her boss?

This was different. Lance wasn’t her boss, at least not directly. She sounded like she was making excuses.

Her client left ten minutes before noon. Charlotte rushed to the ladies’ room, freshened up. And removed her panties.

Okay, she was definitely crazy.

She had physical signs, too, like the way her heart raced when he sauntered through her door and her nose twitched for the scent of him. How she watched him for signs of approval over the décor and her degrees and certificates on the wall.

She remained seated at her desk, controlling her physical urges while he strolled from door to window.

“Very nice,” he said. “The comfortable corner group by the window with a view of the trees.” He glanced out. “You can’t even see the parking lot or the other buildings. Almost like you’re in the woods.” He adjusted the tissue box. “Everything right at hand.”

She could have beamed with pleasure, but caught herself before she fell all over him with gratitude. Instead she folded her arms across her chest and crossed her legs. “May I ask what was so important, Principal Hutton?”

He pulled a chair closer to the desk and sat in front of her. “I had a visit from David Smith this morning. It seems his wife is your client.”

Her stomach dropped sickeningly. She’d been thinking sex, sex, sex, but he was here for something altogether different. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss that.”

There were near imperceptible changes in his face, a slight flare of his nostrils, a flatness to his lips. Then he said, “You should have at least warned me after the meeting yesterday.”

“I couldn’t. I can’t reveal anything a client tells me or even that they are a client.”

“Fine.” His voice was clipped. “Now it’s out in the open. Let’s discuss it.”

She pursed her lips. His attitude was starting to rile her. “I don’t have her permission to discuss anything.”

“Well, her husband is claiming that you suggested she commit deviant acts.”

Deviant acts? David Smith had proposed the deviant act to his wife, for God’s sake. But she couldn’t say that. “Like what?”

“He wasn’t specific.”

“So how do you know if my suggestions were really deviant?”

“I don’t.”

“Then how can you come here and accuse me of—”

He cut her off. “I’m not accusing you. I’m telling you what he said. This is a warning.”

She was so angry, her back teeth started to chatter. “Warning me about what? That you’re going to fire me?”

“Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down. You’re threatening me.”

“No, I’m not. I’m only warning you that he’s upset.”

“Well, it sounds like
you’re
accusing me, like you believe him.”

He raised a brow. “I have to admit I was reminded of that little scenario with your boyfriend taking a video of you and another man.”

“That was a fantasy,” she snapped. “I didn’t suggest my client actually do it, only that she fantasize about it with her husband.” That bastard. Smith was telling lies. He was the one who wanted to loan his wife out to other men. What had she told Lance? She hadn’t said it was a current client. She’d made it sound like it was someone in the past.

He held up a hand. “Don’t get upset, Miss Moore. I’m not questioning you.”

The
Miss Moore
pissed her off. This wasn’t one of their sex games. “Then what exactly are you doing? Besides warning me.”

“Smith is uncomfortable with the idea of a sex therapist counseling students.”

“Oh my God.” She gaped. “He wants you to fire me?”

“He simply said that he didn’t want you to talk to his son one-on-one.”

She made a sound in her throat, indicating her disgust. “What the hell does he think I’m going to do to Eric?”

“You just need to be prepared. Steer clear of Eric and deal with Melody only. It’s what we’d already decided to do anyway. I calmed Smith down, but he’s got a bug up his ass. I’ll stand by you.”

“Well, thank you very much,” she said, not even trying to hide the sarcasm.

“Charlotte. It’ll be fine.” He cocked his head. “Would you rather I hadn’t told you?”

“No.” She would have preferred that he’d told her a different way instead of making it sound like an accusation. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I didn’t say anything after I realized she was my client, because our sessions are confidential, as is the fact that she sees me.”

“Then perhaps you should ask her what she told him.”

She stood, paced. He stayed in his chair, and her skirt brushed his arm in the cramped space as she passed. Her office was meant for sitting, not pacing. “She’s ended her sessions with me.” Charlotte had, however, planned to make a follow-up call in a couple of days, just to check that everything was all right.

She stopped mid-pace. “You don’t think—” She cut herself off. She’d been about to wonder aloud if David Smith had done something worse than harp on Jeanine until she told him why she’d run out of the meeting. Coupled with Jeanine’s ominous words about
it
not being her fault. But anything Charlotte said about the Smiths came dangerously close to breaking confidentiality.

Lance wrapped a hand around her forearm. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this.”

She looked down at his fingers gripping her. “I don’t need you to take care of anything.”

“Don’t you?”

The atmosphere heated. His hand branded her flesh through the thin, silky blouse. His gaze was dark, penetrating. Suddenly this wasn’t about the Smiths at all. Her breath caught in her throat. Her nipples tightened, aching.

She wasn’t even wearing panties.

Lance let go of her arm. His fingers touched her calf lightly. Slid up, stroking the back of her knee. Then higher, slipping around to caress her inner thigh.

This was absolutely crazy. Because she actually wanted it. Even after he’d marched into her office and accused her of malfeasance. “No.”

“Yes,” he whispered, sliding up, high enough to graze her pussy with his index finger.

She swallowed. Her throat was dry. Everything else was wet. “
No
is my safe word.” But her voice didn’t sound assured. It was almost a question.

He held her gaze, mesmerized her like a hypnotist or a magician. “Are you sure you want to say no? You aren’t wearing panties. That indicates intention, my dear Miss Moore.”

His finger barely moved, but it was enough. Simply with the heat of his skin, he made her body clench with need. Her lips formed the word
No
but the sound didn’t come out.

He shot her that devilish grin of his. “Which means you’re not sure you want to say no.” Delving deeper into her sex, he let out a low groan. “Oh, Miss Moore, you are so very wet.”

Charlotte’s breath came faster as he stroked her clitoris, light, teasing swirls around it. Her legs shifted of their own volition, giving him better access.

Then both his hands were up her skirt. She grabbed his shoulder to steady herself.

“You want it, Miss Moore. You can’t help yourself. You need it badly. Because you’re such a dirty girl.” He talked and stroked, drove her up on the ledge, her legs beginning to quiver. “You love sex. You love to come. You need a man inside you every day. You need my tongue on you, my cock in you. Don’t you, Miss Moore.” No question about it.