The Word of a Child (18 page)

His gray eyes searched her face. "I wish we were
meeting for the first time."

Her breathing was shallow, ragged. "I don't
understand."

"I think you do." He rubbed his neck again,
seeming to hesitate. Then he took a swift step forward, gripped her chin and
lifted her face.

She had one fleeting glimpse of his eyes darkening, the
twist of his mouth, the taut line of his jaw, before his mouth touched hers
with startling gentleness. He brushed her lips, came back and did it again.
Heat rushed to her belly and her knees almost buckled. She made a peculiar
little sound, perhaps a whimper, and parted her lips so that he was able to
kiss her properly. No, not
properly
at all, but slowly, deeply, his tongue
sliding along hers, and oh, she was kissing him back, she knew she was, but
couldn't seem to do anything to stop herself.

She clutched his powerful shoulders and felt the muscles
harden beneath her hands. His cheek rasped hers, and the groan that tore from
his chest as he lifted his head weakened her further.

"That," he said in a raw voice, "is why I
came up here."

"Are you … are you supposed to kiss someone involved
in…"

"I'm not investigating you," he interrupted. His
fingers flexed on her jaw, and he abruptly kissed her again, hard, before he
released her and stepped back.

Mariah sagged against the windowsill. The contact brought
her to a panicked awareness of where they were. "What if one of the kids
outside saw?"

"I'm not a student. I'm not another teacher or an
administrator. Don't teachers kiss their husbands or boyfriends?"

"You're not…"

A muscle jumped beneath his eye. "But I want to
be."

She stared helplessly at him. "This is crazy! I
hated
you!
Did you know that?"

"Yeah." His voice became soft, almost blurred, as
he wiped it of all expression. "People often do."

She bit her lip. It felt swollen, tender. She wanted to touch
it, to marvel at long-forgotten sensations. "You're serious, aren't
you?"

"Very." He looked much as usual, a big man with a
stern face, but she had the sense that he was holding himself rigidly, braced
for rejection.

"What…" Mariah had to clear her throat. "What
is it you want?"

Of course she'd set herself up for the obvious. Humor came
into his eyes, then as quickly left, leaving an expression of vulnerability.
"For now, let's just say … the pleasure of your company. Would you go out
to dinner with me, Mariah?"

A date.

"Zofie…"

"Would she mind a baby-sitter? Or is this Simon's
weekend with Zofie?"

"We had to switch weekends. She's home." Mariah
swallowed, then blurted, "I haven't dated since—" She clamped her
mouth shut.

He looked startled. "In three years?"

"It just hasn't felt right."

He said nothing for a moment, only stood there with his
hands at his sides. At last he asked quietly, "Does it feel right
now?"

Mariah took a breath. "I don't know. But I will have
dinner with you."

It was a second before he reacted, first blinking, then with
a subtle relaxation of the muscles of his face. He looked less hard, less
remote. "Thank you."

"When do you…?"

"What about Friday?"

That gave her four days to become terrified. She gave a
jerky nod. "Okay."

"I'll pick you up at six?"

"Okay," she said again. She restrained herself
from asking what she should wear. Half the girls in this school would have
handled this with more social deftness!
They
knew how dressy any particular occasion would be. She must
have known, once upon a time.

"You'll talk to Tracy, too?"

"Tomorrow," Mariah promised.

Connor nodded. He'd jammed his hands into the pockets of his
corduroy slacks. His shoulders were slightly hunched. Was he again trying to be
physically unobtrusive?

"You think I'm scared of you," she guessed aloud.

His brows rose. "What?"

"You look like one of my students when he's trying to
be invisible."

His shoulders squared, and he smiled sheepishly.
"Sorry. I've learned to make myself as unimposing as possible when I want
someone's cooperation."

"You've never frightened me."

Furrows deepened on his forehead. "You sure as hell
looked scared to death that day you saw me in Ms. Patterson's office."

"Shocked," she corrected him. "You brought it
all back."

He watched her. "Is that so bad?"

"No," Mariah surprised herself by saying.
"I'm starting to think maybe it's been a good thing. I had let it all turn
into … oh, the monster hiding in the closet."

"What's in there instead?" he asked quietly.

She tried to laugh. "A mess! What else?"

There was the kindness in his eyes that she thought she was
falling in love with. "It's all spilling out, huh?"

"Yup." She laughed again, more successfully this
time. "Like I say, a cleanup is probably overdue."

"Good for you."

Mariah tilted her head. "You never talk like a cop. Do
you know that?"

She'd jolted him. "What do you mean?"

"Have you ever in your life shouted, 'Freeze! Drop that
gun'?"

His very sexy mouth twitched. "Uh, no. Now that you mention
it, I don't think the occasion has arisen."

"I know hardly anything about you," she realized.
"You poke and prod at me, but you don't give much away about
yourself."

"Maybe I'm not very interesting."

"You're trying to hide your boring personality?"
She amazed herself by teasing.

"Something like that." He sounded rueful.
"Okay. Fair's fair. I know more about you than you do about me. We'll
remedy that Friday. I promise."

"Good." The windowsill was beginning to feel
awfully sharp-edged digging into her behind, but she felt safest glued to it.
Not that she was scared of him; she'd told the truth about that. It was more
what he made her feel that unnerved her.

Why him?
she
wondered again.

"I'll call you tomorrow?" Connor said. Asked. As
if he needed her permission.

"Okay."

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then dipped his head in
a brief nod and left. Mariah had a moment of crushing disappointment that he
hadn't kissed her again, even if she was framed in the classroom windows, in
plain sight of the entire student body.

He'd kissed her the first time to make a point, perhaps to
make her face her own feelings. Their relationship really hadn't progressed to
the kissing hello and goodbye stage.

Their relationship.

A
shivery, exhilarating kind of terror swelled in her chest,
and Mariah heard herself breathing fast, in small gasps, as if she had just
raced up all four flights of stairs. She was going on a date, with the man who
had caused her more emotional turmoil than anyone in her life ever had. Except
perhaps Simon.

The very thought of her ex-husband chilled her, turning the
butterflies in her stomach into nausea.

She wasn't the only one who had hated Detective Connor
McLean. Simon would be enraged if he found out she was dating the police officer
who had accused him. He already harbored so much anger and bitterness. Was it
fair to do something that would upset him so terribly?

Here's my question, Mariah Stavig. Why
didn't
you
trust your husband?

How Simon reacted to her decisions about her own life wasn't
her problem, she told herself defiantly. She wasn't married to him anymore.

And this wasn't the time to confront the queasy, uneasy
realization that, for the first time in the three years since she had asked him
to leave, Mariah didn't know for sure why she
wasn't
still
married to Simon.

But learning the answer could be all-important, not just for
herself but for Zofie's sake.

Zofie. Mariah glanced at the clock. Heavens! She was late
already.

She hurried to check that she had grabbed everything she
needed to grade papers tonight and prepare for tomorrow's classes, then left
the room. As she pulled the door closed, Mariah paused over her own reflection
in the glass inset. Were her lips softer, fuller, because she had been kissed?
For a moment she indulged herself by pressing her fingertips to her mouth,
remembering. Then, shaking her head at her own foolishness, she walked quickly
down the hall, her heels clicking on the scuffed floor, trying very hard to
ignore a renewed swelling of exhilaration and almost-fear.

"I'm going to be honest
with
you," Ms. Stavig said quietly. "I won't—I
can't
—keep
anything you tell me confidential. But I hope you'll talk to me anyway."

Tracy
fingered the zipper pull on her backpack. "What do you want to know?"
she asked warily.

"Just … how you're doing." The teacher's face was
kind. "I know rumors have gotten around. They always do. How are the other
kids treating you?"

Tracy
shrugged. "Like always. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Some guys have said things. You know." They'd leave
her alone if she cried, but she wouldn't. If they wanted to think she was a
slut, let them. Maybe she
would
be one. Didn't most kids take after their mothers? Maybe she
wouldn't be able to help it. Ms. Stavig looked mad. "Have you reported
them?"

Tracy
rolled
her eyes. "Oh, yeah, like that'd make me popular."

"It might be good for them to hear a few home
truths."

Tracy
shrugged and kept playing with the zipper pull.

"Your friends?"

"They're cool."

There was a small silence. Tracy didn't look up. "What
about your mother, Tracy? Is she being supportive?"

A hand clamped around her chest. "I guess," she
mumbled.

"Has she considered getting you into counseling?"

Tracy
shook
her head. Tears burned at the back of her eyes.

"I know your mother works nights. I worry about you
home alone. Are you scared? Or sad?"

She was glad her mother wasn't home. But scared, too, in
case he came back. Mom kept saying she guessed she should change the locks, but
Tracy could tell it was one of those things Mom would never do. Tracy always put the chain on the door, but she knew from TV shows that any guy could snap
one of those in a second if he really wanted in.

"Scared. Sometimes," she said, her head down.

Ms. Stavig's hand came out to cover hers. "Does your
mom have a boyfriend right now?"

Tracy
's eyes
widened and her head snapped up. "What do you mean?" she almost
yelled.

The teacher looked startled. "Why … nothing. Only that
it might especially bother you now if a strange man moved into your
apartment."

Another guy who would check her out when she went down the
hall in her nightgown or who would just
happen
to glance in when her bedroom door was open. Who would press
too close when he passed her in the kitchen, or make a big deal out of hugging
her or pulling her down to sit on his lap and her mom would smile because they
were being
fatherly,
only Tracy could feel the woody pushing up against her butt.