Free Secret Delights (Lingerie Series) by Yvette Hines Page B

the wall outside of the classrooms. The walls were a pale yellow with framed
photos of children learning, smiling or playing.
    Finally, I arrived at the designated
room, which was two doors down from my son’s original classroom when he had Mr.
Lowen. The door was open and there were the low tones of a song playing in the
background, but what grabbed me before I knocked was the masculine voice over
the artist singing the words.
    “…but ain’t no sunshine when she’s
gone.” He continued onto the next verse of the classic Bill Withers tune.
    I placed a hand over my mouth to
stifle my laughter. Not because he was bad, but because it was just unexpected.
It was the same voice from the phone, but more melodic in the throes of the
song.
    I got another shock when I leaned
forward slowly, a fraction at a time, to get a peek at the karaoke singer. A
white guy was sitting behind a short moon-shaped table. Not that I was narrow
minded enough to think that only African-American people could sing Rhythm and
Blues, but the taste of music didn’t seem to fit the man before me.
    Sexy as hell. But, he looked as if
he should be coaching on a football field instead of cramped behind a too small
table teaching kindergarten children.
    Short, thick black waves ran over
his scalp and complemented the wide angles of his face as he leaned his head
back, holding up a pencil like a microphone and belting out the lead in to the
last line.
    “…I know, I know, I kno—”
    I must have made a sound because he
broke off his lyrics and turned toward me. The full impact of his sea green
gaze caused my breath to stop, my core to tighten and my knees to tremble and
threaten to buckle. 
    “Sorry, it’s my after school
release.” Setting the pencil down, he rose and clicked a button on his
computer, plunging the room into silence. Standing to his full height, he moved
toward the door.
    Taking a quick breath, I worked to pull
myself together. This man was my son’s teacher not a stud on the street to
ogle. But, good Lord, he had to be six-two and built like a safety, lean but
wide in the shoulders.
    I stepped forward and forced a smile
on my quivering lips.
    “I’m Mr. Cale. You must be Mrs.
Strayer.” He held his hand out as he approached me, but I didn’t miss the once
over her gave my body.  When his gaze met mine again, there was glow of
appreciation that lit his gorgeous green eyes even more.
    Slipping my hand into his made me
feel even smaller as his long, strong fingers enveloped mine. The warmth from
the contact spread up my arm and felt like a caress through my body, making me
stifle a sigh. I was five-seven, not short for a woman, but not tall either.
Raised around my brother, I was used to feeling dwarfed, but standing before
this man, I felt oddly protected. “Actually, it’s Ms. Reston-Strayer.”
    He continued to hold my hand and
stare at me as if assessing my features.
    I had to draw my gaze from his face
before I did something foolish. Looking down at our hands, still clasped, I
gave mine a slight tug.
    “Oh, forgive me.” He released me
quickly. “Come in, please.” Waving me to one of the small chairs on the other
side of the half-moon table, he followed behind me.
    Once I was seated, he claimed his
seat. Still looking awkward, he had to sit with his knees bent and his thighs
spread wide to work in the tight space.
    I quickly told myself not to look
down the V of his legs. The last thing I wanted was my son’s teacher to think I
was a sex-depraved horn-dog, which was exactly how I felt with my body going
haywire around him. To keep the temptation away, I gazed around the room.
Unlike the barren, cold hallway, Mr. Cale’s classroom was lively and
wallpapered with posters, drawings, paintings and sloppy pre-school script. I
liked the man already. On a professional level, I reminded myself.
    “So, about Jason.” I faced him
again.
    His gaze was locked on my face and
he was frowning.
    “What?” I asked, touching my